No. There’s no way that it’s her. It’s my damned imagination. It can’t be. She’s gone.
Hanging my head, I turn and walk away, my feet feeling like they weigh a thousand pounds, and my heart feeling even heavier. I know I should face her, to find out for sure, but something in me won’t let me because if it is her, then I know she was never meant for me. She loves someone else.
Ignoring everything around me, I trudge out the door, growling under my breath at the cheeriness of the little bell that announces my departure, but not like anyone cares. I’m a ghost, a being that exists but doesn’t.
Chapter Six
The night sucks, and I’m in a foul mood as I pour over more information I’ve had Valentino collect about the Recluse. There’s not much to go on; more grainy photos of her from the back, and a few paper articles from Paris where she was spotted at a boutique shopping. The only lead is in one picture where I can see half of the supposed boyfriend’s face as he holds up a dress for her in the store.
He's young, with dark hair and a crooked smile that barely raises in the corner. A small tattoo sits on his cheekbone under his right eye, something like a tear drop maybe. With the quality of the photo it’s hard to tell for sure.
“Well, this is another fucking waste of time.” I sigh, pushing the shit away from me, watching it flutter off the edge of my bed and land silently on the carpeted floor.
It’s been three long days and nights since I saw the woman in the café, and my mood is just getting worse as each second ticks by at a snail’s pace. I wanted it to be her, but I didn’t. I wanted to talk to her, but I didn’t, and now I’m just fucking miserable.
I’m getting nowhere with locating the fucking phantom that is the Recluse. Even a name, something would help, and that’s pissing me off more.
“I need something to level me out.” I sigh to myself, throwing myself backwards onto the pillows and grabbing my phone off the small nightstand to my right.
“Yeah man?” Valentino says as he answers the phone out of breath and annoyed. “This better be good, to be calling me this late, and while I’m getting my cock sucked to boot.”
“Gimme another project to do while I work on this. I need some stress relief.” I say into the phone, trying to ignore the wet sucking sounds coming over the line and the occasional moan from whatever whore he’s with.
“I’ll send Ramon over with something. You home?”
“Yeah. Where the fuck else would I be?”
“Shush, don’t ruin my good mood.” He says, then the line clicks dead, and I’m left laying on my bed both angry at my situation and disgusted at the mental image of Valentino’s dick in someone’s mouth.
It’s not long before a single knock on my front door gets my attention, and I walk down the hall, through the living room and to the sound. A manila envelope sits on the floor just inside the door, waiting for me. It crinkles in my hand as I pick it up and open the little metal clasp that keeps it shut, dumping out the contents into my hand as I make my way over to the little kitchen table.
Scraping the chair across the linoleum floor, I sit down and flip through the papers and photos.
“Gustapo Marinelli. Sixty-one.” I read aloud, already knowing who he is. He’s one of us.
One single word is written in red ink across his face in one of the surveillance pictures. “Traitor.”
“Fuck man, what did you do to earn me?” I sigh, tossing the photo down, and rubbing my temples. Killing someone I’ve worked with in the past sucks ass, but it’s still not as bad as the shit going on in my head already. “Damnit Valentino, I wanted something NOT stressful,”
There’s no use dragging this out. I already know where to find him. We’ve been acquaintances for over 5 years. I’ve had meals with his family, I’ve held his grandchildren, and I’ve kissed his wife. It’s best to just get it done and over with.
Cursing under my breath, I dress quickly and don my riding jacket and gloves. My favorite knife slides into its sheath in my belt, and my riding boots slip easily onto my socked feet.
I leave my apartment, twirling the keys to the bike around my index finger, silently grumbling and feeling a little shitty for asking for a project. I know better. Valentino will always push my buttons. He does it on purpose. I swear that man wants me on edge all the time, because unfortunately it makes me more effective at my job.
“Let’s go girl.” I say to Luna as I put on my helmet and adjust the chin strap to fit snugly. “We have work to do.”
She turns over a couple times before she roars to life, obviously not happy with the late-night disturbance, and I pat her gas tank gently, soothing her and coaxing her to smooth out for me.
“Good girl.”
The sounds of her engine and exhaust echoe in the parking garage as I rev her throttle, idling her higher. It bounces around and comes back to me, following us as we drive between the other parked cars and pop out on the street.
The late-night air doesn’t reach me through my jacket and gloves, but when I open my visor, it blasts me in the face, refreshing me, waking me more, and helping me to prepare for what I’m about to do.
He’ll be asleep in his bed with his wife at his side in their charming little three-bedroom house. The lights will be off, and the house will be quiet. But it won’t stay that way, and that’s the regret I will have to carry.
“Fuck it.” I grunt, pressing the button for the Cardo on the side of my helmet, quieting the music that plays in my ears.
