Bottom Feeder (32 page)

“
Enough to get by without
physically harming someone.” Dom releases a disgusted sigh. “And
enough to know that the lifestyle wasn’t me. I fought for those
assholes—sorry, I know you don’t like that—to get rich while people
were getting hooked on coke and meth and killing one another. The
movies have it all wrong. It’s not a turf thing; the struggle is
about money and power. It’s
always
about money and power. But all I had to do was
scare a few people and collect money, sometimes drugs. That’s how I
made money for my family. There were fights. I carried a piece
every now and then, but I never used it. Ever. I swear to you,
Maddy, I never—”

“
Dom,” I say, cutting him
off before he has an aneurysm. “I understand. Sometimes we have to
fight and make sacrifices we’re not proud of to keep the ones we
love safe. To keep
ourselves
safe. We don’t always get to choose how we
survive, we just do it.”

“
This isn’t the response I
expected,” he says quietly.

“
You expected me to flip
out and tell you to cash in your plane ticket?” I ask, taking the
last bite of cacciatore. Mr. Sonny’s wife sent me an entire Pyrex
casserole dish of this delciousness. I look at the empty plate
sadly.

“
Something like
that.”

“
Then you don’t know me
very well.”

I stretch out on the living room
floor, mesmerized by the City lights while we spend the next two
hours talking nothing about everything. The peanut butter to my
jelly.

Before hanging up Dom asks, “Did you
get the email I sent this morning?”

“
Let me check now.” I
spring from the floor. It was such a pain to use public computers,
so I dug into my savings and purchased a tablet from a pawn shop.
It’s easier to carry than a laptop, especially if I need to leave
in a hurry. My laptop is used for school and random research.
Nothing else.

He laughs uneasily. “It’s okay. You
don’t have to read it just yet.”

“
Ninety seconds, Dom,
promise.”

Dom and I have this game we play to
earn brownie points for tasks completed. Last week I learned
military time and he learned a few southern phrases. His accent is
terrible, though. His email informs me that for extra points, I
must decipher these words:
India-Lima-Oscar-Victor-Echo-Yankee-Oscar-Uniform.

“
You’re quiet,” he
notes.

“
Should I decrypt
loudly?”

“
Need a hint?”

“
I never admit defeat,
good sir.”

He chuckles. “Let me know as soon as
you figure it out. I mean, if you want to. Goodnight,
baby.”

“
G’night, Dom.” I close my
eyes and smile to myself, wondering if he’s too good to be true.
The pen to my pocket protector.

At three a.m., I am
awakened by one of those random
ah-ha!
moments. I type “phonetic
alphabet” into a search engine. I remember Agent Mace used this
alphabet for the license plate number of his government-issued
sedan the morning we met in Statesboro.

Once I decipher the message, my first
instinct is to call Dom. However, in just a few short hours he will
be jumping out of an airplane with fifty pounds of gear strapped to
his back. Probably not a good idea to disturb his sleep.

I read his message again. I say it out
loud. I was afraid it was too soon. But how can you stop this thing
that isn’t a thing at all? It is an ethereal manifestation of a
thing disguised as a feeling, a fragile emotion wrapped up in a
beautiful four-letter word said by someone who isn’t afraid to put
their heart on the chopping block. And that sentiment is all for
you. For me, from him. I’ve never known anything like this. I hold
on to his message like a lifeline, I wrap my fingers around it like
they belong there. I never want to lose my grasp on this feeling.
Because no one has ever loved me like this before.

Since it’s after 9 a.m. in Paris,
instead of going back to sleep, I begin a video chat with
Dixon.

“
Hey, Skank,” he
says.

“
Panties, you’re looking
dapper as ever this morning.” He blows me a kiss that ends with a
middle finger.

I talk for twenty minutes about how
I’m scared of this thing with Dom, about how he shouldn’t love me.
About how I feel guilty for loving him.

“
Wow,” Dixon says. “You
love this kid?”

“
Stupid, isn’t
it?”

He shakes his head. “If
Dominic makes you happy, accept that happiness and embrace it for
as long as you are willing. You know more than anyone that joy and
love can be stripped away at any moment. Take this chance if you
think he’s worth it. By the sound of things, you
know
he’s worth it. Not
every man is a Jackson, a Cordell, or a Larry. There are some good
guys out there. If it doesn’t work out, it doesn’t work out. Pick
up and move on. Maddy, you are strong, beautiful, resilient, and
your best friend is quite the catch. Accept the love Dominic is
offering. You deserve it.”

Jackson

Life is slowly getting back to
normal.

0600: Wake up

0630-0745: PT (Physical
Training)

0900: Work

1130: Lunch

1700-2000: End of work day/Dinner
somewhere between these times

2100-0600: Sleep

Weekends are whatever everyone else is
doing: clubbing, movies, fishing, bowling, basketball. The routine
sucks, but I grip it like it’s my salvation.

The only good thing that
came out of the mess I made was the Barracuda. Just as Cordell
promised, the car was sitting in the airport’s extended stay
parking lot. A note that read
PAID IN
FULL
was stored in the glove compartment,
along with ten thousand dollars in cash.

I am now officially
finished
with Cordell Carrington. Or so I
tell myself.

Last month I went back to Savannah. No
one knew, not even Mama. Dominguez drove me to the airport one
Friday night after work and I spent the night in Lamont’s hospital
room, talking to him about the past and laughing about all the
stupid shit we got into. Lamont didn’t talk or laugh or respond in
any way because he was in a coma. He still is. I like to think he
could hear me. I like to think he believed me when I told him
whoever put him in the hospital would pay, no matter what. The next
morning I left before the doctors came to transport him back to the
hospital on Camp Pendleton.

When I’m alone, I think too much about
Lamont. About revenge. During more moments than I’d like to admit,
I also think of her.

There were endless questions about
“the girl in Monroe’s room” for a week after she left. I avoided
them like an STD. Dominguez handled most of the questions with his
customary tactless technique. Beraz finally told them to mind their
own business. That is the only thing Beraz and I have agreed on in
the past two months.

Beraz. I can’t even look
at him without getting angry. While cleaning Sergeant Wotley’s
office, I came across an Official Leave Form, stating Beraz will be
traveling to New York City on August 1
^st
. The ache in my chest was
almost unbearable.

I bet she will cook for him and bake
cinnamon rolls and kiss him and f—and do all that girlfriend shit.
Those should be my cinnamon rolls.

But I screwed up. I cannot fix what I
have broken because I’m too broken myself. Pride and general
dumbassness keep me from admitting that Mama was right: I am the
spitting image of Michael Benton.

I wipe the thought from my mind
immediately.

With an upcoming deployment—not mine,
thank goodness—Sergeant Wotley has our Company working weekends
until the last plane leaves the ground. At least we are working
indoors and not in the torrential downpours of Eastern North
Carolina’s hurricane season.

“
Monroe!” Morris calls.
“You better get to the back before Wotley sees you sitting
down.”

Since my actual work has been finished
for over an hour, I am outlining the final research paper for my
Western Civ class. Or trying to, at least.

The dream I had last night keeps
floating to the surface of my thoughts, vividly mapping out events
that feel more like a premonition than a dream.

It was about her, of course. The same,
recurring reverie that plagues most of my nights. Sometimes she is
running away from Larry or Cordell, pleading for me to help. This
is usually when the scene changes to an Afghanistan mountain
range.

Other nights the dreams are, well,
let’s just say for adult audiences only.

She’s everywhere I go: the movies, the
mall, the gym. Every girl with chocolate-brown hair is her. I’m
jonesing for a fix like a crackhead during the first week of rehab.
It’s driving me insane.

In case you haven’t noticed, I try not
to say her name.

I begin to reminisce over the latest
adults-only dream when my computer flickers and begins to restart
itself. Maybe I should have taken a chunk out of the ten thousand
and bought a new laptop.

I can’t bring myself to spend a dime
of Cordell’s money.

Good thing I saved my work, but this
ancient piece of crap usually takes at least twenty minutes to
start up. I glance around to see if anyone has a free workspace,
and notice Beraz leaving his desk.

“
You finished?” I yell
from across the room. He raises an incredulous eyebrow when I speak
to him.

Since the day he punched me, we only
speak about work-related issues. Being the good United States
soldiers that we are, personal stuff is left on personal time and
work hours are not personal time. Yes, I repeat this to myself more
often than not. Especially when I’m having daydreams about a
certain dark-haired, blue-eyed girl that isn’t my type, knowing he
will be in her apartment. Alone. Eating cinnamon rolls.

“
I’m going on a food run,”
he replies. “You can use it until I come back.”

“
Bring me back a taco,” I
say.

“
Fuck you.”

“
Backatcha.”

Beraz’s email inbox is
open on the screen. I begin to minimize the window when I notice a
folder labeled
Maddy
. I peek around the room to make sure Beraz is out of sight.
Knowing his eating habits, he will surely be gone for a while. I
click on a random email, dated a few days ago.

Dom,

Five more days! I’m
so
excited about your
visit. Class was boring as usual yesterday, but work was great. I
made $90 in tips! Hohyeah, who has mad latte-making skills? That’s
right, this girl. :D

I will be free for your
entire visit since my manager, Peggy, approved the days I
requested. Her husband is a retired Marine so she sympathizes with
our long distance relationship. I am scheduled to get off work at
1900, so call me whenever. See? I’m learning military time. I will
take my brownie points in large denominations,
thankyouverymuch
. Call me later so I
can hear about a day in the life of Dominic Beraz. I like hearing
about your day because I just like hearing you. How’s that for
corny? You like that, huh? Oh, the t-shirt in the pic is from the
local Army recruiters. They are in my Krav Maga class.

Can’t wait to see you!

Maddy

The temptation to click on Beraz’s
reply is too much to resist. Yes, even after all that has happened,
I’m still an asshole.

Hey, baby!

You know I like it when you talk corny
to me. Haha I think I might have topped the Corny-Quota for the day
with that one. It always makes my day when a picture is involved,
so I’m cashing in my points for more pics. I will be sending your
brownie points in the form of car wash coins. That should suffice,
right? These last few days before I see you are proving to be the
longest of my life. I can’t seem to get you out of my head. That’s
okay, though. I like you being there. BTW, I got the info from
Wotley. I’ll tell you later.

Unlimited points if you decipher
this:

India-Lima-Oscar-Victor-Echo-Yankee-Oscar-Uniform

--Dom

Why does it feel as if I’m losing a
race I didn’t even know I was running?

I click on the link for her picture.
The attachment opens to Maddy in Central Park, wearing a fitting
U.S. Army t-shirt, skinny jeans and Chuck Taylors. Her reluctant
smile is even more striking than I remember.

Hell. Did I really just
say
striking
?

Beraz walks into the room before I can
find more pictures. I haven’t even inserted my flash drive. Quickly
pulling up a blank document, I tell him I need ten more minutes.
When he is out of sight, I grab a sticky note and scribble her
email address.

Maddy