*This is the end of the story, originally shared as ‘Systemic Risk.’ Parts 1 & 2 are also available below.*
I waited until she got home. All of the lights were on.
“Gavin?”
“In here,” I called from the bedroom we’d shared for almost six months. I’d divided the moving boxes to occupy myself instead of pacing.
“What are you still doing up? Don’t you have an interview early in the morning?”
I did, but I knew it was pointless, like the last five interviews I’d gone to. Ace’s name always came up, as did the trumped-up investigation surrounding my departure from the firm.
“What’s going on?”
Maya draped her jacket over a chair. My chair.
“I’m not going to the interview,” I said.
Shock spread across her features. She’d done a fantastic job of touching up her hair and makeup.
“Gavin, I know you’re discouraged, but we’ve got attorney fees to think about and–“
“Ace,” I said.
Maya’s eyes met mine.
“Actually, Ace just sent me a message,” I said. “He’s decided to forgive my debt, out of the goodness of his heart. Despite the fact that you quit your job – because I asked you to – he let me know there are no hard feelings on his end anymore. He’s used the accusations I made to the SEC as an opportunity to get back on top of things. Let me play the message for you. It’s a video.”
All of the color had drained from Maya’s face. I held up my cell phone and pressed play.
“Do you recognize that voice, the one that’s moaning? I think it sounds pretty familiar.”
Tears began streaming down her cheeks. I pressed stop.
“You can stay here tonight, but I want everything that’s yours out when I get back here in the morning,” I said on my way to the door. She followed me.
“Where are you going?”
Her tears weren’t enough. I wanted her to hurt the way I did. Before I slammed the door to my apartment, I answered her.
“To find number 783.”
***
I wait until Frat Boy leaves to buy drinks.
“Hello, Maya.”
She’s thinner now. The way her cheekbones stick out makes her look emaciated.
“Gavin?”
“I see you’re back at it,” I say.
“A girl’s gotta do what a girl’s gotta do,” she says. “You of all people should understand. Excuse me.”
I follow her outside.
“I had one girl left, Maya.”
Her face is blank. I can’t tell if she doesn’t understand, or if she doesn’t care.
“You weren’t number 782. You were 999.”
Now, I recognize the way her eyes narrow. She’s angry.
“Hey.”
I turn to see Frat Boy. Another glance in Maya’s direction and I know I’m not going to get a response. Her arms are crossed in front of her now, her knuckles white against her clutch. The streetlight catches the gaudy symbol of her self-imposed slavery. I want to tear it from the dainty wrist it encircles.
“What’s going on, Adriana?”
Frat Boy stands less than a foot from me, sizing me up. I’ve got several inches on him and he’s just interrupted a conversation I need to finish. It was definitely in his best interest to stay inside.
“Noth-ing,” Maya enunciates both syllables, more for my benefit than his.
He takes a step toward her. Paul followed him out of the club, but he doesn’t seem to notice.
“This doesn’t look like ‘nothing.’ Who’s this guy?”
My jaw twitches. Paul’s expression is wary.
“Nobody.”
“Nobody,” Frat Boy repeats. By this point, he’s belligerent.
“I came out to get some air.”
Now, he’s in her face. My pulse pounds.
“Air? Is that what I’m paying you for? To get some air?”
As involuntary as breathing, my muscles contract. My hand balls into a fist. It makes contact with his chin. He staggers back, wide-eyed. Vulnerable in his momentary shock, he takes a kick to the groin.
“Gavin.”
Maya’s voice sounds far away. I’m in an out of body experience that lasts for several seconds. I just can’t stop pounding this piece of…
“Stop,” she yells. “Gavin, that’s enough.”
He’s on his knees. I think he might be crying. A small crowd has gathered across the street, staring at us. A man on a cell phone covers his other ear and turns away as I notice him.
“You know what,” I say, “you’re right. That is enough. Paul and I will let you two enjoy the rest of your evening. He’s right, anyway. It’s time for you to earn his money.”
Paul glances between our scene and the crowd. “Gavin, we need to get out of here.”
Maya nods in agreement. “We all do.”
I hear sirens in the distance and the thought crosses my mind that they might be for me, but I feel no sense of urgency. Maya doesn’t seem to hear them.
“Gavin, he told me. I already knew.”
“What?”
“Ace told me that night. He waited until after. One more girl and he’d have given you the money.”
The sirens are closer. It isn’t my imagination. Wounded Frat Boy has moved from knees to elbows, now weeping shamelessly on the ground. Paul shifts uncomfortably, then reaches down to offer his hand. Frat Boy reluctantly takes it and stands to his feet, holding his bloody head in his hands.
“Gavin, we need to get out of here,” Paul says.
I ignore him, searching for any sign of emotion from Maya. “You knew?”
“I wanted to save you. He promised he would forget about the money. I only had to do it once. And it would all be over. It was just a game to him. He set me up. And I fell for it.”
Even as red and blue lights flash and the sirens grow deafening, I feel I’m existing outside of this space and time. Ace knew I was gunning for a thousand, but I never gave him an exact number. There was only one other person on the face of the Earth who had known the number.
“Paul.”
He won’t even look at me. His eyes are on the police cars, now a little less than two blocks away, weaving through traffic.
“Gavin, you’d better go,” he says. “I’ll call my attorney for you.”
“Don’t bother,” I say, admiring my own handiwork on Frat Boy’s face, “Besides, it’s in his best interest not to press charges.”
One last look at Maya tells me what I think I’ve known for years: she’s just a shell. She’s a pretty face with hollow insides – for sale to the highest bidder each night.
“Take care of yourself, Adriana.”
I disappear into the alley, in no particular hurry because I don’t have anywhere to be. I’m a free man.
***
It’s Saturday morning. I wake up on my sofa, with a pounding headache and sore knuckles, wearing the wrinkled clothes I wore to the club last night. Video game music blares through the wall.
I’m starving. There’s nothing in the kitchen, except for a wrinkled orange and half a bag of stale powdered donuts. I go for the donuts.
There’s still a cartoon or two left on TV. During a commercial break, a reporter introduces a sound bite from an upcoming news story. Numbers flash across the screen. They’re my numbers. A woman tearfully describes her husband – a hardworking, dedicated man who has become a multimillionaire overnight by winning the lottery with the numbers he stole from me.
“I’m overjoyed,” she says, “Louis can finally retire from his job at the gas station.”
Powdered sugar puffs out of my mouth as I begin to cough. I run into the kitchen, searching frantically for a clean water glass. Nothing. I fling open a cabinet door, coughing uncontrollably while removing the cap from a bottle I’ve been saving for the right occasion. I chase it all down with single malt scotch to keep from choking. – ©️ 2014-2021 Portia July
(This is the end, continued from the last two weeks – see below.)
Portia July 