SESSION #178 NOTES - PRIVATE
SESSION NOTES - PRIVATE
I don’t think I can do this anymore. I know I’ve said it before, but this time I mean it. I can’t go through this again.
This is the eighth time.
Eight times Indie has gone off script.
Eight times we had to backtrack her every move and figure out what she did.
Eight times we told ourselves it was a one-off.
Eight motherfucking times we played her favorite game. The one called Let’s-Pretend-That-Didn’t-Happen.
Eight. Goddamned. Times. I’ve written a session note just like this.
And that, right there? That’s the definition of insanity.
I try and remember why I took this job. Why, exactly, I talked Adam into buying this girl. And I swear to God. I know I did this. I remember those words that came out of my mouth back on that island. I have the motherfucking session tapes, and notes, and private thoughts from Indie’s first year and I have read them so many times I could recite them from memory.
But for the life of me, I cannot come to terms with what the fuck I was thinking.
Carter is dead.
Dead. Dead. Dead. Like everyone else. He is dead.
He’s not out there running little girls like Indie.
He’s not out playing Company.
He’s gone.
That was my father’s final job before Adam and I helped Nick, and Sasha, and James kill two hundred people in Santa Barbara.
But I was young, I guess. So fuckin’ sure of myself. My brain, and my money, and my Untouchable status.
I can’t do this anymore.
CHAPTER TWENTY - ADAM
FOUR YEARS AGO
Indie has to be lying about Angelica. I don’t know the girl, but I know who she’s with. Just before the Company totally fell apart, while I was still in the hospital, I got a letter from the Shadow of Secrets himself. He was thanking me for being one of the ‘good guys’. Which made me pause and ponder the meaning of ‘good’ for a while. But then, when I read on, he told me he thought about our little talk down in Daphne, Alabama and decided to let Angelica live. She was with his sister, Harper, and James Fenici.
I didn’t think much about it back then. I mean, I was on to the dude. It was only a suspicion, but in my world a good hunch is just about the same thing as the truth.
I knew things no one else did. Even Donovan didn’t know as much about what was really going on as I did.
But here’s the only thing that matters now.
There is no fucking way in hell that James Fenici let his girl, Angelica, go back to work. It’s also highly improbable that Angelica took off the way Indie did. James Fenici would hunt her down, take her home, and tie her up until she came back to her senses.
But I get the feeling that Angelica is a lot better-adjusted than Indie and thus has never lost her senses.
This doesn’t make me feel any better though. Because that Nick shadow was right when he warned me that Indie will never be normal. She will always have that secret side that makes her dangerous. And here we are. Not even twenty years old and she’s delusional.
Regardless, I have to find out about Angelica. This situation is serious and there is no more room for hunches.
It takes almost a week to hunt down James and leave enough messages with various mutual acquaintances for him to notice me. And then another week before I see that dude—just as scary as I remember him from back in the day—leaning against a brick building and watching me with piercing green eyes from the corner of Royal and St. Phillip in New Orleans as I make my way over towards Misha’s little bar.
I stop short and just look at him, trying to decide if I should back away or keep going and have the conversation I asked for.
A horn honks and I realize I’m standing in the middle of the street. So I continue crossing St Phillip just as he pushes off the wall and meets me at the curb.
He points to Misha’s bar, just a few storefronts up. “Let’s have a drink, Adam.”
I don’t say anything. Just follow him. This meeting is no accident, obviously. If you mention James Fenici’s name enough times to the right people, he will appear like a conjuring at the least convenient time.
I was going to Misha’s anyway, but I wasn’t planning on introducing her to the most infamous Company assassin to ever walk this earth.
He opens the door for me and a small bell jingles above our heads as we enter. It’s early afternoon, but inside it’s dim, and the shadows play against the walls.
I flash two fingers to Misha, who is behind the bar and watching me curiously, then point to a table in the back. James follows me, and for a moment we nearly fight over the chair that faces the door.
I put my hands up and back off, taking the chair with the next-best view.
James leans his forearms on the table, hands together, his green eyes smiling along with his mouth. He stares at me for a moment as Misha appears with two glasses of whiskey. James glances up at her, says, “Thanks, Misha,” and then downs it in one gulp and says, “No more for me, thanks.”
I catch Misha raising one eyebrow at me. But I send her a look that says, Don’t ask. And she takes the hint and leaves without a word.
“Would you consider her a good friend? An acquaintance? Or just a booty call?”
I glance at Misha, who has returned to her spot behind the bar, but with her back to us now. “Good friend, I guess.”
“You might want to rethink that.”
“Oh?” I look at him, not sure what to make of that statement.
“She sold you out once.”
“Once? When?”
“More than once. Few years back. Before everything went down.”
“Well, I’m still here. Must not have been too serious.”
“That’s how she bought this bar, you know.”
“Did you come here to warn me about Misha? Or because I spoke your name to the right people?”
“Both, I guess. I’ve been waiting for you to get rid of her. Thought I’d speed that up a little. Seeing as how you’re starting to settle in here.”
Is he… has he been watching me? I’m not afraid of James. He’s old now. Early forties, at least. I’m in my prime. And I don’t know what he’s been doing for the past five years since the Company fell, but I’ve been busy running shit. Some might even refer to what I’ve put together as a mini-Company—minus all the political connections because pretty much all those people are dead now. And James Fenici might even be one of those people who see things that way. I might not be off-the-rails insane like he is, but I can do damage if I have to.
Still. The thought of him keeping track of me is… unsettling.
“I wasn’t really in the market for some personal advice, James—”
“What kind of market are you in, then?”
“I have a question for you about Angelica.”
And that. That right there. That look in his eyes. Yeah. My stomach clenches up. Because there is something deeply wrong with this man and he might be able to hide it most of the time, but just uttering Angelica’s name brings up the animal lurking beneath the surface.