Page 97 of Perfect Order
Wildcard Records has stated they will not be releasing a statement about Beckett Miller. “Beckett’s private life is just that—private. What he chooses to share is up to him. We fully back him on that decision,” said Kristoffer Wilde, CEO. He also refused to take questions about Erzulie with a simple “I have no comment at this time.”
— StellaNova
I run as fast as I can to a pay phone near Lee’s condo—God knows there’s a reason they’re still around—and dial a number I’ve had memorized for the last six years. I wait for the series of clicks before a banal voice asks me what I’d like to order.
“I’d like item 57, the snodgrass. Put some extra bang into it.”
“One moment, please.”
Seconds later, his deep voice whispers, “What the hell happened?”
Without preamble, I tell my handler, “I’m gone.”
“How do I know it’s…” I press a button on my tablet, causing a small shriek to radiate out of his speakers. “Damnit,Q?za. You’re a pain in my ass.”
“Listen to me—a blogger had a coded message published today.” At his sharply indrawn breath, I quickly tell him about what was in StellaNova’s article. “I counted it down to the last possible second before I took off. I don’t know if they’re still tracking me.”
“You honestly think they’re going to try to assassinate you?”
“We’ve seen it happen,” I remind him.
“Not to one of my people! We’re the ones who stop it!” he thunders.
My eyes stare blindly at the throng of people scurrying by. “Well, now it has. I’m out.”
“It’s not that easy.”
“Why not?”
“Because your mission’s not over,” he reminds me.
My head drops forward until it touches the sticky glass of the phone booth. “I’ll finish the job. The answers aren’t here. They’re behind the screen. I know that now.”
“I’ve been where you are,Q?za. You won’t heal without finishing the job,” he informs me, not without sympathy.
Heal. Will there ever be enough time to recover from Lee’s death, from the slice of Kane’s words, to trust the nebulous emotion called love again? Maybe I'll live long enough to find out. “I’ll do the job, but I’ll do it my way.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means I’ll be there unless you hear otherwise. That’s the best I can offer you.”
He’s clearly unhappy when he snaps, “Fine.”
“Will you do me a favor?”
“So long as I don’t end up burying you, you can have it. What do you need.”
“Give me thirty minutes? Then sweep Lee’s place? Put everything but the bare essentials in storage. Leave his stuff by the front door. He’ll come by, I'm sure.” Maybe. “If I don’t end up buried next to her, I’ll deal with it later. But I can’t bear for my parents to have to go through her place if that’s what happens.” And I know if I do end up taking a bullet, the man on the other end of the line will explain everything. He’ll have no choice.
There’s silence for a long moment before I get my reassurance. “Done. How can I reach you?”
I laugh bitterly, knowing that since I just asked for a favor, nothing comes free. “I’ll contact you if I need you. You’ll know it’s me.”
He grunts his response. I hang up the phone and walk away. Immediately, the cell I’ve been carrying for months rings. “Be safe, Leanne. You know I’m saying that as more than your boss.”
I stop to stare up at the cluttered skyline. I hang up without another word, not that I could manage to get one out. After all, why bother lying to him? There’s no one at my back anymore: not my job, not my family, and sure as hell not Kane. I immediately pitch the cell into the nearest trash can, knowing that within a few hours, the battery signal will die and I won’t be able to be traced from it.
Knowing I have mere minutes before someone spots “Erzulie,” I dash upstairs and grab my go bag, and with it the ability to temporarily disappear. After we flew back from LA, I augmented it with the most important things: copies of pictures of me and Lee, my secure computer, and a wad of cash. I slip my fingers in the front pocket and finger the photos of me and Kane I slid in just a few days ago. Bunching up my hair beneath a beret, I jam on an enormous gender-neutralizing coat that visually gives the impression of a shit-brown marshmallow.
