21

Lee waited underneath the bed in the darkness of the Lechnens’ master bedroom, a stale carpet odor flooding his nostrils and lungs. He listened intently to the two men who had just finished removing the couch from the living room, escorting it out of the door and into the van with minimal effort.

Riso wasn’t dead. His death was a hoax, a small part of a big hustle. Zala, who had shed fake tears throughout the day and who Lee had comforted with genuine sympathy, was after his money and nothing else.

The pieces of the puzzle began to fit together as he inhaled the dry carpet fibers and listened to the hushed commotion downstairs. The strange glances the couple had exchanged; the phone call Lee had overheard; the missing car; the forward, friendly nature.

Everything clicked seamlessly into place, each piece another knife through Lee’s heart. He had trusted both Riso and Zala—he adored Zala and changed his life for her. It was obvious that she liked him: the glances, the laughter, the conversations, the stares, the admiration, and the exchange of personal memories all pointed to an infatuation and that had been enough to keep Lee’s mind on the right track. But her flirtatious attitude was nothing more than a show, a committed lie to please him and trick him out of his wealth. He doubted that anything she had told him about her past was real. She probably made everything up just to get close to him, sharing her fake secrets and troubled past in hope that he would share his own.

His anger came in waves, rushing through his blood like a shot of heroin. He wanted to climb out from underneath the bed and attack Riso. His blood boiled when he considered what he had done and he wanted to seek immediate revenge. But he had enough logic left to stop himself from doing that, even in the face of his overwhelming anger.

He continued to toy with the idea of running. The two men were now at the front of the house but soon they would start shifting furniture around the back, taking it through the kitchen and dining room. He knew he could escape. They wouldn’t be able to hear his footsteps on the stairs and he would have enough time to run out the door and out of sight before they returned to the van.

When the two men finally did make their way to the kitchen, their heavy boots sending vibrations throughout the house and allowing Lee to pinpoint their positions, he simply sunk his head into the carpet, defeated.

Part of him wanted to get out of there as fast and as soon as possible, another part of him wanted to stay, to wallow in self-pity for a while and wait for the two men to leave before he made his move. Before he could make his up mind, voices from downstairs made it up for him.

“The van is full,” stated the man with the English accent, his voice coming between heavy breaths.

“We still have a few more things.”

“You should have brought a bigger van.”

“It’s your van.”

Their voices became clearer the longer Lee listened, as if his ears were testing the connection and fine tuning after each syllable.

“You could have borrowed one. My mate, well, a friend of a friend, has a real transport company, and we could have asked him.”

“That’s too many people. I didn’t even want to get you involved in this,” Riso stated firmly.

“Hey!” The man seemed insulted. “I’ve been your friend for fucking years. We’ve been to hell and back. I’ve done over a dozen jobs with you, for fuck’s sake.”

“I know, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it like that. This was just for me and Zala. That’s all I meant.”

“Fair enough,” his friend agreed. “But now I’m involved, so what are we going to do? Do you want to drive the van back to the garage and drop some of this gear off?”

“It’s getting late.”

“It’s two in the morning, it couldn’t get any earlier.”

“You know what I mean. We need to clear out before the sun comes up.”

“It’s twenty minutes to the garage and back,” assured the relaxed friend. “Plus ten minutes to clear out the van and another twenty to fill it up again and clear off. We’ll have plenty of time to spare.” He spoke with greater confidence than Riso, and was clearly less agitated.

“Okay,” Riso said unsurely. “Let’s go.”

Lee listened intently as the couple thudded through the house and left via the front door, closing it silently behind them. He waited a few seconds, listening to the noises of the house and making sure the men didn’t decide to make a quick return. He then rolled out from underneath the bed and jumped to his feet.

He watched through the window as the doors to the van gently clicked shut. The driver started the engine, took one quick glance at Lee’s house, and drove the van out of the street.

Lee stood at the window with his hands on his hips. Through the expansive studio windows opposite, clouded in darkness and glistening with the reflections of the streetlights, he thought he saw a light momentarily flicker on and off.

He sagged his head to his chest, looked around. The bedroom had been completely stripped. Only the bed and the mattress remained. The cupboards had been thrown open and deprived of their contents, several empty coat-hangers dangled freely.

He quickly turned and ran across the hallway, down the stairs, and out into the fresh air. He didn’t stop running until he came to his own doorway. The cool night had turned bitter, the once rejuvenating wind now aggressively attacking the world, tearing at trees, lifting litter into the skies, and flapping at Lee’s clothes as he entered his house. This time he wasn’t careful or quiet, showing none of the finesse he had displayed upon leaving.

He immediately walked into the living room and plonked himself onto the sofa, flustered. Running his hands across his face, sucking the cold from his cheeks to the palms of his hands, he dropped his head back.

Before he could contemplate his next move, the lights inside the living room exploded into life and a sly, sinister voice spoke to him.

“Where have you been?”