Chapter 6

We drove in silence. Fiona kept her eyes on the road and I stared out the window, replaying the day's events in my mind. It all seemed to have happened so quickly and yet watching Fiona and Michael at her house seemed like ages ago.

"What were you doing!?" Fiona asked suddenly, lashing out at me unexpectedly.

I was startled and immediately drawn from my thoughts.

"You almost got yourself killed!" she said.

"How do you know?" I asked, "You even weren't there." I said annoyed that she would be so condescending.

"I was there. You just didn't see me." She said flatly.

We were quiet again for a few seconds.

"You could have gotten yourself killed." She said again then she added under her breath " you almost got Michael killed,"

I turned to stare at her.

"Why would Michael have been killed? He was the one making the business deal." I said skeptically.

"You don't know these men," she mumbled, still not taking her eyes of the road. You have no idea what you've gotten yourself into,"

Once again perplexed I turned to stare back out the window. I noticed we were nearing the area by the water, where I had been caught following Michael last week. To my surprise, we followed Sam's car to the exact same vacant looking bar. When Sam stopped in front of the club, Michael popped out of the car and opened a rusting looking gate, letting Sam drive through. Fiona parker her car on the street just outside and we both got out following Michael through the gate as he locked it back behind us.

He led us up a flight of rusty looking stairs, pausing at the landing to unlock an ugly industrial looking door. I wondered if this was where Mike and his friends did all their meetings. Surely they could have found a better office location.

Michael and Fiona walked through the door and I followed with Sam shortly behind. The first thing I noticed about the room was how large the space was. The ceilings were high and wood floors caused every sound to echo. I continued to look around as the group began to wander around the room.

This was not an office but it was more than just a meeting spot. In fact, someone was obviously living here. I had already seen Fiona's place, so it must have been Michael or Sam. There was a mattress lying on the floor, the bed neatly made, and a small lamp on the floor next to the bed. The massive room had a kitchen area on side, if you could really call it a kitchen. It was really just an old refrigerator, a sink and a tall counter that Michael was currently leaning over looking at papers. Fiona sat down at one of the bar stools pulled up to the counter and was eyeing the paper work Mike was looking over.

Near the bed, Sam plopped down in the only chair with a beer he had pulled from the decrepit looking fridge.

I stood still, near the door, taking in the surroundings and unsure of what to do with myself.

I walked over towards the bed and chair where Sam was sitting nursing his beer.

"Sam, you live here?" I asked.

He chuckled, "Nope, this here's your brothers place."

I looked over at Michael, somewhat in shock and he nodded in acknowledgement before quickly looking back to his paperwork.

Wow. Mike's place. I looked around, appraising the entire room. What a dump. The place was sparse to say the least. Besides the bed and chair, there wasn't a stick of furniture around, unless you count the giant wooden spool that Sam was using as a side table. The windows were grimy, the air was dusty, it seemed like the place hadn't been used in a long time. I wonder how he found this place and why in the world he would want to live here.

I shook my head and sat down on the end of his bed. While sparse, the place was at least neat. His bed was made up army perfect with tight neat hospital corners and there wasn't a spare sock or piece of trash anywhere to be seen. It was a lot different from the room that he and Nate shared as kids. If Michael was really dealing or smuggling drugs or even working for a cartel couldn't he afford some place better then this?

Suddenly Sam stood up, having drained his beer and heading to the fridge for another.

"So what's the play here Mikey?" he asked, going behind Mike and opening the fridge.

"We stick to the plan Sam," Mike said as Sam handed him a yogurt. "We still need to join up with Omar to figure out where he is cutting and storing the drugs,"

"Umm, excuse me?" I said standing up and walking over to them, "You said I'm involved in this now right? Then can someone please fill me in on what's going on?"

"Michael is helping a friend," Fi said simply.

"What kind of friend?" I asked curtly, staring at Mike

Michael didn't answer right away.

"Enough with the secrets Michael! I'm involved ok? Tell me what's going on!" I said.

Michael took a breath.

"Do you remember Clint? From the shop?" he asked

I nodded, thinking back to the nervous guy in the striped shirt; that had to be the guy Mike was talking about.

"Clint owns all the Signature Auto Repair Shops in Miami -and Omar, remember him? Well he's been blackmailing Clint into using the Auto Shops as a cover for letting him smuggler heroin and cocaine in the auto grease cans."

I nodded again, taking in Mike's story.

"So why doesn't Clint just stop? Tell the guy no?" I asked.

"These men aren't the kind who take no for an answer. Clint did try to refuse but they torched one of his shops and now they are threatening his family." Mike continued.

"Oh." I said, surprised.

Wow. Mr. Tight-Shirt was more than the little gangster I had originally taken him for. He was bad news, a serious underworld player.

"So wait, how does you buying drugs help this Clint guy? What are you gonna do with cocaine and heroin?" as soon as the words left my mouth I knew it was a stupid question, what else do people do with cocaine and heroin? Snort it or sell it.

"I'm not trying to buy the drugs," Mike said. "I just need to know where they are."

I didn't really see where he was going with this, but nodded hoping that it would all make sense soon.

"We want to take Omar down, get him caught with the drugs. It's the only way to protect Clint and his family."

"Yeah, the only problem is that Omar works for la Empresa, so he's just a little fish in a big pond," Sam said interjecting.

"So we have to bring down Omar, without alerting the big dogs," Mike continued.

"How are you gonna do that?" I asked, genuinely interested.

"Well we had planned to strike a deal with Omar, give him a chance to partner up with a high roller, local contact- make him think he had a chance to move up in the company…" Mike started, giving me a stare.

I glanced away, guiltily.

"You know Mike," Sam started, setting his beer down, "We could still make this work. I mean Lizzie here said she worked at the shop, so maybe she's the inside man,"

"No Sam, she'd be on the wrong inside," Fi said. "She'd need to be working for la Empresa, not Clint,"

Sam continued on, " Ok, so she's working for Empresa, Omar doesn't know that his boss didn't send someone to come down a check on him…maybe to make sure he's ready for the move to upper management?"

Mike began to slowly nod in agreement with Sam's idea, "Nice Sam," he said, approvingly.

"Ok," Michael said turning to me, "Are you ready to work for the cartel?"

Several hours later Michael and I were alone in his loft, Sam having gone to see about a 'lady friend' and Fiona running off to a meeting- saying something about semi-automatics and a good deal.

Mike and I hadn't really spoken since they left. I was getting tired of the awkward silence and thought I might try my chances at getting to go home. Sam had said that they couldn't let me wander around Miami, but surely that didn't mean I couldn't go back to my own apartment.

"Ok," I said standing up from the barstool I was sitting on and grabbing my bag off the floor "So what time should I be back here tomorrow?"

Michael looked up at me from the chair where he was sitting, still deeply buried in paperwork.

"Uh, yeah…. You're staying here."

"What? Why? I heard you say we weren't followed. Look, I'll just pick up a car and head home, no big deal," I said, digging through my purse to look for my cell.

"No Liz. You aren't leaving. Its not safe."

"Oh please Michael, I will be fine. Those guys don't even know my real name; they wouldn't know how to find my apartment. I'll be back here whenever you say tomorrow ok?" I said, finally finding my phone and turning to go.

Michael stood up and quickly crossed the room to block my path.

"I don't think you understand. These men are serious and very dangerous. " Mike trailed off, his eyes softening as he looked down at me.

For this first time since he'd been back he wasn't glaring at me. I looked away from him, unable to handle the sadness and concern in his eyes. I swallowed nervously and sat back down on the barstool.

"Ok, fine. But Mike… tell me one thing. Are you really dealing drugs?"

A grin spread across his face quickly and he chuckled, and my blood boiled.

"Don't laugh!" I cried out " I don't know what you do, or what you've been doing and that sure looked like a drug deal to me!"

Michael's grin faded.

"Liz, I don't deal drugs. If I did I'd live in far nicer place than this. I'm just helping out a friend."

"So this is what you do? How you help people? Why don't they just go to the police?" I asked

"Not everyone can go to the police."

Mike didn't elaborate and I wasn't ready to push the issue. He wasn't a drug dealer, or at least said he wasn't and that much was comforting. I wasn't sure I wanted to know what he was doing that the police couldn't.

"Can…. I make a cup of tea?" I asked.

"Sure." He said, standing up and walking around the counter into the kitchen. He pulled a coffee mug from the sink and set it in front of me and rummaged through his cabinet coming out with a handful of loose tea bags, which he dumped into a pile on the counter.

"Fi left these... not sure what they are…"

I picked through the pile and pulled out the one I though most resembled black tea and dropped it into the mug. Michael gathered up the remainder and shoved them back into the cabinet. He then grabbed the kettle off the stove and filled it with water before putting it back on the burner.

"I could have done that." I said.

Michael just shrugged.

We were both silent again listening to the eye of the stove heat up. I sat, lost in my own thoughts absentmindedly running a finger around the rim of the coffee mug.

"You used to be pretty good with one of those things..." Mike said quietly, nodding down at the mug and drawing me back from my thoughts.

I looked down at the mug, a smile playing on the edge of my lips.

"Yeah I remember the first time." I said, thinking back, "I was standing in the kitchen watching dad come after you- I just picked up the closest thing and chucked it at him,"

Michael chuckled "Knocked him square in the back of the head. Pretty good aim for an eight year old,"

I smiled, remembering my brief feeling of 8-year-old victory.

"You should have seen his face," Mike continued, smiling.

Suddenly I began to remember the rest of the scene and I felt my smile fade away.

"Yeah I did…. When he turned around and came at me," I said with sigh.

Michael's smile faded away as well. We were quiet again, both of us lost in the memory of that day. Although I didn't remember what Michael did to make dad so upset, I couldn't forget the sharp sting of his hand against my cheek. Even many years later the memory was vivid and painful. Thinking of dad brought my thoughts back to Michael and what he had said to me earlier in the parking lot.

"Mike?" I asked, breaking the silence between us. "Do you remember what you said to me today? In the parking lot?"

He looked at me questioningly, tilting his head to the side.

"Right after you pulled me out of the trunk? Do you remember?"

I was quiet again, waiting. Did he even realize what happened? Did he even know what he said?

I watched a look of recognition slide over his face as he remembered the words he had so angrily spat at me. He looked away, guilty and embarrassed. He sighed and stood up from his leaning position against the sink, running his hand through his hair and pulling at his neck.

"I…." he started.

I cut him off, the remembered hurt and humiliation making me viciously angry all over again.

"I'm not dumb Michael." I said firmly. "I'm not."

Mike looked at me with sad, guilty eyes.

"I listened to that crap my entire life, but I am NOT dumb. I put myself through college! I own my own business! What do you do except take orders!?" I yelled, getting riled.

"Liz.." Mike started, putting his hands up defensively

"No Michael. DON'T ever EVER say that to me again. EVER. I am NOT dumb. I'm not!," I cried, my voice wavering a little by the end of my declaration.

"I know you aren't dumb Lizzie," Michael said coming the counter where I was sitting. "You are not dumb. I know that. You never were," He leaned forward across the space, putting his hands on mine around the coffee cup I was gripping within an inch of its life.

I felt tears spring to my eyes at his words and I couldn't look him in the eye, although I could feel him begging me to look at him.

"You didn't even hear yourself, did you?" I asked, still staring at my mug.

Michael didn't respond, still keeping his hands wrapped around mine.

I jerked my hands out of his grasp, tears threatening to spill over. I turned away, not looking at him. "I don't think I want tea anymore, thanks." I whispered. "I just want to go to bed,"

"You can stay in my bed, there's a couch up there in the loft," he said.

"No, its fine," I said, making my way to the metal staircase that led up to the loft area.

"Liz?" Michael called out as I took the first stair.

I paused not turning around.

"Do me a favor and sleep in those clothes? We need you to look messed up tomorrow, you're still a hostage,"

I nodded and the continued up to the loft, finding a leather couch across from an old desk and computer. I sat down on the sofa and sank back into the cool leather, wishing I could be anywhere but here.