Page 44 of The Seller

“Oh really?” He smiles at me, and for a moment we are like any other couple waking up on a sunny day. But the pressure of the darkness surrounding us soon forces its way back into my consciousness.

“My father is going to kill us.”

“Your father isn’t doing shit,” Stavros says succinctly. “Do you want a beer?”

“It’s first thing in the morning, so… okay?”

He gets up and goes to the fridge of the hotel room we’re in, grabs two beers from a six pack and tosses one over to me. I catch it and leave it closed, running my fingers nervously around the dewy top.

“Why aren’t you worried? The police will be looking for us. Don Corelli’s men will…”

“Don’t worry,” Stavros says, taking a long, satisfied sip of his beer.

“But my father is coming for you. And he has so much money, and…”

“Not as much money as you might think.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, Siri, he was going to be paid a very tidy sum on the morning after your wedding night. The sale was contingent upon your deflowering.”

“He actually sold me?”

“Oh yes.”

I should probably be more shocked than I am, but of course I already knew that was what was happening. I’ve known it my entire life. It’s probably why I sought out the infamous seller to help me. He reminded me of my dear daddy, on some fucked up twisted level. Stavros is nothing like my father, though, and I thank god for that.

Stavros picks a tablet off a nearby tablet and hands it to me. There’s a video all cued up, waiting to play.

“This happened one hour after I picked you up.”

I press play.

“Holy…”

The video is being shot outside my father’s favorite mansion, where he is being led away in handcuffs. It is a shocking sight, mostly because I have never seen him like this before. When I see my father in person, he is a monster, completely filling the screen of my perception. Seen at the distance of a lens, he is not the frightening creature I take him to be. He’s a graying, paunchy, fucked up old man who deserves everything the law is going to throw at him.

“What’s happening? He’s being arrested, but for what?”

“Interpol have been on your father’s tail for years. They just never had a solid lead. I managed to get them one or two. His organization is already crumbling. The people who are no longer getting paid, but are getting arrested will turn on him, give evidence in return for lighter sentences. He’s got no money. And, on top of that, he’s facing a murder rap on Don Corelli.”

“You framed my father. For murder.”

“Yep.”

He does not look sorry, not one bit.

“Wow…” I re-watch the video, try to take what he is telling me in. It’s very neat, and very fucked up, and both those things are one hundred percent Stavros. “There’s no way this is going to work. He has lawyers.”

“Lawyers have this weird thing where they like to be paid with money,” Stavros says. “Your father is dead broke.”

“But what about me? Won’t people be looking for me?”

“They can look for you all they like. In case you haven’t noticed, I’m somewhat talented at hiding young ladies.”

Well, fuck. I replay the video a third time, and then a fourth, and then a fifth, until Stavros relieves me of the tablet.

“This is real?” I look at him, stunned. “I mean, this is over? All over?”

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