The Divorcee Murder Club

Cuarenta Y Siete ~ 47

              There used to be comfort in the silence. I could sit on my couch, click through channels, and be at peace with the rain drumming my windows. But ever since I left Gwen’s, my mind has been like a bee’s nest. 

It doesn’t help that I was supposed to meet with Kay at the warehouse, but he moved it to tomorrow. So something must have changed, but what? We still need to find Richie, and the clock is ticking on Alma. Augusta said the caravan of women moves tomorrow night, so we need a damn miracle. 

There is a knock at my apartment door, and it squeaks open as Jackson steps inside. He looks like shit with stubble growing across his dark jawline and eye-bags as heavy as overstuffed luggage, ready to explode at the seams. Even his sweats and grey hoodie have seen better days.

“You look like shit,” he says, closing the door behind him.

“As do you.”

“The police detained me for twelve hours,” Jackson says. “They interrogated me like some suspect. They didn’t release me until early this morning.”

“Wait.” I furrow my brows. “You mean to tell me that when you went to the police station after dropping me off here yesterday, they kept you for twelve hours?”

“Yep.”

“Holy shit. Well, I was there too, except I got tossed in jail because fucking Celia claimed I violated the restraining order.”

“What, why?”

“It’s a long story, starting with my mom acting like my damn security guard.”

“Jesus.” Jackson rubs his eyes. “Any word on Alma?” He crosses the room and plops onto the couch beside me. 

“Yeah.”

“Really?” He sits upright. “Well, go on!”

“Augusta sent me this video…” I text it to his phone, and a few seconds later, it chimes. “They’re still in the area, and will be on the move tomorrow night, so Augusta is going to talk to Emilio about letting us extract Alma before that happens.”

A sob releases from deep within Jackson’s chest as he watches the video. Then, his watery gaze meets mine, and saliva stretches between his teeth as he cries out, “She’s alive. Thank God.” 

“We’re getting her back.”

“So what do we owe the Sisters for this?”

“Don’t worry about it. I got it covered.”

“What do you mean?”

“I said, don’t worry about it.” I turn off the TV and pivot to face Jackson. “We were supposed to meet with Kay today, but he moved it to tomorrow. Something is off, but we still need to find Richie, so Sammy will help us tail Kay to wherever they’ve got him.”

“When?” 

“Tonight. And when we extract Alma tomorrow, I think we should plant Richie there, so when he dies, police will think he was part of it.”

“We can make it look like they kidnapped him, too. That will explain all his wounds and bruises, especially why he doesn’t have nipples anymore.” 

“Yes, exactly! We can make this work to our advantage. Two birds, one stone. Get Alma out and get Richie in.”

“But no matter what, we get Alma out,” Jackson says.

“Of course. No matter what. I will die trying.”

Jackson nods while releasing a long breath. “Hopefully, it doesn’t come to that. So when do we meet with Sammy?”