Violets & Violence (9 page)

“Where are you taking me?” she asked, sliding her hand on top of mine.

“A drink,” I admitted. “And food, if you’re hungry.”

She smiled and seemed a little relieved that I wasn’t taking her to meet my childhood.

Yet.

We started at 220, ordered a couple of drinks—a mojito for Violet and a dirty gin martini for yours truly. The place was crowded with a bunch of mid-lifers, people who had spent their weeks in airports, boardrooms and corner offices. They looked worn out, drained, even on a Saturday full of drinks and steaks and laughs in this trendy restaurant that only seemed to get louder and louder with each party that walked in.

“I can barely hear myself think,” Violet yelled, leaning across our table. Her eyes looked tired from the travelling and tonight’s show.

When our waitress arrived, she asked if we wanted to order any food. I shook my head and left her with enough cash for our drinks and a modest tip, and then we walked outside, around the corner to a staircase that led down to the basement.

It was dark inside, fairly quiet. It was the type of place that left you feeling like you had just set foot inside someone’s garage; dimmed lights, a bar with people crowded around it, drinking, a bunch of people hanging out in small circles, a few tables and chairs arranged around musical instruments where the band would have been playing but was obviously on some kind of break at the moment.

We ordered a couple more drinks, paid for them, and stepped away.

“Nice place,” Violet noted, sliding her arm into mine and squeezing my bicep.

I realized that it was the first time she had touched me since we’d left the Fisher.

I leaned toward her and kissed below the rim of her Tigers ball cap. “It’ll get louder,” I warned her.

“Good, I love live music.” She grinned vivaciously, then pulled her hand back and 
r
aised her glass to her lips before pulling off a long, eager swallow. Like maybe she wanted to get drunk, because I didn’t get the impression she wanted to be spending the night with me. All night she had shown such little interest in me.

I watched her finish the mojito and asked the waiter for another one. I had barely sipped halfway through my martini, so I declined when the waiter asked if I was ready for another.

“How was New York?” I asked once the waiter left to fetch her next mojito.

Shifting her attention back to me, she flashed a fake smile. “It was a quick visit,” she answered. “I’m looking at a theater there.”

I frowned, purely out of curiosity. “You’re moving Violets & Illusions to New York?”

She shrugged. “It’s possible. It seems people are really starting to notice the show. Luke, my manager, he says the reviews are really solid. So now we can head back—I’m
from
New York, I can’t remember if I told you that. Anyway, getting back to the big city allows us to take a serious swing at elevating the show’s profile. Maybe Broadway is the next stepping stone to Vegas, and that’s where I need to be.”

I sipped my martini.

I didn’t know that she had come from New York. Bill mentioned investing in the show to help move it to Detroit from Buffalo. I had just assumed that Violet had come from that part of the country. I would have remembered if she’d mentioned living in New York City because it had the ring of wealth to it, the exact same poison that my ex had come from and ultimately returned to.

“There’s a theater on Broadway,” she went on, and when I turned my attention back to her, I caught the glint of excitement in her eyes. “Now that Les Mis is finished, there’s a window of opportunity for me to swoop in and occupy the space.” She beamed, her lips turning into the same smile that had previously captured me. “I’d love to get a Vegas show, Carter. That’s my goal. Vegas will make me the greatest and most prolific female magician ever.”

I couldn’t help but smile at her enthusiasm. New York and then Vegas? I wondered where or how I could ever possibly fit into her plans. But then again, it seemed she had already moved on from Detroit. Although I was standing in front of her in the present, in the next few weeks, I would exist in a distant compartment of her past. Suddenly, her standoffishness tonight seemed like a good, a way to wean me off of her before we really got started.

“Have you ever been to New York, Carter?” she asked as the waiter arrived with her mojito. She sipped from the straw, a big gulp.

I shook my head, a little disappointed.

She placed a hand over mine. “Don’t worry, sweetie. I’ll make sure you come out to see the show. It’s got an impressive stage, I’ll show you everything.”

Sweetie?
It felt condescending and a little dismissive at the same time.

Our eyes locked, and the smile gradually melted off of her lips. Even though she was looking directly at me, I could tell that her attention had wandered. She had teleported her thoughts to Broadway.

The band members stepped past us, sweaty and smelling of cigarette smoke and alcohol. They took their places on the small stage, which was just a vacant space in the back corner, bordered by speakers and portable fans.

“Violet, what’s really going on?” I asked as she returned to reality with a sudden head shake, chased by a sip of mojito. It frustrated me that she could seem so bipolar at times. I wanted another chance to give her the attention she deserved, but it seemed I would have to compete with New York City and then, eventually, Las Vegas. I could never win against those things.

“Nothing,” she said, turning so she could watch the stage. “I’m just preoccupied.”

I slid my arm around her waist to keep her close—the crowd began to thicken—and she didn’t seem to mind it. In fact, she eased into my body a little, offering a sliver of hope that I might just win her back.

At the end of the night, with our ears ringing and Violet a little tipsy from all the drinking, we strolled through Birmingham, holding hands. The streets were quiet with the occasional couple or group of friends passing us as we wandered along Old Woodward. We stopped at the Starbucks, and Violet ordered a caramel macchiato.

“You won’t sleep tonight,” I warned her. The caffeine in those things was enough to power a jumbo jet.

She grinned drunkenly. “I’ll sleep just fine,” she giggled, then made a
poof
gesture with her hands. “I’m a magician, remember?”

I ordered a decaf, and once we had our beverages, we found a seat. The Starbucks seemed fairly busy given the quiet street outside, and the warmth seeping through the paper cup to my hands felt nice.

“Tell me again what you do, Carter,” she said, keeping her voice low to hide her drunkenness and aimed her eyes at the cup to avoid making contact with mine.

“It’s pretty boring,” I reminded her.

She indicated her caramel macchiato. “Maybe it’ll offset the caffeine, since you’re so concerned about my ability to sleep.”

“Okay, touché.” Deep breath. “I’m essentially a derivatives broker. I work for a company that manages people’s wealth.”

“Oh,” she said, her eyes widening with a curiosity that seemed more inspired by her drunkenness than genuine interest. “So you’re like a financial advisor for rich people?”

I sighed. “Like I said, it’s boring.”

At last, Violet lifted her attention and reached out, touching my hand again. But it felt different tonight, like friendship, the kind that tries really hard to find romance and love. It reminded me of the way my ex would touch me at the end, the way she would try to not offend me that the chemistry and love had died. Because just like I had done back then with my ex, I found myself praying for some kind of miracle spark to reignite what Violet and I used to share.

I want you back. I need you. Don’t give up on me, on us. You can’t make magic like this. You can’t, not even you.

“Tell me,” she begged, drawing her hands back into her lap. “Please?”

I swallowed a lump. “Well, my firm usually starts out as a financial advisor to a client, where we recommend and manage investment portfolios for high net worth individuals. But as we get to know our clients, we often find there’s more of a need than just regular investments. Some clients have succession issues or family problems, so we have a legal department that deals with everything from estates all the way through to remediation. Or we might need someone to manage all of their finances, so we have bankers on hand that’ll pay their bills, arrange for credit, you name it.”

“And where do you fit in, Carter?” she asked, and I could tell that if she were not truly interested, she was trying really hard at faking it.

“Most of our clients have already built and established their wealth, so my firm’s role is more about capital preservation, making sure the clients don’t lose what they’ve built. But a small percentage of our clients want more.”

The edge of her mouth curled. “Greedy fuckers.”

I laughed. “Yes, you could say that. And the only way to enhance returns without speculating is through a well-planned out derivatives strategy, which is where I come in. I calculate risks and make recommendations based on current market trends, the underlying stocks they hold, the time between now and their next reporting period, which is quarterly. It’s a lot of math, statistics and probability.” I sighed again. “Like I said, it’s boring.”

“Not at all,” Violet argued. “Isn’t there a lot of risk to that? I thought the financial crisis was caused by derivatives, and if that kind of thing can cripple a country and bankrupt entire banks, can’t it destroy an individual’s wealth?”

“It’s different with me,” I said.

“I bet they all said that,” she shot back, her eyes a little harder all of a sudden.

I nodded. “Fair enough. But our strategies are covered, which means we don’t speculate without holding a position to offset the risk. And yes, our strategies can also enhance losses, but they would never eliminate wealth altogether. In fact, most of my strategies involve protecting a portfolio rather than risking it. And it’s through that kind of approach that I safeguard a client against losses while simultaneously enhancing returns.”

“Okay,” she admitted. “That’s pretty boring.”

We laughed and it started to feel natural again, this little exchange between us.

“I have a question, Carter,” she said, tilting her head forward and giving me a forced-serious look. “About what you do.”

I nodded for her go on. “Okay…”

“I’ve heard on the radio that a stock option’s Open Interest can indicate what the market believes the direction of a stock price will be. Is that something you consider when working with your clients to build their portfolio?”

Her highly technical question intrigued me. Well, it made me suspicious because someone with little or no knowledge of derivatives would not know about Open Interest. That was a term used to quantify the outstanding options contracts. Again, boring stuff, but she had been the one to ask the question, so I couldn’t help but wonder what her angle was.

“No,” I admitted. “Not really. That might be more of a speculative measure, not something our analysts would use to forecast a stock’s future value.” I studied her. “Do you know much about options, Violet?”

The hesitation that preceded her, “No, I don’t,” suggested she was lying. She raised the caramel macchiato and drank the warmth.

We finished at Starbucks and walked back toward 220.

“I’ve never been here, in Birmingham,” she told me. “It’s really nice and trendy. Mature.”

“You’re busy with your show and rehearsals,” I reminded her. “And flying to New York.”

Violet stopped abruptly, latched onto my sleeve and pulled me back. She waited for me to meet her stare, then reached up and pulled my lips to hers. I felt her tongue pressing against my lips to access my mouth, so I opened up to her, and we stepped closer to one another. I felt the warmth of our bodies through our jackets.

When she pulled away, I saw the pain in her eyes. As much as I felt she had already abandoned me in her past, I could see that she wanted me to maintain hope, or at least cling to it.

“I asked about your job for a reason, Carter.”

“Why?”

“I don’t want to go to New York without you.”

Her words warmed me a million times more than the feel of her body against mine had. “Violet…”

She pressed a finger to her lips. “You mean more to me than I can put words to right now.” She looked away. “I’m sorry I can’t just come out and tell you this stuff, but…give me time.”

“It’s okay,” I promised. When I leaned forward for another kiss, she made sure to avoid my advance.

“I know you can find work in your area of expertise in New York. It’s impossible not to.”

“I’m pretty specialized,” I admitted. Truth was, I didn’t want to leave Detroit. As much as I realized that I should just pack up and leave – abandon everything, including the memories and past I had shared with my ex – I felt like I couldn’t desert and abandon this life like it had done with my childhood.

Three weeks. Three weeks crucified, three weeks of bread and water, three weeks of torture and talking. Promising impossible things. Rinker wanted money, more money than I had, more than what Violet had – which wasn’t mine to promise anyway, but my body ached and she hadn’t shown up and I just wanted to be free again, so I would have promised him the fucking moon – more than what we had combined.

“He wants your future,” Lindsey whispered while she mopped the floor at the base of my cross. “He knows what you could’ve earned, what you and Violet have done with the money you stole from him.”

I closed my eyes and mustered a grin that hurt my face. I had become incredibly thirsty for energy, the kind you get from sugar, caffeine, even sunlight and fresh air. “I didn’t steal. Nobody stole any money.”

She stopped swirling the mop. I felt her eyes on me and, when I opened mine, I found her within inches.

“Listen,” she said, her face twisted with a compassionate sadness. “You seem like a decent guy. This thing, the past three weeks, it sucks. And I’m sorry it had to happen. But Henry…all he wants is what’s due to him.” She sighed before getting back to the mopping. “You can’t really blame him for that, can you?”

I watched her for a bit, my mouth parched except for the occasional trick of blood from the chapped lips or the sores in the corners of my mouth. One cup of water per day was not exactly sustainable.

“I don’t want to die, Lindsey,” I said. My tongue felt too big for my mouth. I wanted out of this.

“Then tell him what he wants to hear,” she said, almost begging me. And that was when I realized that she wanted to be done with this insanity as much as I did. That meant Rinker was the sole lunatic in all of this. It seemed obvious, in hindsight. Which meant…my eyes found Lindsey.
That’s how I’ll hurt him
.

“What’s it like, Lindsey?” I asked as she finished up with the mopping. “Being married to someone whose ideology of right and wrong is so clearly wrong?”

“You don’t know him. He’s a kind man. And we’re not married.”

I tried to encourage the laughter in my mind to burst out my mouth, but all that escaped was some heavier breathing. It sounded like the prelude to an asthma attack. Lindsey glanced back as she walked the mop to the drain area in the corner.

“It’s complicated. Just give him what he wants,” she repeated. “We’re not professional torturers. You’ll end up dying for something you never should’ve had in the first place.”

I watched her work on the mop. Her words and threats were lost on me. I realized three weeks ago that she and Rinker had no clue what they were up to. Just like Rinker had been oblivious to my relationship with Violet all those years ago, he was clueless as to how he could torture someone without killing them. Complete idiot. He didn’t know how easily I could hurt him and ruin his world.

“Last week,” Lindsey said from the corner, “you mentioned that Violet would come for you.”

I closed my eyes.

“It’s been a week, Luke. So where is she?”

I had no response. My tongue and throat were so dry, it hurt to swallow the little bit of saliva pooling in my mouth. Even with the promise of vengeance, I couldn’t summon enough saliva to make that dryness go away.

“You see, regardless of what you think about my relationship with Henry, the fact remains that I’m here. And your Violet isn’t. She’s not only abandoned you, but you’re too stupid to see that.”

I shook my head, a soft and gentle motion that hurt my shoulders and upper back muscles. I had blamed that burning on my muscles having stiffened from being held up on this cross for so long, but I had finally admitted to myself that the burn happened because those muscles had gone away. “You’re wrong.”

“Hmm?” Lindsey shut off the water and came closer. “Just tell him whatever he wants to hear, will you? Nobody wants to be here anymore. And, I really don’t think you can survive another week like this.” With that, she stepped back, crossed her arms over her chest and eyed me.

“She’ll be here. Soon. And then you’ll have to worry. You.”

Lindsey sighed, closing her eyes and shaking her head. “It’s only money, Luke. Give him what he wants so we can all get on with our lives and you can go home and ask your girl why she didn’t come for you.”

She was wrong. I knew that, more than anything else; she was wrong because Violet would come for me, and then Lindsey.

And I was right. Violet did come for me. The next time I opened my eyes, I saw her. Well, it was just that spooky, cardboard cutout of Violet, but I
sensed
her.

She was here, in the Imperial Theater. I could hear her voice—
I’m here, Luke, I’ve come for you—
and feel her presence, even though that seemed like the kind of stuff that made for excellent hallucinations.

Except this was real.

“You know,” Rinker said from the table, drawing my eyes away from the life-sized poster of the woman I loved, the one speaking to me. “Without that stunt you pulled at Quotient, you’d have nothing. You’re a degenerate piece of shit, a lottery winner.”

I started to speak, but he stopped me.

“Just hear me out. Again.”

I gave a slight nod, as much as my neck muscles would allow.

“I’m not asking for everything, am I, Luke?” He pushed his chair out, the sound of the legs scratching on the concrete louder than any other chair scrape I had ever heard. He walked toward me, shaking his head. “You look and smell disgusting. Here, all alone, you must be wondering if there’s an end in sight.”

I watched his eyes and noticed the door in the corner.

It opened, seemingly all by itself.

I expected Lindsey, but saw Violet instead. She tiptoed into the room like a ghost and, as I blinked hard to snap away the possibility of a hallucinated friend, she raised a long, slender finger to her lips—
shhh
—and then moved to the table where Rinker had been sitting. She didn’t wear a mask to conceal her face; still, this felt like one of her magic shows. Black tights, thick makeup around her eyes, and bright red lipstick.

Violet.

“No, I didn’t say I wanted
everything
, Luke,” he said. “I said I would settle for half. Hear my logic, okay? Think about this. I mean, if you and Violet ever split, she would get half. Or
you
would get half. It’s half. So when you put that into perspective, when you look at it like that,
half
really isn’t a whole lot of money now, is it?” He studied me, squinting into my eyes. “It’s not, Luke. Not when you consider all of those people who get divorced every day and gladly sign over half. Half in exchange for what, Luke?”

“Don’t know,” I answered, my voice weak.

“Ha. Their freedom! Half for their
freedom
. That’s what you want, right? Your freedom? Which is exactly what I’m offering you.” His wicked eyes only reinforced his lunacy. I wanted to kill him, but I wouldn’t. I had other plans for hurting him.

I nodded. “Okay.”

“Okay?” He frowned.

“Half.” I closed my eyes and attempted a nod, but my neck muscles didn’t burn so I couldn’t tell if I pulled it off…

“Half?” he asked, his face softening at last. Like it was some big surprise. I wanted out of here, away from him before he really snapped.

And, of course, to distract him. Because Violet was stepping up behind him, the folded chair he had been sitting on these past three weeks in her hands, pulled back like a baseball bat.

“I want numbers, Luke. How much are we talking about?”

“Two million,” I said, keeping my eyes focused on his. I needed him to know I was serious.

The number either didn’t impress him, or it didn’t seem to mean anything. His hard, emotionless face crunched with disgust, enhancing those deep wrinkles as he considered the number,
my
number that was so much lower than the one he had thrown at me. But then he shook his head, he didn’t seem to like two million.

Behind him, Violet was close enough to take a violent enough swing to incapacitate him, but she didn’t. She edged a little closer yet, and in the span of the following seconds—they felt like minutes—I wondered if he might sense her the way I had, if she might give off a waft of perfume or breath that would reach his nostrils, or if she might make a sound with her feet or lungs or heart, anything that would tip him off to her presence. 

I wanted her to swing—
just do it already
—to just knock this fucker out so that I could be free. Because if she didn’t do it soon, he
would
sense her.

If he hadn’t already.

And then she would be in the same predicament.

At last, something shifted in Rinker’s expression. A subtle twitch in his face, so subtle I questioned whether I had seen it at all.

He knew. Something was wrong, and he knew it.

Damn.

“Three,” he said at last.

Three? Three what?
“Three?”

He gulped. “You’re lying to me. About your net worth.”

“I’m not,” I shot back, probably a little too quickly, but I couldn’t take the tension anymore. With Violet so close and our negotiations almost settled, I just wanted—

“I want three million,” he demanded.

Behind him, Violet’s face twisted.

Finally.

I looked away, ignoring the fire that burned in my neck as she swung the chair and stepped into her motion to lend it greater force. Halfway through her swing, she grunted from the exertion.

Rinker moved, but he didn’t get far. He wasn’t fast enough. The chair connected with the side of his face. Something cracked and a millisecond later I felt blood,
his
blood, splash across my face like the mist out of a glass-cleaner’s nozzle.

Bringing my attention back to the action, I discovered Rinker on the floor, his face covered in blood, his upper body twisted in the opposite direction of his lower body. In that moment of starved desperation, those Twister-esque, white-chalk outlines in crime scene shows made perfect sense to me—the body falls in an uncalculated manner when it drops to the ground.

“Is he dead?” I asked.

“What?” Violet snapped back, only chancing a quick glance at me. Like Rinker might’ve faked falling into that distorted position.

“Is he dead?”

Violet rolled her eyes at me. “Of course he’s not dead, he’s still breathing.” With that, she hoofed him in the chest and his head rolled the other way.

“Sleeping?”

She tossed the chair on top of Rinker and wiped her palms down the length of her thighs. “Are you on drugs?”

I shook my head. “Thirsty.”

“He’s unconscious.” She untied me from the cross I had come to know as my home for the past few weeks, but she had to hold me up, hooking her arms under my armpits to keep me from collapsing.

My weak legs couldn’t hold my reduced weight, but not because I had lost the muscle; more because I hadn’t used them in so long. Violet dragged me quickly to the corner of the room where Lindsey had last placed the mop, then told me to drink some water and tossed me an energy bar.

“From the faucet?” I asked.

“Beggars can’t be choosers, princess,” she snapped back, returning to Rinker on the floor. I really thought he was dead; my eyes didn’t want to believe the slight rise and fall of his chest while he breathed.

I turned the dial on the faucet and water began to gush from its spout. Leaning my face underneath it, I inhaled the water in a couple of quick gulps before it started to choke me, nearly causing me to vomit as a result.

“Quiet, Luke,” Violet snapped.

I raised a hand to show that I would survive the choking fit, and then I returned to drinking. It felt good, appeasing both my thirst and hunger at the same time.
She doesn’t seem to be in a good mood about seeing me
, I thought as I moved from the water to the energy bar. I tore the wrapper away and took my first bite, glancing over at Violet while she finished tying Rinker up with the type of plastic fasteners you would use to secure a shipping container, the same things that Rinker had used on me. And then, while I chewed and savored the sweet taste of this high energy chocolate, she dragged him toward me.