It’s a clear day. Cloudless. From the window, I can see the docks miles away. Old and run down. They extend into the water like frozen fingers into the icy ocean depths. The Russians’ run those docks now and they’re the same place where Aubry was last seen. A pang of regret stabs me.

There are women who stand out. They enter a room and eyes rove; heads turn. It has nothing to do with beauty, a fact most women don’t consider; it’s a spirit that refuses to be broken, a zest for life that attracts notice. Aubry never complained about life's challenges. She simply turned them to her own advantage. She told me all about her past—about Nora and her brother and her father. It reminded me of a factual narration being read from a book. We were sitting on Nora’s porch after group dinner one night. It was warm and breezy. I’d watched the way stray strands of hair clung to the corner of her mouth as she spoke. I desperately wanted to reach out and move them for her but that might have crossed our carefree line of friendship and potential someday lovers. Maybe once or twice her voice faltered but she quickly recovered and moved on. I listened and nodded, offering my support where I could. But looking back I wish I’d done more. Something. Anything. Now it’s too late.

She’s missing and I played my game with her, teasing and taunting, but never committing until it was too late. It’s not all on me though. She understood my game—reveled in it even. She toyed with me, flirted shamelessly, knowing she wouldn’t give it up until I gave up the numerous other women. It was a mutual game we played. One I’m regretting at the moment.

Angela’s hair is in a haphazard bun. I watch Aubry’s mom as she strolls through the precinct. Her jeans have holes in them and stains from years of mud smeared on the thighs. Aubry always raved about her mother. This is the mom who likes to bury her fingers in soil and help things grow, who’s always been as quick as her daughters to start a pillow fight, dance while cooking or throw a party. I wait in the room they’ve placed me in for questioning as I watch Aubry’s mom walk by. The door of the room I’m in is open and Angela is talking non-stop as she and Salve walk by.

“Don’t you understand? Aubry was the kind of daughter that came straight home from school. She picked up her sister on the way, and got her all sorted with snacks and homework and activities, and almost always had dinner nearly done when I got home from work. She helped with baths and getting Aimee in bed, and only then did she sit down at the kitchen table to start on her own homework. She came over twice a week for dinner even after moving out. She wouldn’t just leave.” Her voice is frantic but soft, as though she’s used up too much energy.

“I know,” Detective Salve says. And he does. Angela sniffles and wipes her nose on her sleeve while she nods. The answer is prompt, but not immediate. Not defensive, not reflexive. Of course, he knows. Salve has been in Aubry’s life for a couple years now.

I watch him open the door to the glassed-in room across from me. I put a palm on the glass as Angela shoots me a look over her shoulder on her way in. Where is my baby? It says. It takes me a moment to answer her. I shake my head and shrug as she looks away.

When was the exact moment I talked to her last? It’s not uncommon for us to go days, sometimes even a week without speaking or seeing each other, despite the fact that all of our mutual friends are convinced we’re secretly dating. I would have. She would have. But we played games, tiptoed around each other and our feelings. And thinking on that now, I wish we were. I should have taken that chance. I should have just admitted my feelings for her from the start.

Outside, the afternoon light is fading quickly. I can see distant car headlights winding down the road that leads to the club. I text Liam as I head to the valet entrance. I slam my foot down hard on the gas pedal. The engine screams, and the sudden burst of acceleration snaps my head back against the seat. At the entrance, I hop out, toss my keys to the valet and tuck my phone in my back pocket as I walk inside. A hot ball of anxiety forms in my belly.

The place reeks of money. Glass abuts wood paneling, wood melts into copper, copper runs into leather, and that leather hosts the asses of the bouncers who welcome members with a serenity that masks the problems of the people inside. And the people inside are royally fucked. Scum mingles with the power hungry. Greed blends with lust. The Black is a dangerous place. One where wealthy playboys go to frolic while new money makes deals in the shadows to secure that they too will someday be old money. It’s not a place I’m proud to be a member of necessarily, but it’s served me well until now.

People like to believe in coincidences, but nothing in life is a coincidence. When I can't sleep at night I think of her. The way she's a ponytail and mascara only weekend girl or that she rocks flip flops and cut-off jeans because it’s easy. An endearing quality many women overlook these days. Simplicity is beautiful. Sexy isn’t about how much skin you flash. Sexy is about flashing as little as possible to make someone want to see more. The women here hide their faces behind designer anything. They wear expensive heels that make too much noise. But behind their layered makeup no one knows who they really are. They talk loud and often without saying anything at all. Everyone thinks they’re mysterious but I’ve got most of them figured out with just a glance. Lingerie. Tiny and stringy. Overly tanned bodies. All meant to do one thing, please the members of The Black. These women are an assemblage of designer anything, store-bought tans, and costume jewelry. But what they don’t understand is that the men in this club will never be pleased. You can’t sate these men. They are takers. They come back again and again and again, each time wanting more not less. They will take until there is nothing left to give. Then they simply discard what’s been used.

I look around until I see who I’m looking for. I stride to his spot.

“Yuri,” I greet. I run a hand through my hair and force a smile.

“Mike, so glad you’re available.”

He shakes my hand, his grip bordering painful. “What can I do for you?” I ask.

He motions for me to sit, so I do. He slides a glass in front of me filled with whiskey. I want to guzzle it but I don’t. It’s been a long day. A long day of questions I couldn’t answer and thinking about Aubry, the girl I should have made mine but didn’t. This is a joke, right? I mean, it’s Aub. She’s not missing. She’s probably laser-focused on her project, head down, ignoring all functions of life until she has everything just right.

“I have a job for you,” he says.

“Go on.” I take a sip of my drink.

“I need a crate delivered to Nicaragua.” I cringe, Nicaragua is outside my comfort zone. A touch too dangerous for my liking.

Cracking my neck, I ask, “Weight?”

“Including the crate?” He presses his lips into a fine line.

“Yeah.”

Yuri’s eyes shoot up and right as he calculates in his head. “One-seventy-five.”

“Drop point?”

“Hot. You’ll need to be precise.” He lifts his glass and gulps.

“Payment?” I ask feeling less and less like taking the job but knowing I will anyway simply for the rush.

“Seventy-five grand now, seventy-five on delivery.” I raise my eyebrows. That’s a hefty sum for one crate.

“When?”

“Sunday.” He chugs the rest of his drink and waves over a short, curvy brunette.

“Leave the money in the locker. Deliver the crate here,” I say and jot down my private hangar address on a cocktail napkin. “No later than Friday night.”

“Gregor likes you, kid,” he says before patting my shoulder. Demi or whatever the brunette's name is, sits on his lap, leans in and nibbles on his ear lobe. Yuri chuckles. I shake my head and push back from the table.

“See you on the flip side.” I lift a hand and head out. There are particular jobs that are more lucrative than others. It’s true, I come from a wealthy family. If I chose, I could live off my trust fund, but, where’s the fun in that? I fell in love with flying first, as a teen. I fell in love with women around the same time. Some might say I’m a playboy and maybe I am. I prefer to say I’m wise beyond my years. It didn’t take long to realize that one passion begot another. Women are impressed by planes, specifically, my airplane.  She’s never let me down yet.

I will settle down someday. I want to get all life’s fun out of the way now so that I’m ready for that moment when ‘the one’ comes along. I work when I please. Liam Lockwood, my best friend, would kill me if he knew I was working with the Russians. There is nothing worse than keeping a secret from your best friend but I can't see any way around it that doesn't result in him shunning me. They don’t own me. I’m an independent contractor. A pilot. A smuggler. I'm in high demand and because of that, I have standards. I'll fly any cargo they can pay me to run. My skills get me a lot of work. Owning my own hangar and airstrip is a perk. Fudging flight plans for logs is easy when you have privacy through wealth. I’m not afraid to go twenty feet over Conchagua. This makes me somewhat of a commodity. I won’t fly any cargo over two hundred pounds. I never take a run that requires refueling. I never ask what the cargo is and I never look at the goods. There's no such thing as an easy run and I refuse to jinx it out of sheer curiosity.

People always ask me, "How’d you learn to fly?" Funny story. My dad gave me pilot lessons for my sixteenth birthday. At seventeen, I got my private pilot certificate and since then, I spend equal time in the air as I do on land. My instructor was this old dude my father grew up with. He served in ‘Nam. He taught me the way the government had taught him. “Listen, Kid, if you stayed under the tree line you might come out okay,” he’d said.  I never set out to be a smuggler. It fell into my lap one day. The Black has a way of presenting opportunities too good to pass up. Another member knew I was a pilot. One too many whiskeys later, I’d agreed to run his cargo to El Salvador. That first run was thrilling. It was pure danger and adrenaline. I’d never felt anything quite like it before.

Better than any drug, I was hooked the second the wheels left the tarmac.

It’s two in the morning. It is unlike me to wake in the wee hours of the morning. There’s a neon sign on the horizon. It flashes blue, then white. I like that I can see it from my bedroom window. The radio is on and counting down the top twenty hits from the week. My phone blinks, a message. I click the screen and squint at the light the screen gives off. Liam.

Nora is out of her mind. Any update?

I sigh. I wish. I type out a quick response.

Nope. No one saw anything. Or they aren’t talking because...Russians.

His reply is fast.

I’m going to talk to Gregor tomorrow. If they’re involved I’ll deal with it.

My thumbs and brain are groggy from sleep, but even I know this is a terrible idea.

Not your best idea.

My phone vibrates.

Doesn’t matter. I can't stand to see Nora this way. And, I like Aubry. Why aren’t you more worked up?

I sigh. I am worked up but I don’t want to admit it. Not even to my best friend.

I told you. We weren’t dating. Don’t get me wrong. I like her. I just, what do you want me to say, man?

Nothing. I’m overtired. Sorry. Go to sleep, you ass.

Workin’ on it.

I pull my nightstand drawer open and fish around until I feel the small cylindrical tube. I pull it out and lay it on my chest until I find the lighter. I set that on my nightstand. I pull out the plastic baggy of weed and grab a small clump. I stuff it into the end of the little one hitter and light it up. The last time I did this was with Aubry. We sat out back, next to the pool and talked for hours. I’d thought she’d be hysterical high. With her wit and boldness, but it mellowed her out, made her go deep. Thing about Aubry is, she comes across as the fun-loving instigator type, but she’s smart. Real smart. We had a moment out there on the patio, debating the psychology of flight or fight, how far away the stars really are and whether or not social media is the true decline of our society. Taking another hit, I wish she was here now to talk to.

“Where the fuck did you go, Aub?” I say out loud. “I’m so fucking sorry I didn’t tell you how I felt.”

I close my eyes, inhale, hold it until my lungs burn, then let it all out.