All Made Up
Ryan
"My name isn’t Miriam Everett."
I had been drifting off into a languorous half-sleep. But Miriam's statement snapped me right out of that.
I propped myself up on my elbow, looking down at her. She stared up at the ceiling.
"Come again," I said
She smiled at that. "I wouldn't necessarily mind."
I stroked my chin. "That can probably be arranged. I'm still young man." She giggled. "But first, about that other thing you said."
She took a deep breath, her eyes never leaving the ceiling. "My name isn’t Miriam Everett. It's Emma Benelli."
“That can't be true," I said. "Your name tag at The Lazy Spoon says your name is Miriam. Diner name tags never lie."
She made a face and sighed. "Nevertheless, my name is Emma Benelli."
"Emma Benelli." I rolled the name around my tongue, trying out the feel of it. "I like it. Italian. Very exotic to a country boy like myself. So tell me, you know, what the fuck?"
She turned and looked at me. Her brown eyes were guarded, expecting something. I can guess at what. Anger. Rejection. Blame for…something.
No way was I going to do that, not after the day we’d had. Certainly not until I'd heard her story. I had had so many questions, and it seemed perhaps she was about to answer them.
Things were just getting good.
She put her hand on my arm. "This seems like the kind of thing that could make you mad. The kind of thing that could make you not like me.
I looked down at her very seriously. "Was it you that short-sheeted my bed when I was in boot camp?"
She looked confused. "Um, no. I don’t even know what that is."
I squinted at her, miming suspicion. "Was it you who filled my boots with Vaseline when I was stationed in Germany?"
That got a smile. For the moment she was tolerating my game. "Nope."
"Then I will probably not immediately become enraged. Try me."
"I'm in Witness Protection."
Now a lot of things made sense. The secrecy. The men chasing her. Her staunch refusal to see me after the first date. "Iknew you wanted a second date with me. I knew it."
She looked at me as if I was insane. "God, can you be serious for a minute?"
I shook my head. "I'm going to be plenty serious tomorrow. Right now, I'm in a pretty unshakable mood."
But I could tell she was feeling vulnerable, so I pulled the sheet up over us and wrapped my arms around her. "But you tell me what you want to tell me, and I’ll listen. And then," I kissed her neck, “I fully intend to make you scream some more.”
She shivered against me. “I’ll hold you to that.” Her breath hissed, a long inhalation. “Basically everything I have told you about myself—"
"Is all made up," I finished for.
"You said you were going to listen!"
"You're right,” I said. I put my hand on her thigh, gently stroking up to her hip and then back down to her knee. She slapped my hand away.
"No. This is important."
I heaved a great dramatic sigh. "Fine. I was just trying to reassure you that I'm not mad, Miriam-Emma."
She turned over on her side, facing me. "Thank you." She looked over my shoulder, her eyes going distant. "When I was a little girl, my dad taught me the difference between right and wrong. He told me, from the time I could understand words, that when you have a choice you always choose to do the right thing. Even if the wrong thing is easier. Even if the wrong thing will make you money."
"Oh my God," I said. "You're a drug dealer, aren't you? You got sideways with the cartels and that's why you're in Witness Protection now."
She closed her eyes. "No. Last year, I was in my dad's office in our house. We had a pretty nice house, nicer than most of my friends’, but I didn't think much about it. Well, I was in his office and I saw a book laying open on his desk. It was the kind of gorgeous book I’ve always found fascinating. All leather bound, with nice paper. So I went and looked at it. It was a list of people and dates and numbers. It didn't make much sense to me at first, but I saw that next to the list of people and dates and numbers was a second list of games and scores, fights and knockouts. And I knew, probably because I watched too many episodes of The Sopranos, I knew that this was my father's book. It was my father's italicize book. That he was a bookie. After all this talk of doing the right thing, even if doing the wrong thing was easier, that at some point he hadn't chosen the right thing."
I stroked her red hair. "That had to be hard for you."
She nodded, biting her lip. "It was. But it was hard for him, too. I confronted him about it. That night, at the dinner table. I'll never forget the look on his face. He looked like I had slapped him. As if he would throw up. My mom started crying."
She looked at me. "I've never been so angry. The things I said–" she took in a deep, shuddering breath. "There were terrible things."
"I'm sure he forgives you," I said. Her eyes were shiny with tears. "I know I'd forgive my daughter if something like that happened. Especially if I was in the wrong. And he was in the wrong."
"Yeah?"
"Of course."
She nodded. "He must have. He must've forgiven me, or something, because the next day he turned himself in. But that wasn't all. The man he worked for was Bernardo Marconi."
That rung a bell. "Hang on. You mean Bernardo Marconi, the big New York crime boss?"
She nodded. "Yeah. That Bernardo Marconi. And dad turned state’s evidence against him."
I let loose a low whistle. "Jesus Christ. That took balls."
She started twisting the sheet in her hands. "That's what I keep telling myself. That even though he was doing the wrong thing, he decided to do the right thing and it took courage." Her lips twisted then. "But goddammit! It turned my fucking life upside down. Two weeks later Marshals came to the house to put me on a plane to Texas. For my own safety." She grinned ruefully. "You know how all that turned out. Safety my ass. They took me away from my home, turned me into someone that wasn't, and then didn't do what they said they were going to do." She threw the sheet off and stood, starting to pace around the room. I have to admit, part of me like watching her stalk around naked, her red hair falling around her tan shoulders.
"It's just not fair," she said.
I sat up and propped my elbows on my knees. "No, it's not. It's not fair at all."
She stopped pacing and faced me. Her fingers found a lock of her hair and twisted it absently next to her ear. "What do I do?" she asked plaintively.
I raise my eyebrows. "About your dad? No idea. About the guys Marconi sent after you? I have some ideas about that."
Miriam-Emma seemed to be chewing the inside of her cheek. "You do?"
It was my turn to nod. “I’ve got some plans for those fellas."
She shook her head, came back and sat on the bed. She looked down at me. "You've already done too much. You're too involved. Just leave it alone. If they don't find me in a couple of days they’ll go home and tell Marconi they lost me." She sounded so hopeful. Part of me hated shattering that hope, but I knew I had to.
"I know men like that. Like the ones that are chasing you." I paused. "They're not going to stop."
She looked away from me.
I put my hand on the smooth skin between her shoulder blades, and she flinched. "Those guys are military intelligence — at least, they used to be. They're not going home empty-handed. They’ll keep looking for you. And they will find you. It's what they do. They have resources you can only imagine. Somehow, someway, they got to your Marshal and hacked into him, or turned him entirely. There is every possibility that he's working for them now."
Her shoulders started to shake, and I knew that she was crying.
“If that's the case, then they are a problem that needs to be taken care of." I put my hands on her shoulders and drew her close to me so her back was against my chest. I wrapped my arms around her, feeling her tremble. "I know how to take care of problems like this."
She leaned her head back so it rested on my chest. "You do?"
I tightened my arms around her protectively. "Yes. Taking out bad guys is my sworn duty."
"Okay," she whispered.
"You trust me?"
"Yes."
I let my hands drift down to cup her breasts, and I nipped the skin of her neck between my teeth. "In that case, we have some time to kill before morning." She turned to me. Her eyes were rimmed with red, but she giggled.
"I can think of some ways to pass the time."