The kid opened his mouth to say something, but couldn’t find the words. He opted to stand up and get a little space between them. He placed his hands out. “Lady, hey…”
Moving away from her wasn’t going to help. Fantine moved closer to the stranger. “Sir?” She called over her shoulder to Placido. Grabbed her patsy’s arm. “This asshole tried to fucking feel me up.”
Placido grunted and stood up. He marched towards them. The veins in his neck pulsed and he looked as if he hadn’t slept for days.
The college kid pointed at Fantine. “You’re fucking crazy.”
Fantine waited for Placido to get close enough. Once he was within a few feet of them, she lunged at the kid. Grabbed him by the shoulders and screamed curses and gibberish at him. Tossed in few fuck your mothers and piece of shits into the mix. Placido—kind soul that he was—tried to separate them. Fantine swatted at the air. Made sure to brush right at Placido’s chest and hook his badge with her pinky. It slipped off easy and was in her back pocket in time for Placido to finally separate her from the patsy.
Placido eyed them both. Then concentrated a hard stare on the kid. “Did you touch this woman?”
The kid shook his head. “No. She’s a fucking psycho, man. Came up to me and went off for no reason.”
Fantine remained quiet. They already had the attention of what few people were in the clinic. She saw Pete standing by the double doors he’d been ushered through moments before. Fantine lowered her hand to her hip and made a motion to let him know it was time to get the hell out of there. In the time she took to make the motion, she looked down for a fraction of a second. When she looked back up, Pete was gone, the door leading to the back still swinging. Perhaps it was safer back there, or maybe he really did want to get intimate with a piece of plastic. It didn’t matter. Fantine had to get the hell out of there before anyone noticed this entire scene stunk on wheels.
“Miss, did this man harass you? Are you okay?” Placido asked. The delivery was stilted, as if he didn’t expect to believe her answer. The recognition in his eyes was immediate and apparent.
Fantine snorted. Pushed past her nerves suddenly going haywire at the look Placido was giving her. She threw her hands in the air. “Fuck this. I don’t need this shit. Nothing but a bunch of perverts in this place.” Time was up. Let Pete jerk off in a dingy room—at least, that’s how she imagined it. Fantine backed up and made a bee-line to the door.
“Miss!” Placido called behind her.
“Fuck all of you.” She broke out into a jog, both middle fingers held high in the air. Outside it was a full sprint. What she’d pulled off was high comedy—dumb and completely amateurish. Hell, she figured, she was no professional. Locks were her game, not working a room. There was still more work to do. She needed to get to the Bronx and then gear up. Afterwards, she’d get ready. Pete could take care of himself—mostly. Let him call his father. Not like he wasn’t used to doing that. Poor little rich boy would have to learn to handle big boy things on his own. Today was as good as any for Pete to start learning.
Fantine made her down into the subway at Bowling Green. Passed signs about interrupted service with the coming storm. She rolled her eyes. People seemed to lose it over rainstorms now. Late October meant maybe, at worst, some snow. She opted to catch a 4 train uptown and made a mental note to catch a transfer at 125th Street to the 6 train to avoid ending up near Kingsbridge on the other end of town. It would only be a few stops and she’d be able to hop off the Bronx El and walk down a single flight of stairs to the bank. She also remembered there was a decent restaurant a few doors down that she hadn’t been to in ages. Her stomach gurgled at the thought of red beans and rice. It would be best to pick something up to eat. A treat before things got too involved. There was no telling where she would end up if things didn’t go her way.
10
Fantine sat on the couch back at her apartment. A half-eaten plate of rice, beans, and ox tails on the coffee table. She sipped on her papaya smoothie and sighed. Pete wasn’t home when she got back. She figured he was lurking somewhere in embarrassment or was spending time with his asshole father doing whatever it was assholes did. The bank trip had been uneventful. They let her take everything in the box without any issue—her name had been on the account. She eyed the leather satchel that she took away from the safety deposit box—still unopened. Every time she reached for it, she pulled back. It wasn’t fear so much as it was guilt. Fantine wasn’t sure she was ready to face her mother again—even if it was a box of her possessions.
The TV got attention instead. Fantine couldn’t remember the last time she actually had an opportunity to sit back, feel fat, and enjoy garbage television. Pete always sucked up the tube time with his bullshit videogames. It was a refreshing change of pace. Something she could get used to: solitude.
She flipped channels and landed on the news. A ticker beneath an overly made up news anchor was storm-focused. Fantine sat up and read. “Fuck me.” The gist of it was clear as day. State of Emergency. She dug into her pockets and fished her phone out. Dialed Aleksei.
He picked up in a single ring. “Yes?”
“You see this craziness about the storm?”
Silence. “I told you about that before,” Aleksei said.
“Well, yeah, but it didn’t seem that bad before. I mean, should we go tonight?” She reached over and scooped her mother’s bag up. Placed it on the coffee table in front of her. The distraction helped her get over the apprehension. She unlatched the front clasps and began emptying the satchel’s contents. A manila envelope, three knives, a lock-picking set, and a Taser. Beneath all that, another envelope with a wad of hundred dollar bills. Fantine left that alone—the amount didn’t matter.
“Tonight?” Aleksei snorted. “Are you ready?”
“Not really.” Fantine sighed. “Besides, I needed Pete here to go over the floorplan one more time. Can you tell him to head over soon?”
“I have not seen him.”
Typical. They were down to the wire and the little bastard responsible for it all was missing. “Has he at least called?”
“No.”
“You’re a real fucking help, Aleksei.”
“Listen, you little cunt. This attitude, this poor imitation of your mother, it stops.”
“Whoa, there…” Fantine sat up. She wasn’t about to let this asshole start tossing around those kinds of words her way.
“Whoa nothing. This is a job you are going to do regardless of the help. Understood? I want my money. If I do not get it, your father dies and then you die—slowly.”
She hung up. Didn’t have the time to deal with this bullshit macho crap. Fantine dialed her father next.
No answer.
She tried the nurses’ station.
“Hello?” She recognized the voice, it was the friendly one.
“Hi,” Fantine skipped her name. All the stress had her forgetful. “I was trying to call Jae Park. Is he around? Can you let him know his daughter is calling?”
“One moment.”
Fantine dug through the manila envelope. Inside were multiple fake IDs and bank account documents from multiple places. Some were even international. Different IDs for her mother, her father, and Fantine. This must have been her mother’s escape route for the family. She was smart enough to be prepared to get them the hell out of town as soon as shit went pear-shaped. Considering the bag was never used and the means of her mother’s demise, Fantine wondered if that kind of preparation was truly worth it. There was a small envelope at the bottom of the pack addressed to her father.