I remember the day it was taken. We were leaving in the morning, and Zach said he needed a good picture to send back to his family. It was early March, and someone in our unit had just received a big box of Girl Scout cookies in the mail. I’d just eaten two entire sleeves of the peanut butter ones by myself. In the picture, Zack’s got a plastic bag of Thin Mints gripped in his hand.
How the hell did this picture end up here?
The other two pictures are solo shots—one of me target shooting while we were still stateside and another of Zach reclining on his bunk. There’s nothing written on the back of them or on the envelope, and there’s no indication as to how they might have ended up in a box in Alina’s father’s closet.
I have no idea what to think.
Taking the pictures, I shove the box back up in the closet. There isn’t anything anyone would want in the bedroom, so I don’t bother looking through the rest of it.
I step over Jimmy’s body as I check around to make sure I haven’t left anything important behind like my cigarette butts or gloves. I’ve collected the zip ties and the knife and removed the gag from his mouth. There’s no reason to leave it there. I toss it into a heap of dirty clothes in the bedroom. I have everything else.
Ralph crouches near the body, apparently checking out my knife work. He looks up at me as I open the door to the apartment and shakes his head slowly.
“Fuck you,” I mutter as I leave. “I don’t need your opinion.”
With my duffel swung over my shoulder, I maneuver around in the shadows until I get back to the Volvo. It’s been a handy thing to keep around, but it’s probably time to get rid of it. It’s already been involved in two major crimes. I drive it to the airport and take the ‘L’ back into the city.
I lie in bed and stare at the ceiling. Every few minutes, I sit up and look at the pictures again. I can’t seem to help the flood of Zach-related memories that flow through my brain. We’d hit it off instantly. He was probab
ly the first real friend I ever had. We spent eight months shoulder to shoulder before he was killed right beside me.
As much as I want to keep what I’ve done from Alina, I can’t let this go. I need to know why her father would have a picture of me and my dead spotter. As far as I knew, he only sent those pictures to his family, and he definitely wasn’t related to any Marinos. I knew his entire life story. He was from the Chicago area, but the only people back home were his parents and his older brother.
I sleep very little. As soon as I doze off, I dream of Zach. When I wake, my chest is tight and my eyes burn. It’s still early enough that the sun hasn’t appeared, but I get up and shower anyway.
As I make coffee and breakfast for myself, all my thoughts are on those pictures.
Alina isn’t supposed to move in until tomorrow, but I don’t know if I’m going to be able to wait. She gave me her phone number, but I’m hesitant to call. I don’t want to push her or give her any reason to back out on me.
It would be best to wait until she is actually here with all her things. That makes it harder to just get up and leave. As I debate, my phone rings. I grab it quickly, hoping it’s her, but it’s not—it’s Jonathan.
“Hey brotha,” he says. “I’m heading to the hospital. Want to go?”
“Yeah.” It will be a good distraction from thinking about Alina, but it isn’t going to help with everything else. I can’t avoid it though.
Jonathan picks me up, and we sit in rush hour traffic with the music from his radio blaring Led Zeppelin. By the time we get to Rinaldo’s room, visiting hours have already begun. Lucia and Becca are there, apparently going over some numbers.
“Evan! I’m glad you’re here.” Rinaldo sits up a little. It has been less than a week since his diagnosis, but he still looks weaker to me. He struggles to get himself upright. “You should hear all this.”
Becca looks at me coldly. I have the feeling she doesn’t like sharing information, but she might as well get used to it. Like it or not, I am going to be the boss after all.
“Go ahead, Becca.” Rinaldo waves his hand at her to continue.
“As I was saying,”—she glances at me briefly as she sticks a pen behind her ear—“the accounts you pointed out do represent most of the missing funds. Do you have any idea who has access to them?”
Rinaldo looks at me and Jonathan, and we glance at each other.
“Nothing concrete,” I say. “The money is being funneled through several countries. It will take a while to track it down.”
“Well, get on it!”
“Yes, sir.”
Jonathan lets out a breath and starts fiddling with the unlit cigarette in his hand. Rinaldo looks between the two of us, and I would have kicked Jonathan for being so obvious, but that would make it worse.
“You two going to share?” Rinaldo asks.
I glare at Jonathan, and he shrugs.