Alex Barclay - Harm's Reach

‘Nothing! You started talking about people lying...’

Fuck this. ‘I don’t think it’s very fair you bringing up UC stuff. It just gives me the creeps that you learned about me or had that kind of access to me before we met. I guess I’ve only just realized that.’

‘Oh, no, you don’t,’ said Ben. ‘I had access to a case study of an agent called Remy Torres, of her undercover process. Two very different things.’

‘Don’t bet on it,’ said Ren. ‘You can honestly separate what you know about me professionally?’

‘Yes.’

‘You can honestly look at me and not think “my girlfriend lay with a gun to her head, while a woman was raped right in front of her” and not think “my girlfriend must be very fucked up after that” or “my girlfriend got close to a beautiful little brown-eyed boy, took the place of his psycho mother for a year, then abandoned him” and not think “my girlfriend is one heartless bitch”?’

‘What are you doing to yourself?’ said Ben. ‘What is with the torture? I don’t think any of those things. I’m not fucking around here, Ren. We’re together six months. I know all this about your past. I have known all along. If you want to push me away, give one big push, OK? Don’t do lots of little ones, so I don’t realize I’m at the edge of the cliff until I’m at the bottom.’

Whoa.

‘Is that a little too honest for you?’ said Ben. ‘Is that scaring you?’

Shut up. Shut up. Shut up.

‘I separate you and your work,’ said Ben. ‘Just as I’d like to think you do with me.’

‘The difference is I don’t know anything about your UC work,’ said Ren.

‘Well, I’d be happy to tell you.’

‘You honestly think I want to know what tramps you’ve fucked and what titty bars you’ve hung out in and what nasty shit you talked and—’

Stop. Listen to yourself. Stop.

‘Stop,’ said Ben. ‘Let’s just end this right now.’ He stood up.

End what? Panic. Panic.

‘This is going nowhere,’ said Ben. ‘It feels to me like you just want to argue for the sake of it. And I’m not interested.’

He got up, grabbed his jacket and left.

Ren ran to the window. She watched Ben get into his rental car, slam the door and drive off.

Breathe. Breathe.

She sat down on the sofa.

What an asshole.

I can’t believe I said all that to him.

Tramps and titty bars... what the hell? He is a kind man. What am I saying to him? He is honest, and sweet and problem-free. Maybe he’s not honest. Maybe he is a liar. Maybe he has been lying to me all along.

Stop. Stop. Stop.

I am a psycho. I am one of those psycho girlfriends. But I’m not. I’m really not. Hey, aren’t the meds supposed to stop this kind of shit? Oh my God, is this my real personality? Am I a psycho?

Ren grabbed her phone. She called Matt.

He answered. ‘Ren Bryce Tailored Trauma Services... how may I direct your call?’

‘I need to speak with your manager.’

‘Ooh... management level,’ said Matt. ‘I’m afraid you’re stuck with the lowly, unpaid intern. What’s up?’

‘I had a fight with Ben.’

‘About?’

‘Stupid things. I was questioning someone lying, Ben was saying I was a liar too... because of my undercover work.’

‘Well... um... that’s a fact,’ said Matt. ‘You both lie as part of your jobs...’

‘I know...’ I know. I know. ‘But he was being a total asshole.’

‘Pause and reflect,’ said Matt. ‘Was he... really being an asshole? I am not saying you are to blame for all arguments. I am simply prompting you to ponder this.’

Grrr. ‘I may have gotten a little... fired up.’

‘Was there liquor on your breath?’ said Matt.

Grrr. ‘Maybe.’

‘And what happened?’ said Matt.

‘He grabbed his jacket and walked out,’ said Ren.

Matt laughed. ‘Did he fling it over his shoulder, catalog-style?’

‘OK, why are you laughing?’

‘You don’t want to know.’

‘I definitely want to know now,’ said Ren.

‘Well, he walked out on a fight with you while you are... you know... on medication. What would he have done if he was in a fight with the unmedicated you? Ha...’

‘Thanks,’ said Ren. ‘Thanks for that.’

‘Pleasure.’

‘And how can you be so sure I am taking my meds?’ said Ren.

‘Ah, yes,’ said Matt. ‘Some day you will acknowledge the flaming red flags of your lunacy. And the gentle ripple of the white flags of sanity.’

‘Ah, yes,’ said Ren, ‘lunacy is in the eye of the beholder.’

‘You say beholder, I say “endlessly tolerant brother”.’

Ren laughed.

‘Don’t let this derail you — seriously,’ said Matt. ‘You’ve been doing great. Ben will be back. This is nothing.’

‘Well... I hope so,’ said Ren.

‘Of course he will,’ said Matt. ‘Sounds to me like you guys are great together. You don’t need drama. Call him. You deserve calm.’

‘Oh my God — you’re saying I deserve boredom...’

‘Stop,’ said Matt. ‘Don’t freak me out.’

‘I’m kidding, relax.’ Except, I’m not really.

‘So,’ said Matt, ‘have you had any further thoughts on actually telling Ben...?’

‘That I’m nuts?’ said Ren. ‘Ben took his seat just in time for The Sane Show . He doesn’t need to see the coming attractions...’

Ren was about to walk up the stairs to bed. The files from Janine’s office were on the floor in the hallway. She paused. Then she bent down, picked them up and took them into the dining room. She went into the kitchen and made a pot of coffee, grabbed a bottle of water and set them both on Annie’s giant mahogany table.

Screw you, Ben Rader. Coming all this way to fight with me. Dickhead.

Ren went back into the kitchen, got a box of cookies and the Mike and Ike that Devin had left her. She sat down and opened the Viggi Leinster file.

OK, let’s see what you’ve got.

There were fifty witness statements, from the staff and guests at the movie premiere and at Vescovi’s, where the after-party was held. The Vescovis themselves were not among them.

Assuming that was the name of the owner.

She opened her laptop and Googled Vescovi’s. It was featured on some obscure New York City nostalgia-style photography websites. She clicked on one and was brought to a page that told her it was owned by Marco and Elisabetta Vescovi. The restaurant was opened in 1954, soon became hugely popular with the glamorous elite of the city, but its popularity waned and by 1959 Marco Vescovi had gambled away his fortune and was unable to maintain the business. But he was still able to open a new restaurant the following year, on a different site, which remained open until his death in 1992. Elisabetta Vescovi was still alive and living in Bensonhurst, New York.

Ren searched some more, but found nothing else.

She grabbed her phone and texted Janine.

R u up?

Y

Ren called her. ‘Hey, I’m in the Viggi Leinster file. Do you have any idea why the Vescovis weren’t interviewed... the restaurant owners? There are no witness statements here from them.’

‘I do not know that,’ said Janine. ‘It was possibly because they weren’t there that night.’

‘On the night of a movie premiere party?’ said Ren.

‘They could have been on vacation, they could have been in hospital, jail, anywhere,’ said Janine. ‘I’ll check that out. Have you gone through the whole file?’

‘Almost,’ said Ren.