“Hey Leon. I have another meeting at eight-thirty and it’s seven-fifteen already. Is she coming?” And hit send.
He replies to my text right away. “She’s almost there. Here’s her number, fyi.”
I’m about to text her when there’s a light tap on my shoulder.
I turn to face the woman I’m here to meet.
She looks younger than I expected. She’s tall, round faced and doe eyed. Her hair is braided in a single plat that rests on her shoulder. Her pink tracksuit set reminds me ofHigh School Musical.
“Are you Violet?” I ask just to be sure.
She nods but doesn’t speak. Her posture is rigid, holding herself like she’s cold despite the already sweltering morning. Her eyes dart around the restaurant. She looks scared. I can smell trouble a mile away and whatever she’s come to ask me stinks of it.
The curiosity I’ve had about her since Leon texted to say she was finally ready to meet is replaced by worry. “Why don’t you sit down?”
I look over my shoulder at the hostess stand. “Can we have another menu, please?”
While they bring the menus and waters for the table, I try to get a read on her. Is she scared or nervous or pretending? I hope Leon isn’t wrong about her.
When our coffees arrive, I flip open my moleskin notebook and pick up my pen to signal my readiness to talk. “So, you have a problem with your boyfriend.”
She nods. “He broke up with me and kicked me out of the place we were living together.”
“That was four months ago. Why have you waited so long to ask for help?”
She looks down at her lap. “He asked me to come back. Not as his girlfriend, but as his employee. He doubled the salary I make on campus and gave me a place to live. I’ve been saving, and the work was easy. It’s been fine. But last week, he did it again. This time he wouldn’t let me take anything. Not even my passport. I’m scared. He’s dangerous.”
Mindful of what I already know about her. “So why did you go back to work for him?”
She shakes her head. “I always knew he was doing something shady. But like, who doesn’t have some side hustle, right? The pay was good and he was generous. I wasn’t afraid of him. I am now.”
I feel for her but I’m not sure I believe her. She’s already admitted to being an opportunist who can be swayed to the dark side if the number is right.
“So, if he offered you your job back you wouldn’t take it?”
She shakes her head vigorously. “I just want to get my things and leave in peace. But there’s a picture of me at reception. I can’t even enter the building.” She presses her lips to together to stop them from trembling.
“What happened?”
She blows out a breath and composes herself. “Last week I asked him when he’d let me go to one of his auctions. He asked how I knew about them and I told him I’d heard him talking about them on calls. He snapped, warned me to forget everything I’d ever heard him say or he’d make me. He threw me out without letting me get my things together. He has my clothes, my passport, the money I’ve been saving, all of it.”
She’s trembling and I can tell that her trauma is real. I put my notebook down. “You’re from Trinidad. Have you reached out to the embassy?”
Her eyes widen. “I’m not supposed to be working. And I don’t want my parents to know I’ve gotten myself into trouble. They worked sohard to send me here for school. I just want my things.” Her eyes dart around the empty cafe.
“Look, Leon said you’re looking for someone who is selling art. Well, he is. And it’s not on the level. The apartment where I was living is also his home office. He’s got some of the stuff he sells there. I made deliveries for him and have all the addresses in my phone. I will give you all the information I have.”
I’m still skeptical but if she’s telling the truth, this is a bombshell of a lead.
“You said his name is Oz. Do you know his full name?”
She shakes her head. “I called him The Wizard, too. That’s how he introduced himself. But once I answered a call from a woman who asked to speak to Oz. He didn’t keep any mail at this place, so I never saw his full name. He was very careful about what he let me know, and I never went into his office without permission.”
“I see.” I write it down like it’s just any other piece of information.
My heart hammering, my pulse racing with excitement at this piece of information, I press my luck.
“Do you know where he’s from?”
