Page 66 of All the Ways You Save Me
“No, it’s not the dry cleaning. It’s…” I cough out the words. “It’s the package I was supposed to deliver today.”
“Supposedto?” He cocks his head. “If you didn’t deliver it, who did? Your friend Jason?”
“No,” I blurt out too loudly. “No, it wasn’t Jason. Jason is out of town. I’m the one who came and picked it up.” I hold my breath and hope he won’t check with the guy working the warehouse. They’re so used to seeing me and Jason that they don’task our names anymore, they just hand us the package and close the door. “I picked it up, but it didn’t quite make it there…”
His jaw twitches, and I see a hint of something darker in his demeanor. “So, you came and got the package, but you didn’t deliver it.” His eyes bore into me.
“No,” I whisper.
“Then where is it?”
“It was stolen out of my car.”
He stands up slowly. “Who stole it?”
I grip the back of a chair. “I don’t know.”
“Do you know how much it’s worth?” he asks with absolutely no emotion on his face.
The image of Jason and me huddled over my laptop searching for the price of twenty pounds of cocaine flashes in my head. “I-I have a few guesses.”
“Then you know why you need to get it back.”
“I don’t know how to do that,” I say as my hands begin to shake. “Someone stole it out of my car. I don’t think I can call the police, right? And there didn’t seem to be any security cameras…”
“Okay. I guess it’s gone, then.” He sinks into his chair with a shrug, and hope tosses me a lifeline.
“I’m so sorry,” I mumble.
“I don’t want you to be sorry,” he says in that same mild tone. And then his face turns to granite. “I want you to get my money.”
My eyes dart around the room, searching for something to offer him. His office looks so normal: desk, cabinets, corporate-looking art on the walls. A framed photo of him and his wife standing on a dock in front of a boat sits on the shelf behind him. Surely, he’s a reasonable man. He has to understand this was all a terrible mistake. “I’ll get it, I promise,” I say. “I can work for you full time until I’ve earned enough to pay you back.I’ll do whatever it takes. I know I may not be able to right away, but I swear?—”
My voice is cut off by his hand slamming down on the desk in front of him. “Enough!” he yells loud enough for it to make my insides vibrate. “I don’t want your promises or excuses. I want my money.”
I take a step toward him. “Please let me work it off. I’ll do anything you want me to do…” I trail off. Am I selling my soul making this offer? But what choice do I have?
He shakes his head. “It doesn’t work that way. I have contracts, people expecting things from me. I can’t make them wait for you to work it off.”
“I really will get it for you,” I say, my voice pleading. “Please give me a little time…” As the words leave my mouth, I realize how they must sound.A little time?For a destitute high school kid to come up with close to a million dollars?
My whole body is shaking now.
“Get in here,” he yells, and behind him, a door opens and in comes the red-haired guy who sometimes hands off the packages to me at the warehouse door.
He blinks rapidly, and for a moment, I wonder if he’s as terrified as I am. “What do you need, boss?” he asks, smoothing his face into an impassive expression.
“Adam lost one of my packages tonight.”
The red-haired guy’s eyes widen, and his mouth falls open. My heart drops to my knees.
“Why don’t you give him a taste of what you’re going to do to him if he doesn’t get me my money by tomorrow?”
I’m shaking, shivering, as my gaze flies around the room, searching for an exit. Would I make it out the door if I ran? But then what would I do? Where would I go?
“I… uh…” The red-haired guy shifts his weight, and I get the feeling he doesn’t want to do whatever he’s been ordered. He’s young, not that much older than me, and probably new at doing whatever it is that the boss is threatening. But he doesn’t seem to have many more choices than I do, and the next thing I know, he’s crossed the room and slammed a fist into my stomach.
My muscles seize up, and a burning coil forms in my gut. I try to gasp but my lungs won’t expand. Doubling over, I drop to my knees, clutching my stomach as the searing pain radiates in all directions. The room blurs around the edges as a wave of nausea rolls over me. Vaguely, I sense the red-haired guy towering over me, fists still clenched. Frantically, I scramble to my feet.
