The Following Morning
Outside of 67th Avenue Apartments
New York, New York
They were set, ready for the outback, better known as Sydney, the most populous and the city capital of the land down under. The adored elderly couple planned their itinerary down to the second of the 14 day vacation that was much needed and despite constrained preparation. Even though released from the hospital barely two days ago, per doctor's orders, they were to take it easy and rest, it was not possible, since their grandson financed such a grand vacation that was sure to be an adventure for them both.
Their grandson took it upon himself to make the arrangements. The nurse set to accompany them was scheduled to be on the bus shuttle that drove them to the airport. The check in time and wait was shortened, since he threw in additional money to make that occur. He vowed to make this the most relaxing time of their lives. Of course, prior to them leaving, there were tears. Tristan made them promise to bring back a stuffed kangaroo through his fit of tears. Emily, too, cried, followed by a sentimental Camille and a thrown-for-a-loop Sean, who missed the impromptu meeting that coaxed Nona and Nonno into leaving.
Before stepping into the shuttle, Nona and Nonna embraced their long lost grandson, thanking him profusely for this. He waved their words away, claiming it was years and years in the making. In addition, he swore everything, and he meant everything, would be taken care of. What would give him peace was knowing they were off enjoying themselves. They nodded they would and gave him permission too. Nona shed more tears; Nonno's eyes brimmed. He watched them leave.
Step one of his master plan, complete.
As soon as the vehicle was off the curb, Moose felt his shirt yanked violently. The article of clothing almost shred to pieces. Without choice, he came face to face with an infuriated Sean.
Camille shouted her best friend's name lividly, demanding he let Moose go. She wasn't playing, dead serious was more like it; she knew Moose was still hurt. Bandages surrounded a couple of spots of his back, if they came undone and weren't treated in a prompt fashion, an infection could start. She ordered her other best friend to take her son inside.
Emily agreed with no words said. She grabbed Tristan's shoulders, and she led him away from the unexpected outburst that could rattle any little boy's world. Since her and Sean's tryst, she admitted he's been acting a little strange, different. He was no longer cool, calm and collected. She wondered, if he somehow he knew the truth. She needed to speak to Iris.
Last night, Sean delved into the world of drug dealers. No, he wasn't buying, nor sampling the harmful products. He was attempting to get into Mercury's circle, somehow, some way. That explained his absence from the meeting that was conducted without his knowledge. He failed, only able to attain the contact information of one of Mercury's associates. He returned home at an indecent hour and didn't want to be waken until much later in the day, since it was his day off. That wasn't the case because he was met with, not one, but two surprises: Emily speaking to him and an injured Ana and recuperating Boris flying to the other side of the world.
Excuse him, if he was pissed out of his mind and concerned for their well-being!
"Camille, back off," Sean barked. He surveyed the shadowed movements seen out the corner of his eye. "Me and Mr. Lawyer need to have a little talk!"
"I won't," she contested defiantly.
"Camille," he roared, his tone warning, borderline threatening.
She supported Moose and stood behind him to Sean's disgruntlement. She didn't care if he felt betrayed, or believed she crossed the dark side because he wasn't minding any other person's feelings right now. Sometimes Sean's aggression reached a point of no return. She could recall a handful of times when he, the demon, emerged. She found herself petrified of him. The demon was bound to come out because of what's happened with Iris, because he wasn't there to protect him, assist him. She thought sooner, not later.
So, here she was confronting the demon, head on, the fear of Moose hurt pushing her into doing so.
Moose's eyes shifted to capture a glimpse of her. He labeled the way she appeared as fearless, a force to be reckoned with, admirable. He surmised, this was an alternate side. Since meeting her, she's shown him animosity, ire, regarded him lowly like she had a vendetta against him that's been fermenting for years. Years. The thought of them knowing each other, before his surgery, even speaking for a minute or crossing paths for a second, hasn't left him. She's denied firmly, yet, he couldn't let go the fact a sense of familiarity washed over him when around her. If he could pinpoint the origin. Anyways, less than 12 hours ago, she was chewing him out, almost persecuting him for relationships he's formed before her.
All of a sudden, she changed her mind, showing him she did, indeed, care.
That was a relief because he cared about her too. In this journey to find the truth and to secure the property, jobs and block, he needed her. She's proven she could be his moral compass. He smacked himself internally. That title should go to his soon to be wife, but, to be honest, around Camille, he hardly thought about the other.
Seeing who's side she was on, Sean grew desperate. The caged demon buried deep inside his soul jerked uncontrollably trying to break free and take over. He regained control over his body, but watching the closeness still evident, even after all these years, he his grip was gradually slipping. Words he promised to never say came out before he could stop them. "I'll tell him the truth," he snarled.
As soon as he realized the words unraveled from his mouth, he blinked twice in regret. His hands came undone from Moose's shirt, he stared at Camille, and knew damn well he crossed the line that should have never been crossed.
Camille stepped aside from a befuddled Moose. Her eyes widened in shock, then narrowed with hatred. "I-I," she didn't know what to say or how to react. All she knew was the person she looked at as her best friend, who she confided in, appointed to be Tris' Godfather just turned his back against her out of spite.
"What's going on here," Moose queried the two of them that were in on a secret he couldn't be apart of. He looked at them, expecting an answer.
"Nothing," she answered rapidly, through gritted teeth. She grabbed Moose's hand with the intention of getting the investigation on the road, but released his hand in the next second. Her fingers tingled, a jolt of something plowed through her body.
The same was said for Moose. What she felt, he felt, but he shook his head. What's been said in front of his face could be interpreted as anything."I want to know the 'truth'," he waited. They both dodged his merciless stare, working as team now without notice. Seeing they weren't going to tell him, he let them be. "Whatever." There were several places he needed to go today—a phone store, car dealership, get some clothes for at least the week.
"I thought you needed my help," she reminded him.
"Cam," Sean yelled, his tone reprimanding. He stomped, grabbed her wrist, and tugged.
"Sean," she wiggled free, embarrassed by his antics. "I'm not a child."
"Camille," he clamped tighter. He wanted to speak to her, talk about what he said. It just came out; word vomit or something of that nature.
"Moose!"
Almost at the door to the apartments, Moose stopped at the call of his name. He turned and saw her pained expression, which set him off. "Let her go," he ordered with ferocity. He thought the worst of Sean, if he were to leave them alone.
Nona and Nonno left a few minutes ago, and, already, they were divided. Sean versus Camille and Moose, Moose versus Camille and Sean; they needed to come together. Most likely, that could be done when their feelings were in check.
She faced Sean, pleading with him. "Please," she wasn't in the mood to deal with him, let alone be in his vicinity. "I need to help him save this place."
He relented, releasing her from the death grip he hadn't realized he placed her in. He watched her rub her wrist with such tenderness. He saw red a few seconds later, when she went to Moose's side like he was her saving grace, and together they disappeared in the apartment building. An imaginary knife lodged in his heart soon after. He wiped his face miserably. In two days, he managed to ruin the friendships that mattered the most to him. With Emily, he went with her to a place that was both heaven and hell. With Camille, he divulged the secret he swore to keep out jealousy and anger; he couldn't stand she was falling back into her old ways.
The two had every right to be mad at him, so he walked away.
The Following Night
Le Bernardin
New York, New York
Early in this morning, Moose went to a random, hole-in-the-wall cafe and shared a pot of coffee with the two officers set to stake out the 67th Ave. Apartments. The two officers went over their action plan. They were going to remain as covert as possible, take photos of suspicious people and update him daily.. That's when they hoped to nab or narrow the suspect that's been stalking Moose. With all of Moose's contact information and Camille's, in hand, they departed.
Moose returned to his grandparents' apartment and informed Camille of the officers in an unmarked vehicle. He told her specific instructions, in the case an issue arose. Tristan heard and became afraid, thinking the boogeyman or worse was coming after them. Moose, who had been healing at a rapid rate, crouched in front of the little boy, making direct eye contact with him to calm his fears. Tristan glanced at him with worry and fright. His specific words to Camille's son were, 'I'll never let anything bad happen to you'. Tristan launched himself into Moose's arms and gave him a fierce hug. A token of appreciation Moose reveled in.
As he sat inside the upscale restaurant, waiting for his two guests to arrive, his mind wandered back to Tris' warm embrace. Not only did he have a 50-plus pound boy lodged into his arms and a face full of soft curls smelling of tear free pears, he felt loved by him. Just a week ago, he got a swift punch to the face from Tris. He laughed wistfully. The hug much better, more accepting, than a strike with a fist.
Two men, attired in their best, made their way over to Moose.
"Ah," Moose stood and greeted them with firm handshakes. He resumed sitting, beckoning the sleek haired waiter over. "I'll have a scotch on the rocks and for you gentlemen?"
"Gin and tonic."
"Your finest white zinfandel."
The waiter nodded and left them to be until his return.
"Are you sure you should be drinking under medication," Julien questioned, concerned. "You were only released from the hospital a couple of days ago."
"I should be fine," Moose shooed his words dismissively, reclining back in his chair. "It's not like we haven't done some kind of damage back in the day."
Julien laughed, but shushed immediately at his father's stern face. He assumed he caught the insinuation, so he cleared the clogged feeling in his throat with a sturdy 'ahem'. "Uh, I meant to visit you, when I was told, but I was swamped with work. When I did get a chance, you already checked out. Are you good?"
Moose nodded. "Yeah, I'm fine." He believed Julien was genuinely concerned about the hospital stay.
"Good. It's awful what happened to your car."
"I'm sorry too," Bill apologized after. "Robert, it's really been awhile. I think the last time we met up was at Natalie's 1920s themed birthday party," William 'Bill' Anderson said, attention shifted to him. He rested the menu with a spread of appetizers, entrees, sides and desserts in between his aged hands.
"That it has," Moose agreed. His drink arrived, and he took the stout glass, the contents packing quite a punch if drank in heavy amounts. Before sipping, he rose the glass in honor of his two companions. He watched them do the same. This dinner, he called for was with underlying intentions. Submerge himself in their mind, delve deeper, ascertain the why. "Order whatever you want, it's on me." He drank the liquor anointed with a high alcohol percentage.
Bill chuckled haughtily and scrutinized the location they were at. The appetizers alone were a blue-collar worker's paycheck. He, too, afforded the meals here, but took the offer in stride. He was going to enjoy this. "Must be my birthday," he jibbed with delight.
"Something like that," Moose stated cryptically. He was about to hand his ass over on a silver platter, if he wasn't told everything that pertained to this contract. He churned along.
"Talked to Natalie this morning," Julien mentioned nonchalantly. He made eye contact with Moose. "She's really concerned about you."
"I spoke to her too. I told her I was fine," Moose replied, already wanting to place his food order. "Is that all," he supposed there was more to his query.
"Yeah, she is curious where you're staying, since, you know, you aren't at your condo."
"In an apartment."
"Who's," Julien's face creased in predictable wonder, prodding him to go on.
Moose gawked. It was as if he knew.
"Oh come on," Bill admonished the two like they were children battling for a king's title. "We're about to have dinner, a very good dinner. It's great that Robert is somewhere safe." He perused the menu. "Everything looks so good!"
Moose's eyes bounced between the father and son.
Close to two hours later, three drinks were downed by each man, the comical story telling died down, dinner was almost demolished and dessert was on the way. Moose assessed this was the time to unveil the actual reason for this dinner. His attache briefcase he kept hidden under the table was pulled into his lap. He toggled with the opening and pulled out a copy of the contract.
"Explain this to me, Bill," Moose handed the stapled pages over to him, his impatience flowering.
"Excuse me." Bill tossed him a puzzling look. With his cloth napkin, he removed whatever was on his face and fingers and received the pages. He came to realize this was a contract, one of his contracts.
Julien's eyes widened; he hadn't even spoken about it to Moose.
The mood transformed suddenly. It wasn't light, serene, and full of laughter like a few seconds ago. Fire spread in their eyes.
"Where did you get this," Julien asked, looking it over when his dad passed it to him. Nothing was signed, so he wanted and explanation and the backstory to how this came in his possession.
The dessert plate settled onto the middle of the table, giving the three a little breather. Next, Bill grabbed for his fork to take a decadent bite.
"One of my clients," Moose unveiled, his answer hung in the air.
The fork fumbled out of Bill's hand at the response. He cast an inquiring glance at his son, who seemed to be in the dark as well.
"Clients," Julien repeated in disbelief and through gritted teeth. "Are you representing them?"
"Is that so hard to believe," Moose challenged. "I've been conferring with them for the past week." His reply was like a stab in the heart to the two. "You know how long some of them have owned their shops," he waited for a reply but became haste. "Way before any of us were born!" His growl was growing into a bite. "Look, I know Julien revised this contract. He handles all of your business. Seeing that Julien is my friend and business partner, I would prefer not to go against him."
"You know he'll succeed," Bill contended on his son's behalf.
Julien heard and remained silent. His mind traveled to six years prior to when him and Moose first crossed paths. It wasn't when they were first introduced at one of Natalie's extravagant birthday bashes like Moose believed.
He stepped out of his luxury sedan and into the cool but biting autumn wind. He strolled to meet with his client that was just outside of the compound. They conversed about what was to come. He blew a breath, the time for this mock trial, that meant so much more, nearing. He sent a quick text to his sister.
"You owe me."
"Just think of it this way," she responded via text, "it's the beginning to your career."
"Whatever."
"Win, win, WIN!"
He slid his cell phone into the pant pocket, ready to see who he was against. He's heard the story, a kid of privilege, rebellious, a womanizer, yet, he was willing to put his reputation on the line for the niece of his client. Not much was said about the niece, other than she was cute but meek, a little mysterious in a sense. However, the illicitly pedophilic glint cascading over his client's eyes when he spoke about her showed she was more than a trained eye could see.
She had to be, otherwise the infamous Robert Collins wouldn't be defending her.
He entered the corridor that led to the auditorium. He saw him and snickered beneath his breath in a mix of shock and disbelief. The gawky, thin kid with a crop of curls didn't look no more than 15. He walked by, glancing at his courtroom foe and thought he had this case in the bag.
But, his opinion altered, when they were doing their cross exams. When he conjured reasonable doubt, Collins did the same. Possibly, better than he could ever, since he lost to him.
That loss stuck with him.
Their second encounter, he had to act like they never met. That seemed impossible. On the hand, whatever magic Chase, Natalie and his mother produced worked because he got to know Robert Collins and found him likable. Likable! They've been best friends, even going as far as to go into business together. They saw each other every day, went to functions, were about to be brothers-in-law.
Now, this.
"What's so important about the property," Moose pressed harder. He ushered for the check. He couldn't stand looking at Bill's facing, knowing damn well he was hiding the truth. "Well, what is it?!"
Patrons around them careened their heads his way, interested in what he had to say.
"It's a nice piece of property," Bill lied to save his own ass. If the truth got out, he'd be facing legal charges. He wouldn't deal with that.
"'Nice'," Robert repeated the word bitterly. He rolled his eyes. "Cancel the contract," he ordered, "and leave them alone."
"Why are you defending them," Julien, jarred out of his aggrieved thoughts, queried. "You've never taken a case like this before. You're a criminal lawyer." He scoffed, an idea as to why registering in his mind. "That's right, you're censured. You can't do criminal only civil." He smirked devilishly, ramming into Moose with malicious words. "So, how much tail are you getting from this?" He assumed that had to be it. The neighborhood wasn't in the greatest area; there were plenty of shops and residents involved; he doubt they could afford his rate; he had to be getting some ass, some really great ass.
Moose almost blew his gasket. He couldn't even sign the receipt because his rage was increasing by the second. "How dare you accuse me of cheating on your sister!" He wanted to add a big 'fuck you', but refrained.
Bill reprimanded his son. His attention returned to Moose, and he was serious. He couldn't believe Robert's audacity. "I want them out, end of story. Everything lined out in the contract is legit and will stand, as long as they leave within the time frame."
He signed and placed his credit card back in his wallet. Robert Collins glared at both men. If they wanted to play hardball, then he gladly join and succeed. "I'll see you in court," he avowed, standing. "Keep the contract, I already have plenty." He started to walk, but stopped. He came back to the table. "If I get a phone call from Natalie accusing me of cheating, I'll have your head." He, then, turned to Bill. "If you employ any crazy tactics like, say, blowing up my car, I'll sue you for every dime you have."
The Anderson men growled at him, their hands gripping the table.
"Are you saying we had something to do with your car," Julien interrogated, motioning his father and himself. "Have you lost your mind?!"
"Are you crazy," Bill yelled-whispered the inquiry roughly. "What kind of people do you think we are?"
Moose determined 'what kind of people they were'. He wasn't sure, so he ended their conversation short. "It was a nice dinner; we should do it again," he said his goodbye casually and headed out.
Two Days Later
67th Ave. Apartments- 6E
New York, New York
"I can't," Emily cried into the phone sounding like she needed a palliation.
"You can and you will," the caller ordered, seething. "Today."
"No."
"Do I need to pick you up personally and drag you the fuck out of there!?"
She shuddered at his tone assailing her ears. She saw the door open, and Sean walked in. She withdrew from the couch, labeling the living room too public, and took this call in the privacy of her room. "Please, just give me three days. Three days. That's it," she begged. Her sanity lost.
"Because I'm nice..."
He was the opposite of nice, more like the devil's reincarnate.
"... I'll give you two. If I find out you're using this time to back out, leave the state, the country, I'll torture the people around you, including a certain someone that you are in love with..."
No, not that, she thought to herself sorrowfully.
Lately, her feelings for Sean have faced the wall of discord. One moment, she couldn't stand the sight of him, since he acted like nothing's transpired. Then, the next moment, she yearned to have him between her legs or behind her doing the naughty things they engaged in once. Once. That word had the potential to morph into twice, thrice, several or more, but he stagnated it. He insisted his feelings, his heart more specifically, belonged to a certain friend of theirs.
Too bad because this certain friend of theirs liked someone else. Tristan's father was taboo; she was doubtful the paternity would ever be revealed. Regardless, she came to the realization her best friend had feelings for the lawyer. Her mannerisms, the way she spoke, the glances, the closeness. It was clear.
Sean's feelings for Camille were always going to be one-sided. He didn't get that, and she supposed he never would.
"I'll come after you, if I need to," he let that sink in. "48 hours."
"Right," she breathed heavily.
"That sounded sexy," he slithered. "I'll call you then and tell you where to meet me." He hung up on her.
She stared at her phone. The island of mess she created was slowly turning into an ocean. She got up to sit at her vanity. Plopping down, she looked at the mirror. Bags, grayish in tint, were starting to break through. She cursed. She grabbed her concealer, warmed the product with her ring finger then began to pat both under eye areas.
A knock was administered to her door, startling her and causing her finger to veer off course. Concealer dragged from tearduct to the apple of her cheek.
"What," she snapped, exasperated.
"It's me," Sean clarified.
"Yes, I know it's you," she argued. "You think I'm stupid?!"
"Can we talk?"
"Know what, Sean, I'm not going to deal with you right now," she denied, while scrounging in her makeup box for wipes.
Her door clicked open, then shut softly.
Spared from the vigorous wiping, she utilized her mirror to see Sean entered without consent. She continued with her business, as if he wasn't there.
Sean stood, his hands pocketed, mounted into an awkward stance, his face full of concern. With her, he never experienced such distance, and it was time to bridge the gap. He watched her carry along like he was invisible. He couldn't blame her; he treated her like she wasn't and, when he did notice her, he treated her like an annoying mosquito.
In fact, as of now, she was more to him than an annoying mosquito.
"Can we talk," he blurted before more seconds ticked by.
"About what," she played dumb.
"Us."
She grumbled at the word, 'us'. "What about 'us'," she questioned, contrived.
"About the other night," he began, "I just want to apologize again. I shouldn't have allowed us to go all the way knowing you were upset, I was upset, and it made us do something we shouldn't have done."
"Are you kidding me," she spat, infuriated by what he said. She got off her chair and faced him. "Did you just hear yourself right now?"
He became baffled by her question. In his head, it sounded logical.
"I gotta go," she didn't want to deal with this. She made a beeline towards the door, but he stopped her. Her arm became acquainted with his rigid vise. She glanced. "Are you trying to do the same shit you pulled with Camille?"
Upon hearing that, he released. "Why do you have to leave," he asked.
"I have to take care of some business with the apartments. I'll be at Nona's for the rest of the night."
"With that jerk off," he questioned.
Recognition donned on her face at the inquiry. "Jealous are you," she commented snidely. Not with her, but with Camille, which enraged her further. She scoffed and exited.
He chased after her. "We need to talk," he repeated.
Her left hand played with the handle, her right hand touched the door frame. She scratched the frame, her nails straining while coming down. "Unless you're going to rephrase what you said to make it sound like the truth, then I'll speak to you, but I know you wont," she spoke, her tone accusatory.
"Huh?"
"You're lying to yourself..."
"What," his body adjusted uncomfortably.
She didn't turn around. She remained by the door. "You don't love her," she confessed.
"I do."
"You don't. If you did, your penis would have never been inside of me," she hit below the belt with her words of fury.
"I-I..."
"... don't have a comeback? You shouldn't because it's the truth."
"Emily..."
"Fuck you Sean," she hissed, no longer caring. His demeanor broke the straw on the camel's back. "I gotta go." She opened then slammed the door shut, rumbling the wall that hitched the door up.
Contritely, Sean rolled his head back. She hated him, and he never thought it would hurt this much.
Later that Afternoon
That Afternoon
67th Ave. Apartments- 5B
Moose's eyes watered and burned.
For the past 36 hours, he's been awake, (the first 18 hours he did have help from Camille but told her he could he could handle everything), drowning in mountains of information about anything and everything pertaining to 67th Avenue. He's placed various phone calls, combed through city databases and past property deeds and even spoken to the previous landlords, but only for a second it seemed. Nothing out of the ordinary came up. He supposed Bill was just being greedy. If that was the case, there was more determination than ever to strip him of the power he thought he had. His money couldn't buy everything.
In addition, nothing new has been discovered by the police.
Taking a break finally, Moose went to the refrigerator and grabbed an energy drink. He didn't drink these usually because he thought they were full of harmful chemicals, but today he needed one. He popped the top and chugged. He swallowed the last of it roughly. He didn't know how people were immune to it.
"Em, where's Camille," he asked the willowy brunette who was working with the books.
"She's probably practicing with Tris for the showcase," she answered, smiling. "You should head over there." Her thoughts were confirmed.
He decided to head to the Cha-Cha Palace then. He exited the apartment and headed down. Once downstairs, he bumped into a little girl, her hair in two high pigtails, dressed in a pink gi and a key in her small hand.
"Hello," he greeted.
She smiled at him. "Hello," she chirped. She looked up at him dreamily.
He bent down. "What's your name?" He was dazzled by her. She was the cutest little thing he's seen, since Tristan.
"My name is Jayla."
"Jayla? That's a pretty name," he complimented.
"Thanks!"
"So, do you live here too," he looked around wondering where her parents or guardians were. She seemed open, which was kind of worrisome. The wrong kind of person could get the wrong idea.
"Yup," she answered with pride, "my parents own the flower shop too."
"Oh, right," he remembered the lovely couple, the Chens. "So, have you heard about what might happen in a month," he asked, keeping the conversation in tact, just in case.
"Yeah, I did." Her bare feet stomped the ground sadly, her tiny fists bundling out of anger. "My boyfriend told me about it. He lives here too."
Moose chuckled. "Who is your boyfriend?" Young love made him laugh.
"Tristan," she exclaimed, her heart fluttering. "Do you know him?"
" I do. Are you happy with Tristan," he wondered. It seemed the little boy had some game. "Is he treating you right? If he's not, let me know I'll set things straight with him," he mock glared.
She nodded to both. "I hope that he wins," she announced.
"Wins?"
"Yeah, he betted Omar he would receive more claps during family day than him. If Tristan does, then I can still be his girlfriend. If he doesn't, then I'm going to be with Omar." She quivered at the thought. "I don't like Omar. He's mean to Tristan."
"I didn't know," Moose said, remorseful. He was kind of taken aback. "I'll make sure he does."
Jayla's eyes brightened. "Are you his race-car daddy," she blurted suddenly.
"His what?"
"Race-car daddy," she reiterated more articulately. "He says he's been living with him for some days. You must be him," she hoped that was true. "You have to come to family day! You just have to," she insisted.
"Jayla," her mother called her name, "did you get the mail like I told you to?" Mrs. Chen exited their apartment. She saw the lawyer was with her daughter "Hello, Mr. Collins."
"Just call me Robert or Moose," he told her. He saw Jayla open the mailbox and grab everything inside. "She's your daughter?"
Jayla skipped back to her mother happily.
"Yes, my only child," she admitted, relieved. She hugged her daughter and sent her inside. "I was wondering what was taking her so long. I hope she didn't bother you," she stated apologetically.
He shook his head. "The exact opposite," he confessed. "I asked her some questions. Apparently, she's Tristan's girlfriend." He approached to continue their talk.
"Yes," she giggled. "That boy is such a gem." She looked at him curiously. "You're staying in Ana and Boris' place, aren't you?"
"Guilty," he replied, nodding. "Yeah, it's a somewhat of a long story."
"No it isn't," she disagreed. "You're their grandson, and you can't go back to your place because someone's after you."
He blushed sheepishly. "That obvious, huh?" He was beginning to like Mrs. Chen. She was attuned to her surroundings.
"No, Ana told me." She's been meaning to speak with the attorney anyways. "Hey, have you figured out why Anderson Investments is coming after us?" He wished he had an optimistic answer for her, but he didn't. "Well, I wanted to run a name by you, Mason W. Billi Randell II. Has that come up in any of your investigation?"
Moose thought. Nothing registered. "I'm sorry; I've been up for over a day, but I'll plug it in and figure it out. Where'd you get that name?"
She gestured for him to wait a second. She entered the house and grabbed a document, then exited. She gave the paper to Moose. "When we bought the flower shop three years ago and were cleaning it, we found this document hidden in a slot. It looked of high importance, so we kept it safe. While looking for Jayla's current immunization record, I stumbled upon it. I thought to give it to you."
Moose took it keenly. Any information he could get his hands on could be a lead or lead to another lead. "Thanks," he acknowledged her.
"No problem. By the way," she grabbed his attention, "I've been meaning to ask, and I know this is intruding on your personal life, but I was wondering, are you Tristan's father?"
"What," Moose questioned, astonished. This wasn't the first time he's been asked. He reminisced when Marshall, Marty's Corner Store's owner, supposed he was. He shook his head. "No, I'm not. No one's really met him?" He found that hard to believe.
Jayla's mother shook her head. "No. When they first moved in, everyone assumed Sean was Tristan's father, but we were told that's not true. At first, I didn't believe it, but it is the truth. They really don't look alike, but you, he's the spitting image of you."
"Tristan's a great kid, and I would be honored, but, no, I'm not his dad. I've asked Camille if she's ever wanted to find him; she keeps saying no."
"Mommy!"
"There's my daughter. Alright, well, hopefully this is a clue as to why Mr. Anderson is vying for this property."
He thanked her for the paper for the second time, then left. He made the short trip to the Cha-Cha Palace and headed to Camille's classroom. He slipped in and sat on the floor watching the two. They were engaged in a fast paced, energy filled routine. The duo were hitting all their marks simultaneously. Not one beat or step was off. A triumph because Tristan's motor skills, like any other kids his age, were still developing.
Tristan stopped, mid-arm roll. The next move wasn't coming to him. He forgot. "Mom," he piped breathlessly. His mom stopped the music after hearing. "Can we take a break?" His mom nodded.
The mother and son turned to see Moose there. He started to clap for them.
"Hey," Camille said her hello, using the back of her hand to wipe the perspiration accumulating on her forehead. "I thought you'd be sleeping by now."
"I could say the same for you," he shot back. She rolled her eyes playfully. "Hey Tris! You're doing great!"
"Thanks," Tristan wheezed. He headed to his backpack and grabbed his inhaler.
Moose noticed Tristan's been using his medicinal device more often. He wondered why, and if there was the possibility a person could overdose on that thing. "Hey, Camille." She came his way and sat with him. "How much is Tristan supposed to take of that stuff?"
They watched Tristan return to the middle of the dance floor, resuming the place he stopped at.
"That stuff," Camille echoed questionably. She palm smacked her forehead. "Of course, sorry; well he does a breathing treatment through the nebulizer twice a day. Sometimes night time treatments get skipped because he can be really tired. Then, he uses an inhaler whenever he does physical activities."
"Have you noticed he's been using it more often?"
She tilted her head, musing. "Maybe; I thought it was because we've been practicing like our lives depend on it."
He opted not to tell her about the little bet that's been set in place because he didn't want to worry her. She's had enough on her plate already. He saw the little boy power through his practice. He assumed he just needed a little pick me up. "Did you come up with the routine on your own?" She nodded her head. He thought to add some flare to this."Can Tristan break dance?"
Before her answer, she watched him get on his feet and head to Tristan. She eyed their interaction carefully. He started with the b-boy basics which her son caught on with ease. Her hand gestured, once in a while, but she restrained herself, as if knowing her intervention was not needed. She presumed Moose knew what to do and not overwhelm her son with this genre he's barely touched on. Her head bobbed, mimicking the crazy shuffles, unique swerves and abrupt turns. To this day, she admired Moose's talent. It was one of a kind.
"Oh man," Tristan screamed enthusiastically. "Teach me more! Teach me! Teach me more!"
Moose smiled from ear to ear, watching Tris' face light with illumination. "Of course," he obliged, happy to help any way he could. This was the best way to unwind in his opinion. He hadn't realized how much he missed dancing until now.
The Following Morning
Mason W. Billi Randell II
After a rejuvenating nap, Moose sat at the dining room table, laptop opened, and a pot of coffee was brewing. He studied the name, as if it was going to jump out and project a short film displaying who the person was. This name was clouded with mystery. He couldn't find anything. Documents connected to the person were also sealed. Like a quote from his favorite movie, 'not even Houdini could open this bitch'. He was getting frustrated.
For motivation, he told himself there was still time. There was. Two weeks and counting down.
"Mmm, coffee," a feminine voice infiltrated his zone of concentration he created.
Moose picked his head up and saw it was Camille making her way to the kitchen. "Shouldn't you be asleep?"
"But, I made you a promise that I'd help, and that's what I'm going to do," she countered She opened the cupboard housing the coffee cups and made them each a cup of coffee. She walked back, placing a cup in front of him.
He thanked her appreciatively. "Have you talked to Nona and Nonno?"
"Nope, I don't think they want to be bothered," she answered around a chuckle. "If I was in Sydney, I know I'd want to be lost in the endless sea of people and activities."
"Why don't you go," he asked, his fingers typing away. "I'm sure you could afford it." He looked up at her. "With the money you get paid here, I'm sure you're saving. Right?"
She hitched her breath. She was in debt. It started in Miami, shortly after Tristan was born. If she had to give a number, it was 20,000 or so. She wanted to be independent, thinking she had all of her medical and credit card bills under control. She was mistaken. She missed one payment, then missed three, soon, five. Though she received help from those around her and she had the check from Mr. Collins cashed, she was still drowning.
The check from Mr. Collins, she's told Sean time and time again, it's for Tristan's college fund. She wouldn't, she repeated, she wouldn't spend it for any other reason besides that.
"Yeah," she responded to the best of her ability to fabricate, which she's been doing effortlessly.
"Okay, so this name," he changed the subject, "I can't find anything on him. If I do, it's sealed."
"The information about him is sealed," she screeched, incredulous. "Who the hell is this guy?"
"That's what I've been trying to figure out." He frowned.
"Go to the Social Security Administration, contact the FBI, something." She shrugged, trying not to sound too hasty, but this was home now. She couldn't see herself any place but here. "Could it be an alias," she suggested from out the blue. She grabbed the paper from his hand and looked at the name, her concentration channeled. "Randell... Mason Randell... W... the Roman numeral for two, two I's... Billi." She mumbled the words out of order for a reason. Then, an epiphany struck, her eyes grew, and she couldn't believe it. "It's an anagram!"
"What," he questioned.
"It's an anagram, where the letters are mixed around to make a new word! Give me a piece of paper." Moose's notepad slid her direction. She grabbed a pen, the writing item almost flying. She was excited. She positioned the letters differently. The 'W' came to the front, she unscrambled the 'Billi' then 'Mason', added some of the 'Randell' in between and quickly figured the Roman numerals were letters actually. The name she came up with was right there.
William Bill Anderson
She shoved the paper back his way.
"Holy fuck! How did you come up with that?!" He stared at the paper, jaw dropped and all. He was amazed by her vast intelligence.
"I don't know," she shook her head, ecstatic though. "It just came to me!"
"Wow." His head rose to see her. "Thank, thank you."
"It's no problem." Seeing they were another step closer, she decided it was time for bed. "I should go to sleep now; I'm not sure if I can, but..." She grinned, her cheeks hurting because she was that happy. She headed for the hallway, but she heard him call her name."Yeah?"
Moose abandoned his chair. He walked up to her and made her face him. He wanted to do this, but he wasn't sure how she would react. There was the possibility she could slap the hell out of him, shove him to the ground, kick him out because this was her residence. He was about to cross a line, no longer were they only professional if the contact was a success. He hesitated a little, but leaned in.
A powerful sensation trickled across.
Camille watched him. He was moving slow. Oh God, she thought. She could move, take a step back, halt him, yet she found herself staying put, accepting what was to come. She waited, her breath held, and she yearned for him to do whatever he wanted. Potentially, she could be cheating, but, for selfish reasons, she didn't care. She anticipated, her heart accelerated.
He kissed her cheek.
"Oh," she laughed, her disappointment cloaked. She scratched the back of her neck for relief. "Um, I should head to bed."
"Yeah," he nodded.
He thought about kissing her on the lips. Kissing her senseless, possibly they'd tumble onto the couch, their passion taking over, going all the way, but staved. It wasn't right. He would have been taking advantage of her. He didn't need to do that. They both didn't need to do that.
"Good night, Moose," she was ready to turn in.
"Good night, Camille," he told her the same. He watched her leave down the hall. He headed to the couch and slumped. "Why does she do this to me?"
Preview for the Next Chapter: Tristan's school showcase, Bill's secret is revealed, Natalie returns to New York.