Chapter 2

By natural instincts, my eyes opened sharp on seven. Ever since the death of my parents, I have never found myself waking up later than seven, perhaps only earlier. Ever since taking charge of the household, I have never enjoyed the possibility of staying in bed.

Sleep was just another chore, another fundamental of life.

Wash up and breakfast was as uneventful as ever, but checking in the bedroom beside mine gave me a little jolt of surprise. He was sleeping. These days, finding him at home in the morning was a rare thing. To not have to wake up in the middle of the night, to go down to the local police station and bail him out; it is a small pleasant surprise.

7.50 am, and no other surprise waited for me in my study at home. It more often than not ended up as my home-office, but of course my second, unofficial office was hidden away with the press of a button. My contacts on the street gave me the usual updates that I’d expected, and things were just the way it had been for the past fifteen years.

7.51 am. My doorbell rang, and I walked to receive the file that I’d ordered to be delivered. It had appeared right on time, without delay, and I thanked my deliverer quickly before turning back to my office.

In the next four minutes, I took my time to be acquainted with my target, and understand the many past happenings of her life. She was nothing spectacular, nothing particular. As she had explained, she had no one, and that was exactly what I needed. I do not bother myself with the pathetic state of her life, only grateful that she has come at a right time.

I had not expected such of her when I bumped into her on the train, picking her wallet and her keys without her realization. A moment of weakness struck me when I saw her getting robbed, and chasing her robber had been no problem at all, considering my profession. What registered with mildly surprise was that she ended up simply sitting at the corner of the street, ready to give up. What registered with slightly more insistence in my mind was her refusal to cry.

It was, after all, natural reaction for a woman to cry after having gone through such a meaningless life, only to be the target of a robbery. It had struck me that she refused to cry, as if seeing the uselessness of that action. Still, she had only wanted to sit there and die of dehydration.

I had refrained myself from entertaining her thoughts. She wouldn’t die of dehydration. Her primal instincts would force her, at some point, to stand up and find water. It was part of the struggle we called life.

7.55 am. I finished reading the details of her uneventful life and set her file down, absently placing it down on a stack meant for returning. The Miami Dade Police Department would find the numbers of missing documents climbing soon; so returning them before it appeared on their radar would be crucial. I could arrange for one of my more useless contact to be the fallout, but I would rather not that happen.

Placing a note on top of the stack of restricted, personal documents from the police department, I placed them neatly in an envelope and left it in a corner for send-off.

One of my phone rang at 7.58 am.

“Dal.” I spoke seriously. Anyone who called on this phone was either a potential client or a conman looking for a job.

“I need the hard prints of Euro currency. No questions asked. Ten of them; five million each.” The voice that replied was a stranger, but no one got my phone number unless they knew who they were contacting.

“Six million.” I replied, equally hard.

“Six million and guarantees of absolute silence.” The voice bargained.

“Location? Time?”

“New York, Times Square. 10 am, 3 days from now. You will pass the prints to Mr. Janston, and he will give you the money.”

This man, whoever he was on the other end of the line, knew his work, and knew exactly who he was dealing with. Like I said, no one got this number unless they knew exactly who they were contacting.

“Same place, 6 pm, 2 days from now. Mr. Janston should wear a fedora with a silver watch and a respectable tie-clip.” I rearranged quickly, for I never liked circumstances set by the customers.

“Do we have a deal?”

My intercom buzzed, and I took a look at the clock. 8 am. Sharp. She was a punctual one.

“We have a deal.”

Upon confirmation, the caller hung up and so did I. Pressing the button so that the visitor could pronounce her identity, I waited for her reply.

“Um, I’m Kaylen Hurst. I’m here to see a Mr. Elxa Young?” She asked unsurely.

“The numbers on the card are the password in. Let yourself in and close the door behind you, Ms. Hurst.” I replied impassively, lifting my finger off the button. Not many were allowed in my house, but such breech of privacy was one I had to pay in terms of taking care of him…

Still, I had a job to hold up, as I picked up another phone again, arranging for ten hard prints of the Euro currency to be mobilized and moved to New York. Setting one of my men down for the job, I was soon done with the arrangement of things, just as Ms. Hurst let herself in. From the visual feed that my television showed, Ms. Hurst had apparently let herself into my sitting room, looking around with the wide-eyed amazement of someone who had never been exposed to wealth.

At her side was an overnight bag, which she set down carefully, daintily on the floor beside her.

Still, I had work to do.

Keeping one eye on the feed from the surveillance camera in my sitting area, I picked up another phone with its encrypted line. The few contacts on that phone were all on speed dial, and I pressed one of those numbers. The line picked up quickly, waiting.

“Seyfried, I have a deal going down in Times Square two days from now at 6pm. You have your FBI mole.” I informed impassively, watching as Ms. Hurst trailed soft fingers over the decorative bowl on the low table.

“I’ll deal with it.” Hayley Seyfried’s voice was full of duty, and with her reassurance, my mind was at rest. Of one important thing I had reaped from claiming a seat on The Circle, was my allies. The conmen and conwoman on The Circle were all conniving, world-infamous and genius individuals who knew exactly what to do with their lives. Still, rules kept us from killing each other, and through the jobs that kept us contacting with each other, I had learnt to trust the ability of each of them. I did not trust them one bit, but I trusted their abilities.

“Dal, before you hang up, I need to talk to you.” Hayley’s serious voice stopped my venture to the disconnecting button, watching as Ms. Hurst now trailed her fingers over the exquisite Greek model of Poseidon standing in the corner of the room.

“You’ve been talking to Hayden. I know it’s about his girlfriend and his daughter. If he asked you, then it must be that he wants you to find his daughter.” Hayley said seriously, but I was undeterred. It wasn’t great news that their fellow The Circle member, also Hayley’s little ‘baby’ brother, was one of her weaknesses.

“He gave me a job, and it is only in a con’s right to remain silent.” I replied impassively. If Hayley knew me enough, that was good enough an admission coming from me. I knew I shouldn’t be doing this to betray the secrecy between Hayden and me, but that man needed serious help. I could not step in, but Hayley tended to ignore rules when it came to her weaknesses.

“If you really find her –his daughter –please make him happy.” Hayley pleaded through the phone, but what was the point her begging me? She should know I was as unmovable as mountains.

“I will fulfill my end of the job, and that is all there is, Seyfried.” I had barely turned my eyes away from the display before me for a second, but the next moment I turned back, Ms. Hurst had already found the kitchen. Did she not know general etiquette?

“If his daughter and his girlfriend are dead… I need a favor from you. Don’t tell him.”

“I will fulfill my end of the job.” I reiterated impassively.

“Take it as a favor by me, Elxa. Don’t destroy him.”

“I will fulfill my end of the job.” I repeated once more, making sure it got through to her. “But the conditions of which the results are displayed can be negotiated.”

It was the only concession I would make for Hayley Seyfried. Hayden would still have to be told –if his family were all dead –but I could let his sister decide the situation in which the telling would be made.

“Thank you, Elxa. I owe you.”

“Goodbye.” I cut in abruptly and disconnected the call, frowning a little now. Ms. Hurst had found the fridge.

Her jolt of shock at my arrival in the kitchen would be amusing if she wasn’t caught in my home, my kitchen, looking into my fridge.

“Ms. Hurst, it is impolite to be snooping around in a stranger’s house.” I informed impassively, wiping the frown quickly off my face. Expressions weren’t the most natural thing for me, so what else better than to simply wipe off emotions from my face? Being a con, growing up as such, I had learnt that there was no one I could trust to show my inner feelings to.

In a world of interconnected people, I was alone. The irony was that I was still the conman with the most contacts, the strongest connections, and the most powerful. Still, I was alone.

“I-I’m sorry! I really just needed a drink. There was this lady downstairs who wouldn’t stop talking, and I talked myself dry trying to disengage myself.” She apologized, grabbing a bottle of water from the fridge. Before a protest could be made, she uncapped it and took a quick gulp.

I hadn’t even managed to wedge in a protest that that bottle wasn’t mine.

“What the heck is this?” She choked, coughing. It was exactly why she shouldn’t be snooping around in people’s fridges. What if it had been acid?

“What the heck is this?” She repeated again, rushing over to the tap to rinse her mouth as I remained silently, watching as she rest the harmless-looking bottle on the tabletop carefully, as if she knew now that it contained poison. “This is the worst tasting bottle of water ever! Is this something you rich guys drink on a daily basis?”

A little amused now at her reaction, I moved over to the bottle and took a careful smell. Knowing him, and his recent lifestyle…

“That’s hard liquor, not water.” I informed, watching as she continued washing her mouth clean.

“Liquor? Who would keep liquor in a harmless water bottle?” She asked, this time with more incredulousy as she wiped her mouth clean.

“Teenagers with too much money and time.” I muttered softly.

“What the fuck are you doing with my bottle? Who the hell are you?” A hostile, sleepy voice shocks the both of us, and I berated myself on the inside at not having sensed his presence. If he had been a trained assassin, sent by my enemies to kill me, then I would have been six feet underground now.

“Hiding liquor behind empty bottles isn’t going to change the fact I told you not to bring alcohol into the house.” I replied sternly, turning around to see him barely awake, but eyes blazing with anger that I was familiar with. Back when we were still kids, I had seen comfort and joy in those blue eyes. Nowadays, all I saw was hostility, anger and hatred.

As if it had all been my fault. As if it was all my fault that things were turning out the way it was.

“Take your hands off it. It’s mine.” He was no more polite as he snatched the bottle from my hand, capping the top tightly.

“I told you: No alcohol in the house.” I reiterated seriously, my hand stopping him. “I warned you the last time I got you bailed out.”

He started laughing –the laugh that wasn’t the littlest bit joyful. It was sarcastic, entirely amused laughter.

“How many times have you said it since then? What can you do to me? Kick me out?” He challenged bravely, trying to shake my hand away, but the effects of his hangover is obvious as he is way weaker than he usually is. With my free hand, I pry his fingers off the bottle and have it back in my possession before he can react. Such was the use of my nifty fingers of a conman.

“I don’t want you drinking in the house.” I expressed firmly, but his face only grew more disgusted that his strength had failed him.

“You can’t tell me what I to do.” He professed with the anger of a misunderstood teenager. “You are not my father!”

That was where he was wrong.

“I am your father, Jon. If you want to stay here, you will not drink in the house.” I met his eyes unflinchingly, watching as he flinched. He was still weak inside, still hurting. After so many years, he still hurt.

So did I, but I would never show it. If I did… then what would become of us both?

“Fine, I don’t want to stay here anymore. I don’t even know why I come back.” He turned to go, presumably to pack his bags, but I stopped him again with my hand on his arm. He jerked to a stop, turned around and glared hard at me, as if he wanted nothing more than to kill me at the moment.

But I was too used to it. He had treated me like this since so long ago, that even the hurt was lost on me. It was just another day, just another argument that we could add on our long list.

“Where will you go, what will you do? What will you survive on? You will only end up getting caught, and I’ll just end up going down to the police station to pick you up. Don’t waste my time, Jon, and just stay at home.” I reasoned, but his eyes only narrowed further on me.

“Then don’t pick me up from the station! Just let me go to jail. I’ll be happier there anyway. Anywhere away from you.” He replied scathingly, and where it once hurt me a lot to hear those words, the effect was lost on me now. After all, I’ve had years of training. I could deal with whatever he said.

“You’ll regret saying that, Jon. In the end, you’ll be coming back to me, asking for money to survive and buy more alcohol.” I replied evenly, and he finally shook my hand away –by my allowance, of course.

“I don’t want your money! Your money is dirty. Your money is blood money! You kill people and destroy their lives to get your money!” He shouted, running away again. That was just Jon. To be childish, to shout hurtful and hateful comments at me, and then run away. I would never understand him, never get through to him.

“Um…” The sound of an uncertain voice behind me reminded me of the witness to our argument, and I sighed, turning around, face still wiped of emotions. I was too tired to even come up with polite emotions. Dealing with Jon was ten times more draining than dealing with a million con jobs. “I’ve caught you at a wrong time. Should I leave you and him alone and come back some other time?”

“No.” I replied, dropping the bottle down the bin, moving back to the fridge. No wonder Ms. Hurst had taken the wrong bottle. My bottle of plain water had the exact same packing as Jon’s liquor bottle. “Come with me. We have things to discuss.”

She accepted my bottle meekly, with a little surprise, but obediently followed me to my study. Her novelty at the wealth of my house wore off at the uncertainty and awkwardness of the environment that she’d found herself in, but I ignored it all, keeping the air of brisk business.

“Close the door behind you, Ms. Hurst.” I instructed politely, taking my usual seat. She obeyed quickly, planting her butt on the seat across me without asking anything. I remained silent at her lack of etiquette, and quietly observed that she had a strange glow of her cheeks that I had never seen before.

“I don’t know what you want with me, but I’ll tell you I don’t have anything left, Mr. Young. I figured if I must die, then at least I die seeing your hot face again.” She said, taking a large gulp from the water I’d passed her. The redness of her cheeks seemed to be rising somehow.

I hesitated a little at her seeming lack of inhibitions. She had first already struck as a woman uncaring of who would judge her, but from the slight blush yesterday night upon seeing me, I never thought her to speak her mind so honestly, frankly.

“Ms. Hurst, I want to get straight to the point. I’ve asked you here for a proposal that would be very much to your interest. You’ve seen Jon. You’ve seen how he behaves. I want you, in frankness, to be his nanny. I want you to take care of him, and that will be your sole purpose for your being here.”

“What?” She spoke a little too thickly, and I watched as her eyes of piercing hard blue wander everywhere. Those blue orbs focused and unfocused on everything on the table for less than a few seconds each. The redness of her cheeks was suddenly becoming very obvious to me.

“Did you turn off the air-conditioning? It’s getting really hot here. Or is it you?” She began to slur, fanning her face that was turning red quickly.

I couldn’t believe it. She had obviously been sober when she walked in the house –considering her intelligent eyes tagging on the decorative items in my sitting room. She hadn’t had anything to drink, except for… that mouthful of hard liquor Jon had.

“Why aren’t you saying anything Mr. Young?” She giggled, pulling the around the neck of her shirt as if to let in some air. “Are you concentrating your hot charms on me?”

I sighed, letting my eyes fall back to the table top. I had hoped for the situation to be done quickly. I didn’t like to leave things hanging, and Ms. Hurst was most definitely a hanging piece in my drawers that I hadn’t cleaned up properly.

“Ms. Hurst, you are inebriated. Have you ever drunk hard liquor before?” I asked passively. Her eyes only got larger, brighter as if I’d given her the greatest cookie of her life.

“Nope! I’ve never drank alcohol before. Can’t afford it.” She sang and I struggled not to sigh. There was no point talking to her like this. Furthermore, I was beginning to question my decision. How could I ask her to take care of Jon if just one gulp of hard liquor could disable her so quickly? All Jon had to do was to feed her a little alcohol, and she would be effectively useless in the house.

Still, I didn’t want to be accused of being heartless. I stood up and walked over to her side of the table, pulling her up by her arms. She stumbled to her feet, then stumbled to fall from her unsteady legs, except for the fact that she stumbled into me. The smell of liquor was still faint on her, even though she had tried to wash it down.

“Really, did you honestly turn off the air-con? It’s really hot.” She pulled the neckline of her shirt further again, and for fear of her ripping it in front of me, I gently removed her hands. This most definitely wasn’t a normal happening, but what else could I, as a man, do?

Plainly carrying her in my arms since she had no ability to walk properly, I carted her to the guest room. She could sleep the alcohol off. It was, after all, my fault that she got drunk. I could not expect her to take responsibility of her inebriated self at the moment.

I tried to pull the covers over her, but she mumbled something incoherent, sat up drowsily and pulled her shirt off in a movement so casual that I hesitated.

“Ahh… that’s better.” She grinned crazily, throwing her shirt randomly off the side.

In all honesty, she had good figure. She had the good figure of a young twenty-one year old, good enough to be a model. Her bra, lacy and white, strained to hold her ample breasts up.

“Oh, Mr. Young, you’re still here? Come on, have a seat!” She slurred, opening her eyes blurrily to see me still standing there. It had totally missed her alcohol-addled mind that she was now clad in only a bra.

When I didn’t reply, she reached for my arm and pulled me down with surprisingly strength. Her wound from the previous night had already been bandaged, but it didn’t refrain her from using her strength on me as I fell sitting on the bed, taken by surprise.

She shifted closer to me and pulled my arms into her embrace, as if taking my hand for her pillow. I politely tried not to dwell on the fact that my arm was pressed between her breasts as she glued herself to me.

“You can do anything you want to me, Mr. Young. I’m ready to die! No one wants me anymore. You can have me! Well, unless I find my Daddy…” She slurred, but seemed to sober the slightest bit at the last sentence.

“Unless I find my Daddy… you be my Daddy!” She yelled happily, and I flinched away from her piercing yell. Still, she clung to my arm as if it depended on her life.

Be her daddy?

She had a death wish. Since fifteen years ago, I had tried being a father. I started being a father at the age of 26 years old. I knew many men who were already fathers at that age. For example, my fellow The Circle member became a father at 20.

Still, I was not the type of man to be a father. I, if anything, was a failure for a father. I couldn’t even bring Jon up right. I had to resort to asking people in to take care of Jon. I had been reduced to such a sad state. All I could do now was to focus on earning money and supporting the both of us through life. I didn’t know when Jon would wake up on day and realize that he needed to get on with life.

I simply waited and hoped for that day to come.

Ms. Hurst eventually lulled herself to sleep and slackened her hold over my arm. Feeling a little amused at her drunken state, I rested her back down on the bed and drew the covers over her thoughtfully.

Then I left the room, checking the clock.

8.45am.

45 minutes, and Ms. Hurst was fast asleep.

God knew how much longer she would be staying.