FSE

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~ Chapter 24 ~

Bbzzzzt......

Bbzzzzzt.....

It was a couple of days from my passing out at the toilet in Becky's hospital bathroom. Mom and Dad had assumed it was from the stress of seeing Becky's condition.

I didn't expand on that.

The sun was glowing through the window of Becky's room radiating warmth throughout. I was dozing quite well because of it. In fact, it seemed, this was the first time that I welcomed the heat and felt at peace in a very long time. I was lying in a cushioned chair next to Becky's bed with a blanket of sunlight covering me. My mind felt fuzzy and slow and I welcomed sleep again.

Bbzzzzzzt.....

Buffering my eyes from the sunlight I looked at the small, white tray on a stainless-steel arm that extended from Becky's bed towards the bottom-end of the bed. I had put some of my stuff on the tray. Reaching with a waking groan I grabbed my cellphone and looked at the name of the text-sender. Aaron's.

I pressed 'Ignore'.

"You doing okay?" came the voice from Becky's nurse and a tall, doe-eyed, well, doe, crossed the threshold and into Becky's room, skirting around a curtain that hung from floor-to-ceiling.

"Yeah," I mumbled blearily.

The nurse took the at the chart at the end of Becky's bed and looked at the steadily-beeping machines, jotting down notes, "Smells like she's getting better."

"Yeah," I sniffed and could only smell sterile alcohol.

"Would you like anything?"

"Umm.... just a glass of water?"

"Sure. I'll be right back," she smiled and walked out with diminishing clicks of her shoes following her out.

I leaned back and closed my eyes, feeling the sun enveloping me.

I awoke with a start. I wasn't sure what woke me up just that in one moment I was unconscious and the next I was fully awake with my eyes slowly focusing and taking in everything around me. Becky's room had shifted from a day-blue to an afternoon-yellow and the shadows had grown.

Becky was still sleeping; she barely stayed awake for long. As disgusting as it sounds, I much rather be around Becky while she's sleeping. When she was awake she barely spoke and she never smiled. It took all of my courage to not break down in front of her and we mostly just watched bad daytime television until she fell asleep again.

My glass of water was on the tray. There were no ice cubes in the glass but at least there was a bendy-straw. Precipitation had collected and slid down the sides onto the napkin and card below, leaving a dewy halo.

I picked up the card and read it. Confused I reread it. What at first I thought was something delivered by the nurse appeared to be something very different.

Groundings. 6:30. I know who tried to kill your sister.

The handwriting on the note was different from the nurse's, "Hi, I'm Melissa" welcome on the whiteboard hanging from the wall opposite of Becky's bed. I checked the clock above the whiteboard, 5:30. If I left now I could get there with a little extra time to spare.

Picking up my stuff from the tray and taking a last glance at Becky, still sleeping, I headed to the Groundings cafe.

***

Groundings was an artistic cafe in every sense of the name. The brick facade exterior was painted in a variety of pastel colors that one would normally reserve for Easter. Iron tables and chairs lined the small sidewalk outside the front where customers sat and drank their cafe-expensive "specialteas" pontificating about whatever hipsters and yuppies and tourists have in common.

The first thing one notices when walking into Groundings is the aroma of a million beans being roasted. Groundings specialized in Free-Trade coffee beans from Nicaragua and tea blends straight from China. House sandwiches and pastries were cooked in the back kitchen to be brought out, fresh and steaming, and displayed for the salivating customers. Paintings and photos from local artists were displayed on earth-tone walls that were, themselves, accented with pale pastels. Countertops lined the walls while cushioned art-deco chairs dotted the floor or arranged themselves around fake plants and floor lamps. The brick face of an traditional wood-fired oven was present on one wall and it was here that I sat down to drink my over-priced (with tip included) Italian soda. Mint flavored, of course.

6:15 I had stepped through the door and the clock was pressing on 6:40pm. Nobody seemed to be paying me much attention and nobody had occupied any seats around me. On the counters in the back, where there was more light from the rear-windows, a couple of people were typing away on their laptops, oblivious to everything outside of their glowing screens.

A shadow and movement, I turned my head to see a gaunt woman taking a seat in an armchair across from mine. She was pale and her frizzy hair glowed from the lighting.

"Sorry, I wanted to make sure nobody was eyeing you," she said.

"Nobody else," I amended.

"...nobody else was eyeing you," she eyed me.

"So who are you?" I cut to the chase.

She took a sip from an oversized cup, "My name's Ursula. My boyfriend's in jail for driving the van that hit your sister."

My nerves lit on fire and I felt my stomach jump. I willed myself to keep calm and took a purposeful sip of my drink.

"He didn't do it, of course," she continued.

"What do you mean?" I asked, confused and unable to maintain my unengaged stoic state.

"You see, he's been sober for three weeks now. We both have," Ursula rolled up the sleeves of her woolen jacket.

I registered, briefly, the dissonance between her clothing and the late-summer weather.

She held up her forearms and looked at me expecting me to understand.

I nodded courteously and added a noncommittal, "Ahh."

She rolled up her sleeves, apparently satisfied. "Naazir and I have two kids, babies, that social services took away from us. We have to remain clean for one more month and prove that we can take care of our children at home before we can get them back."

"I'm sorry," I offered, genuinely, in support.

"It's the medicine bottle," Ursula stated, "that was found in the truck. It couldn't have been Naazir. He's been keeping clean; for our children."

I shifted in my seat. I couldn't tell whether she was serious, delusional, or trying to pull the wool over my eyes. If she was lying, she was a good actor. Her eyes were starting to well up and turn red.

"We both work for Zephrys Shipping. Naazir's a driver and I work as an administrative assistant to the owner of the company, Marcus Hughes. The pay is shit and if we were able to afford better treatment, we could have had our kids back by now."

Marcus Hughes. There was his name again.

"It was Mr. Hughes' son."

"Remy!?" I flinched, startled.

Ursula looked at me, "Yeah, Remy. Mr. Hughes' son, Rembrandt Hughes. He was the one who hit your sister."

"Well how do you know it was him? I inched closer at her beckon.

"He's usually with his two goon-buddies, that little cowardly shit. He thinks he's top dog. Cock-of-the-walk." She took a breath, "He's a lousy, womanizing cock, all right."

"How do you know about my sister?" I pressed.

"Remy brags about his crimes. It's all Mr. Hughes can do to keep the monster's mouth shut. It's a wonder he hasn't taken video of his crimes to jerk off to. Anyway, I was working the afternoon your sister was hit. Remy's goons were pestering me when one of their cell phones rang. Serge, the walking wall - and about as smart as one, kept bothering me while Tamal answered the phone. By his tone I could tell it was Remy on the other end. Tamal told Serge that Remy was on a job for his dad and wanted them to meet him someplace. The dumbass thugs left and I went to the bathroom to cry."

Ursula looked more pissed off at this point than depressed or scared. She was on a roll and I wasn't going to stop her.

"Rembrandt once put the bartender of a club in the hospital for not paying the trio some type of extortion-money. Of course they didn't use that term, but they aren't the subtlest of people. Mr. Hughes can barely keep Remy under control but Mr. Hughes lets the bastard get away with murder."

She squeezed her eyes and wiped away droplets, regaining her composure and smiling at me, "This is where you come in."

"Me?" I asked, stirring the ice in my empty drink.

"Yeah. Mr. Hughes picked the wrong bitch to fuck with. I'm not losing Naazir and I'm not losing my kids. He's destroying my life and I want him to pay. I don't know what your sister did to piss him off, but he can't get away with this shit anymore."

I really didn't like where this was going. "What about the police? Have you talked with them?"

"Oh please," she scoffed, "Mr. Hughes has had them in his pocket for years, now. It's how he keeps Remy out of prison."

She looked at me, hopeful, "You'll help me, right?"

"I," I paused, "I don't think I can."

The corners of her mouth drooped, slightly, and her forehead scrunched to decipher what I said, "What do you mean?"

"I don't think I can help you."

Her smile disappeared, "Don't you care that he almost killed your sister!?"

"Of course I do," I shot back. "But I don't think I can join in on a vendetta against someone. I mean, how can I trust what you're saying?"

Oh shit.

The furor was back in her. I didn't have to look at her increasingly angry face to realize I had fucked this up big time. My stomach dropped inversely to her rising anger.

"You're working for him."

"What?" I was unprepared and taken aback by her accusation.

"You were in on it, weren't you? You knew about this," wheels of comprehension turned in her mind as her eyes widened, "You tried to kill your own sister!?" It was a question that confirmed its self. She looked around, suddenly aware of the public space that we were in. Nobody else seemed to notice.

"That's uncalled for," I said, angrily; secretly doubtfully.

Ursula got up and leaned towards me, "Tell Mr. Hughes that he won't get away with this and I'll get Naazir and Christof and little Ann-Marie back no matter what. I'll make him pay. I'll make his son-of-a-bitch son pay and I'll make his goons pay. And you; stay the fuck away from my family."

She slapped me.

"How dare you," Ursula straightened up and left as quickly as she could out Grounding's back entrance, looking around her the entire way.

I stood and left Groundings by the front entrance, pausing to put my glass next to a stack of dishes already piled up by the garbage.

I breathed in the fresh air as soon as I stood outside. Hmm, I noted, it was a cooler evening than in recent weeks.