my virginity to one of them.” She nods vigorously. “Yep, and I thought they’d take it like pals, you know like buddies. But they were fucking silent!” She waves a hand around. “So I ran, but then I ended up in the mirrors and I got lost and they were looking for me…and oh my fuck.” Her gaze beelines to the funhouse exit where Akara and Banks are jogging out.
Oh yeah, this is a five-bucket kettle corn moment. I’d be grinning at the drama right now if people weren’t hurt tonight.
“We’re going,” Jane tells her. “Right now. Let’s go. Charlie?”
“I’ll leave with Jack and Oscar. You go ahead.”
“Are you positive?” she worries.
“Yes,” Charlie says, standing on his own.
She hugs her brother. “We’ll meet you at the hospital.” She turns. “Thatcher?”
“Right in front of you, honey,” Thatcher says, leading Jane and Sulli towards the parking lot.
I use comms and direct more temps onto them, and then Akara and Banks slow their jog as they reach us. My boss sees my client’s injuries. “What happened?”
Comms chatter ignites. “Price to Akara, I’ve got word that Charlie’s been robbed. Can you confirm?”
Akara glares, making me feel two-inches tall.
“He wasn’t on my detail,” Charlie defends me. “It was my fault. No one else’s.”
That’s not how security works, but I appreciate Charlie trying to keep my ass off a hot seat.
I nod to Akara with confirmation. Yes, my client was robbed.
He clicks his mic and relays that back. SFO is never going to live this down.
Kitsuwon Securities 1 – Triple Shield 2.
The only reason we’re really losing is because of me, and I feel like a bigger jackass. Bruising the reputation of SFO hurts all of our massive egos, but it’ll hurt Akara the most. His name is on it. “Kitsuwon, I’m sorry,” I tell him.
He shakes his head. “It’s okay,” he says, genuine. “It’s been…a long night.”
Now I really need the full story of what happened in that funhouse, but he’s turning to Banks and they’re already walking off together.
We start to head out too. But as we reach the Ferris wheel, Jesse approaches.
Pit stop #2.
“Where’ve you been?” Jack asks with the worry of a big brother.
“Where’ve you been?” Jesse motions to his brother’s face, the welt, and me supporting him around the waist. “You look like you got in a fight, Kuya.”
“It’s a long story.”
I upnod to Jesse. “Tell you at the hospital.”
Jesse notices Charlie leaning awkwardly, and he instantly scoops an arm around my client. “You okay, dude?”
I manage to take Jesse’s camera bag from him so he can brace Charlie. We continue our trek to the parking lot again.
“I’d be better if you overheard someone talking shit about Maximoff tonight,” Charlie replies.
His wise-ass is coming out to play.
He’s lucky Jane isn’t here to snap at him.
“Uh…yeah, I have heard someone railing on him tonight.” Jesse makes a confused face. “Why would you want to hear that? Did you guys get in a fight…I thought you two were cool now?”
Charlie suddenly looks too interested. His eyes laser-focus on Jesse. “What exactly have you heard?” Seriousness crosses my face, especially as he adds, “Have you caught any on film?”
Charlie.
Keating.
Motherfucking.
Cobalt.
Pieces of the overarching big-picture puzzle abruptly line up and connect too perfectly. My head spins. “Charlie…”
No one hears my whisper.
“Yeah, I shoot everything,” Jesse says. “I can show you tonight’s footage.”
Jack exchanges a look with me.
This is it.
This is why Charlie wanted to do the docuseries. Besides set me up with Highland, this is the answer we’ve been waiting for all along.
“Is it an older man?” Charlie asks. “He’d only be at charity events like this one. And he’d have a proclivity for hating my cousin.”
“Yeah,” Jesse nods. “That sounds like him.”
Ernest Mangold, the CEO of H.M.C. Philanthropies. Charlie wanted his head on a spike. That’s my best theory, and I might’ve made dumb mistakes tonight—but I’m still an intelligent motherfucker.
41
JACK HIGHLAND
“Did you hear that Maximoff left the carnival already? He didn’t even take pictures with those boys at the Tunnel of Love ride…yeah…”
Ernest Mangold.
I’m staring at him on my TV. I rolled it out of a closet and projected the camera footage from the carnival onto the big-screen. My brother, Oscar, Charlie, and I watch tensely in my apartment. We’re all standing, even Charlie who leans on his crutches.
“He was showing his son around the whole time. And he thinks he’s good at charity work?” His laughter is ugly.
My face is set in a perpetual cringe and confusion.
Whoever Ernest speaks to is standing out-of-frame.