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by • 2019-10-10 • Flash Fiction, Serial, The AmericanComments (0)

The American: Chapter 37

To start at the beginning go here. To hear an audio reading of the chapter, hit the play button below.

Sophie smiled and nodded, excused herself from the other women as if she were leaving a dinner party and followed me into the other room. I got myself a glass of water out of the tap and leaned against the sink. Sophie examined my face, clearly trying to discern my emotional state. Good luck with that, considering I couldn’t get a fix on it myself. I sipped my water and then asked with a glance towards the den of women, “So what’s up?”

“We have been asking about the girl,” Sophie stated plainly. “I thought I would ask some of the locals.”

That wasn’t surprising considering the initiative Sophie had shown with the driver. But to confirm a suspicion I asked, “Prostitutes?”

She held her arms to herself tightly under the elbows, looking at the kitchen wall adjacent to the den as if she could see through it. “Si. These women seemed upset. I thought they might have a missing friend.”

“That would be a hell of a coincidence.”

She shrugged, returning a gaze that dared me to say what she could or couldn’t do. “They were missing someone. Jardin. They were very worried.”

Trying to keep any judgement out of my voice I asked, “What did you do?”

“They showed me where Jardin was. And I brought her back.”

“I thought you said she was missing.”

“Not missing.” Still keeping the elbow in her left hand she raised her right, trying to pinpoint the right phrase. “Taken,” she concluded, green eyes back on me.

Frustration caused me to rub my eyes, more out of an effort to conceal it than anything else. “So her pimp took her off the circuit to rough her up and you just…went and found her?” People who traded in the flesh of their fellow human beings are a particularly ruthless group, so I couldn’t imagine whoever this was just gave Jardin up. But Sophie nodded her head as if that’s exactly what happened.

“Did they mention a Corsican?”

“No.”

“Then why did you get involved in this? I thought we were looking for that particular girl.” I gestured towards the wall she had been staring at, “What do they have to do with it?”

Sophie’s eyes became as hard as flecked chlorite. “He was beating her with a wire hanger.”

“Jesus, please tell me you didn’t kill him.”

Sophie’s expression provided me with all of the clarity of a sphinx. After a moment I realized what that meant and I said it. “You don’t know.”

She shrugged. And didn’t care, it said.

I couldn’t help keep the anger out of my voice now. “Sophie, we can’t just go sticking our nose into everyone’s would-be problems. You remember the last time we got mixed up with a neighbor?”

“Si. You found me.” That stopped me short. I had been thinking of Verdicchio and his gang of thugs, the violence and fear and uncertainty that dealing with them had entailed, but Sophie was right. Somewhere in the discussion I had gotten Cheryl and her conflated and that realization burned brighter than any fear.

“OK,” I spoke, mostly to calm myself. “So now what?”

Sophie turned her head to examine me sidewise. “Eh?”

“You found their friend. You brought them here out of the rain. Presumably you have or will feed them.” My voice was getting quieter and smaller with each sentence. “Now what? Are they going to live here?”

“No,” she shook her head, “di certo.”

“Then what?” I could see whatever mixture of anger and compassion had fueled Sophie’s choices through the early morning hours hadn’t allowed for consideration beyond them. She clasped her arms across her chest again, returned to starting at the wall, seeking some kind of answer there. She started to speak a few times, but never got more than a few words out.

I couldn’t provide the answer for her anymore than I would take away the parts of her that had brought these women here. I sighed, then pulled out the wad of Euros. The past evening’s activities had only peeled away its outer most layer. Taking Sophie’s hand, I gave her the money. “Take this. It should help.”

“What will I do with it?”

“I don’t know. Put them up for the night, buy them new clothes. Send them to finishing school.” I shrugged, using the motion to take off the peacoat. “I’m going to bed.”

I hung up the coat on the hat rack next to the door. Watching me from the kitchen, Sophie said, “We will be quiet.”

It didn’t matter. I was so exhausted I slept like it was my first night on Parris Island.

Read the next chapter here.
Read the previous chapter here.
See the author’s published work here.

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