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“You poor child. No one should have to starve like you have,” he said the first day he fed me. The day he caught me picking a lock on the grocery store he used as a front for his operation.
While I gobbled up everything he set in front of me, he plied me to learn how I was so skilled at being a thief at the young age of fourteen.
For some reason, having a full belly in that warm break room in the back of his shop turned me into a confession machine.
He didn’t like my answers to his questions. The veins in his neck stood out when I told him about being orphaned a year before. Explained how I was surviving off of picking locks and eating garbage.
That was the first day he fed me. And he hasn’t stopped since.
The sandwich that I know he made for me by hand has my favorite ingredients. Crusty bread, butter and tomato with salt and pepper. I take a bite, close my eyes and remember eating this same meal at his table many times.
As I eat slowly, savoring the flavors, I look through the items he disguised in pieces of rubbish. A new fake passport. A bundle of cash. Two burner phones. One labeled with the number one in grease marker. The other is unmarked. And of course, he included a set of lock picks, a bug sniffer, and a switchblade—his favorite weapon.
Turning on the bug sniffer, I walk around the park bench and the ten feet surrounding the space. All clear.
Turning on the phone, I dial the only number programmed in it, another burner phone, I’m sure.
“Child. Are you enjoying the sandwich?”
Smiling, I reply, “Very much. Thank you.”
“What’s going on?”
I tell him the story. Leaving out the part about losing my head and sleeping with my surgeon. I only say that he helped me find what I thought was safe lodging for my recovery. The whole time I talk, he sounds shocked and upset, making deep grumbles and huffs on the other end. “You trusted a doctor? I’m very shocked at this. I know your deep dislike for the medical world.”
I set the sandwich aside. “It was a mistake, something foolish. I’m not sure what happened to my head.”
“He saved your life. That’s hard to ignore.”
So is having his blood inside of me.
And knowing I had his seed in my womb.
And the fact that I can still feel all the places he touched me.
Finally, he says, “This man, this shooter, what would his motive be to maim you?”
“That’s what I’m unsure of.”
“You’re going to find him?”
“Of course, didn’t you expect me to say that?”
He laughs heartily. “Of course, but I didn’t know for certain, you’ve been playing nanny for some time now, I thought you might have hung up your cloak.”
I gasp and chuckle. “Don’t say such words. I’ve just been taking a break.”
“Well, it’s time to get back to work, isn’t it?”
“Indeed. So now, where to start?”
“Take a few days to recover. I’ll do some research.”
“Thank you so much.”
“Dispose of the phone. The other one is clean. You know how to reach me otherwise.”
“I do.”
