Meanwhile, the little fawn and I go to work together and come home together. Then we walk the dogs and have dinner afterward.
She loves to chat, but since I’m not a talkative person, she usually does ninety-nine percent of the talking, with me nodding and making a few appropriate noises. It’s amazing what you can gather from mundane conversation.
Like how she managed to stay half a step ahead of Roy, how she learned latte art, how she stretches her money and what she’s planning to do with it when Roy’s taken care of.
When she said she wanted to go to college, I imagined it would be to study literature or some such. But she wants to major in math and economics.
“They’re practical and useful, and I feel like I can use what I lear
n to help people, you know?”
Her eyes sparkle whenever she talks about her plans, and her walk becomes carefree, hips swinging until lust envelops me, and later I find myself fisting my cock in the shower.
Not an optimal development, since she’s bait. But it’s just lust—nothing too complicated. I can deal with it, even if this is a particularly intense case.
By the time we hit the five-week mark living together, I’ve decided to put the next stage of my plan into motion. It’s an adjustment to my original plan, but I like it far better. I’ve waited long enough, and it’s time to poke Roy. Hard.
The little fawn is puttering around in the kitchen, making one latte after another. She’s been doing that on weekends since she quit Coffee Heaven. I doubt she’s doing it to keep her barista skills sharp. Baristas generally need to make more than lattes.
I don’t know why she is making her fourth coffee when she hasn’t even taken a sip of the other three and I already turned her down when she offered me one. But I let her brew as many as she wants. It’s Saturday, and it’s good to have a legal and unproductive hobby. My dogs are leaving her alone, since she isn’t making anything they can eat. Stravinsky is trying to dominate Mussorgsky, without much success.
I lounge on an armchair with some vodka and my favorite cigar. Beside me is a special phone I set up just for Courtney Young.
After today, she’ll quit contacting Angelika directly.
I’ve never cared much about what happened to the bait in an operation, but somehow I don’t want Angelika hurt in the process of getting to Roy…even though ridding Roy from her life—permanently—is what she wants, too. That means I need absolute control over what is getting fed to Roy Wilks. I need to be in charge of the messages the snitch is getting.
So now, Courtney Young thinks Angelika’s phone got hacked and she got a new number and device.
Even though I didn’t update anybody with my new number, I couldn’t NOT get in touch with you. You’re the only friend I have left, the only person I can trust.
I might as well have texted, You’re so special, you see. You’re my BFF. Or some other such saccharine bullshit.
She bought it. But then, liars always do. They consider themselves so slick that they can’t imagine anybody else finding out about their betrayal.
It’s hard not to sneer at her moronic arrogance. The only person she could have fooled is someone as innocent and sweet as the little fawn.
I type up more bullshit.
–Me: Don’t trust anybody who says they’re me and contacts you. If they do, let me know.
–Courtney: I will. Don’t worry.
–Me: Actually, no. I’m putting you in danger by asking you to do that. Maybe we shouldn’t do this anymore.
–Courtney: Do what?
Are you holding your breath, Courtney? The cigar smoke drifts lazily toward the ceiling.
–Me: Stay in touch. I’m not saying we should never talk, but just wait until I know I’m safe.
–Courtney: Which will be how long? It’s been eight years. It could be another eight!
Of course you think that. And you’re panicking.
What is Roy giving you, Courtney? Money? Drugs? He’s good at what he does. Deserves his street name of the Dealer.
I wonder if I can flip her to be my informant. But no. People who switch allegiances so easily aren’t trustworthy. Besides, who cares if Roy Wilks finds out about her screw-up and does something about it? It can’t be anything worse than what I would do if Courtney fell into my lap. I have a singular dislike for people who betray their friends.