Page 72 of Shameless in Vegas

“Yep.” There’s a sound like him knocking on wood or his desk, and then another squeak from a chair. “All right, I’ll keep an eye out for your email and then we’ll get this shit started.”

“Great. Thanks.”

Ending the call, I shove the phone in my pocket and then press the heels of my palms against my eyes to stave off an impending headache. The signature low hum of New York City activity just outside the window is the only sound in the large hotel suite that I’ve rented for the next few days and then some if I need it. And speaking ofneeds, my nerves are so frayed that Ineedto settle them with some friggin’ scotch.

After pouring a drink, I pace the room a few more times, then dial Natalia’s cell phone out of obsessive reflex. I’ve called her about a thousand times in the twenty-four-plus hours since she disappeared, but I stopped leaving voicemails after I got the one text message from her yesterday. Now, with Vinnie’s mention of thisAlperson’s girl getting pulled from the Hudson River, I can’t stop myself from leaving one.

“Natalia,” I say after the beep, then pause. “Querida… I wish you would call me. I know all of this shit is crazy. I know from your note that you’ve lived through shit I probably can’t even imagine. But I also know from your note that you love me, and I know I love you, and I wish you would let me help you. Not just with dealing with my fuck-headed cousin and all the shit-bags that work for him, but with helping you be happy. I want you to be happy and feel safe and know that you can trust me to take care of you and never let anything happen to you. I know you’ve never had anyone to do or be anything like that for you, so you should let it be me. It may have been a load of shit when we were at that crack house in Vegas and you promised me that you would make me so happy, but that’s what you did anyway. I was so happy with you before I realized what was really going on, and now that I know everything, I know we can still be happy like that. AndIwill makeyouso happy. I swear to God and all the friggin’ saints that we’ll figure this shit out and be happy. I don’t care what I have to do. I’ll make it happen. I’m not letting you go, Natalia. I’m going to find you, and I’m going to help you get out of this shit. Just call me. Please.”

With the phone in one hand and my drink in the other, I collapse into a chair next to the window and go back to watching the pedestrians. I have no idea if she’s down there or not, and a strange surge of resentment for New York being so fucking big floods my chest. I need to get Vinnie on this shit, ASAP.

Downing the scotch, I set the glass on a side table and use the browser on my phone to set up a new email account from a generic email provider. When I’m finished, I attach the info Vinnie requested to a new message and then go through my photos to find a few of Natalia to send. I have quite a few in there from those first few weeks before I discovered her secret phone, and we really do look happy. More than that, we look like we belong together.

With her nestled against my side for a handful of selfies, I can’t help noticing how perfectly she fits all snuggled up next to me. When I took these, we were still essentially strangers, but with our embrace and casual posture and easy smiles, we look like two people who’ve been together forever.

I select a few of the photos, attach them, and then rub my chest as a dull, yet searing pain slices across my heart. After sending the email, I refill my scotch and go back to the photos.

And I think about her.

And I miss her.

And I wonder what the hell she’s doing right now; if she’s safe, if she’s scared, if she’s sad.

I wonder if she’s thinking about me; if she’s missing me.

And I just sit there in the empty hotel room, surrounded by the low hum of the streets of New York City just outside the window; streets where I have a good feeling she still is somewhere.

I just sit there and hope.

I sit there and silently love her, and miss her, and hope that wherever she is, whatever she’s doing, she can feel it.

NINETEEN

NATALIA

THE FIRST THING I need is cash. Everything else in my plan hinges on having cash.

Fortunately, I know exactly where to go to get some, and quick.

The Bronx.

Hunts Point.

A street-art-covered wall across from a meat-packing plant.

The single dress and pair of heels I saved from the hundreds Joaquin purchased for me will ensure that I’ll have enough cash for step one by dawn.

A red dress. Tight. Short.

Red heels. High. Pointy.

Hair wild and loose.

A cigarette and a come-hither stare.

Andcome-hitherthey do.

The first: a raggedy, squealing tan Pontiac that’s at least thirty years old.

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