Empire of Lies
situation in the first place, and I was feeling an uncomfortable and rather annoying emotion: Vulnerability.I stood outside her door like a fucking sap last night, asking her to let me inside, waiting for her to come out. I was willing to open up about some of the reasons why she was here, if she could just give me one fucking taste of her mouth, but she never opened her door.
I turned on our wedding video on the living room TV during breakfast today, expecting her to come down and watch it like she normally did. To glare and scowl at me during all the sweet parts, but to sit there, with me, and start to accept and believe that there was a bit of a method to this madness. (And maybe also, so we could fuck at the end, but the aforementioned things would’ve been fine as well.)
The only thing she did was tiptoe down the steps and grab a few bagels. She poked her head into the room when I said my vows, and she rushed back to her room without saying a single word to me.
What the hell am I missing?
Michael Now
Subject: Your wife’s memorial + WTF
I wore a turtleneck and gloves, and made sure to look very sad while playing you.
What happened to “We don’t fuck with the mafia? Ever.” Why the hell is Rio Warren currently in the hospital?
You’re welcome for my presence at the memorial.
--Trevor
Subject: Re: Your wife’s memorial + WTF
I’m sure you weren’t as attractive as I would’ve been, but I won’t hold it against you.
I have no idea what you’re talking about in regard to Rio.
Thank you for going in my place.
--Michael
Subject: Re: Re: Your wife’s memorial + WTF
Someone in a ski mask beat the hell out of him, out of nowhere several hours ago…The bone breaks and the M.O. of the attack from behind all sound like something you would do, in my opinion…
What the fuck did he do to you to deserve that?
I’m not doing any other favors for you.
--Trevor
Subject: Re: Re: Re: Your wife’s memorial + WTF
Did any cameras catch this “someone in a ski mask”? I don’t think there would be any around, if someone were bold enough to attack Mr. Warren in broad daylight.
I don’t have any other favors to ask of you.
Michael
Subject: Re: Re: Re: Re: Your wife’s memorial + WTF
WHAT THE FUCK DID HE DO TO YOU TO DESERVE THAT?
Trevor
Subject: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Your wife’s memorial + WTF
I just happened to stumble across my wife’s old diary the other day and saw something in there about him that I didn’t like. That’s all.
Michael
Subject: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Your wife’s memorial + WTF
Meet me at The Reynolds Diner off 87. NOW.
Trevor
Michael Now
The diner where Trevor wants to meet is not his typical style at all. It’s simple and cheap, and I’m sure it’ll only take thirty minutes for him to complain about the lack of a three-course menu.
Pulling out this week’s latest list of offenders while I wait, I run my highlighter over a few of the names that weren’t there last week. There are a few I’ll pay a free visit to in the coming months.
After half an hour has passed, Trevor walks into the diner—making the waitress do an immediate double take and drop her coffee pot to the floor.
Ever the gentleman, he helps her pick it up and strikes up a short conversation. He offers to brew his own coffee, and he tells her that he thinks she’s pretty. I’m certain he’s failing to mention that her manager is currently suffocating to death in the back of his trunk.
When he finishes charming her, he heads my way and pulls a newspaper from his coat.
“You hear about this?” He slams a copy of The New York Times onto the table. “They’re building some new luxury condos over the place where we used to stay. They’re going to be designed by some egotistical hotshot who wants each unit to cost a minimum of five million.”
“I did hear.”
“The asshole is going to blow up the old buildings and dig trenches twelve feet deep for a moat. A goddamn moat in New York City.” He shakes his head. “Unbelievable.”
“I think it’s quite ambitious,” I say. “Stupid, but ambitious.”
“It’s unfortunate.” He lets out a sigh. “But nothing I can’t look into this week.”
“I take it that you’ll have some of our guys assess the building plans and move some things around before they begin?”
“Already did.” He pours himself a cup of coffee. “Now that that’s settled, how’d you get rid of Thatchwood?”
“I’ve already told you this.”
“I want to hear it again.” He shrugs. “I’m in the mood for a really good story today.”
I set my newspaper down and sigh, signaling the waitress for a second fresh pot of coffee.
“I suffocated her while she slept,” I say, as the waitress walks away. “Wrapped her in a rug and cracked her skull with a sledgehammer. Her body is at the bottom of a ghosted river.”
He nods, takes another sip from his cup. “You know, that’s a really intricate and well-detailed tale.”
“The truth usually is.”
“The lies are always better.” He glares at me. “I had two guys trail you on the day you supposedly got it done.”
I tap my fingers against the table; I know this already and I’d purposely lost them after seventy miles of driving.
“When they lost you, I made them stop and wait at the ghosted river,” he says. “You never showed.”
“You and I both know that it takes far more than two people to watch an entire river.”
“Michael…” he says, looking into my eyes. “Don’t fuck with me. Where is she?”
“Are you asking as my brother or as the client?”
“First, I’m asking as the client.”
“She died a tragic death and she’ll never be found.”
“Now, I’m asking as your brother.”
“She died a tragic death and she’ll never be found.”
He lets out a sigh and leans back in his seat, shaking