Page 93 of Silent Schemes
I let the seconds stretch, see if he’ll break the silence first.
He doesn’t. Good man.
Finally, I say, “They moved crates.”
He nods. “Heavy artillery. RPGs, maybe. There’s a rumor they brought in a contract from Toronto. Greek, ex-military.”
I don’t let the subject change. “How long have you known?”
He shrugs, but there’s pain in it. “Long enough to know what it means for you.”
“Means nothing,” I snarl.
He wants to say more. Wants to save me from myself, like he always does. But this is one fight he can’t touch.
He steps back. “You’re making mistakes, Varrick. You’re not yourself.”
I want to hit him. I want to break something. I want to do something that’ll make me feel better.
Instead, I nod once. “Thank you, Will. You’re dismissed.”
He hesitates, then backs out of the room, closing the door with a click.
I look at the vitamins. I look at the lozenges.
I line them up next to the guns.
This is how you know you’re losing control: when the smallest thing shakes you harder than being stabbed.
My jaw is tight, teeth grinding.
I slide the phone toward me, type two new words into the digital notepad, just under “Cross.”
The first is “Sienna.”
The second is “Baby?”
I close the pad and kill the lights.
The city shines on.
I sit in the dark, alone with the evidence and the questions, and let the night decide what happens next.
I wait for her in the dark.
It’s past two, maybe three.
I lose track when the city runs out of noise.
I leave the lights off and sit on the edge of the couch, elbows on my knees, eyes looking blankly out.
The elevator dings long before it stops.
Footsteps, soft but quick.
She’s light on her feet, but the wound in her side makes her drag the left just a touch.
She thinks I’m asleep. She’s wrong.
