Page 11 of Vicious Hearts

He says it like it’s an achievement, and I have to scoff, my mirthless laugh carrying down the line as I shake my head in disbelief and consider what else could possibly go wrong.

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me!” I bellow into the phone, and I feel sorry for the poor man’s eardrums, but I’m so angry I can’t see in front of me anymore. The FBI’s involvement will only mean more eyes on me. More eyes which I don’t need.

“That article, coupled with…”

“I read the article,” I tell him.

“What do you need me to do?”

“Wait for my call.”

I’ve never been more grateful for my own private telecommunications network which is unscalable. By anyone. The investment I made in the Mexican boy who sold me his bright invention sure paid off. I was just happy to set him and his extended family up for life, and he was worth every single cent.

The phone rings again as I’m considering tossing it into the ocean. We’re about to set sail, and my head has miraculously not exploded yet, but it could very well do so in the near future.

“Attila,” I bite into the phone, and I know he feels my anger.

“You good?”

“As good as I can be with a target on my back.”

“What do you need me to do?”

“Take those motherfuckers for everything they’re worth.”

* * *

The smart thingwould’ve been to set sail into the sunset. But I’ve never been one to settle for doing smart things. Instead, I sit at my desk and I simmer quietly, planning my attack. The indictment is so far out of left field, I don’t even know how they convinced the authorities to issue it without any proof. But I’m seasoned enough to know that two can play at this game.

I call a friend I have in law enforcement, and he confirms the indictment, rolling the list of charges off his tongue like he’s already committed them to memory. I don’t even know when I would have supposedly had time to commit such an extensive list of crimes.

“Selling arms to terrorist organizations, racketeering, money laundering, fraud…”

He continues to rattle off a slew of allegations and I have to roll my eyes at how creative the Feds got. That list could have applied to any one of several mafia hitmen over the years.

I hang up and go back to pacing the length of the yacht. The original plan had been to leave this afternoon. I’ve now cancelled the helicopter twice. There’s one more thing I need to do…

9

ARIADNE

Idon’t know how I’ve gone from the clumsy office clown who was a sniveling mess a few weeks ago to the heroine of my own story and in so little time. I get looks of admiration as I walk through the office, and I know this is due in part to Mr Hinkelbaum tooting my horn when he wants to show the office what can be accomplished when one buckles down and applies themself. The other part is that my story was bumped to front page news alongside the Caleph Rojas’ indictment, and now I’ve become a sort of national hero type of figure for my magnificent work on the piece. Other publications are vying for my attention as they try to steal me away from Mr Hinkelbaum, and everyone wants to know HOW I KNEW THAT CALEPH ROJAS WAS GOING TO BE INDICTED THE DAY I DROPPED MY ARTICLE!!! I don’t tell anyone that I am the master of timing, and it was a total fluke. Seriously, I may have felt bad about the indictment for all of five minutes, because that one event has totally turned my life around.

Mr Hinkelbaum is standing in the doorway of his office, a look of confusion on his face as his eyes move up and down my body. I’m wearing a dress, which I never do, and my heels click clack against the floor as I walk down the hallway toward my desk.

“Stop right there, young lady,” he says, holding up a stubby little hand. He sticks his unlit cigarette in the corner of his mouth then orders me into the office. His eyes are bulging as he takes a seat behind his desk, but he doesn’t ask me to sit down.

“For the love of all that’s holy, tell me you did not just come from a job interview.”

So now he knows my worth. I laugh and shake my head; I am now in a position to laugh and humor him. Being a wanted woman has put me on a high I don’t know how to come down from.

“Don’t be silly,” I admonish. “What makes you say that?”

“The getup,” he says, waving his hand to indicate the dress and shoes.

“Oh no, Mr Hinkelbaum. You know I could never leave you,” I lie. “I just felt like dressing up… I should at least be presentable now that I’m getting recognized, don’t you think?”

“Of course, of course,” he agrees. “But you wouldn’t think of leaving, would you?”

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