Chapter 66 Let Me In
Over the next week, Sel lets me invade her apartment completely. Moving the stuff out of her second bedroom so that I can move the pull-out couch in there to sleep on, emptying one of her dressers so that I have somewhere to put my clothes. She screens everyone that knocks on the door, although it is only ever Nico and the takeout drivers.
She has once tried to urge me back to The Red Room, even if it is only to monitor cameras in the office. I refuse, and spend the night alone in her apartment instead, reliving every moment I had with David in there.
My finger hovers over his name in my phone countless times, but I never press to dial.
Time, Harlan said.
He needs time.
The question is how much time does he need, and what will I do once he has had enough time? I had lashed out when I told Harlan we could hardly go back to playing happy families, the tight feeling in my chest controlling my words, but it is still true. After all this, all I have put him through, David might listen but things are hardly going to go back to the way they were.
There is a lot that I am thinking about. But there is one thing that keeps popping up in my mind.
Whether or not David agreed to my dad’s deal.
I really hope he hasn’t. I know my father. Whatever he says isn’t part of the deal, it soon will become part of the deal.
On day eight, I nod to Sel as she leaves for work, wait for the front door to close and then head to the kitchen to look out the window, watching her cross the street, get in her car and drive off.
Then I get dressed.
The plan I have is simple – find my dad, tell him to stop hassling David. Simple. Easy. Not a lot of steps. But first I have to find my dad. Or find one of his outposts to talk to someone who knows where my dad is.
That is proving a bit trickier.
I go to the usual places that Malcolm likes to use as a ‘Main Office’ – abandoned warehouses, seedy hotels, strip clubs. Trying to find a hint of anyone who looks like my father’s minions. It isn’t until I go back to the DeVue, actually sitting at the bar for a drink before starting my investigation. This is my last concrete idea, considering this is where they were last setting up to take down David at the charity ball.
It is now 4am, and I am downing the last few drops of my whiskey when the guy next to me closes the magazine he is reading and leaves his chair.
On the front of the magazine is a man that I know very well. And I am pissed as hell that it has taken me this long to realize that he still lives in the city and would know exactly where my father is. Because if my father is ever in the city, this is where he operates out of.
20 minutes later, I am at the front gate and ringing the buzzer repeatedly.
“What?!” comes an angry voice from the speaker. “It’s four in the morning so unless you’re an incredibly hot–”
“Let me in, Uncle Rhys.” I reply.
After a moment of silence, the gate buzzes and starts sliding open.
Stomping toward the front door, I hear numerous security cameras whir as they track me along the path. It takes a few minutes to get closer to the fanciful, sleek, almost futuristic-looking home. My eyes focus on the front door that is now opening, with Rhys Whitaker stepping out in a fluffy blue robe.
“It’s been a long time since you’ve come to visit, Biscuit.” He says as I approach him.
“It’s been a long time since you called me Biscuit.” I retaliate.
The two of us watch each other for a moment, until he sighs and steps forward, pulling me into a hug. Feeling my eyes start to sting, and not wanting to cry in front of him, I pull away and look anywhere but his face. I don’t regret leaving this life behind, but one thing I do regret is losing touch with Uncle Rhys, who always seemed to be an uncorrupted part of my father’s family. Not that he’s a saint.
Uncle Rhys is just corrupted in a different sense.
I watch as he pulls a cigar out from his pocket and lights it.
“You keep those in your bathrobe?” I ask with a slight chuckle.
“Never know when you need one.” He replies, taking a puff. “He’s not here.”
“Who?”
“Come on. I’m the smartest guy you know. You don’t think I know why you’re here?”
I sigh in agreement, my ploy rumbled quicker than I was expecting. “But he was here?”
“Earlier.” Rhys nods. “Does this mean you’re coming back, kid?”
I inhale sharply and fold my arms over my chest. Rhys laughs.
“Right, the whole ‘mob stuff is bad’. You know I heard about you and Reid. Seems like you don’t think it’s all bad.”
“Rhys…”
“I just think it’s rather ironic!” He defends.
“Yeah and Malcolm said the same thing. Just tell me where he is. Please.”
“If you’re not coming back, why do you need him?” He asks, but I just stare him down.
Uncle Rhys was never good at keeping secrets from me.
He sighs. “The crew are working out of some dock. Border… Bonty something.”
I frown as I think back. I don’t know the names of any docks, and there are hundreds on the coast. It would take me days to try and work out which–
“Bautic?” I ask, and he snaps his fingers.
“Yes, that’s the one. How did you know?”
“I just… heard it somewhere.” I mutter.
I had heard the name when David shot Trent Hayes in his office. But that is just it… it is the name of David’s dock. So why would my father be working from there?
I turn to walk away.
“He does miss you, you know. And so do I! Be nice if you could check in every now and then!” Rhys calls after me, but I clench my teeth, and keep walking.
Rhys has the decency to open the gate just as I reach it, so I continue down the street, checking my phone as I walk.
It is 5am now, and Sel has sent me her hourly check-in. I just dismiss the notification and order an Uber to the Bautic docks.
The drive isn’t far, considering I had already come half the distance by going to Uncle Rhys’s house, so it isn’t long until the driver is dropping me a block away. When I question whether he can drop me any closer, the exhaustion of the night starting to creep in, he tells me he has ‘heard bad things about those docks and doesn’t feel safe getting any closer’.
But he is apparently fine letting a woman walk through the unsafe dock.
There are still hundreds of containers in this one dock, but with some logic, I make some good progress in narrowing the field. The main one wouldn’t be on the outer edge, or dead in the middle, because there is nowhere to run if you are ambushed. For a proper operation, no single containers or ones in a thin line, because otherwise you would be constantly stepping over people.
I need one with all four access and exit points available, slightly off to the side, with multiple containers grouped together with the internal walls removed for the larger space. The removed walls would mean more external supports, bolts or edging, to ensure no secret activities would leak out into the world. The padlock wouldn’t be on the door, because that is too cumbersome to remove in a hurry.
I find one that fits the criteria. A keypad instead of a padlock. 3 containers wide and 4 long, brackets and bolts connecting each one to the other. There is noise coming from inside, muffled, but audible. Walking around it, there is no way of getting inside except for the front door, it seems.
Well, here goes nothing.
I knock.
The door opens, and a middle-aged dark-haired guy looks at me.
“What do you want?” He asks.
“Malcolm.” I reply bluntly, enjoying the way his face hardens, and he looks me up and down, analysing why this young woman could possibly be asking about his boss. “Surely you’re not going to leave someone like me in the cold, alone? In this end of the neighbourhood?”
“Don’t know who you’re talking about.” He says gruffly, going to close the door. I stop it with my hand and wrench it open, pushing my way inside. “Hey, HEY!”
I storm forward, drawing the eyes of everyone inside.
It is a pretty decent set-up, I have to admit: computers, weapons, hustle of workers, shouting, people on phones as they walk. It takes me straight back to the old days.
Then, hands grab me and lift me off the ground.
“Hey!” I yell, wriggling in their grip. “Let go of me! DO YOU KNOW WHO I AM?!”
“You’re out of here, lady.” One of them grunts as they start dragging me to the door.
Then a gunshot rings out.
Everyone freezes, and turns to face the door where I had just come in from, where David is now walking through.