Birthright

“Well, let’s see.” I lean back, rubbing my chin with my hand. “I drank far more than I should have last night. Not sure if that counts as a sin, but I suppose it’s as good a place as any to start. I’ve watched a lot of porn—that’s always a good one. I shoved a knife into my brother-in-law’s chest. Oh! I’m also doing my very best to con some poor girl into my bed and, theoretically, into a marriage proposal, but I’m getting a bit ahead of myself there.”

Chapter 11—Fakes

I roll over, head pounding from my overindulgence at the wake last night. I glance at the clock, but it’s blocked by a glass of water and a bottle of aspirin. I shove myself into a sitting position, groaning, and prop myself up against the pillows. The water is cold, ice cubes still floating at the top. I wonder who left it here.

The clock reads a quarter past ten.

“Glorious,” I mutter.

I should have been out at the warehouse an hour ago.

“Mr. Orso? You awake?” Andrea pokes her head in the door. The timbre of her New England accent pierces my skull. “Oh good, you found the aspirins. Now, I’m having chef make you an omelet and some bacon. Does that sound good? If not, I can have him do some waffles. You need a good breakfast after last night. Do you want it all brought up here?”

“No, Andrea, I’m fine.”

“You sure? I don’t mind bringing it up.”

“I’ll get it in the kitchen in a bit.”

“I really don’t mind at all.”

“I need to get up, Andrea. I’ll eat in a bit.”

“I’ll make sure it’s kept warm,” she says. She starts wiping down my dresser with a dusting cloth. “I put towels out for you in the bathroom. There’s a new shampoo in there as well. Now, I want you to be honest with me when you try it out. I can always go back to the other kind. Do you want me to get your clothes together? It’s a little chilly today. That damn groundhog is a liar.”

“I’ve got it.”

“All right, Mr. Orso. If I don’t see you down there, let me know when you’re done. I wanna get on the vacuuming in here.”

“I’ll be out soon. Go already!”

“Fine, fine! I’m going already!” She doesn’t leave before she finishes dusting the dresser and correcting the tilt on the wall art next to the door.

I shower, dress, and quickly shovel an omelet into my face while surrounded by the roar of a vacuum cleaner. Once in the car, I turn off the radio and drive in blessed silence for a few minutes. The air is cold, but I roll down my window a crack anyway, allowing the fresh air to further wake me up.

It’s going to be a long day.

I park behind a strip mall, right next to the sheriff’s car, and enter a white windowless door. The hallway beyond is narrow and barely warmer than outside. I can hear the running of machinery through the closed doors lining the hallway and open the one on the left.

Seven pairs of eyes glance up at me, offer shocked expressions, and then quickly go back to their work. Consistent humming fills the room as printers spit out reams of replicated material though the sound isn’t as loud as it would usually be.

“Good morning, Mr. Orso.” An overweight, brown-haired man with a beard approaches and offers me his hand.

“Hey there, Reid. Is this all that’s left?”

“The passport machines have all been moved to the warehouse,” Reid says. “What we still have here are the genuine driver’s licenses and title papers.”

“Good. Who is running the show at the warehouse?”

“Antony is overseeing it all,” Reid says. “Not sure who he has with him.”

“Are the orders being sent there?”

“Not automatically.” Reid points over to a teenager in the corner, hunched over a computer. “Right now, we’re sending them by courier, but we should have everything automated again before the weekend. The new kid’s been working on it.”

“Make it sooner.”

“We’ll do what we can, boss.”