Page 77 of Kings Against the World

But what did I plan to do if I did succeed in taking him out? Was I just going to spend the rest of my life fixating on one case to the next?

Ozzie said I pushed him away because he learned too much about me. He got too close and I became ashamed he found out about my disorder.

Alone in the tortuous silence of our hotel room, I admit to myself that he was right. That was exactly what I was doing and what I was so used to doing in my life.

My mind travels back to the moment I’d even found out. It was months after Zani’s death and I was spiraling. I was skipping classes, failing midterms, getting into loud screamingmatches with anyone who I felt challenged me. I rarely slept and I always had so much adrenaline going that I couldn’t rest.

It was around this time that my college boyfriend cheated on me. I was too intense and erratic for him and so he checked out of the relationship. We broke up and I decided I could sate my needs with casual encounters, no matter how quick and fleeting.

The last straw came one afternoon when I had a breakdown at my parent’s house. I came home for the weekend like I so often did at the time and found the house in shambles. Dad was gone. Mom was passed out. The place was trashed after another visit from loan sharks, and something inside me snapped.

I thought about Zani as a little girl—and even myself—and how we’d spent years in this vicious cycle. We’d begged them to get help; we pleaded for them to love us enough to walk away from their vices.

But it was never going to happen.

I screamed at the top of my lungs and punched at the mirror in the hall. The broken glass webbed out in jagged lines and blood dripped from my split knuckles. Then I went on a rampage, where I destroyed what was left of everything in the house. I wound up sobbing on the front lawn and looking up at the sky, begging Zani for forgiveness.

The neighbors called the cops for what was the third time that week. Except this timeIwas the cause. I was the one the medical professionals were almost about to put on a psychiatric hold.

My psychiatrist believes I was triggered by the intense grief I felt losing Zani, though there’s a possibility I was predisposed hereditarily.

When I joined the FBI a few years later, I was almost disqualified. It was Duchovny who pulled strings and got me a medical waiver, arguing I was stable enough that my condition posed no danger and didn’t impair my judgment.

I’d been obsessed with my FBI career from that moment on.

Maybe because it was the only thing I had going for myself. Maybe because if I turned my attention on anything else, I would remember how empty, hollow, and alone I was…

I sigh, sliding my phone and wallet into the back pocket of my jean shorts, and I head for the door.

Ozzie’s only been gone for half an hour. He couldn’t have gotten far, right?

I take a taxi to the Velocity Garage in hopes Louie’s going to tell me Ozzie’s come by to return his Screaming Eagle, or better yet, if I were to run into him doing so.

But neither are the case. Louie tells me he’s seen no sign of Ozzie.

“I told him he could keep the bike as long as he wants. The King’s are good for it.” He flashes me a friendly grin thinking he’s helping me out when really he’s told me Ozzie could be anywhere. He could even be riding back to Pulsboro on the bike, planning to return it sometime in the future.

I walk out of the bike shop garage in disappointment, realizing I’ll have to press on with my investigation without him. I’ll be going into tonight alone and can’t blame anyone but myself. I’m the one who made a mess of things like always.

The fifth round of the tournament begins with a bang. Boone’s gives a speech to the remaining players, reminding them how close they are to the big pot at the end. A cool twelve million dollars, all theirs should they place first.

I scan the game floor in search of Ozzie and don’t see him anywhere. He always strands out with his dozens of tattoos, mohawk, and permanently crooked grin. As I search for him,I can almost imagine him among the others, his gaze meeting mine with a reassuring wink.

Something deep inside me aches. Except it’s more so the absence of that something, as if I’m suddenly acutely aware there’s a piece of myself missing.

I’m not sure what to call it or what it could possibly be.

I just know that Ozzie being gone makes the ache worse. It makes me feel uneasy and unlike myself, even as I’m supposed to be venturing into the most dangerous part of my investigation yet.

Benz spots me on the floor and barks at me to start serving.

“Boone told me about you wanting to work the private rooms,” he says low enough so I’m the only one who could hear him. “I was sure you were the rat, but if you’re going to be fucking for pennies, I guess I was wrong. Hurry up and get these drinks out or you’ll fall behind!”

I rush to do that, balancing a large tray of drinks on my arm so that I can deliver them to the correct tables. The fifth round begins and everyone in the lounge is engrossed by the gameplay. Their eyes are glued to the monitors showing the game live at each table.

I wait until I’m certain no one’s paying attention and then I check the spot where we’ve placed the hidden camera. My palm slides along the underside of the Aztec ornament as discreetly as I can, while still pretending I’m wiping down a sticky and abandoned table. I feel all over the place for it, but it’s nowhere to be found.

The little device the size of a popcorn kernel isgone.

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