“I know. I don’t understand…”
“I know you never promised anything.” He waves for me to stop talking. “I hoped.”
“You could always call a priest… or maybe someone in the city. It’s LA, there’s bound to be someone who can figure this out better than me.”
Unfortunately, I know it won’t stop. Not anytime soon. Not until Maggie gets what she needs. We’re further from the truth than ever and in danger of losing everything. I’m cold and wet and tired and hungry and I just want out of here.
“And what would the media do if they found out about that? People rely on me. Hundreds of people have jobs because of me. If they think I’m losing it… I have to be at the top of my game at all times.” He scratches the space between his eyebrows and picks the sage out of the trash. It’s sopping and makes a wet thump when he drops it back in the basket. “If it weren’t for the things you’ve said and we’ve all seen, I’d think that maybe I’m cracking.”
My breath whooshes out. I don’t pity him, exactly, but I understand the fear of feeling like you’re losing touch with reality. The feeling of a couple hundred people depending on you completely for their livelihood. Admittedly, it’s a lot of pressure. But pressure we both chose. Nobody is making us do these jobs.
But I do it without using people as a stepping stool.
“I need people in my life that’ll tell me if I’m going insane.” He’s surprisingly honest and raw. I hate that I’ve had the same thought a hundred times since I started in this town. “I need a reality check from time to time.” He slumps into his office chair. His gaze roves around the room surveying the destruction. “All this money and power, it’s hard to know what’s real and what’s not. And then even if it’s not real, does it matter if everybody in your life thinks it is?”
I don’t answer. It’s obvious that these questions are rhetorical. I feel like I should say something, but I’ve got no answers.
“I’ll call people to clean this up.” He lets out a long sigh. “Thanks for trying to help at least. Go home. Get some rest.”
His whole demeanor is different. He looks exhausted. He looks old.
“Are you sure there isn’t something else that I can do?” And for the first time, I might actually mean it when I ask.
“Nah. I’ll be fine. You’re a good egg, Roe. I wish there were more people like you than like Viktor.” It was a surprising reference to the man. I don’t say as much. “I thought he was like you, but I see now that he has some real problems.” He shakes whatever he’s been thinking from his head and looks at me. “But not you. I can tell you know what side of the line is right.”
Sitting slumped in that chair, he looks fragile and tired. He’s not the powerhouse that he normally is and I don’t feel pity, I cannot allow myself to feel pity, but for the first time, I’m wondering exactly where this path is headed. I think Maggie and I started with clear intentions, but things are getting muddled and complicated. Our simple plan is involving more people and emotions than I’m prepared for. The repercussions may reach people who don’t deserve it.
I need to find Maggie, to talk to her. Maybe we should back off a little while until I figure out something. The noose around my neck gets tighter every day since I met Zebulund, but for the first time, I understand that’s also the day I met Maggie.
* * *
Maggie’s slumpedin the passenger seat of my car against the window. Her hair’s damp and she’s shivering in a sundress. I get my jacket from the back seat and wrap it around her shoulders. She pulls it closer but doesn’t say anything.
I’m not sure where we stand with each other. There are a thousand things I want to say but I know well enough that this isn’t the time.
We don’t speak for a while. I drive out of the long driveway, the tires thumping over the expensive tiles that make up the path. The gate slowly opens for us. It’s after ten as I maneuver the winding hill roads. The headlights reveal what’s coming as we reach it; the rest is emptiness. Only when we’re safely on the 101 do I speak.
“I think we need to lay off Zebulund for a while.”
I can’t see Maggie well, but her gaze on me is tangible.
“Oh yeah? Why’s that?” Her voice is steady and bland. I don’t trust it.
I have to be careful how I approach this. Lest I wake the beast. The steering wheel squeaks under my grip.
“He’s unraveling. He won’t give up any information if he feels like things are spinning out of control. He’s only going to take measures to hold on tighter.” We round a bend and I slow way down to focus.
“He’s shaken, Maggie. He looks broken. Look, I don’t like the guy, but I’m not sure that I’m comfortable destroying a man.”
As soon as I say it I’m aware of how unconscionably selfish it sounds. To my surprise, Maggie doesn’t lash out or go off. Instead, she’s quiet.
“You’re right,” she says at last. “You’ve done more than enough to help me.”
I glance at her and she’s looking at me. We pass under a street lamp and I can see her features are serious, no hint of sarcasm. There’s another long pause.
“I’ve asked too much of you,” she says. “This… this isn’t your battle.” Her voice cracks and something crumples in my chest.
“It doesn’t have to be your battle either. You can let go. Trust that scum will get his. It’s not our job to dole out punishment for people.”
