23 - Retention

“Jesus fuck!” Paul flinched as the pickup truck flew past his little Toyota. He hammered the heel of his fist into his car horn. “Where the fuck did that asshole come from!?”

“There was a little access road off the highway a few--”

“Fuck off, I was just swearing.” Paul clenched his fists tighter on the wheel. Jacob frowned in the other seat. What the fuck were they doing driving to Halifax? He hadn’t been in the city since college. It was fine, but there was no fucking way Jewel would drive out this way. Montreal was the smallest least cultured city she’d deign to travel to. As far as his spoiled fiancee was concerned, the stupid harbor town could sink into the bay. “How are you keeping yourself from being stressed?”

“What?” Jacob asked. “We have a task. We get the task done. Right?”

“Bring our wives back?” Paul scowled.

“Barbie’s here too,” Jacob said.

“I know, she was the slut Jewel was going to celebrate vicariously through.” Paul clicked his tongue. “Do you have any idea where in town we’re going?”

“I’ve got an idea.”

“Siri,” Paul said. “Call Jewelie.”

“OK. Calling Jewelie...” His dashboard replied. It rang, rang, and cut-off mid-ring.

“She’s probably hungover as fuck,” Jacob said, supportively. “Brandy isn’t answering either.”

“She definitely is hungover,” Paul agreed. “What else is there to do in Halifax?”

Fuck somebody. His inner voice answered him. He ground his teeth. For a second, he had a glimpse of Tamara’s face when he told her he was having an affair with Jewel. He’d quashed that. Shit, it had to happen to some guys but it didn’t happen to him. For fuck’s sake.

“Call Barbara.”

“Oh, I’d better use your phone. That bitch hates me,” Jacob said, picking Paul’s iPhone out of the cupholder.

A couple hundred dollars and the maid happily opened his daughter’s hotel room for him. Maxim nodded, and walked in scrubbing the middle aged servant woman forever from his mind. Housekeeping hadn’t come to the room. It had clearly been used. The few black hairs on the pillows may have been Natasha’s or the servant’s. Maxim twisted on Giselle.

“Where has he gone?” he demanded.

“I have an idea, but it’s vague,” she said.

“He has an apartment about ten blocks from here.”

“No.” She shook her head. “He is further than that.”

Kirk waited quietly, struggling with his unpracticed French to follow the conversation. Even if the translation was right in his head, the words didn’t make sense. He sighed.

“Do you need me to drive you somewhere else or may I postpone the meeting until tomorrow?” he offered.

“Go,” Maxim said with disgust.

Kirk nodded. He swiftly turned and headed for the elevator. He felt, better, knowing Owen was fucking with Maxim. That Owen was with Maxim’s daughter. It wasn’t only his own personal hell. Val? No, he put his phone back into his pocket. Hardly worth it right now. He needed the money from the deal to orient his way forward with her. Val was controllable, but Kirk didn’t like taking such a heavy hand. He got into business for himself and by himself, mostly, because he hated micromanaging.

His only hire had been Frieda’s mother. The store, and the deals, was too much work for him alone. Trusting someone with his life’s work was as easy as trusting her with his heart. That’s probably why, after their marriage fell apart, he clung to the first woman he could put in the store and trust her with it.

Don’t shit where you eat.

His mind went straight to Katie. He was a fucking idiot, wasn’t he?

“Why are you here?” Frieda asked after grabbing Owen by the face and kissing him madly. “Mom could be home at any moment.”

“This is Natasha and Hafnan,” Owen said, dodging the question.

“You are Marcusson’s daughter,” Natasha said, not looking up from her phone. “Surely you know a better place to go.”

“What? Yeah, anywhere. Why not your place? Or her hotel room?” Frieda rushed out the words.

“We’re in the process of--”

“Taisez-vous!“ Natasha said. She shushed the three people watching her with a finger to her lips. “Oui. Vrai. Natasha Marie-Jeanne leCarre. Quatre Janvier, mil neuf cent quatre-vingt-dix-huit.“

She rambled off more French numbers and Owen’s eyes glazed over. He turned to Frieda. “Where would you go if you needed to burn an hour or so?”

“Dad’s store,” Frieda said. She saw that was a bad suggestion. She tilted her head. “I don’t think you’d want to go hang out with a bunch of high schoolers playing pool.”

“Good point,” he frowned. “Screw it. Let’s go see Janny at work.”

“Plus vite. Plus vite.“ Natasha grumbled into her phone. Owen looked her over and frowned. He looked at Hafnan. She tried to smile broadly under her headscarf. She held Natasha’s two bags tightly against her knees. Owen turned to Frieda.

She was bundled up in a heavy winter coat. Her brown hair came out of her pink toque in a thick braid and rested on her shoulder. There was snow starting to fleck over all of them. Owen looked up and got a flake to the eye. He frowned. He looked at the house in front of him. He looked back at Frieda. Her cheeks flushed red, hiding her freckles. He smiled.

“What’ll your mom do if we go up to your bedroom?” I asked.

“Call every big man she knew to come over and break your legs,” Frieda said, with a slump. “She still thinks I’m a virgin.”

“Let her think that,” Owen said. “Call a cab. We’ll go somewhere else.” Natasha erupted in a firestorm of curses and spittle. Owen scratched his hair. “Or maybe we don’t have to and I should just go back to your father and hers.”

“Merci.“ Natasha growled with finality. She stabbed her thumb into the hang-up icon on her phone’s screen. She glowered at him. “I could only get two million Euros.”

“Hm...” Owen smirked. “That is less than what I could press out of your father.”

“I have other things,” Natasha said. She spread her smile wide. She turned on a flirtation that Owen hadn’t seen in her before now. She had always been feline and sexual. “Perhaps--”

“No, your ass’s hardly an exchange for that much money. Besides, I got all of the great sex I could ever want,” Owen said slipping his arm around Frieda’s shoulders.

Natasha’s face sparked like a wildfire.

“Sex? With Frieda?” Owen turned at the dark voice. A tall attractive dark haired woman was staring at him in clear displeasure. His confidence disappeared leaving only his bruised and punched face.

Elizabeth sat across from Carlos and Davy. Carlos had tried to take the seat next to Elizabeth when they had received their coffees, but Elizabeth had blocked him. Carlos and Davy refused to acknowledge each other sitting in so near contact.

“I bought you coffees, quit squirming,” Elizabeth said.

“Yeah, thanks.” Carlos said. Davy looked away.

“Do you really want to help me?”

“I’d rather be totally ignorant of your crazy problems, Lizzie,” Carlos said. “But I’m not and I can give you some help. What kind of piece of shit man would I be if I didn’t?”

“Thank you,” Elizabeth said. She could feel she was right before crying. After Brett and her father ... With Owen and his selfishness ... Carlos and Davy were here.

“What the fuck? What are you doing here?” Carlos scowled as the girl in the green apron came over.

“What?” the waitress said with shock. Her bright electric blue hair almost covered her eyes. Her skin was very pale and her ears were over-filled with piercings. She frowned her dark purple lips. “Um, didn’t you order a cranberry muffin?”

“You’re the snipey little bitch from--”

“Lay off, Carlos,” Elizabeth sighed. “Thank you, Roxxi.”

“You’re welcome!” Roxxi replied.

“If you guys had wanted a muffin you should have said something when--”

“It’s for you,” Davy interjected. “Look, Lizzie ... Uh? Beth?” He still didn’t see what he wanted on her face but pushed forward nonetheless. “Listen, I’m a grown man. I can buy a coffee for myself and a girl in need. You didn’t have to--”

“Enjoy Elizabeth!” Roxxi said and put the little plate down in front of Elizabeth. “It’s still really hot. Probably be steaming when you rip the top off. Can I get you anything else?”

“No, when’s Janice going to be free?” Elizabeth asked.

“She’s in the office. Um, fifteen minutes?”

“Good, get back to work,” Elizabeth said. Roxxi brightly smiled and bobbed before she spun off and ran back to the front counter.

“Really?” Carlos said. “You had every opportunity to treat her like she always treated you.”

“I don’t want revenge, Carlos,” Elizabeth said. She pulled the head off of her muffin. It did steam. She smiled, for almost a full heartbeat. “I want to do what’s right.”

“What’s right?” Davy asked.

“Who the fuck knows?” Elizabeth said.

Work at the restaurant was frustrating and lonely. Though the pace was steady and Darlene was doing well for tips. She was training a new guy, and for his three training shifts, the trainer got half of his tips. This should’ve put her over the moon. He knew what he was doing. He was friendly and quick. Customers were loving him. Besides, other than one “How do I get the milkshake machine to stay on?” question, Darlene could hardly be described as sharing knowledge with him.