Stolen Power

fancy options, and the smell was pine fresh. Someone had recently mopped the floor, the long wooden bar was wiped clean, and the area outside the door even had green plants.
Not my sort of place, but it must’ve worked for some.
“So what’s up?”
“My Dad’s been diagnosed with cancer.” It was a lie, an attempt to strike a chord with Tanya, my father was long gone, and I was pleased about that too, the sorry SOB that he was, always beating on my mother, until I came of age that is and turned the tables on him.
“Doesn’t have long left,” I continued.
“Oh, sweetheart.” She reached out and touched my hand. ‘Sweetheart’ was a name I liked as well. “I know how that feels. My father has only a few months left. Cancer as well.”
“Oh, I’m sorry,” I said. “I don’t want to upset you too.”
“It’s okay, it’s good to talk,” she said, encouragingly.
“I don’t have anyone to talk to about this. No one close enough. Not since…” I trailed off with a little shake of the head. “At least I’ve got the kids. They’re too young to really understand but they’re a good distraction, really keep me busy. How about you?”
She smiled, and I could tell she was picturing Millie.
“I have one with my ex-husband. Luckily, my father has enough energy to still play with her. Millie, she’s only five, but hopefully she’ll remember the time she got to spend with her grandfather.”
I spent the next fifteen minutes spinning a long lie about kids and history, and I felt bad about doing it. There was something calming about Tanya, a gentle soul with a caring touch, that I found comforting, even alluring. But I wasn’t there to judge people, I wasn’t there to make friends—I was there to try and find a little girl. Her little girl, Millie. Knowing what I knew about Millie’s kidnapping, which Tanya wasn’t even aware of, felt like the worst kind of deception. But I told myself it was the only way, the only way I stood a chance of finding her. I had to let it play out. And so, despite the temptation, I said nothing, I couldn’t, and wouldn’t, not at this stage anyway, but that’s not to say if things changed for the worse in the next few days or even hours that I wouldn’t. After all, a mother had a right to know and Chase Martin be dammed. But right now, even she was a suspect.
“My father has been talking about euthanasia,” she poured me another beer. “He doesn’t want his granddaughter to remember him at his worst. And he’s so sold on legacy. He wants to leave something behind for Millie. He always worked hard, so hard, and he was always honorable, but he had nothing. He’s got no money to leave behind, he’s got no savings, and he’s got nothing to leave her. That must be hard to work through. To know that you’ve left nothing behind.”
“Are you doing it all alone then? Bringing up Millie by yourself?”
“Well, that’s another story.” She shook her head, and poured herself a glass of soda. “My ex and I signed a prenup. I thought I was marrying for love and family, so the prenup didn’t matter. My father was angry about that, and when the marriage fell apart after a year and a half, he was really angry. Especially when it comes to child support. My ex just has no idea how much it really costs to feed, clothe, house and generally look after a child. And besides, I’m too ashamed to ask for more. Dad stayed in touch with Chase, that’s my ex, thought he might be able to coax him around to giving more. Until recently Chase kept him at arms’ length. But,” She held back a nice smile. “After my father was diagnosed with cancer, Chase was more open to contact and letting him help out with childcare, things like that, whenever it’s needed. Chase understands that Dad doesn’t have long left, so is helping out. I never knew my ex had a heart, so that was nice.”
“Prenup, eh?” I grunted. “That’s pretty crazy. I’ve never met anyone who’s signed one of those before.”
And then, for just one moment, I saw a glint of anger in her eyes, a fleeting moment of disguised rage. “Don’t get me started.”
The door to the bar opened behind us, and an elderly well-dressed couple walked in.
I nodded to Tanya, knocked back the rest of my beer, and left her to the couple.
There was anger behind Tanya’s wall.
Perhaps enough anger to take revenge on the man she hated.

Chapter 7


Ruby Jones wasn’t hard to track.
She posted about her every movement on social media, her every step was a walking documentation of her vapid boring life. She was pretty, I guess, in a younger girl sort-of-way, tall with long red hair and the voice of a playboy bunny. Too high-pitched and squeaky for my liking. She was all a bit ice cream and sprinkles for me, all looks and no substance, an empty vessel that made the most noise, which tended to be a whine that was mainly about herself.
After I talked with Tanya, I followed Ruby’s steps and found her taking selfies outside The Bean—one of Chicago’s many famous sculptures. Shaped like a giant bean, around fifteen-feet high, and made of reflective metal, it was a piece of art that I could appreciate. It was a conversation point, something to marvel at, something to take photos of. But the central feature of Ruby’s photos was always the same: herself. This pose, that pose, a sideways glance at the camera, then one from the other side, eyes front, a smile, a frown, a bit of cleavage, some leg. To say the girl was self-obsessed would be