The Intern's Handbook: A Thriller (22 page)

She opens the door and looks at me for a beat. Then she wraps her arms around me and starts to cry.

“What the hell is going on?”

She pulls me into her apartment and stands under the lamp. I see the awful cuts and bruises all over her and I feel like I might puke again. This makes it easier for me to act convincingly surprised to see what has happened to her and I use that to my advantage.

“Oh my God. WHAT HAPPENED?”

“Someone broke in. John, he tried to kill me.”

“When? I thought you were leaving tonight.”

“A few hours ago. I felt bad about missing dinner with you so I booked a later flight. I was going to change and surprise you. When I came home, he was here.”

I hate myself. Even more than usual.

“What happened?” I say as I look at the bullet holes in the wall.

“We fought. I have a gun, so . . .”

“You have a gun?”

“A lot of women have guns in New York, John.”

“Sorry. I’m just in shock. Did you call the cops?”

“Yeah, they were here.”

That’s when I notice the mess left behind by her sweep team—latex gloves, fingerprint dust, paper packets for swabs and whatever. Fucking slobs, those guys.

“What did they say?”

“I filed a report. They’ll never catch him. He was wearing a mask, so I couldn’t even give them a description.”

“A mask? Jesus.”

“Can you just hold me? I don’t want to talk about it right now.”

“Yes. I’m so sorry.”

We embrace. It’s a very strong embrace. Feels like she’s afraid she’ll fall and never stop if she lets go.

“Sorry about your steak.”

“Forget it. I’m just glad you’re all right.”

“Let’s go to bed.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah. I’m going to explode if we don’t.”

She laughs. Her split lip cracks and bleeds. I feel sick again. I kiss her and taste the blood. She starts to undress me. I start to do the same, but then I remember my heel. If I take off my sock I’m finished. She will see the bloody bandage and
she will know.
If you don’t think she knows what she hits with that gun, think again. I found all of her spent targets in a shoebox when I was snooping around one night. She obviously prides herself on her marksmanship. I guarantee you she remembers hitting her assailant in the foot less than three hours ago. Not to mention the fact that I’m covered in bruises and scrapes from my little Dumpster dive.

Then it hits me. All of this is irrelevant anyway. Alice is no longer an asset to me, so keeping up this charade of boyfriend-girlfriend is unnecessary. I’ve gotten what I needed from her. She doesn’t suspect I was the one in her apartment. I’m free and clear with her, and this is no longer about the job, so there’s no point in continuing to risk everything with Bob.

Part of what I was feeling when I came over here was a sense of responsibility. I was feeling protective and I wanted to comfort her. These are not feelings associated with an asset. And they are potentially lethal. Not only to me but also to her. Bottle flies. Another gray, bloated corpse goes unnoticed in Gotham until the smell gets to be too much for Mrs. Shavitz on the third floor. The dirty amber film of death over her lifeless eyes. This grim diorama is only going to be filled with more hideous things if I continue with Alice. I think about the assignment and my own welfare and I realize I simply don’t give a fuck about myself or HR, Inc. I give a fuck about Alice. My feeling of responsibility for her, the very thing driving me to stay with her tonight, is also the very thing that’s going to make me walk out that door. She’ll be hurt, but hurt is better than dead.

This is my moment of clarity.

I stop kissing her and pull away. I know exactly what will turn her against me, what will poison the well. Just like I know how to kill people, I know how to kill this.

“What’s wrong?” she asks.

“I just . . . don’t think this is a good idea. After what happened.”

“But I’m the person it happened
to
and I think it
is
a good idea.”

“You’re not really in a great frame of mind right now.”

“What the fuck are you talking about?”

“You think sex will make it all go away, but it won’t.”

“I don’t think sex will make it go away. I think it will make me feel better, safer, comforted, and supported. I know you’re a fucking robot, but try to understand things from the human perspective for once.”

“Why do you have to attack me when you don’t get what you want?” I’m really laying it on thick. “You’re like a child having a temper tantrum.”

“Yeah because I get what I want. It’s called having balls. You should try a pair on for size sometime.”

“Maybe I should go.”

“Perfect. As soon as you have to feel
anything
the only thing you can think to do is run out the fucking door. Look at me! You get this too, asshole. Not just the fun and games. I’m hurting and scared and I need you right now. Look me in the eye and tell me you’re going to walk out that fucking door.”

At this point, I am utterly out of my element. I have no idea what to say. I have no idea what to do. All I can do is look at my feet. And I can feel the blood pooling in my sock. I hope it doesn’t stop. I just want to bleed out right now and be done with all of this.

She’s looking at me, expecting a response.

I can’t look at her.

If I do, I don’t know what will happen. I know this feeling. It’s the same feeling I have when someone is pointing a gun at my head or swinging a knife at my throat. I want to force myself to look up.
But I don’t want to see it coming
. A bullet would be welcome compared to this. A knife in the heart would be like a warm blanket by a roaring fire. Then I hear her bedroom door slam and it’s all over.

“Alice?” I say quietly, not really attempting to elicit an answer.

And there is no answer. There never will be an answer again. When Alice is done with something or someone,
she is done
. She once told me she left her fiancé after she found out he had been corresponding with his old girlfriend on Facebook. She never spoke to him again and they had been
living
together.

She is all or nothing. And now, I am nothing.

United States Department of Justice

Federal Bureau of Investigation

Washington, D.C. 20535

Location: Wireless phone call intercept—IMSI catcher/Roving bug

Subjects: John Lago and Marcus (censored).

I
get a call from Bob the next morning at 4:00
A.M.
He wants to meet before I go into work. For once I’m looking forward to it. After breaking it off with Alice, I need a reboot back at HR, Inc. I need to get my head back into the game and jettison all potential distractions. I’m ready to take the ball and run it into the fucking end zone and I don’t give a shit who I run over to get there.

“I think we have a scenario for you.”

Bob is looking more optimistic than usual. I can’t be certain, but I believe he might have a twinkle in his eye.

“Do tell.”

“Every year, the Bendini, Lambert & Locke board has its annual meeting. It’s mandatory in the firm’s bylaws for all partners to attend. Locke is guaranteed to be there. And it’s always off-site.”

“I like it so far. Bastard is practically invisible in the office, and it’s always good to get the target out of his element.”

“According to our intel, it’s always some top secret tropical locale. Locke
hates
going because he complains that he does not feel safe.”

“Sharp guy.”

“Yeah, not his first rodeo.”

“So, you’re thinking hotel?”

“They don’t trust hotels. They always rent a villa or some monstrosity and staff it to the gills with security.”