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Aggie
Aggie picked up the cash tip and slipped it into her pocket with one hand while wiping down the bar with the other. The night had passed without incident, and yet she couldn’t shake the sense of foreboding that had been building over the past few hours. Her internal warning system hadn’t failed her yet, which meant something was going to happen soon.
She scanned the room again. Still dark. Still smoky. Nothing had changed in the five minutes since she’d last looked. The same guys were still playing pool and shooting darts, though they’d shifted their positions. People hung around the bar and at tables, bitching and moaning about their lives and jobs, drinking beer and eating deep-fried bar food to cope. Rochelle, the young server working the tables tonight, flirted shamelessly with one of the plant guys, laughing and playfully swatting his arm as he tugged her down onto his lap.
That same guy had propositioned Aggie just a short while before. He met her eyes over the server’s shoulder, palmed the young woman’s backside, and gave Aggie a wolfish grin, as if to say, This could have been you.
Aggie laughed and shook her head. The guy was a notorious flirt, but he was harmless. The female attention he got was freely given and, from the stories Aggie had heard from behind the bar, worth the effort.
The door opened, bringing in a cool rush of night air. Shouted greetings rang out when Sam entered the bar with a couple guys from his second-shift crew. He waved back and headed right to the bar.
“Hey,” he said to Aggie with a tired but genuine smile.
“Hey yourself.”
Aggie put a circular tray on top of the bar and filled it with drafts. Sam took one for himself and let Rochelle carry the rest to the table where the others had settled. Instead of heading over with them, he hung back at the bar.
Aggie didn’t mind. The tavern wasn’t busy, and Sam was a nice guy. They’d even gone out a few times, but Aggie had made it clear Parryville was just a temporary stop on her personal journey, and she wasn’t interested in anything more than friendship. He seemed okay with that. He’d even told her once that it simplified things, though it was hard to imagine life in Parryville getting much simpler than it already was. People were born here, lived and worked here, had families, and then died here.
“Rough night?” Aggie asked, noticing he looked wearier than usual.
Stress lines pulled at his handsome, if somewhat rugged, face.
He exhaled. “Yeah.”
She glanced over at the table. None of the other guys seemed to have anything heavy weighing on their minds.
“Want to talk about it? Bartenders are great listeners, you know, and I’m better than most.”
“Yes, you are.” He smiled, but it faded quickly. “Can I ask you something?”
“Shoot.”
“Do you ever feel like you’re in over your head?”
Such a simple question on the surface, but so much unspoken beneath it.
“Sometimes,” she answered honestly. “But it’s different for me. When things get to be too much, I just move on.”
He nodded and lifted the mug to his lips. “Maybe I should take a page out of your book.”
“No reason why you can’t.”
“My whole life is here.”
She shrugged. Unlike her, most people had roots or, at the very least, connections that kept them in one place. Walking away from that could be scary, she supposed. She wouldn’t know.
“Your life is wherever you make it. Doesn’t have to be static.”
He thought about that for a moment. Considered the possibilities, then asked, “Would you go with me if I did?”
She crossed her arms and leaned forward on the bar. His eyes dipped to her cleavage.
“Maybe. Depends on when and where.”
His eyes rose again to meet hers, and that was when she saw it. A momentary flash of fear. The sense of foreboding she’d been feeling all evening grew stronger.
“Are you in some kind of trouble, Sam?” she asked softly. When he didn’t answer right away, she prompted, “Anything I can help with?”
“Yeah. Another beer would be great.”
“You got it.”
Aggie poured him another draft, then moved to the far side of the bar to take care of the customers down there. Rochelle approached with orders for more rounds, and Sam joined his coworkers and shot a few games of pool. The rest of the evening passed without incident, and Sam said nothing more about what was bothering him. Before long, Aggie was making last call.
“Can I walk you home?” Sam asked.
“Sure. But I’m not going to invite you up when we get there.”
He grinned. While their relationship had been strictly platonic up to this point, Aggie suspected Sam would be amenable to something more if she suggested it.
“One of these days, you’re going to change your mind and decide to live on the edge.”
She laughed. He had no idea how edgy her life really was. “Maybe. But it won’t be tonight.”
“Fair enough.”
They walked through the quiet streets. A soft breeze blew around them, carrying with it the scents of the nearby river and the chemical smell from the paper plant. Aggie had become accustomed to it over the last couple of months and hardly noticed it anymore.
They didn’t talk much. Sam seemed distracted and preoccupied, and Aggie was glad when they arrived at her building.
“Are you sure you’re okay?” she asked.
“Yeah, no worries.” He reached out and pulled her into a tight hug, then released her just as quickly. “Lock your doors, okay?”
“I always do,” she assured him.
“Good night, Aggie.”
“Good night, Sam.”
That was weird, Aggie thought as she climbed the steps to her second-floor apartment. Sam wasn’t an impulse hugger, which confirmed how vexed he was.
She locked the door, just as she’d promised, and moved to the window. She watched Sam’s dark silhouette in the glow of the streetlamps, moving at a brisk clip.
Aggie removed her jacket and hung it on the post by the door, then began lighting the soy candles she had placed strategically throughout the room to counterbalance the lingering aromas of stale smoke and mustiness that permeated the old building.
Next, she turned on the soothing white-noise machine and moved to the bathroom, where she started the shower. The ancient plumbing protested with a series of clangs and sputters, but soon, the small room began to fill with steam. Aggie stripped out of her clothes, popped out her contact lenses, and stepped under the hot water to wash away the layers of makeup and the stench of smoke and booze.
She closed her eyes and inhaled the scents of sweet basil and lemon, appreciating their calming and clarifying effects as she scrubbed, exfoliated, and shaved. She followed that up with an indulgent moisturizing cream. The nightly ritual centered her and formed the bridge between who she was and who she appeared to be.
Bartending the closing shift at McTavey’s Tavern wasn’t her life goal, but it was a great way to get up close and personal with the predominantly blue-collar community, most of whom were employed by the paper plant. The mill illegally dumped toxic waste into the river, and whatever they couldn’t flush into the water, they hauled—equally illegally—to a privately owned landfill. Those unlawful activities were what had brought her to Parryville.
Aggie donned a fresh pair of undies and a soft cotton tee, then raided her mini fridge. She selected a container of Greek yogurt, organic granola, and a banana, and then she warmed up some coconut milk and stirred in some ethically sourced vanilla-bean sugar.
The bed creaked under her slight weight as she settled onto it, sitting cross-legged with cheap dollar-store pillows stacked up behind her back. Snacks and water were within easy reach on the side table.
The decor wasn’t what she would have chosen for herself, but her current digs were more about projecting the proper image than personal preference. The second-floor apartment had come cheap, furnished, and suitable for a young, single woman traversing the country on a personal journey of self-discovery.
Laptop on thighs, black-rimmed glasses perched on her nose, she fired up the machine, then waited for her custom, secure VPN to do its thing. Once that was up and running, protocols were initiated, connections were established, and files were unlocked.
Now, her real job began.
The first thing she did was kick off her lurkers—the custom searches she’d created to move quietly across the web without detection—targeting financial institutions, real estate agencies, watchdog agencies, and government sites. Her list of keywords and contacts had been steadily growing as she gathered more names. Every day, she added another piece to another puzzle. Who was involved. Who was getting paid. Who was getting paid off. The what, when, where, and how of dirty, greedy businesses.
She sat back and savored her yogurt while the software did its thing. This was her life. A cycle that was repeated over and over again. Another town. Another target. But essentially, her purpose was the same.
Aggie wasn’t naive enough to believe she could put an end to corporate greed and government corruption, but she knew she’d never be able to live with herself if she didn’t at least try to do something. She was a lot like her brother in that respect, though they had chosen vastly different paths to achieve their objectives.
The soft chime from her laptop brought her out of her thoughts and back to the present. A large transfer had just been initiated from one of the shady corporate accounts she was watching. Her fingers flew across the keys, siphoning off the information while simultaneously transposing a few numbers before the funds reached their final destination. That would buy her some time.
She redirected the funds through a scrubber, one that removed any identifying source info. There, the money was divided up into much smaller amounts and transferred in tiny batches to a series of bank accounts she’d opened across the country under a myriad of aliases. To anyone looking at the accounts, the revenue would appear as direct deposits from a legitimate business.
A feeling of immense satisfaction washed over her, knowing that money that would have been spent by some already-too-rich billionaire on something completely superfluous would instead find its way into homeless shelters, animal rescues, and soup kitchens, among other things.
She repeated the process twice more before the pull of sleep became too strong to ignore. When all was said and done, she’d transferred one-point-two million out of the hands of crooks and into the hands of those who needed it most. Not bad for a night’s work.
Aggie scrubbed the laptop, erasing all traces of her efforts. She took a few moments to perform a series of relaxing yoga poses, then slipped in between the sheets, followed by a period of mindful breathing to clear her mind before falling into a deep, contented sleep.
It seemed as if only a few minutes had passed before she heard it—the sound of someone breaking into her apartment. Instantly awake, Aggie slipped out of bed and grabbed the pepper spray and Taser she kept within reach, and then she melded quietly into the shadowy recesses of her closet. She quickly pulled on a pair of leggings and shoes.
Whoever they were, they weren’t particularly concerned with being sneaky. She clearly heard heavy footfalls on the ancient hardwood, as well as the telltale squeak of the bedroom door opening. The bedroom light came on, slipping beneath the closet door in a narrow strip.
“Where the fuck is she?” said a gruff male voice.
The footsteps grew closer. “She’s here somewhere. Check the closet.”
Heart hammering, Aggie held her breath and prepared for battle. The closet was small; there was nowhere to hide. If they looked inside, they would see her.
The door opened. Aggie held up the pepper spray and gave the guy a full blast in the face, then sprinted past him as he roared. A second guy placed himself between her and the bedroom door, blocking her exit. She pointed the Taser at him and fired. Two barbed darts shot out, penetrating his clothing and lodging into his skin, creating a circuit that instantly brought him to his knees.
Aggie vaulted over him and bolted through the doorway. The sight of a third man altered her plans. She juked left and headed for the fire escape outside the kitchen window. She yanked hard and threw open the sash, managing to get one foot out onto the rickety contraption before a strong hand wrapped around her ankle and forcibly tried to haul her back inside.
Aggie grabbed at the railing and held on with both hands, kicking out with her free foot. She connected, feeling the satisfying crunch of cartilage beneath her heel. Unfortunately, it didn’t stop him. It only pissed him off. He yanked harder, the swift, brutal tug effectively dislocating her ankle.
Aggie howled in pain as her shoulders fought against the same fate. He twisted her foot, and in the resulting agony, Aggie loosened her grip and was hauled roughly back inside, her ribs bumping painfully on the sill and expelling the air from her lungs in the process.
She screamed and scratched and fought, but it was no use. The guy was too big. Too strong.
And apparently, he’d had enough. A fierce, blinding pain at her temple was the last thing she remembered before she lost consciousness.