“Why did you still pay the money?” he asks.
That’s the question I’ve been wrestling with ever since I got back. At first, it seemed so obvious but then…I started having doubts.
“Maybe I shouldn’t have,” I say slowly, “but I had the money and she still owed the debt. She had no way to pay it back. I wasn’t sure what Marlo would do so I just paid it.”
“That was a very nice thing to do,” Owen says. “Thank you.”
I shrug without saying a word. Tears well up in my eyes, but I push them away.
“Olive, are you there?” he asks.
“Yeah, sorry, yeah, whatever.”
“So…I still don’t get it…where did you get the money?” he asks.
“From this guy,” I mumble.
“Wow, he must have some serious money,” Owen says after a long pause. “What does he do?”
I shrug again but know that I have to answer.
“Finance,” I mumble. “Real estate. He’s got a few companies.”
“He’s not some old fart, is he? Some sixty-year-old taking advantage of you?”
I can’t help but laugh.
“No, not at all. He’s our age.”
“So, his daddy must’ve set him up very nicely.”
Owen’s judgement makes me angry. Nicholas sent me fifty grand to help our deceitful mother out of yet another jam and here he is sitting in a penitentiary and judging him.
“He made every penny on his own,” I say proudly. “Don’t be such an asshole.”
“Really?” Owen asks, his tone oozing in skepticism.
“He’s also a local boy. From our neck of the woods.”
“What do you mean?”
“He’s from Boston.”
I realize that I’ve made a mistake only after the name of the city escapes my lips. But it’s too late. I can’t force the words back into my mouth. I can’t make Owen un-hear them.
Shit, shit, shit.
I want to scream at the top of my lungs.
16
When he tells me a story…
“What the hell are you talking about?” Owen demands to know. “Your boyfriend is Nicholas Crawford from Charlestown?”
Earlier I had mentioned that his name was Nick Crawford but made it seem like he was just visiting Boston. It’s a generic enough name to pass it off and Owen didn’t question me. But now…FUCK!
I don’t know what to say so I say nothing.
“Olive? Tell me you’re not fucking Nicholas Crawford. My Nicholas Crawford.”
“I am not fucking Nicholas Crawford,” I say. That part is true, at least. But his name used to be…”
“You don’t know the first thing about him, Olive. He’s a very, very dangerous man.”
Goose bumps run up my arms.
“I used to run around with Nicky C, that’s what he went by back then. We had the same boss but we had different associates.”
“It’s not the same person,” I say, trying to make him stop.
But another part of me wants to hear everything that he has to say.
“Nicky C was ruthless. I’ve seen him execute a man point blank. That was something that pleased the boss and he rose through the ranks quickly.”
I touch my calf muscle and feel it tighten with every word that I hear come out of Owen’s mouth.
“Who was your boss?” I ask, wanting corroboration, proof, something that will tell me that he’s telling the truth.
“You know I can’t tell you that,” Owen snaps. “They listen and record everything that’s being said.”
I read between the lines. What he’s really telling me is that they (the authorities) already know everything about this. Nothing he is telling me now is secret information.
“Eventually, Nicky C was in charge of all of the insurance scams,” Owen continues.
“What does that mean?” I ask.
“A restaurant or a business doesn’t pay their monthly fee once, twice, three times. The boss gets agitated. The only way he’ll get back the money that’s owed to him is through insurance. So, he sends in Nicky C and his crew to start a little fire. It can’t have multiple points of ignition, otherwise it will be suspicious. Nicky was an expert in this. Whenever he started a fire, it was always small but powerful. It spread quickly. When the firefighters arrived, they took care of the rest.”
“What do you mean?” I ask.
“They’d point their hoses and spray the whole place with water. They never try to preserve anything, just put out the fire. Most damage that’s caused by fires comes from water. Whenever Nicky C started a fire, the insurance company always paid out.”
I lean back in the chair and take it all in.
What are the chances that he’s talking about someone else?
What if he’s wrong?
“I don’t think it’s the same person,” I say after a moment.
“Nicky C vanished one day after his partner showed up dead,” Owen says, ignoring me. “The boss thought that he just decided to take some time off, maybe went down to Florida for some rest and relaxation. But days turned into weeks and Nicky didn’t come back.”
“This isn’t the same guy,” I insist.
“It took a few months before we all figured out what happened. The two of them had a side job of breaking into wealthy homes out there in the country while the owners were away in Martha’s Vineyard or wherever the fuck they went. At first, it was a few pieces of jewelry, some antiques but then their hauls got bigger and bigger.”
I put my hand on my chest and listen to the way my breath bursts in and out.
“To say that they were good would be an understatement. They broke into secure homes with guards. They broke into safes. After casing the joint, the job took two trips. The first they would photograph and measure everything they found so that they could make replicas and, on the second, they would return for the pieces and make the switch.”
“How do you know any of this?”
“They found the guy who made the replicas,” Owen says.
“The police?”
He laughs. “No, our boss.”
My body starts to rock from side to side. I don’t want to believe this but I can’t ignore the truth. His approach hasn’t changed much. I’ve seen it in action. I was an integral part of it.
“The replicas were an integral part of the plan,” Owen explains even though he doesn’t have to. “Without them, the owners would know immediately that the jewelry was missing. They’d call the police. They’d hire a private investigator. But with the replicas, months would pass before anyone noticed. The jewelry was just as heavy. It looked the same. The only thing that was different was that it wasn’t made of real diamonds.”
I curl my shoulders forward, caving my chest in.
This can’t be true.
This can’t be my Nicholas.
“My boss has been looking for him ever since he disappeared. The rule was that you were supposed to hand over seventy percent of whatever you took in on the side, since side jobs weren’t exactly legal. Neither Nicky C nor his partner ever gave him a cent.”