In the Red Read online

  I wake up the next morning with the same hangover from day drinking into the night. My roommate has already left for work. I put the coffee on and hop in the shower, taking my coffee to go so I’m not late. The police station is about a twenty-minute walk. I don’t own a car, so I walk when I can and when I can’t, I use public transportation. When I arrive at the police station, I’m not waiting long before I’m ushered to the back offices and into an interrogation room.

  “Miss, how ‘bout some coffee,” asks the officer. I show the officer my coffee cup. He’s doesn’t look amused that I’m insinuating he asked a dumb question. Sitting in the room is making me nervous; more than I should be. I wish Johnny hadn’t told me anything because then I wouldn’t feel so nervous.

  The last time I was in a room like this, I was told my mother was dead and my stepfather, Lewis Lorcan, was in custody for her murder. I still to this day don’t believe he killed her. My love for him blinded me from believing he did it. He was the only father I knew. He began dating my mother when I was two years old. After my mother’s death, I spent years investigating her murder and even went to my Lewis’s trial. I still don’t understand why he pleaded guilty. I could see in his eyes he was lying, and my gut still says he didn’t do it, but after getting nowhere, I gave up on finding her killer, and stopped visiting Lewis in prison. I tried to be selfish and focus on myself, went to college and spent my nights in bed suppressing my childhood memories to avoid deeper depression.

  I just want to go home and hide under the piles of down comforters on my bed and cry. I’ve never felt so lonely since the day before my high school graduation, the anniversary of my mother’s murder.

  I hear the doorknob turn and butterflies take flight in my stomach. I grab my stomach and gulp, the air pushing acid reflux down.

  “Miss Madden, I’m Officer Connor McClean. I am spearheading the investigation of your employer, Atlantic Street Financial. Thank you for coming down to the office on such short notice. I hope I am accommodating your needs by meeting at a station closer to your home. I forget that not everyone in the city owns a car.”

  How does he know I don’t have a car?

  He makes direct eye contact, putting his coffee on the table before offering a handshake. I notice a tattoo peek from under his white shirt cuff. If he wasn’t wearing a suit, I’d question his occupation as an FBI Agent. His dark blue eyes smile back even without a smile. His hair has a tint of red, but mostly brown. He sits behind his coffee and notebook. It’s obvious he is unprepared with his book page blank and no pen. I assume by his unshaven face he has had a long night. His stare makes me self-conscience, I regret not putting on more makeup.

  “I need to ask you a few questions. If you want your lawyer present, just speak up.”

  Agent McClean’s facial expressions change from friendly to serious as if someone turned off the lights.

  “Miss Madden…”

  I interrupt him, “Please ... call me Ava; Miss makes me feel old.” I fail to lighten the mood.

  “Okay, Ava. Do you know why your manager Susan was arrested?”

  “No,” I try to maintain eye contact and not swallow – advice that mother taught me at a young age. For some strange reason she wanted me to know how to lie and how spot a liar. I thought this was normal behavior for a mother, until I became an adult. Strange as it was, I’m grateful for every street smarts tactic she taught. Mother was a good liar; too good. I remember her words, “Look the other person in the eyes and don’t fidget with your hands”.

  “It is my obligation to inform you that your manager is being investigated for altering the books at Atlantic and cleaning money through the company for the Irish Mob, and if you are in any way involved, now is the time to explain your involvement.”

  I pretend the news is shocking, leaving my mouth open in awe.

  “Oh my Gosh! I can assure you I’m unaware of Susan’s dealings, or anyone at Atlantic who is altering books,” I say, the tears building.

  I burst into tears not because of sadness or fear, but because I need to convince Connor of my innocence, and because my mother didn’t raise a fool.

  Connor nervously searches the room then until he finds me tissues.

  Johnny is telling the truth. Fuck – I can’t tell the FBI what I know, I’d be a rat, a dead rat.

  “With all due respect, Mr. McClean, I’ve only worked with Atlantic for less than a year, and before that I was just an intern. I don’t believe I’ll be of any help with the case. I don’t even have access to Susan’s accounts or the company’s financial statements. Susan didn’t exactly like me. My excessive tardiness drove her nuts.”

  I’m trying to convince him but perhaps I’m piling the bullshit too high.

  “What about Johnny? What do you know about his involvement?”

  I gulp. “None, as far as I know. He’s my immediate supervisor, so I report to him more than Susan. He assigns me a task and I do it: that sums up our work relationship.”

  “Listen, I can’t protect you if you don’t tell me what’s really going on at Atlantic… I know you know something, and that’s fine right now, but this is a federal case. You don’t know who you’re dealing with. This will not be swept under the rug. There must be rumors floating around the office?”

  He’s testing me, either to see how much I know or to see if I’m a rat. I can’t tell who’s side he is on.

  “I hate to admit this, but I don’t exactly associate with my co-workers. I don’t fit in with the office runway models and don’t share their obsession with gluten-free organic vegetarian diets. As you can imagine, I ate every lunch at my desk, alone.”

  He smirks at my comment.

  There’s a long, awkward silence. If you stay quiet for long enough, most people can’t help but fill the silent void with chit chat, and will give you information they normally wouldn’t, just to avoid the silence. Not me though and he seems to know how to play the same game, waiting for me to break.

  “If you will excuse me, I think you’ve asked all the questions you need... I’ll be on my way.”

  I stand, letting him know the conversation is over.

  “Here’s my card if you need to talk. I know this is a stressful situation, and perhaps you are innocent, but understand that I am just doing my job.”

  “I appreciate your concern, and if I think of anything, I’ll call. Thank you for your time, Mr. McClean.”

  “Please, just Connor.”

  New snow covers the sidewalk and falls heavier with every stride I make. Halfway through my walk home I sense someone following me. Too frightened to turn around, I pick up the pace and so does my heartrate. Someone grabs my shoulder from behind and turns me around.

  “Leave me alone!” I swing blindly at the person holding me by my shoulders.

  “Ava, Jesus Christ, why haven’t you fuckin’ called me? I’ve been worried.”

  “Johnny, you almost gave me a fucking heart attack.”

  “We gotta talk, NOW!”

  I steer him into the T-Bar and restaurant attached to the subway station near my house. Locals refer to the subway as the T; that’s where the bar got the name, I assume. I grab a pen and paper from the bartender and write, Turn off your phone before we talk.

  Johnny reluctantly pulls his phone from his pocket, turns it off and sets it on the top of the bar counter.

  “This’s why ya haven’t called me back – ya outa ya fuckin’ mind?”

  “The Mob … the FBI, they could tap our phones, so I bought a prepaid phone.”

  I write the new number down and hand it to him. “I suggest you do the same.”

  “Ava, the guys got it unda control.”

  “Throw it in the river, tell them you lost the phone. Wait, what guys?”

  “Not gonna happen. The guys, the Mob, they’re handlin’ it, fuckin’ relax.”

 
Time to bring out the tears again, hoping to tug on his heart strings, so maybe he will open up and give me more information. I’m angry at Johnny, but also pleased at his concern for me. I don’t have many people I’m close to. I have issues with that kind of thing, and now, as much as I’m pissed at Johnny, maybe he’s just trying to look out for me, and I should trust he knows what’s best.

  “Ava, everything will be fine, relax. You’ll meet with my boss tomarrah. She wants to make sure you understand the seriousness of the situation and know you’re on our side. Ya know the investigation and trial, just all details. We have tha best lawyers. There’s no doubt the chahges against Susan will be dropped if all of us back up her story.

  “I don’t have a fucking choice, do I?”

  He puts his hand on my leg. “Sorry, Ava – I never meant for you to be dragged into this shit, but here we are. His hand moves higher up my leg. “You were new to the company and had no ideah what wheels were already turnin’.”

  We sit for some time sipping our drinks, just staring at the television. His phone rings, breaking the silence. He motions he’ll be right back and steps outside to take the call. It’s probably his bitch of a girlfriend, Casey. I only met her once at the holiday office party. Upon meeting, we both established that we didn’t like each other. At the time, she knew I was going through a breakup and maybe felt insecure, since Johnny fucks anything in the office. This was before I gained weight and let myself go. My current appearance is the polar opposite of Johnny’s girlfriend Casey. She’s beautiful, petite – long blonde hair with gorgeous green eyes. Although her attitude and the way she judges others when she talks at them makes her ugly. I’m still jealous of her and Johnny’s relationship because they seem so close, even with all his infidelity. Not that I have any feelings for Johnny, I just wish I had someone in my life that cares for me as he does for Casey. I didn’t want to break it off with my ex even after discovering the cheating. I guess in that aspect I’m like Casey. Mac broke it off with me because he wanted to be with the other woman.

  I order another round of drinks before heading for the restroom. On my way I notice an old man sitting alone in a big booth. I swear I saw him at the police station, but I can’t be certain. I feel him staring at me as I pass his booth. When I return to my seat, Johnny isn’t there. The bartender hands me a napkin with a note on it and told me the tab was prepaid, and I can continue to order drinks and food.

  The note read:

  Ava,

  Sorry I had to go. I’ll pick you up in the morning around 9am.

  Drinks and lunch are on me!!!

  Johnny

  I haven’t eaten anything today, so I order a burger and a black coffee. I’ve been drinking way too much and need to sober up. I ask the bartender to send the old man in the booth a drink. I want him to know I recognize he’s following me. He’s either an FBI agent, a mob member or someone from Atlantic. Whatever the case, I need to find out because I’m positive he’s following me. Just as my burger arrives, so does my follower. He’s an overweight, balding, mustache-wearing short fucker with a mismatched suit. His appearance reminds me of a 1970s retired porn star.

  “You know I’ve been following you, Ms. Madden, so let’s just get to the point,” says the old man. His breath stinks of cigarettes and cheap vodka. “I’m a private investigator hired by Atlantic Street Financial. They’ve opened their own internal investigation on their employees.”

  Hmm, Italian? I can’t tell, but I know for certain he’s not from Boston because he pronounces his R’s; maybe New York.

  “So, you follow me around, and what … what the fuck do you think you will accomplish by watching me eat a fucking cheeseburger and get piss drunk in the middle of the day?”

  “Listen, Atlantic’s reputation is on the line and with this case going to trial the media will run with this story. Do you think investors will trust their money with Atlantic once this story breaks? It’s in your best interests to help us find the missing money and fund transfers that cover up the money laundering scheme.”

  “Do you think I give a shit about Atlantic’s reputation and the money they will lose? I’m out of a job. I live paycheck to paycheck. I’ve done nothing wrong. You can contact my lawyer.” I lie; I don’t have a lawyer. “Maybe I should hire an investigator to follow you around.”

  As the words leave my mouth, I realize that’s exactly what I need to do. I have people following me, but who’s got my back? No one.

  “Ms. Madden, if you could cooperate with us…”

  I cut him off, “Not gonna happen. I’m finished talking. You can leave now, so I can enjoy my fucking burger in peace.”

  It makes sense why Johnny left; he was tipped off this private investigator was here. We were both being followed, and it’s suddenly clear who Johnny is looking out for. It’s not me.

  AVA

  CHAPTER 2

  First Impressions

  I wake up early to get ready for my meeting with the Mob boss and their lawyers. I say it out loud and laugh at the word, “Mob”. I can’t tell if I’m going crazy or if my nerves are getting the best of me. Last night, I left the bar before getting too shitfaced. I want to have a clear mind to prepare what I’ll say at the meeting.

  I choose the nicest suit jacket and matching skirt, heels and the only jewelry I own that reminds me of my mother’s funeral. I want my attire to embody the seriousness of the meeting. I find it humorous to look at myself in the mirror. I look like I’m going to a funeral. Last night, after my encounter with the investigator, I realized: I no longer want to be a coward. I must play the hand that was dealt. Two outcomes can happen: win or lose. My life is a bottomless pit of depression, so I’m going into this meeting in my suicidal mindset. I haven’t had this much stress in my life since my mother’s murder. Again, I can’t tell if it’s my stress and anxiety making me feel invincible or the concoction of alcohol and weed. I’m rolling with the feeling. It’s a new day that could be my last if I don’t choose my words wisely.

  I take one last look in the mirror before I wait outside on my porch. I haven’t felt this good in a long time. Wearing a suit always gives off a fake confidence and power. I can tell by Johnny’s face he’s surprised to see me dressed up.

  “What’s the occasion?”

  “Funeral,” I smile.

  The drive to South Boston feels long. I upset my stomach from not eating breakfast, but at least my stomach feels flatter. I can tell I’ve lost some weight because sitting in the car, my skirt doesn’t feel as tight. If I knew losing a job and a boyfriend was a weight loss remedy, I would’ve signed up a long time ago.

  “Ya all right?” asks Johnny, avoiding eye contact by looking out the car window

  “Sure, why?”

  “It’s just ya look … different that’s all.”

  “I feel different.”

  We pull up to a rundown corner store. There’re a few intimidating men standing out front, watching as we exit the car. They see Johnny and let their guard down. I follow Johnny through the poorly fluorescent-lit store. The floor is in rough condition. The dirty yellow linoleum is torn in several places exposing a moldy, decrepit wood floor. I’m watching for a rat to crawl out from under the bare food shelves. It’s obvious the store is a front for other business ventures; any officer could sniff this out. We walk through the back door and up a narrow set of stairs. The ceilings are so low, I almost hit my head several times. We go through one more door before we’re in a reception area. Shockingly enough, the place has a clean sterile look, resembling a doctor’s office, the opposite of the rundown store I just walked though. Everything is white; floors, ceilings, walls, but the furniture is shiny black with accents of glass.

  “We’re heah for the 10 a.m. meeting,” says Johnny.

  The receptionist doesn’t speak, just nods and picks up the phone. We aren’t sitting in the waiting area long before a
muscular, heavy looking man approaches. He’s dressed all in black, even his tie is black. We follow him into a large room with an oversized dark mahogany oval table. There are two men in suits sitting with briefcases, obviously the lawyers. At the head of the table sits an older woman wearing dark sunglasses. Her red, shoulder-length hair is neatly parted in the middle. She’s a petite woman who looks to be the same age as my mother if she were still alive. I can’t see if she’s looking at me, but I sense she is. There are two identical looking men standing on each side of her. Seems like the uniform is black head to toe. It’s obvious she’s the boss. Johnny follows me in but doesn’t pull up a chair. Instead he leaves, closing the door behind him. I swallow, but nothing goes down. I can hear my heart pounding, my throat is dry, and I’m feeling dizzy. I expected Johnny would be at my side to support me. The voice in my head is saying, You got this, be confident, be strong, and don’t let her intimidate you.

  “Ms. Madden, we are the lawyers representing your former boss, Susan O’Daire,” says one lawyer. Both lawyers’ hand me their business cards in sequence. The Lawyer Offices of Dillon & Associates, LLC. The man doing all the speaking is Terry and I presume the other lawyer is his brother. Both have a serious expression and look almost identical except one is younger than the other. Terry looks like the older of the two. The business card lists an address just a short distance from Atlantic. Terry discusses the importance of my cooperation with the case. I stare straight ahead and keep my eye contact switching between brothers and nodding I understand. I can feel her stare at me, it’s burning into my skin.

  “Where are your manners?” the woman in the dark glasses looks in the direction of the lawyers.

  “My apologies, Claire,” stutters Terry.