Jenson

 

It’s the message I sent to Craig Potinski after I fine-tuned the details of my plan. I used the lost phone excuse to prevent him from blowing up her other number, but if this works I won’t have to worry about that. I’ve never been a violent person, but I plan to crush this guy, even if it’s only metaphorically. He didn’t bother answering until now, a couple hours later.

How do I know you’re good for it?

Fuck. How am I supposed to prove to this guy that for one, I’m “Lindsey,” and two, I have his money. I spread what cash I do keep on me on the counter, sending him a photo. If he asks me to prove it’s really Lindsey he’s talking to, I might have to think up something else. As a last-ditch effort, I channel my most careful, girliest handwriting and write his name on a slip of paper I stage beside it.

Your apartment. Tonight. Under the street light.

I chuckle. Under the street light. Maybe he doesn’t trust she’s not going to send her six-foot-five boyfriend to beat his ass. I may not be quite that tall, but I wouldn’t mind getting my hands dirty if it came down to it. That’s not the purpose of this meeting, though. He needs to go away without retaliation. And guys don’t usually take kindly to being punched in the face.

Let’s make it public. Tripp’s Bar & Eatery, 9pm

I pace my apartment, mentally crossing my fingers.

You want to do this in public? Bold. I’ll be there.

 

One advantage of performing a covert operation such is this one is I don’t have to hide my face. I stand to the side of the bar, bullshitting with Tripp while I wait for this guy to show up. A Google search led me to his photography website, and a little more digging brought me his social media pages and profile picture. I know what to expect, but he has no clue.

In usual fashion, Tripp was unsurprised when I told him what was going on. After a decade in this business, it seems even a catfishing/intimidation scheme can’t catch him off guard. Then someone walks through the door who can only be Craig. I recognize the smattering of facial hair he’s trying to coax into a beard and the small eyes that search the bar as he wanders over to a stool. Because he’s looking for someone who looks nothing like me, his gaze skates right over the face he’d probably recognize otherwise.

I give Tripp the nod, then head around the bar and claim a stool. Craig gives me a sidelong glance, probably wondering why I chose the one immediately beside him when there are plenty others available, but he doesn’t say anything. The way he keeps his suspicious little pig eyes trained on the door, looking for Lindsey, makes my blood boil.

“You Craig?” I ask after sizing him up. He might be around six feet tall, but he doesn’t look like a fighter. He looks like a scammer, if that’s possible.

Craig shoots me a glance. “Yeah,” he finally answers. He’s still expecting Lindsey. In that case, I’m going to be quite the disappointment.

“You lookin’ for Lindsey?”

At the mention of her name, his eyes narrow for the span of a few seconds before widening again. The look of cold realization he’s been set up. He glances over his shoulder at Tripp, who’s polishing a glass that could knock out a grown man, no problem.

“Uh, yeah, what do you know about her?”

I spin my stool toward him. “What I know is your phone calls and text messages end now.” He opens his mouth, but I hold up a finger. “Can we get Craig here a beer? This might be tough to swallow.”

Tripp smirks and pops the top on one, sliding it across the bar to where it stops in front of my companion. Craig looks toward the door again, searching for an escape. I tsk. “You don’t want to do that, do you? I’m not sure how much damage your reputation can take. Especially if I find out you’ve been threatening anyone else.” He looks back at me, his snide expression returning. Perhaps he hasn’t yet realized how dire his situation is. “The phone stuff alone is grounds for harassment. Imagine if I reported your stalking tendencies too.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, man,” he says once he’s found his voice. “Are you her boyfriend or something?”

I purse my lips and nod. How much harm can a white lie cause at this point? “I think you’re well aware of who I am, and what I can do to make sure the career you’ve built is dismantled piece-by-piece. Back to the stalking. . . What is it you’re hoping to get from Lindsey? You think you’re going to shame her into paying you, into sleeping with you, is that it? Dry spell bad enough you had to resort to intimidation to get some?” I can’t help but throw a few jabs in, and his face has drained of color, confirming my theory. You’d think the entertainment industry would’ve crawled out of the gutters by now, what with all the laws and heightened awareness of guys like this one, but it’s just as tainted. You just have to dig a little deeper to unearth the skeletons.

“How many others have you done this to? Trapped them into thinking you’ve got something on them and that the only way out is through you?” The cowardly little shit’s throat bobs as he swallows, and I incline my head toward the bottle, the only thing in the room sweating more than he is. “Go ahead, it’s on me.”

Craig licks his lips, but he doesn’t drink.

“This, whatever the fuck kind of operation you’re running, ends now. Lose her number, forget where she lives, where she works. Don’t even think of breathing in her direction.”

He spreads his palms innocently, as if he can ploy me to understand. “She owes me money, dude. She tell you that? Almost a grand. We all bust our asses out there, and it’s not like we can buy back the time we put into helping amateurs like her. People will do anything to get to the top, stepping on the hands of the ones who helped them get there. You know how it is.”

I still haven’t entirely pieced together this situation, but I’m beginning to see the blurry picture. He helped her out, perhaps with the photography workshop, and she didn’t pay up like expected. I’ve only known Lindsey to be a woman of her word. There’s something else at play here.

“We’re nothing alike, you and I, so don’t bother pretending. I’d never stoop so low as to corrupt an amateur before she’s even had a chance to get her feet wet. Is that what this is about? Weeding out the competition because you’re threatened by talent? You better find another schtick because I guarantee there’s someone out there who’s willing to play dirtier than you, and karma is the biggest bitch there is.”

The color has yet to return to Craig’s face. He scratches the hair on his cheeks and shrugs. “I don’t want any trouble, man. All I want is the money she owes and I’ll leave her alone. That’s all.”

I shake my head at him. If it’d been Lindsey, all the money in the world might not have been enough—money’s too temporary—but I have him cornered. “Do I have to remind you I can make sure you don’t make another dime in this city?” He swallows again, and to hit the point home, I pull up the photos I had Lindsey’s roommate Sebastian send me. The subject: one navy BMW parked outside their apartment building, Craig Potinski in focus through the window. I angle my phone toward him, zooming in on his face and then flipping through pages of screenshots of the texts and missed calls from him to Lindsey.

“I think it all makes a pretty convincing argument, don’t you?” I ask, pocketing my phone. Craig grips the bar top, knuckles white.

“You want to settle her debt? Fine. I was willing to make her a deal before she skipped out on me, so I’ll settle on five hundred.” It’s his last attempt at solidarity, but it’s a weak one.

I don’t want to reward anyone for pathetic behavior, but I also want to remove anything he could possibly hold over Lindsey’s head. I thumb through my wallet and slap five Benjamins on the bar.

“You will leave her the fuck alone, or else get slapped with harassment charges on top of unemployment. That deal sound fair?”

He clutches the money in white fingers, his head hung and face colorless. My work here is done.  

“Do we have an agreement?” I press.

At last, he nods, despondent.

“Is that a yes?”

“Fine, yeah.” He stands and pushes away from the bar, heading for the door. I watch him and hope it hits him on the way out.

Beside me, Tripp grabs the untouched beer bottle and takes a swig. “You done?”

My answer is a self-satisfied smirk.

“Good. Now get the hell out of my bar before that guy comes back with a shiv,” he teases.

“Ahh, Tripp, you’re no fun anymore.”