Felicity
“I want to talk to you about your new best friend, Roma,” Mr. Black says, his smile that of a snake’s, gums flashing. “I would offer you a seat but . . .” He waves a hand over the alleyway. “This isn’t exactly five-star accommodation.”
“You’re Roma’s employer,” I say. “I’ve heard your name. If you’re Roma’s employer, then why would you—”
“Oh silly, sweet princess.” He giggles again. I feel like wormy hands have just trailed over my body. He rubs his hands together as a man does before beginning a fine meal. His black eyes move up and down my body. He licks his lips. He is repulsive, I think, as the twins snigger behind me.
“Let me first tell you who I am.” He looks at me with a quick snap of the head. It’s a teacher’s gaze, trained on a student, a gaze that says: Don’t you dare interrupt me! I swallow. Despite his thinness, his gaunt face, his bony cheeks, his effeminate gestures, there is something dreadful about this man. “My name is Mr. Black. I have no first name and the second is a lie. But it suits me well. Mr. Black. It has a certain ring to it, don’t you think?” I immediately get the sense that this man enjoys the sound of his own voice. “Yes, a certain ring, lovely-sounding, soft on the ears. When I was very young, I learnt something exceptionally important about people. They are astoundingly easy to manipulate. I was bullied, of course, as all young geniuses are. That was before I took a Polaroid photograph of one of the bully’s mothers sleeping. I was worshipped after that.
“Anyway, that was how I made my name. I can play people like instruments. There are many ways for a man who knows how to play people to make money, sweet Felicity. Over time, I gathered . . . I guess who could call it a gang. But organization would be more apt. We call it the Agency. Just the Agency. Secrecy is important, you know. This Agency of mine operates very similarly to the mafia and the gangs on the streets, but we have no allegiance, except to money. Money, you understand, is the simplest thing there is. You earn it or you lose it, you save it or you waste it. Numbers tic up and down. Simple. Much simpler than decades-old feuds and blood rites and all that nasty business.”
“What does this—”
Mr. Black darts forward until he is an inch from my face. His cheeks tremble. He looks like he’s about to explode. Then the anger turns inward and he forces the snakelike smile back onto his face. “You would be wise to keep your mouth shut,” he says, taking a step back. He waves away the twins, who must’ve been about to attack me.
“If you must press the matter,” he sighs. “We are paid money by people who want other people killed. It’s very simple. That’s where your sweet Roma comes in. He told you he worked for your father, yes? That is a lie. I sent him here to save you so that your father would come out of hiding, so that Roma can kill him, as I ordered.”
He watches me for a long moment, eyes glistening hungrily. At first, I don’t register his words. He speaks quickly and in a singsong voice, a voice meant for lulling people to sleep. Then, slowly, his words sink into me. They filter through my mind, I close my eyes. Roma . . . sent to save me . . . to kill Dad. I swallow. A thousand blades cut against my throat. It can’t be true, I say. No—I think I say. I open my mouth but no words come out. But it’s Roma. But do you know him, really? a voice whispers. Do you know anything about him? You don’t even know his last name! I think about the way he stole that man’s car, the way he punched the tree, the absolute red-hot rage he displayed.
I am devastated to discover that it is not entirely unbelievable that a man like Roma could work for a man like Mr. Black.
But what about the kiss? The sex? The closeness?
I’m sure I didn’t imagine all of that.
“You’re lying,” I whisper, voice hoarse. It is only when I hear the crackle in my voice I realize tears are streaming down my cheeks.
“If only it were so,” Mr. Black smiles. “But no, Roma has worked for me this entire time. He purchased you with money I gave him. You see, he was too cheap to use his own funds. At no point has he cared for you, poor damsel. He is an Agency man, and Agency men care only for money.”
“Damn right,” one of the twins grunts.
“Hush,” Mr. Black says, pouting at one of them.
An innocent enough expression, but I’m sure I hear one of them gulp. They fear him. Those huge brutes fear him.
“But . . .”
The tears squeeze out with more force, sliding down my cheeks like rivers. I taste them on my lips, salty, tears of betrayal.
He fucked me and he was going to kill my father. He fucked me and he was going to ruin my life.
“There, there,” Mr. Black steps forward, unable to hide his giggling. “I do hate to see a lady cry.” He puts his hand on my shoulder. I make to step back, but he clamps onto me. “He betrayed you, sweet mademoiselle. Think of all the opportunities he’s had to come clean with you, but . . . Ah, did he? No, because he liked the look of those pert little titties too much.”
I cringe at his words. He giggles again, stepping back.
“Ah!” He claps his hands together. I feel like everything is happening around me, but not to me.
He betrayed me, I think, but not matter how many times I think it, it doesn’t seem true.
“Here he is now, your knight in shining armor!”
I turn and when I see him, I force myself not to gasp. He used you. He fucked you. He was going to ruin your life. But still, it’s difficult.
He is being carried between three men, his face a patchwork of blood and bruising. His clothes are covered in blood and when he breathes, it’s a deep wheezing noise. He just manages to look up at me. The men holding him—big brutes, just like the twins, one with a scarred face—exchange smiles.
“I’m . . .” His lips tremble and his head sags, eyes closing.
“Is he . . . dead?” My voice barely a whimper.
“That is of no concern of yours,” Mr. Black says. He presses the barrel of a gun into the small of my back. “I’ll deal with him later. Now, I have a car waiting. I trust you won’t be a nuisance. I would prefer you unharmed. You wouldn’t make very good bait covered in cuts and bruises, now, would you? But, alas, some of my men are not as noble as I, and that scar-face over there in particular can be an extremely nasty fellow.”
The scarred man grins at me, but the grin doesn’t reach his eyes.
“Let’s get you back to the States, sweet lady. Carry the cur, gentlemen. I want to have a little chat with him later. I’ve got this one.”
Numb, betrayed, and terrified, I have no choice but to let Mr. Black lead me to his car.