Bottom Feeder (37 page)

“
And the
scars—”

“
Scars?” I question,
cutting him off. “She never told me about any scars.”

Beraz clenches his jaw. “I saw
them.”

Zip ties. College rings. Belt buckles.
His words bounce around in my brain without full comprehension of
anything. All that time Larry was hurting her, she never told
anyone. She took the beatings like a cross to bear, saving everyone
except herself.

“
She received a letter
from some woman named CC . . .” Another story follows about murders
and FBI investigations.

Shit. This must have be what Maddy
meant that day in the car when she told me everything had another
story behind it. How she held herself together over the years is a
miracle in itself. I spent twelve months in a warzone, but she
spent damn near her entire life in one.

I was a pawn in Cordell’s game, just
like she said. All the things he spit out of his venomous mouth
about her were false. I knew it all along. Instincts are
instinctive for a good reason.

Beraz adds another shocker to the
list. “She joined up.”

“
She
what
?”

“
She leaves for basic
training in two weeks.”

“
Where’s her AIT?” AIT is
short for “Advanced Individual Training”. In short, it is job
training after ten weeks of basic combat training. Mine took place
in Alabama for ten weeks, then Florida for twenty-eight weeks.
After that was Airborne training in Georgia for another three
weeks. Not too many soldiers willingly volunteer to jump out of
planes with fifty pounds of gear strapped to their back, but I was
one of the few and haven’t regretted a single moment. Questioning
my decision, yes. But no regrets.

“
Fort Sam.”

“
San Antonio? She’s doing
something medical?”

Beraz nods. “Medic.” The military’s
version of an EMT or paramedic.

Women sometimes have a hard time in
the military. Not because they are weaker, but because they are
tested on different levels. And I don't mean in classrooms or in
the field. I mean mentally. Emotionally.

Something tells me Maddy can hold her
own against even the worst Drill Sergeant. Placing others before
herself is a skill in which she already excels. She never
complains, never talks back.

Yes, she will be just fine.

“
I’m going back to New
York this week. Wotley approved the leave already.” He shakes his
head. “I think Maddy left an impression on him.”

So I’ve been told.

“
I want you to go with
me.”

Huh?

“
To New York.”

Huh?

“
Maddy needs help with the
Beemer.” Beraz stands. “I’m going to tell you now that shit might
get dangerous, so choose your answer wisely.”

“
Why me?” After
everything, why would she want me there?

He walks to the door. Without turning
he quietly replies, “Because she trusts you.”

After work the next day, a few of us
are playing Texas Hold ‘Em in Dominguez’s room. I’m down too much
money to mention, so I fold and give my seat to Morris. A 4x6
picture frame is sitting on Beraz’s desk. The black and white photo
of Maddy sitting in a café with a hand cupped beneath her chin tugs
at something in my chest.

A row of photo booth pictures are
pinned to the corkboard. The first three are Beraz and Maddy being
goofy. The last, however, brings me back to the night at the
Pacific. Their intense kiss makes me wonder how long it lasted
after the picture was taken. I take the picture down to inspect it
further and notice the swelling on her face.

“
That
panocha
has got it bad,” Dominguez
says over my shoulder. “He’s up talking to her all night, every
night.”

Placing the picture back on his desk,
I turn to face Dominguez. “What’s that got to do with
me?”

“
Nada
.” He shakes his head. “Except for the fact you got it,
too.
¡Diache!
I
don’t even think he hit it while he was up there. What’s the use in
going if you’re not gonna fu—“

I raise my hand to cut him
off. “First, I don’t ‘
got’
anything. Second, you really have to stop talking
about her like that.”

“
Yeah? Why is
that?”

“
Because,” Beraz answers
from behind Dominguez, “The next time something like that comes out
of your mouth, I’m going to put my boot so far up your ass you’re
going to taste leather.”

Dominguez rolls his eyes.
“Whatever,
m
amabicho.
I hope she’s worth the
trouble.”

“
She’s worth everything to
me,” Beraz mumbles after Dominguez walks away.

Maddy

“
What’s this?” President
Highland asks.

“
Withdrawal forms,
sir.”

He leans back in the oversized leather
chair and folds his hands across the top of his bald
head.

“
Your tuition is paid in
full, Miss Carrington.”

I choose my words carefully. “I
understand, sir. I would like to transfer the tuition money to
someone who needs it.”

“
You would like to
trans—what?”

“
Jordan Erins is unable to
afford tuition after this session. I would like my tuition
transferred to her.”

“
Are you going back
to
Georgia
, Miss
Carrington?” His spits out the name of my beloved state like
turpentine rolling off his tongue.

Be nice, Carrington. Don’t
drop an f-bomb.
Don’t
drop an f-bomb.

“
Will you be able to
transfer the tuition, sir?”

The President rubs both hands across
his head in frustration. “Mr. Carrington said all matters of your
education will go through you, but this is insanity. You are
absolutely certain about this?”

“
I’d like to give her the
opportunity she deserves.” She is the only person who never judged
my accent, my weight or height. Jordan is the closest thing to a
friend I have here. Not that we would ever go to dinner or have a
sleepover or anything. Besides, she
wants
to be here.

“
I’ll arrange the
transfer,” he assures. “You obviously have something better planned
for your life, Miss Carrington?”

I rise from the chair and strap the
duffel bag over my shoulder. “I joined the military,
sir.”

President Highland scoffs. “Why would
you give up an education at such a respected school to join a bunch
of jarheads?”

I don’t tell him that jarheads are
labels for Marines, not soldiers. Actually, I refuse to answer at
all. Any explanation I come up with is not worth the
trouble.

Besides, the less President Highland
knows, the less information he can relay to Cordell.

Jackson

The hum of the plane’s engine is white
noise to my restless mind. I sleep for the first hour of the ninety
minute flight. Beraz is supposed to wake me at the first sign of a
nightmare.

I wake up when my legs begin cramping.
I usually get the aisle seat in order to stretch out, but Beraz is
five inches taller and needs the extra room.

See, I’m not an asshole all the
time.

I peek at the intricate detail of a
black and white gothic peach tree Beraz is drawing in his
sketchbook. The roots run beneath a black sea of angry waves. A
storm lashes out like the hands of evil are trying to uproot
everything good in the world. The only color is a single peach
hanging from the tip of a sagging branch. On closer inspection, the
flawless lines are not really lines at all, but words. Swirls of
pristine script make up every curve of the spindled branches, each
raindrop a single word.

“
For Maddy,” he says
without looking up.

“
The picture?”

“
The book.”

“
Isn’t jewelry
easier?”

Beraz shakes his head. “She wouldn’t
like that.” He smudges the tree trunk and makes a few more strokes
on the paper before closing the book. “Maddy is unlike anybody I’ve
ever met, you know? I mean, she’s good. Genuinely good.”

He says this more to himself than to
me. I really don’t want to hear about how much of a good person she
is. I have a feeling Beraz is about to tell me anyway.

“
I dated a girl for three
years before joining the army,” he says. “She hated me for joining,
said I was being selfish for leaving her when I had unfinished
business at home. She broke up with me to be with someone else in
the Disciples—the same gang I joined
because
of her. How fucked up is
that?”

“
Minus the gang part, that
happens to a lot of us who join up, Beraz. Who you were at home
doesn’t mean that’s who you are now. Our job, in a sense, is both
selfless and selfish. We don’t get to choose who fits what
category”

He nods. “The first night I met
Maddy—you know, on her birthday—we were driving to the restaurant
and she was just letting me go on and on about my family and work.
She was interested in what I had to say. How many people have you
met that actually care about your family back home? Or what you do
at work all day? Or care why you joined in the first place? But
most of all, someone who cares about these things and doesn’t give
a damn about how much you messed up in the past?”

Most people are either scared to know
about the job or could care less what I do all day. The latter is
usually my preference. If others bothered to find out, they would
see that my job isn’t something to be afraid of. It’s no worse than
a police officer putting their life on the line every day. As far
as family goes, I prefer my personal life stay personal.

“
. . . and I asked her if
she believed in war and you know what she said? ‘War is a necessary
evil . . .’”

“
But evil is subjective,”
I mutter.

It took a long time, but I finally
realized what Maddy was asking me in the car that night. Evil isn’t
cut-and-dry or black and white. It is a murky gray area between the
giver and the receiver and everyone else on the outside looking in.
Or looking away.

“
I wonder if she has
food.”

“
I hope so,” Beraz
replies, cramming his duffel into the trunk of a cab. “I’m
starving.”

Since Maddy is spending the morning
withdrawing from school, Beraz and I take a cab to her apartment.
Heavy traffic made the ride a lot longer than expected. By the time
we arrived at Maddy’s apartment building, Beraz was licking the
wrapper of a melted Snickers bar and I was praying her refrigerator
was stocked with something edible.

“
If she only has
vegetables in there,” Beraz says, answering my unspoken plea, “the
place she works is just around the corner.”

“
Mr. Beraz,” the doorman
greets with a broad smile. Wow. He must really love his job. “Back
in town so soon?”

“
Hey, Sonny,” Beraz
replies. “We’re visiting for a couple days. This is
Monroe.”

Sonny opens the door and nods, “Nice
to meet you Mr. Monroe.”

“
You, too,
sir.”

Maddy’s apartment building is a swanky
modern high-rise with a parking attachment, a doorman and security
team. This makes me wonder how Larry got into her apartment in the
first place.

The answer is obvious and unnerving:
someone here is on Cordell’s payroll. Someone of his mentality will
not leave a threat without surveillance. In this case, Maddy is the
threat.

Beraz pulls out a set of keys and
begins to unlock each of the four deadbolts. I raise my eyebrows at
the locks. He shrugs. “She changed them and added one before I
left.”

The apartment is spotless. The type of
spotless where you’re afraid to breathe on something for fear your
breath will leave traces of condensation. Beraz removes his shoes
and places them neatly on the tile next to do the door. I follow
his lead.

My eyes go wide when it hits me: the
smell of freshly baked deliciousness.

“
Hell yeah!” Beraz says,
reaching for something on the counter.

I walk into to the large open kitchen.
Here is the part where I should notice the views from the
floor-to-ceiling windows, what the countertops are made of, or if
the furniture is classic or contemporary. Instead my mouth waters
at the sight of a plate of huge cinnamon rolls dripping with
icing.

“
She left a
note.”

“
What does it say?” Beraz
asks over a mouthful of cinnamon roll.

I bite into my own, licking the icing
from my fingers before reading aloud, “‘Hey guys, I know you were
probably dreading my fridge full of veggies so I made these. If
you’re still hungry, Peggy will be glad to make you something (and
if you flirt a little, it’ll be on the house). Make yourselves at
home. Love and Hugs, Maddy.’”