Learning to Trust: Limits (2 page)

The city passed by us now, the high rises surrounding us with their ominous perfect rows of windows that climbed toward the sky. Traffic was always heavier around these parts, so the progress seemed to slow. And then we turned down a block and the car pulled to the side.
Roland leaned forward and put the briefcase in my hands.

"We're here," he said. "Take this and do a good job for me, okay?" I gripped the handle and almost dropped it after being surprised by the weight. He kissed me firmly, a kiss that actually provided some calm inside of me.

"I will," I said.
I grabbed at my purse.

"Leave it," Roland said.

"What about my phone and—"

"You'll be fine. Just leave it. I'll be waiting for you."

I didn't argue anymore. "Yeah." His patience seemed to be wearing thin. I left my purse on the seat.

"It's the building with the white arches, okay? Start walking and you can
't
miss it."

"Okay," I said. I fought to ensure that my heart didn't race out of control. After straightening out my clothes, I opened the door and stepped onto the pavement. Oh yes, we were in the nice part of town. Fancy cars were parked up and down the block—the limo didn't actually look that much out of pl
ace after I saw everything else around it.

"Damnit," I said to myself as I saw the limo
away from me
. I realized my mistake—my purse had contained the pen with the GPS tracker in it from
Ramón
. Calling him had been impossible, but the pen would have been perfect. Now it was going off in some random direction, following Roland on his joyride while I did all of the hard work.
There was nothing I could do about it now.

The
white arch
es stood before
me. Unless I had been entirely blind, there w
ould have been no way to miss them
.
I walked
onward
and felt a pang of nervousness as I saw the limo turn around the corner
and out of view
. It was gone, vanished just like that. Roland said they'd be back, but now I was truly alone.
For one fleeting moment, I thought about just sneaking away with the briefcase. There was more money in there than I'd need the rest of my life. I could just escape from everything and—

No, I
had to
stick to the plan.

Up ahead was a stocky, muscular gentleman, one wearing a leather jacket and jeans.
Security
.

There was something really exciting about carrying a briefcase full of ten million dollars.
The walk toward
the restaurant reminded me of four
th grade when I had been in the spelling bee. Every time I got up to approach the lectern for my word, giddiness flooded through me like a drug. That day, I never got used to the spotli
ght. Ultimately, I blamed my second
place victory on being
too excited
.

No, Marisa
.
The word "artistic" doesn't contain the letter k.

Had I calmed down and tried to relax, I probably would have won the whole thing. I knew ho
w to spell the word that the first
place guy beat me with.
Just another regret from the past. Stupid, yet relevant.

God, my throat was so dry. There was a lump that kept returning there, no matter how many times I swallowed.

Despite
its immense weight, I ensured that the briefcase remained airborne.
I half expected to run into
Al Capone
once I got inside
—and
I wished very badly that I had peppe
r spray or a tazer in my purse. J
ust something I could use to defend myself. Never in my life had I ever carried either; now they were all I seemed to care about.
I can do this. I just have to...

The guard
pulled off his fancy sunglasses and
looked down at my briefcase—and
then crawled up my body with his eyes, obviously taking the time to undress me as far as his imagination desired.
"Can I help you, miss?" he asked. His voice was gravelly and unappealing, his hair buzzed short. He had the build of a marine.

I started to speak, but coughed as the scratchiness tickled my throat.
Get yourself
together, Marisa.
"I'm here to see Mr. Von Williams," I said matter-of-factly.

"And what is the nature of this visit?" he asked.

"I'm here on Roland Starland's behalf."
Good job!

The security guy stared forward, unfazed by my words. He pressed a button on a headset
and spoke. "Girl here f
rom
Roland Starland. Do I let her in?"

I wanted very badly to hear what the other end was saying, but I couldn't.
What if he didn't let me in?
I hadn't even considered that possibility.

"Mr. Von Williams is busy. Can it wait?" he said.

Damnit!
I looked up and down the block and then down at my feet. After that brief pause, I stared right back into the guard's eyes, intensity flaring up inside of me like a furnace. I had to succeed.

"This isn't a goddamn joke," I said. I lifted the briefcase up until it was resting on the bend of my elbow and clicked it open just an inch or two so that this
obstacle
of a man could see what was inside. "Happy now? Again, I'd like to see Mr. Von Williams." I slammed it shut and brought it back to my side.

The guard's face lit up, even more than it had when he was staring at my body. My heart was pounding, a combination of rage and uncertainty.
Would it work?
He pressed the button to activate the microphone.
"She's got something nice for you."

We stood there in silence as I waited for a response th
at might never come. He suddenly smiled, revealing multiple chipped teeth. Souvenirs from
fights
, most likely. "Mr. Von Williams says he'll see you now. Walk all the way to the back and then turn left. Private room
sixteen
." He turned and slid a key card into a slot. There was a green confirmation light and a click.

"Thank you," I said. I pulled open the freshly unlocked door and walked inside.

The interior was that of a gorgeous, upscale restaurant. I needed to try to get the name before I left. There were chandeliers and impeccably set tables. It was also
entirely empty
.
A ghost restaurant.
That struck me as being kind of weird. A fancy place like this empty during lunch time? Maybe it was closed on certain days of the week. I didn't see any waiters either.

My
hardwood floor creaked under my heels
I walked toward the back. When I got there, I took a left and immediately saw the private rooms.
After a short jog, I saw
sixteen
. I stepped up and swallowed another lump in my throat as I knocked lightly on the door.

"Come in," I heard from inside.

I g
ripped the small, cold knob,
turned it
,
and walked in
side. I didn't want to pause; I needed to just go for it all at once.

"Close the door behind you, please," came
that same voice from before
.
I pulled it shut, my face pointed at the floor.

"Are you Mr. Von Williams?" I asked,
lifting my head up and
following the voice until I found the face.

"Yes, dear. Call me Marcus, please."

My eyes immediately traced across the room. Marcus sat in the middle, surrounded by two layers of others. To his immediate left and right were two girls, scantily clad in flashy, revealing dresses. One blonde, and one with black hair. Around them were two more guards, men that looked incredibly similar to the one I'd seen out front.
Were they brothers or something?
There was a gun sitting on the table near the guard closest to me.

As far as I could tell, Marcus Von Williams was older than Roland. He had short, messy brown hair and was balding. His eyes were a bold shade of blue, less serious than Roland's but still compelling. Stubble covered his cheeks and masked some of the lines of age along his face. He was wearing a brown suit jacket, an unbuttoned dress shirt peeking out beneath it.

"What's your name, sweetheart?" he asked.

"Marisa," I said.

"Well, you don't have to just stand there,
Marisa
. Please, put the briefcase on the table and take a seat. Would you like a drink?"

"Sure," I said. There were glasses all over the table. It only felt right to fit in.
Marcus nodded to one of the guards and he stood up and walked over to the private bar in the room. I guess these guys could do more than just look tough.

"My, you're such a pretty one," Marcus said. "Roland sure knows how to pick them out, right girls?"

"Yes," they both said together, probably unsure of whom Roland even was. Once I heard them talk, it was pretty obvious that they were high-class escorts.
Imported, probably.

I blushed. "Thanks," I said quietly. A drink hit the table hard in front of me."Thanks," I
mumbled again
. The guard walked back to his side of the table and sat down.

"So what's the occasion?" Marcus said. He sat back and wrapped his arms around the two girls. "What's old Roland looking for this time?"
I couldn't believe he was referring to Roland as
old
.

"He wants to make peace," I said. Really, I didn't know what the hell I was talking about.

"Peace, huh?" So he sent you over here to make me a happy man, huh?"

I sat there silently. Alarms started ringing in my head.
Where was this about to go?

"Marisa, stand up for Marcus, won't you?"
Referring to himself in the third-person. A great sign.

"I beg your pardon?" I asked.

"Stand up and show me that hot body of yours."

"No, thanks," I said snidely.

Marcus cocked his head like a dog that had just heard an unfamiliar sound. "Oh, do I need to get rough? What do you think girls?"

They both
nodded and sipped their drinks without
concern
. Apparently
,
they were already used to such crass behavior and questioning.

In that very short moment, I thought about a lot of things at once. I thought about the gun sitting there on the table, the man directly behind it that probably wasn't afraid to use it. I thought about the fact that I was undercover, in a position that was quickly becoming dangerous. My mom and dad passed through my mind. My old boss
, Pat
. Frederic and Roland.

I shot up from my seat and proudly stood there
, feigning confidence the best I could
.
It was confidence rooted in anger and frustration, but I don't think anyone could tell.

"So nice and cooperative! What a body!
I like those tits.
Turn around for me."

Apprehensively at
first, I started to turn and
provide a three-hundred sixty degree view of my body. Normally, I would have felt entirely exploited—today, however, it was just part of the show.
I sucked up my pride and decided I needed to at least give this a shot.

"Goddamn,
what an
ass!" Marcus cried. "What do you think, Bruno?"

"Nice," the man with the gun grunted.

"Just
nice
?" Marcus asked again. He slammed his fist down on the table. "That's one of best asses I've ever seen!"

I was thankful to be facing away from the rest of them. I was blushing from his ecstatic compliments. It was a really goofy
, surreal
feeling of satisfaction.

"Keep turning," Marcus said. I finished the rotation until I was facing him again. I picked up my drink and took a big sip.
"Thank you," he said. "Very lovely."

The briefcase with ten million dollars sat unopened on the table. It was the elephant in the room, at least in my o
pinion. This was a man that was very familiar
with
money, so maybe it wasn't such a big deal when you already had a lot.
One thing was for sure
though
—he was a scumbag.

"Is that enough for you?" I asked.

Marcus seemed to be taken aback by my statement. A mildly sinister look broke out across his face. "No, I think not," he said. "Celia, please go join our guest."

The blonde stood up and slinked over toward me. Both of the guards eyed her hungrily as she walked. "Okay, so what now?" I asked.