Page 101 of Pawn

“I know it is in the place you hate. Do you need it?”

“Isobel, are the cops here?” I ask, the first thing she said still ringing in my head, my heart like a drum.

“Hold them off,” Damien takes my hand, pulling me around Isobel, grabbing the bags on the floor. “Hold them off as long as you can.”

Before she can answer, he’s pulling me down the hall. I’m looking back, afraid that whoever is here will catch us.

“There’s a cottage out back,” Damien whispers as we make our way down the back staircase and into the garden. “That’s where it is.”

“We’re staying here?”

“Don’t you want to know why our parents were hanging out? Possibly dicking each other down?”

“Well, my mom didn’t have a dick as far as I know, so.” There’s a dirt path beyond the tennis court and it’s beyond me that I’ve been here for months and haven’t wandered this far. “What if the cops come back here?”

He doesn’t give me an answer as we keep going until we get to a small white cottage, windows all along one side. “Where are we? Damien, we need to—Woah.”

Letting go of my hand, he closes the door behind us, dragging a broken wooden chair under the door while my eyes wander around. The smell of earth fills my nose, twigs and dead plants all around us. A few glimpses of green peek out here and there but this greenhouse looks more like a cemetery.

“So this is where you kill me.” Turning towards Damien he’s in front of an old broken down shelf before he pulls the thing out that makes my heart jump.

“Holy fuck.” I point to the cassette player as if he doesn’t already know, my heart thumping against my chest. “That’s it!”

“And there’s a tape inside.”

Leaves and twigs crunch under my boots as I make my way over, a brick wall with an outlet behind him. “What’re you waiting for? Plug it in!” I’ve forgotten about the crime, or should I say crimes on our hands. Forgotten that there’s police on the property ready to take us away at any moment.

What the fuck was my dad doing?

“Edwin Huang.”

My heart skips a beat when that low, rough voice comes through the speaker.

“Dad” I mutter, his voice booming through the room, my body freezing in response.

“No fucking way,” Damien says, approaching the small cassette player like it has all the answers.

Dad’s voice rings loud again. “Can you tell me what you know about Edwin Huang’s campaign?”

“It’s not a campaign.” Another voice is next. This one is airy and honeyed. High-pitched.

“Fuck.” Damien looks like someone punched him in his gut. “Mom?”

Staring at each other over the table, I’m happy he’s here, holding my gaze like it’s the only thing keeping me grounded. Dad’s voice is nostalgic and I’m transported to our living room while he’s talking business, conducting an interview right on our sofa.

Shit. Is this an interview?

“It’s a front. Edwin is a businessman first and foremost. Not a politician unless you consider the way that all politicians are businessmen.”

His mom does have spunk.

“What’re you saying, Rosaline?” That’s Dad.

“I’m saying to look into who the Huangs do business with. If the connected businesses all have a bump in income while Edwin is running, that wouldn’t surprise me.”

“So you have reason to believe the Huangs are pumping money into personal business developments.”

“Yes.”

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