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I look up.
There’s a gun pointed at me.
My heart drops.
“Oh, fuck. You’re not Harry.”
THIRTY
HENDRICK
It’s been a week since Magdalena walked out my door.
I’m worried.
She’s definitely the type to decide enough’s enough and stay away a few days, but she’d come back. Eventually. She always has. I also haven’t heard from Jac.
Normally he likes to call and tell me how much he hates me or to drop dead. Maybe Lili’s notebook mellowed him, but Jac isn’t exactly a mellow guy. Even as a kid, mellow wasn’t in his vocabulary. He’ll be at the Quinate meeting next week, so I’m sure he’ll have choice things to say.
I’m hoping he’s matured, but…
I’ll believe that when I see it.
On the eighth day of no word, and when I break down and call, it goes straight to voicemail. I go to the apartment I know about. She’s got another somewhere, but she uses this one enough, especially when working, and didn’t she say she had a job?
“Come on, Magdalena,” I mutter. As I knock again.
No answer.
I use the keys I got from the real estate woman because my money bought me a copy.
An uneasy feeling comes over me when I step inside.
No one’s been there. It’s devoid of not only any essence of Magdalena, but anything at all. Clothes are gone. The fridge and pantry emptied.
All the furniture’s still there, just clothes and the rest of the things are gone.
Abandoned?
“Fuck.”
Was I played?
I fucking knew she was up to something. Being played and her just being wiped away are two different things.
One suggests Magdalena doing it herself and that means her coming to me at some point because she can’t help it. She has ideas about wanting to avoid complications and I’m with her. But wanting and being able to do that are different things.
The other suggests Magdalena didn’t exactly leave of her own free will.
“Or maybe,” I say, pulling out my phone and bringing up the underground number for her business. “She’s just that good at the con.”
Being that good and doing a con isn’t smart with her career path. She needs to be honest in her criminal activities, reliable, or else no one would hire her.
I press dial.
“Fuck!” The number isn’t in service.
I’ve been played. Jac, too. Wherever the fuck he is. I call him, but it rings then goes to voicemail. I send him a text.
