Page 42 of Nine

“Nine, this is really starting to freak me out. I haven’t heard from you since last night.”

“If you don’t call me back in the next hour, I’m calling the police.”

There are several of these type of calls. I listen from beginning to end. It’s not until I get to the very last one that I feel like collapsing. I grab onto the booth. She’s crying the entire message.

“Jesus Christ. The news reports are saying that guy I set you up with is a pimp and drug dealer, and that he’s missing. I saw his face on the television. I wasn’t honest when I told you that he called me first. I actually met him at a coffee shop and we sat down and had a cup or two. He said he was a business owner. He told me he runs a rehabilitation home that helps get young women off the streets. He says most of them own their own companies now. I kind of told him your story and he was so moved to speak with you. God, Nine. I’m so sorry. I had no clue. I just wanted better for you. I wanted him to talk to you, and encourage you to start doing something else. Mr. V. and me talked over the phone a lot about helping you get out of this business. He said he would take care of it. I’m so scared. I just keep thinking that something bad has happened to you. Please forgive me. Call me, please. I know I never told you this, but I love you.”

I hang up the phone. My stomach is sick. Jenny set that appointment up to try to change my life. She wanted me to do something else besides sell my body. She saw potential in me. If Mr. V. had surveillance pictures of me, he probably was watching Jenny too. He manipulated her. He followed her into that coffee shop, I know it. I wipe my eyes, and close my mouth to avoid my lower jaw from trembling. I look to see Trig leaning up against the wall. I pick up my bags and walk toward him.

“She wasn’t working with Victor, just so you know.” I sniff to prevent my nose from running. I try to go on and tell him, but I can’t. Instead, I just cover my mouth.

He doesn’t say anything. He just stares forward.

“She was trying to help me.” I push out the words that are stuck in my mouth.

“I know you’re hurt. I lost someone too. I understand what it feels like,” he says.

“You could have fooled me,” I snap.

“Don’t think for one moment that just because I’m not sulking and crying, that I’m not in pain. I just lost Bones. I saw him lying there with a bullet in his head. Bones was to me what Jenny was to you. Who do you think picked me up after I did my first job? He did. Let me also remind you that my only brother was pumped full of bullets. So when I say that I hurt, I fucking mean it.”

I look at him. If he were in pain, you would never know it. He’s tough and holding it all in, which is something I used to do. Now I don’t give a shit. I’d cry myself dehydrated if I could just to make this horrible feeling go away. I wipe my eyes again. Trig pulls his back away from the wall.

“Are you good?” he asks.

I can see him checking his watch for the time, and just like that, he’s done talking about how he feels. He’s moving on, but I can’t. Not like that. Not when it comes to Jenny.

I glare at him.

“Depends on what you mean by good. Are you asking me if I can get through the airport without freaking out? Then yes, I guess I’m good. If you’re asking me if I’m emotionally okay with Jenny dying, and you not telling me until now, then no, I’m not. I’m about two seconds away from losing my shit when I think about her. The only thing that’s holding me together is the fact that I’m about to get away from all this drama and heartache. So, if you’re ready, maybe we can board a fucking plane and get out of here.” I breathe. “Unless you have some more terrible news to share with me. Maybe my favorite teacher from grade school died, and you haven’t told me about that either.” I sarcastically add.

Trig shakes his head. “I’m sorry. I didn’t want to see you hurt. It wasn’t my goal.”

“Too late,” I say.

Trig knows this conversation is going nowhere. He picks up his bags and walks toward the counter to a book a flight. I reluctantly follow. I keep my head down. I don’t want people to see that I’ve been crying.

“Hi. How can I help you today,” says the young woman behind the monitor.

“I need two one-way seats for your first available flight out to…”

Trig looks over to me.

“Fiji,” I say.

“Fiji,” he repeats.

“Is economy fine?” the woman asks, punching keys into her computer.

“Yes,” Trig responds.

“You are in luck. I have availability. The next flight takes off in forty-five minutes. You’ll have to get over to security screening now, if you want to make it in time.”

She then runs him a price and they exchange tickets and money. We scurry to security and wait in line.

“Tell me you did something with that gun?” I say in a hushed tone.

“I cleaned our prints off of it, and then I tossed it in a garbage can outside,” he whispers.

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