“I was worried about you.”
“And yet I pay you only to drive.”
Bank’s response to Luis is dry and flat. Without a doubt, to others, it would seem rude. To Luis, it was somehow calming. His boss’s voice is finally back to normal, his tone and demeanor precise and mechanical. It wasn’t rude, he never intends to be rude, it was just factual. He always speaks in facts, with no hidden meaning behind his words. This feels right. It feels like he has finally got that girl out of his head.
Despite a few random sirens back in San José, the drive has been easy and calm. No evasive driving. No one following them. And best of all, no questions about that damn girl. Banks’s mind is back on track and their jobs and lives are safe for another day.
Pulling off the road and into the jungle, the winding dirt path feels like home. Luis and his brother have never lived here, they’ve never even stayed the night, but once a year when the Boss comes to town, this is where they belong. Banks is anything but warm and inviting, but the man knows how to treat his employees. Generous wages are one thing, but having worked for many different employers, Luis and Mateo know there’s more than just the money.
As the two escalades pull into the drive of Bank’s estate, he steps out of the second car. Both drivers roll their windows down as Banks turns and gives a small head only bow. They both nod, before rolling the windows up and driving away. The small ritual is so routine, yet the brothers have never asked what it means. They only know, every time they return the man from a job, he will bow, and they will nod before they leave.
Cracking his neck, Banks opens the door to the estate’s main house. Stepping in, he can finally breathe calmly again, knowing he’s not just stepping back into his home, but stepping back into his scheduled routine. A schedule made in advance and followed to the T. Life is hard to understand, but a schedule is easy. It was something he learned early and it’s been something he’s stuck with his whole life. His schedule is the only thing he’s ever felt he can truly rely on. Despite the occasional need to improvise, his schedule has never failed him. With a quick glance at the time, he knows he’s made it just in time for dinner and a review of tomorrow’s schedule.
Banks crosses the living room and into the elegant dining room. A long wooden table that could easily seat a dozen people waits for its lone occupant. He takes his seat at the head of the table, closes his eyes, and begins tapping on the armrest. Slow and consistent, each tap hits exactly three seconds after the previous one. A metronome couldn’t hit the beat more precisely. Yet despite the relaxing nature of being back home, having survived his latest target, and returning to his schedule, the speed of the tapping begins to increase.
A minute passes and now the taps come every two seconds. Another minute and now every second there’s a tap. After a third minute, it sounds as though a woodpecker has invaded the dining room. Where the hell is his food! His eyes shoot open. Dinner should be on the table. A folder with tomorrow’s schedule and a briefing of the week to come should be in his hand. Yet Banks sits alone, no food, no schedule, and no idea what’s going on.
He has to squeeze his left hand with his right to stop the tapping, which has gotten out of control. He can feel his impulses creeping forward and his control slipping. The urge to rock in his chair pulls at every fiber. His left hand tries to continue tapping, despite the firm grip of his right hand. He’s losing the battle within and that can’t happen. He closes his eyes once again and can see lights flashing, noises hit him from all directions. In a moment he will lose it, complete loss of control and a total meltdown, possibly even a seizure. It’s inevitable now and he knows he’s lost to the world around him.
Crack! Bang!
The noise. The flash. They aren’t in his head. He felt it. Though small, he felt the percussion hit him in the chest. His eyes shoot open. Outside, through the window, he can see another. Crack! Bang! An explosion out over the ocean not far in the distance. Self-preservation sets in. Instincts trump a meltdown, and his body is in action before he can think. Swiftly he moves through the house, pulling a pistol from its hiding place beneath a painting’s frame. Out of the house, through the jungle, he moves toward the beach. No paths, too easy to be seen, he makes his way through the trees. The soft wet leaves don’t crunch, giving him the advantage of a silent approach.
If someone thinks they can breach his compound from the sea, they’re sorely mistaken. Precautions have been set and loyal employees are likely already taking positions. Unsurprisingly to himself, Banks feels a sense of calm. These are the moments he’s not himself. These are the moments when he escapes his problems. Alfonso and the Chef weren’t there with dinner and his schedule because they were at the beach, defending his home. He curses himself for leaving them.
Racing through the final feet of dense vegetation, another explosion rings, and Banks only hopes he isn’t too late. A pistol is no match for heavy artillery but until he sees what he’s up against, he won’t know where in the jungle to move to. With a final push, he lunges through the trees and lands flat on his stomach in the sand. His pistol outstretched ready to fire, but he doesn’t pull the trigger.
There’s no landing party, no heavy artillery, no attack at all. Rather than the team of rifle-strewn black ops he expected, he sees his crew drinking and shooting fireworks…with the nurse.
“What is going on?”
The words startle the group as Banks stands, striding toward his employees. Alfonso quickly moves toward his boss and Ricardo steps in front of Amber.
“It’s not what it looks like,” Alfonso says.
“It looks like a damn party.”
There is a slight edge to Banks’s words. Amber may still hear a flat, emotionless tone, but to the others, the ones who know him, it’s like he’s screaming.
“Sir, the gun.”
Alfonso’s whisper catches Banks off guard, but he quickly relinquishes the gun and Alfonso tucks it behind his back before anyone can see.
“It is eight minutes past seven and I should be eating Wednesday’s meal of pan-seared tilapia with a side of steamed veggies, while reviewing tomorrow’s schedule and the week’s briefing. Instead, I hear explosions and race down here thinking my crew is in danger, only to find them drunk and goofing off.”
“Sorry sir. I’ll get dinner ready in—”
“No,” Banks interrupts his chef. “The night is over. Everyone is to return to their residence immediately.”
Banks reaches forward, grabbing Ricardo by the collar of his open Hawaiian shirt, and tosses him to the side. No longer hidden behind him, Amber stands frozen, looking up at the tall dark man. His eyes are no longer inquisitive, nor darting to avoid her gaze. They stare straight down, piercing through her own. She wants to look away, she feels the need to look away, but she can’t seem to pull her gaze from the golden brown rings staring back at her. Strong, confident, and commanding has never been her strong suit, but something about his eyes seems to give her strength.
“I should have known you were the problem.”
His voice is cool and calm despite the intensity in his eyes. Amber feels as though two men stand before her. What the man says and the way he speaks is robotic and chilling. But the way his eyes gaze upon her, the way she feels seen, is something else entirely. She feels both small in his presence and yet, somehow, powerful.
Alfonso rushes to Banks’s side and whispers in his ear. She’s sure she wasn’t supposed to hear, but she could just make out the words don’t, and we need her. The feeling of being needed is usually nice, but in this case, it doesn’t feel that way. Somehow it seems more sinister. With a huff, Banks turns away.
“Take her to her room and keep her there. She no longer has the run of the estate.”
“But sir—”
“What? Does her room not have everything she needs?”
Alfonso wants to argue but can’t. Banks is right. The bungalows, though much smaller than the main house, are still fairly large with all the amenities one would need, minus a kitchen.
“What about meals? Surely she should be able to—”
“Food will be delivered,” Banks says, walking away.
“I’m not a prisoner!” Amber finally lashes out, fed up with this jerk.
Banks stops, but doesn’t turn.
“No. You can leave anytime, but as you have yet to, I think you’ll stay.”
“You can’t restrain me to a single room. I have rights!”
“Alfonso tells me you like to read. Perhaps you should have read your contract.”
At that, the man is off, swiftly moving through the jungle. Left silent on the beach, his four employees remain shell-shocked and Amber burns with fury. She did read the contract…well maybe not all of it word for word, but she gave it a thorough scan. Plus she had the lawyer at the hospital look it over. She doesn’t understand what could possibly be in there that would make him think he can treat her this way. Locking an employee away in a room, no matter how nice, can’t be legal.
With heads down, the chef and the accountant that Amber had met just hours ago, head back toward the house. The two men were reluctant to join them for drinks on the beach, but Amber, with a little help from Ricardo, had persuaded them. Now they were in trouble and it only made Amber even angrier. They were nice guys, a bit shy and perhaps a little dry, but still, nice.
Ricardo places a hand gently on Amber’s back. His head down as well, as he and Alfonso lead her back toward her room. They don’t speak. They don’t look at each other. The joy and fun of the night they were experiencing only minutes ago has dried and shriveled. The two men, who she had found out are not much older than herself, seem defeated. As they reach her front steps, she knows it may not be the time, but she needs to know.
“What did you mean when you said we need her?”
The question doesn’t faze Alfonso in the slightest. Amber had thought it would, since he whispered it into Banks’s ear, but apparently not. He looks to his friend, who nods in agreement, before turning back to Amber.
“Banks does not want you here.”
“Well that’s plenty clear.”
“He feels he does not need any help with his…condition.”
The final word seems chosen cautiously and Amber can’t help but wonder what the condition is.
“The courts seem to think otherwise,” Ricardo adds, and Alfonso gives him a stern look. “What? I think she deserves to know.”
“Know what? What’s his condition? Why are the courts involved?”
Silently Alfonso and Ricardo seem to have a small argument. No words are exchanged, only mouthing and looks, accompanied by minimal grunts. After fifteen seconds or so of this weird interaction, they seem to come to some sort of agreement. This time, Ricardo continues.
“A few months ago he was caught—”
“—doing something he shouldn’t have been doing,” Alfonso jumps in. “He was sent to court, and with the help of a really good lawyer, he avoided jail time based on a…personality condition. His probation stated that he needed to take some meds and meet with a medical professional once a week to make sure they are working properly.”
“So while he’s down here, I’m that medical professional.”
“Precisely. Without your signature and statement, he would be breaking his probation and sent to jail.”
“But how am I supposed to sign that he’s taking his meds and they’re working, if I don’t even know what his condition is, or what the meds are.”
Alfonso sighs.
“That’s partly what he meant by reading the contract. It’s stated in there that by accepting the job, you are accepting the responsibility of signing his probation papers without question.”
“That can’t be legal.”
“Probably not, and I’m no lawyer, but I do know there’s ways of dragging out hearings. If this was taken to court, it would likely take years before it was settled, and even then, it would probably be settled…outside of the courtroom.”
“Bribes?” The two men don’t react and that’s all Amber needs to see. “So either way, Banks gets what he wants?”
“The man’s smart. Far smarter than the rest of us. No offense.”
“Look, I’m sorry for tonight,” Ricardo says, jumping in, trying to change the subject. “But don’t worry, you won’t be locked in here for two weeks. Let the big guy calm down and you’ll see he’s really not that bad. Hell, we’ve worked for him for ten years. He’ll grow on you.”
“Don’t count on it.”
“Good night Ms. Klow.” Alfonso’s professionalism never stops.
“Good night you two, and thank you for trying to cheer me up, even if it kind of backfired on us.”