..::.. Chapter 52 - Collectors ..::..

I didn't leave. I complied. I dried my tears and crawled back into his bed quietly so as not to wake him. My staggered breaths settled when he found my back and pressed close. I haven't slept so peacefully in a long while.

I got up to make us breakfast despite the maid coming in early to get ready to start their day. I smiled back when the cook just grabbed a book and took it to the other room, out of sight.

When done, I sat on his bed and watched as Edward stood in front of his bathroom mirror doing his morning rituals. It was like deja vu, a faint dream; the visual. I gasped at a memory that came to me.

Edward once stood in my bathroom sink with blood on his hands. The water ran pink, but his white t-shirt was blood red. A young Edward killed a man named Joe with his bare hands, right in front of me. Then, he came to my room, as he was, bare feet and in boxers. And I saw the future as he washed the sin away, a future like this one. The difference now isn't much. My silly girl fantasy dreamt of him like this as a husband, going through the daily motions as I watched, because even then I knew I wanted him forever. I sat there and I knew young Bella was overzealous of a fantasy.

When finished, Edward sat bare-chested at the table, reading his newspaper in his Kent glasses, contently eating the oats with fruit I made—unaware of this turmoil inside me. I just watched, masking sadness for the inevitable heartbreak. I'll never have him like a young Bella wanted him.

I was stuck with him. I appeased him, I didn't leave his side. All day he held my hand, until I made it clear I wouldn't stay for the rest of the week and possibly the next. He looked sad when I told him before dropping me off at my place. His face hardened, the Boss again.

"I want a report by lunch every day," he said, and let go of my hand. No kiss goodbye as he turned to his watch and the window.

I climbed out of the car relieved, to say the least.

There's a long list of things I have to do. This account affects many businesses. I don't have a full picture. Slowly, I realized we collect 'taxes' from places that are not on the list. This was worse than I thought. I don't know how I'll break it to Edward. A rampage of blood will ensue.

A few weeks have passed, and after finishing lunch at Sue's shop, I text Edward as she runs to the back to show me her new collection. The text is my mid-day routine. I haven't seen him in the flesh for so long I dream of him and think of him many times in the day.

To my dismay.

That night at his place stayed with me, it looms, haunts me.

I type, delete, then retype a message. I for-go a greeting. "I need to round up all your tax collectors. Do this for me?" I hit send and wait, hoping he'll let me do this.

Garret shows up when Sue is showcasing her latest dress. The door chimes. I look up and he nods, filing out. He's ready to leave and this is my head's up.

Edward's reply: "They'll meet you in half an hour. Garret has instructions."

I scoff and type back. "Where?"

"Garret has instructions," he repeats by copying and pasting his above message. I sigh. Smartass.

When I climb into the car another text comes in.

"I miss you." The words taunting on my screen.

A piece is carved out of me a little more. My stomach does a thing. I don't know what to reply, so I leave it as is.

Garret stops at a pub. A few men are standing in the alley by it, and when I step out of the car, one takes a few strides to my side and lifts an arm to point the way. "Ms. Swan," he says in greeting.

The inside is dark with the smell of cigars, old sweat, liquor, and a hint of cedar wood. They can't see me, I'm in another room with surveillance pointed over the bar out front, but I can see each collector trickle in. It's the middle of the day. I'm surprised at the quick turnaround.

"Would you like the floor, or one at a time?" asks the gentleman from the back doors, his chin long and dimpled. His eyes are dark fossils with fabulous trimmed dark hair, barely any grays for his age—Dad's age.

He waits.

I look back at the screen. I take off my camel-colored coat Sue bestowed, deposit my briefcase by a table, and walk up to the wall to get a closer look. This room is decorated in red and gold wallpaper, lush red curtains, and black floors. A sitting area is by the high windows, a table with two chairs by me, and a wet bar as the focal point. But it's all dated, slightly frayed, and fading in color.

The collectors trickled into the bar, but as patrons. Some order a drink, others sit in small groups at tables to order from a lone waitress. Smoke in the air in drunken whirls. Most of the collectors are children, not much older than kids from high school.

"They know why they're here?" I ask.

"No. Instructed to meet here. Boss' request." I nod. "Wouldn't make a difference. They don't know who's who. They work alone or in small teams," he adds.

"And you?" I ask, turning to him. He smirks.

"I wrangle them in."

"That's all you do?" I push.

He shrugs, pulls out a vape from his pocket and inhales. I never questioned how he's dressed: Air Jordans, black jeans, but a sleek suit jacket over a Tee. His smile almost gleams like his gold chain. I imagine how Dad would look with the same one around his neck.

Ridiculous.

I grin back at him.

"I guess I'm what you call a parental figure, a supervisor of sorts. I delegate." He waves a hand at himself and the e-cig. "Dress the part. Walk the walk. Relate. Helps them view the Boss as the Wizard of Oz in a sense. They don't have to see or deal with the 'CEO'."

I nod in understanding. I realize, these kids aren't the ones I need to meet. He is. "That's sweet." I sit at the table. "File them in one at a time, please? When I'm done, send them out the back and let them go home. Good?" I ask with a smile.

Each comes in, one at a time, and this is like pulling teeth. Give obnoxious boys a bit of power over a territory and they're ravenous. Some just sat there, never uttering a word. Some gave me that once over, a sly smirk like any sick man would do to a woman walking down a street. I could see their future; jail or death. Inevitable. When one's answer to my question was "Snitches get stitches", I laughed out loud. I couldn't help myself. I only asked him where he was from.

The line of questions aren't much. I want to know why they do what they do, and what the prize is at the end. Most were obvious; need for money, need to survive, need to get respect or find a way out of an abusive home. Some simply have no choice.

Only one is cooperative. Alec is his name, and Alec is as scared as a twig when he sits in front of me. He's so young it pains me. He reminds me how young Edward was when this was his job in high school. Too young. This isn't right.

I ease in with simple questions until he visibly relaxes. "What's it like?" I ask. "If I was trying to apply for your job. What would be the process?"

"You … do things you never thought you had to do. You don't have a heart. You're not yourself. When you do collect, and that's a must, Mac takes the cash, gives us our cut, or sometimes not."

"Why's that?" I ask.

He shrugs. "Because fuck us, right? Isn't that what you guys do? Wave bills over us, keep us fetching to get more?"

I freeze. "Oh. No. Sorry. I don't do this. I'm just … trying to make your job better," I explain.

He gives me a look like that's bullshit. I don't explain more because it is bullshit.

"So, what happens if you don't collect?" I change the subject.

He blinks like it's a stupid question, or maybe he thinks I'm kidding? I keep a straight face.

"Do you want to see the scars, Ma'am?" He begins to pull on his jacket. I raise a hand.

"Do you … hurt them when they don't pay up?" I quickly ask about the business owners.

He straightens his jacket. "Like I said, you do things you never thought you had to do."

I watch him; he watches me.

"Alec, do you ever get … jobs that are not part of the line up? Not your typical week to week errands?"

He sits back and looks away. That's a yes.

I continue. "Do you know why?" He's quiet. I wait. "Look, I get it. I'm ... just trying to figure things out so I understand what you do and try to make it better."

He looks at me. "Mac just needs more cash to cover costs, I guess, or Emmett comes to pound on him," he says shrugging. I stay quiet.

Emmett.

"Yeah? I guess Emmett could be an asshole like that," I say, throwing bate. He scoffs.

"That guy's insane. I've heard things. People disappear, and we're not stupid. Mac doesn't have a choice. He has to get the cash somehow. It's probably why he doesn't pay us."

"Mac, is it?"

"That's what we call him. Guys here don't use their given names."

I think. "Smart." Or not smart enough. My blood runs cold as I know what this is all about.

I thank Alec and dismiss him with a wad of cash. His eyes brighten. "Don't share that. It didn't come from me," I tell him. But really, I've given all the ones I liked something extra. Alec got a bit more today.

Mac, as it appears, knocks on the door when all is over. He walks in as I'm sorting all my belongings to leave.

"I'll walk you out," he says. He's a bit on edge after these interrogations I didn't let him linger for. He's still bothered I asked him to sit at the bar with the rest where I can see him.

"So, which are you?" I ask about his Oz reference from earlier. "The Tin Man, The Scarecrow, or The Cowardly Lion?"

He pauses, confused. His eyes light up when he recalls.

"Heartless, brainless, and a roar with no grit? I'd take that as an offense as they all have flaws, Ms. Swan," he says with a grin.

I smile, pulling on my coat. I stuff my hands in my slacks' pockets and step closer, almost reaching him eye to eye with my heels on. "Nah. You're Dorothy," I say. "Hopeful and on the right brick road." I correct.

He chuckles hardily. I laugh along with him because Mac looks familiar and that laugh is also. The nickname Mac is short for something very specific and a key ingredient to this yellow brick road we're treading. This 'Mac'—for McCarthy—is a family member, and my new lead.

I shake his hand to seal this keep-enemies-close kind of friendship.

"Nice to meet you, Mac."

…..