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“No, but I think I was followed home.”
“You think, or you know?” I can hear an engine in the background and a beeping horn.
“I don’t know for certain, but I’m scared. A detective came by my apartment a while back, and he keeps leaving his card under our door. Should I call him?”
“Why did a detective come to your place?”
“He was asking for Austin,” I reply.
“What did he ask?”
“He asked me if I knew where he was and wanted to question him on the guys he has been seen hanging around with.”
“What did you tell him?” The questions come thick and fast, and I don’t like the panic I hear in his tone.
“The truth, I didn’t know where he was at the time.” I swallow thickly the bitterness of my words. “When I spoke to Austin about it when he finally came home that night, he said he wasn’t going to get himself involved, and they most likely wanted him to give them information on the strip club.”
“You said he keeps leaving cards at your door. What is his name?”
I sniffle, only just realizing that I’m crying. “Detective Andrew Marshall.”
The line goes eerily quiet before he finally responds, “I’ll make a few calls.”
“Roman? Should I be worried?”
I hear him let out a long breath. “I’m sending Pharrell over to pick you up. I’m just leaving my father's place, which is over an hour away. I don’t want you home by yourself.”
“No, I should stay. Austin will be home soon.”
“Indie, for fuck’s sake, call him and give him my address. Neither of you are staying there tonight. Pharrell will be at your place within fifteen minutes. Pack a bag, and do not open the door for anyone but Pharrell. Got it?”
“Okay,” I say not wanting to argue with the man who is helping me, once again.
I rush through the apartment, grabbing my duffle bag and stuffing clothes into it. I look around the room, my heart beating so Goddamn fast I can’t think straight. What else do I need? How long will I be away for? It’s at this moment I’m grateful I don’t have any pets to worry about. I grab my toothbrush and some toiletries. Then Iwrite out a note to Austin, leaving it on his pillow for when he returns, letting him know where I am and to call me ASAP. It feels silly leaving a note, but I’ve texted him a million times without a reply. So, he’s either lost his phone, or his damn mind, not texting me back. He would know I’d be beside myself with worry.
I straighten the furniture and return the photographs that have been scattered all over the room to their rightful place, noting that nothing of value has been taken. All the drawers are open, but nothing is missing. This was not just some coincidental robbery. Whoever was here was looking for something in particular, which frightens me even more.
A text alerts me. Pharrell is downstairs ready to pick me up. That was fast. Too fast, I think as I look at the time on my phone. I rush outside to find it absolutely pouring down rain. I run to the car, but the downpour is so heavy I’m drenched from head to toe before I reach the car. As I slide in Pharrell gives me a nod.
“It’s a wet one tonight, Miss Johnson.”
“You think?” I say, dripping water all over Roman’s leather seats.
“You got here quick,” I comment as I catch his eye in the rear view mirror. He’s pulling away from the curb now.
“I live in Roxbury, so not too far from you.”
“I see,” I reply. “Do you mind me asking how you came to work for Mr. Judge?”
He laughs. “I stole his car.”
“Sorry, what?” I unsuccessfully try to hide the shock from my face.
“Long story short, I stole his car and got caught. I was doing it tough and tried to get ahead the wrong way. Instead of having me thrown into jail, Mr. Judge gave me the chance to make things right by working for him. He said he saw potential in me, and I just had not been given the right opportunities. Five years later, I can now support my daughter earning it honestly, and it has changed my family's life.”
I don’t know what to say. I'm a little dumbfounded. Here I am again finding more of the greys of Roman. It makes me wonder if I’m the same as Pharrell. Did Roman see potential in me and was just offering me a chance to better my life? Could it truly be that simple? It's such a contrast to who he lets everyone believe he is. Here all this time, I thought this was just a game to him. How many more Pharrell’s are there that he has helped?
By the time we get to Roman's apartment, I’m shivering. My wet hair and clothes stick to me like a second skin, and the clothes in my duffle are just as wet. Throughout the whole car trip, I kept calling and texting Austin, but he did not answer, and considering this evening's events, I’m really getting concerned.
