Dirty Power (8 page)

Joan nodded.

Breno opened the door. We walked to the doorway of Emma’s room. Ryan had his back propped against the leg of her crib. A game of solitaire was spread on the floor. He started to wave with his gun, then realized that was bad. He held up his free hand and waved. Behind him, Emma slept on. Her delicate breathing echoed through the room. Joan took a deep breath and nodded. We turned away.

Kidnapping was hard.

By five in the morning, Joan had walked Breno through all five of her accounts. I got bored fifteen minutes in, but I figured she was intimidated enough by Breno and his gun so I probably didn’t need to sit there and intimidate her with my gun.

I should have gone to sleep, but I was dreading dawn. The kid was going to wake up. The whole waking up to a house of strangers was probably not going to go over well. I didn’t know shit about kids, but I knew that much.

I sat on the balcony and watched the sun come up over the ocean. Which was just wrong. The sun was supposed to set on the ocean. It was confusing.

The glass door behind me opened. I didn’t move.

“We need coffee,” Ryan said.

I spun around. Fast. “What are you doing? The kid is going to wake up soon.”

“No shit. Not my scene.”

“You can’t just leave her.” I stood and started to go into the house.

“I didn’t, dumbass. Reese is in there. She volunteered.” Ryan grabbed me and shoved me back into the chair I’d been sitting in.

“And you trusted her?” I tried to get up. Ryan sat on me.

“And so will you. You don’t, she’s gonna flip.”

“Shit.” I stopped struggling.

“You cool?” he asked.

“Yeah.”

“Good.” He moved to the other chair.

“She didn’t talk to me all night. I didn’t even see her.”

“You were interrogating that bitch and plotting with Breno half the night,” he said.

“So?”

“She probably didn’t want to be involved.” He waited for that to sink in before saying, “Also she was asleep.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah, oh.”

“Coffee?” I asked.

“That’s what I’ve been saying.”

We went inside. When we got downstairs, I could smell the coffee already brewing. There were voices in the kitchen. We followed them.

Joan was sitting at the kitchen table trying to smile and play nice. Breno was moving around making breakfast. Reese was playing with the toddler strapped into a highchair. Both Reese and Breno were wearing guns.

It was weird.

“There you are,” Breno said. “Would you like some breakfast?”

“Dude,” Ryan said.

“Whatcha makin’?” I asked.

“Waffles, eggs, and sausage. There is coffee, if you would like some.”

“Dude,” Ryan said again.

“Do not worry, Cooper. It is chicken sausage,” Breno said before I could even ask.

“You rock.”

The kid grabbed a fistful of oatmeal and aimed for her mouth.

“Hey, Emma. This is my brother Ryan and my friend Cooper,” Reese said.

The kid smiled. “Hi.” At least, I think she said hi. It was hard to tell through the oatmeal haze.

“Hi. You’re Emma, right?” I asked.

She nodded.

“How you doing, Emma?” I pulled a chair up next to her and Reese.

She dug a hand into her bowl. Again.

“Awesome,” I said.

“Emma, spoon,” Joan said from the table.

“Nuh-uh.” Emma slurped a handful of oatmeal. It dripped down her arm. She licked it. Appetizing.

“Breakfast,” Breno announced.

I started to stand, but Ryan stopped me.

“I got it, bro.”

“Thanks.”

Ryan grabbed a stack of plates and tossed a couple waffles on each one. He added scrambled eggs and sausage to two of them. Mine and his. For Reese he found a second, smaller plate for eggs and sausage. She didn’t like to mix her food.

“Joan?” Ryan asked as he set the plates on the table.

“Yes?” She was trying to keep her voice even, keep the hatred out of her tone. She wasn’t entirely successful.

“Whatcha want? Waffles, eggs, sausage? The whole thing?”

“A waffle. And could you give Emma half a waffle and some eggs, please?”

“Eggs for the little one.” Ryan got down another small plate and scooped eggs onto it.

“Use a fork to break them up. Otherwise, they will be too hot for her. There are plastic forks in the drawer,” Joan said.

“Cool eggs for the little one.” Ryan got a neon blue fork and broke up the eggs. He set them on the high chair tray.

Emma did a little dance. She ignored the fork and grabbed a handful.

“Fork, Emma,” Joan said.

“Nuh-uh.”

I was starting to see a pattern. And I so didn’t want kids. One of the many reasons I was glad I was queer. No surprises. Well, I guess some queers ended up with surprise kids. Like Christopher. That would have kinda sucked.

Oh, shit.

“Uh-oh,” I said.

“What?” Reese asked.

“We forgot Christopher. He’s still waiting.”

Breno said something in Portuguese. I’d finally broken down and asked Christopher what language they had been speaking. He had looked at me like I was stupid.

“I didn’t forget him.” Reese.

“Nope. Me either.” Ryan.

“What? You guys just decided to leave him out there?” I asked.

Ryan shrugged. “Yeah, he’s a dou—”

“Ryan,” Reese cut him off.

“A dummy,” Ryan finished.

I just shook my head and called Christopher. Breno and I waited to start eating until Christopher was inside the house. Reese and Ryan didn’t. Joan lifted an eyebrow when he joined us.

“Hello, Christopher,” she said.

“Joan, darling.” Christopher squeezed in next to her.

“Welcome to the party, jerk.”

“Well, if you weren’t a lying thief…” He lifted one shoulder in a lazy shrug.

I got the distinct feeling they were choosing their words carefully. Jerk and lying thief sounded very tame.

“Mama?” Emma piped up.

“Yes?”

“Who he?”

“His name is Christopher,” Joan said.

Christopher waved with his fork. “Hi, Emma.”

She ignored him and went back to mixing her eggs and syrup.

“This isn’t at all awkward,” I said.

Every single person in the kitchen glared at me. Except Emma. She didn’t really care.

*

After breakfast, Ryan and Emma went to play in the backyard. Breno and Joan returned to the computer. Which left Christopher and Reese and me to clean up the kitchen.

“Thanks for letting me sleep in the car,” Christopher said.

“You should thank me for not smothering you in your sleep,” Reese shot back.

“Oh, still touchy I see.”

“Still? Fuck you.”

“Whoa. Let’s not do this,” I said.

“Do what? Be honest?” Reese asked. “I don’t like him. I don’t trust him. Why the hell should I pretend otherwise? I know you forgave him for being an asshole, but I’m not feeling forgiving.”

“I didn’t forgive him.” I crossed the room so I was standing in front of her.

“And yet, here we are.” Reese glared.

“It doesn’t mean I forgave him. It means we need to do business. That’s all. I still think he’s an asshole.”

“Hey, I’m right here,” Christopher said.

“Why is that?” Reese asked. “Go the fuck away.”

“No. I’m not taking this shit from you anymore.” Christopher threw the pan he was washing back into the sink and dried his hands. “Look. I’m sorry I wasn’t the world’s greatest father, but you had it way better than a lot of people. So stop with the whole entitled thing.”

“Oh my fucking God. You think I’m entitled? Because I call you on your shit? No, this isn’t about your fucked up parenting,” Reese was screaming now.

“Then what the hell is it about?” Christopher shouted back.

“Hey, both of you. Quiet. This is so not the time or place to scream at each other,” I said.

“No, we need to do this,” Reese told me.

“I agree. I’m tired of being the bad guy. What did I do that was so horrible?” Christopher asked.

“Seriously, dude?” I stared at him.

“What?”

“This.” I cupped Reese’s chin. She tried to jerk her face out of my hand, but I gripped harder. I turned her cheek to him. “This is what you fucking did.”

“What?” he repeated.

“The fucking scar.” I traced it with my free hand, trailing my fingertip across her cheek.

“Haven’t I apologized enough for that? Christ, you would think I beat her all the time.”

Reese finally broke free from my grip.

“You haven’t apologized at all, you piece of shit,” she said.

“Yes, I have. I told Cooper—shit.” He actually looked contrite. But contrite wasn’t going to cut it. “I…I’m sorry, Reese. I told Cooper I was sorry. I suppose I never told you, though.”

“Gee. I feel all better now,” Reese said.

“I’m sorry. I was angry and I lashed out and I shouldn’t have.”

“Fuck you.” Reese pushed past him.

I followed her into the hallway.

“Leave me alone,” she said.

“I can’t.”

“Why?”

Reese rounded on me, but her eyes locked onto something over my shoulder.

“What?” I turned. Breno was standing in the doorway to the kitchen.

“I am sorry, but I think we have a problem,” he said.

“What is it?” I asked.

“Come into the kitchen.”

Reese and I followed him. Joan was standing by the door. Christopher was back at the sink washing dishes. Reese sat down. I started to lean against the counter, but the gun at my back was digging into my skin.

That was when I made a mistake.

I took out the gun and set it on the counter, then leaned back.

“In order to transfer the money, Joan needs to go into her bank and sign a number of forms,” Breno said.

I looked at him while he spoke. Just long enough for Joan to make a decision. She bolted for the door.

I lunged for Joan. I didn’t get her arm like I wanted. Just a fistful of her shirt. That was enough. I yanked her back, grabbed her arm, and hauled her into the hallway. She stumbled and I threw her down. Her head glanced off the floor with a dull thud. She looked at me, panic in her eyes.

“I told you not to try anything, bitch.” And then I kicked her in the side.

She rolled over and curled into the fetal position. I kicked her again.

“Stop. Please. Stop,” she yelled.

“No.” I pulled back to hit her, but Breno grabbed me.

“I’m sorry,” Joan sobbed.

“I’ll make you fuckin’ sorry.” I tried to push Breno off, but he held me tight.

“It is all right, Cooper,” he said softly. “You caught her.”

“Right. Yeah.” I shrugged off his hands. He let me. “Get up,” I told Joan.

“I can’t.” One of her hands was clasped to her side. The other was cupping the back of her head.

“Yes, you can.” I reached down and took her arm.

“I think you broke my rib.”

“It will heal. Get up. Now.”

Joan slowly pushed herself upright. I dragged her to the stairs. I glanced back once and saw Reese staring at me openmouthed. Her eyes were gray and wet. This was going to be bad.

*

“What did you do with her?” Christopher asked when I walked back into the kitchen.

“Chained her to the toilet again.” I pulled out a chair and joined them at the table.

Reese glared, but said nothing.

“As I was saying, Joan needs to go into the bank and sign some forms. Her bank is in the Caymans,” Breno said.

“So you’ll go with her and transfer the money,” I said.

“And if she runs?” Christopher asked.

“She won’t. She just tried and it didn’t work. She won’t try again,” I said.

“It’s true,” Reese said. “That woman is terrified.”

“Good,” I said.

“If you keep Emma here, then I believe Joan will behave,” Breno said. “But there’s something else that might also help. It is your call.”

“What is it?”

“Her accounts total nearly seventeen and a half million.”

“Huh?” I’d been up all night. Coherent wasn’t gonna happen. “She only stole fifteen.”

“So, what? She already had two and a half mill in the bank?” Reese asked.

“No. Before she stole our money, she had six thousand four hundred eighty-two dollars and fourteen cents,” Breno said.

Well, now I was extra confused.

“Joan is very good with her money. She invests well. When she has money to invest, that is,” Breno continued.

“She made two million in six months?” I asked.

“More than two million. She also owns this home and two nearby vacation properties that she rents out,” Breno said.

“And her boat,” Christopher contributed. “And two cars.”

“So what are you thinking?” I asked Breno.

“It is up to you guys and Ryan, as I said.” I nodded. He continued. “I suggest that we let her keep her houses as well as the two and a half million. She will be able to live quite well on that.”

“And she won’t be all pissed off and shit,” I said. It sounded smart. Not me, Breno’s plan.

“I like it,” Reese said.

“Agreed.” Christopher.

“Should we ask Ryan?” Breno asked.

“I’ll do it.” Reese pushed away from the table and went outside.

“Cool.” I stood. “I’m going to sleep. Leave Joan where she is.”

“Wait,” Breno said.

“What?” I really wanted to sleep. So I might have sounded pissed.

“You’re bleeding again.” Breno pointed to my arm.

I looked. He was right. “Fuck.”

“Sit down.”

“Shit.” I didn’t sit down. I didn’t move at all.

Breno stood and led me back to the table. He rolled the sleeve of my T-shirt and peeled the tape off my bandage.

“You have really done it this time, Cooper.”

“What?”

“Over half of your stitches are torn out.” I decided to take his word for it. Looking at my wounds made them hurt more. “Stay here. I need to give you new stitches.”

“No fuckin’ way.”

“You need to listen to Breno,” Christopher said.

“I have plenty of stitches, I don’t need new ones. Thanks. I’m going to bed.” I started to stand, but Breno pushed me back into my seat. I didn’t hear the door open.

“Hey, get the hell off her.” Ryan crossed to my side.

“It’s okay,” I told him. “Breno just wants to give me stitches. I’m respectfully declining.”

“Why?” Ryan asked.

“’Cause I don’t want a needle shoved repeatedly through my skin.”

“No, why do you need stitches?”

“She tore some out.” Breno lifted the bandage away so Ryan could see.