Page 29

CHAPTER 29

Max

A few days later, I sit in the laboratory, lost in thought. The events of the attack replay in my mind over and over. If I'd just shoved the ankh in my pocket, I'd probably still have it as evidence. Surely, if I'd kept it and handed it to the police when they arrived, we might have had proof of who attacked us. I run my fingers through my hair and let out a long-held breath. Despite losing potentially damning evidence, I couldn’t be happier with the positive outcome. London, Nana, and I all escaped with relatively minor injuries. In fact, Nana refused to go to the hospital and is recuperating well at home with London’s help. I check my phone—no messages or texts from Ben. I tried calling, left him a message yesterday and sent a text this morning. Nothing. It’s not like Ben to not respond. I thought we'd left things in a pretty good place the last time we saw each other.

“Penny for your thoughts?” Bretton says as he walks up to me.

I straighten up but don’t stand from the stool I’m on, and I force a smile .

“Dude,” Bretton says, reaching a hand toward the bruise on my cheek but then pulling back. “You, okay?”

His tender gesture surprises me; we aren’t good friends yet, and I’m pretty sure Bretton is straight. And while I can't help but find him attractive, we haven’t had much interaction. Plus, I'm trying to figure things out with Ben. “I’m fine. Had a situation a few days ago, but I handled it.”

“Handled it?” Bretton sits down on the stool next to me, his forehead wrinkling as he eyes my injuries. “What happened? You look like you were attacked or something.”

His knowing look makes me uneasy. I think about Dr. Nakamura’s words about someone not being who they appear to be and think, how much does Bretton actually know? Stop, Max. You’re being paranoid , I tell myself. Anyone who got a good look at my face would know I'd been in an altercation or some kind of accident. Don’t make it weird . “A couple of guys assaulted me and a friend,” I wave a hand to dismiss Bretton’s rising concern and inquiries for more information. “I don’t feel much like talking about it.”

“I understand… sorry for asking,” Bretton sighs and takes out his phone. “If you need to vent at some point in the future, I’m always available.”

I pull out my phone to double-check I have his number saved. After everything that’s been going on, my brain can’t keep track of it all. “Thanks, man. I might take you up on the offer.”

Bretton pats me on the shoulder. “I enjoy a nice margarita too, by the way… just in case you were wondering. I’ve heard good things about that place down the street from here,” he points to the west. “The new place.”

“Boca Tacos?” I side-eye him for a second. Was he asking me out? Or just suggesting a place with tacos because I'm Mexican? Not that it matters, tacos sound pretty great. “Who doesn’t love chips, salsa, and a margarita? ”

We share a laugh.

“That’s better,” Bretton says. “Your smile…”

“Huh?”

Bretton smiles too but doesn’t finish his thought. I feel myself blush. “Maybe we can check it out tomorrow after work?” First of all who doesn’t want tacos, but there’s something about the tone of his voice that concerns me.

Nah, it can’t be . I push my thoughts of Bretton asking me for tacos as some kind of informal date. I mean, he’s straight isn’t he?

Bretton looks away and straightens awkwardly on the stool then clears his throat. “Sure,” he says without any real commitment to his tone. “I’ll check my schedule and let you know.”

“Great.” I watch him walk out of the lab. What was that all about? First, he seemed interested in hanging out, but then he got weird. I shrug. It wasn’t the first time a straight guy got a little uncomfortable around me.

Dr. Austin walks into the laboratory and declares, “We are ready to start uncrating the larger pieces in the exhibition room.”

I stand and stretch my back, looking around the lab. A few of the other curators are boxing up a few last remaining little antiquities to bring upstairs. Dr. Austin comes over and hands me a hammer.

“You’ll need this to pull the lids off the crates. They’ve been nailed into place to ensure they traveled here safely from Chicago.”

“Where do we start?” I ask.

“Last night I had a few interns help me move the pallets into four separate quadrants of the room, based on the shipping manifest.”

“Awesome,” I say. “I’ll meet you upstairs.”

“Great. Start in quadrant one and pull the lids off all the crates. Once I’ve helped bring these remaining few items up to the exhibition hall, we can start unboxing.”

“See you up there, Doctor.” I turn and walk out of the lab.

This will be the distraction I've been needing from the events of this past week. It's exciting to think about pulling away the packing materials to reveal ancient pieces of art, funerary antiquities which include coffins, sarcophagi, and even a few mummies. Finally, my heart pumps for something other than being attacked or stalked.

It doesn’t take long to journey up a few floors and out into the main hall. The museum is busy with the usual hustle and bustle of regular business hours, but I soon find myself standing outside King Tutankhamun’s Exhibition Hall. I swing the door open and step inside. Dr. Austin has indeed taped off the entire expanse into four quadrants, each marked with a symbol. On the wall, there are lists of items taped for reference and a photograph of what the display would look like. I squint at the picture and see it's from the Field Museum in Chicago.

Dr. Austin and the other curators enter the room, and everyone gets down to business. I use the hammer to pry away the wooden lids, help pull away all the packing materials, and even catalogue and photograph each piece as it's removed from the crate. It's hard physical work, but it's all-consuming as well. One by one, each of the museum workers starts leaving for the evening. By the time I stop to take a break, I realize it’s dinner time, and my stomach growls.

“Dr. Salgado,” Dr. Austin says as he approaches. His shirt is covered in sweat stains, grime, and pieces of packing material. “It’s time for you to go home and rest up for tomorrow.”

I nod. “This has been exhausting but rewarding. I feel like Howard Carter back in the early 1900s, unearthing the tombs of pharaohs.”

A huge smile settles over Dr. Austin’s face. “My boy, I am so glad you feel that way. It is something that I never tire of no matter how much political red tape, corporate bullshit, and egos get in the way these days.” He slaps my shoulder. “I’ll see you tomorrow so we can continue?”

“I wouldn’t miss it for the world.” I feel such a sense of accomplishment I realize I couldn’t imagine myself doing anything else with my life.

I gather up my things and head for the exit. I'm putting on a jacket to head out into the early evening darkness when I see Bretton walking up the stairs through the window. I push the door open and step outside. “What are you doing here this late?”

“Came to see how the work was going. I’ll be in tomorrow, but the suspense was killing me.”

“We’ve done so much. Look at me… I’m such a gross pig right now.”

“You’re anything but a gross pig.” Bretton checks the time on his watch. “If you haven’t eaten, want to take me up on my offer of drinks and appetizers at Boca Tacos?”

“Let’s do it.” I smile. “I’ll meet you there.”

“Great,” Bretton says. Our eyes meet, neither looking away.

A soft smile forms on Bretton’s lips and his face flushes red before he glances down at the floor. Was he flirting with me? We go our separate ways and for a split second, I question showing up at the restaurant.

As I walk down the corridor leading to the employee exit, I contemplate jumping into my car and going home. A few moments of indecision pass before I shake my head. “Hell no. I’m going.” Ben wouldn’t care if I had a meal with a coworker, plus we hadn’t even defined our relationship yet.

It doesn’t take but five minutes to make it to Boca Tacos, and I wait at the entrance for Bretton to arrive. A black car pulls into the parking lot and a few moments later, Bretton walks up to me.

“I’ve heard really great things about this place.” Bretton holds the door open for me. “After you, good sir.”

“Thanks,” I say.

Once we're seated, I peruse the menu. The usual fare; tacos, enchiladas, nachos, burritos. “The true test of the quality of the restaurant will be their chips and salsa,” I say after closing the menu.

“Oh really?” Bretton turns the menu over. “Looks like they give you green and red salsa here as options.”

“Sounds great to me.”

A waiter comes to the table and places a large bowl of freshly made tortilla chips and salsa, the steam rising from the bowl begging to be devoured. “What can I get for you, amigos?”

“I’ll take a margarita on the rocks, sugar on the rim, please,” I say.

“Same,” Bretton says.

“Were you ready to order food or do you need a few minutes?”

“I think I’m ready if you are, Max?”

I nod and pick up the menu. “I’ll take the two-taco plate with rice and beans.”

“Chicken enchiladas with the verde sauce. Can I get some sour cream on the side in case it’s too spicy for me?” Bretton asks.

“Absolutely, amigos.” The waiter collects the menus. “If you need anything, my name is Javier.”

After he leaves to put in our orders, a silence settles over the table. Bretton breaks first. “I’m glad you came.”

“Me too.”

“Can you believe the exhibition is going to open in just a few short days? ”

I shake my head. “It’s very strange. The museum has been talking about this for over a year. Advertising has been on billboards and the sides of city buses since at least this past summer.”

“Do you think it’ll be a hit with the community?”

The chip in my hand is fully loaded with salsa and ready to plop into my mouth, but I put it down and meet his gaze. “I do.” I pause and think about it for a few seconds. “Honestly, after helping uncrate today, in my heart I feel the entire city will support the exhibition. I can see every school in the district lining up to bring their classes through.”

“I agree.” Bretton scoops a chip full of salsa and eats it, then almost immediately starts coughing and reaches for the water.

“Are you choking?”

He shakes his head. “Hot…it’s hot.” Bretton’s voice is raspy and barely audible.

I can't stop myself. I throw my head back and laugh harder than I have in years. Tears run down my cheeks and I close my eyes and hold my belly.

“What’s so funny?” Bretton says through his own laughter. “Are you making fun of me?”

I can barely collect my faculties. I use a napkin to wipe my cheeks dry. “I’m sorry, but the look on your face was… too much.”

Bretton laughs. “It was spicy… sometimes ranch dressing has a kick to me.”

I lose it again, leaning back into the booth, laughing hard enough I don’t even notice our drinks have been delivered until I catch my breath. “Thank you, Bretton. I needed a good laugh. I’ve been so stressed out as of late.”

“Relationship problems?” Bretton asks.

I shake my head. “No, not at all. Honestly, my dating life is pretty good… the guy I’ve been seeing is so handsome and sm art. We’ve recently been on a couple dates that didn’t end that well, but honestly, it wasn’t either of our faults.” I suppress a smile as long as I can before hiding it behind my hand. “Just a lot of pent up… sexual energy.”

I feel my face flush hot and watch Bretton shift uncomfortably in his seat.

“Sorry,” I say. “I can’t believe I’m sharing this kind of stuff. I guess I feel pretty comfortable with you.”

“It’s no worries at all,” he says as he shrugs his shoulders. “I guess I was hoping you’d say he was a dud so I didn’t feel left out of anything… I went on a date recently and I’m not sure I enjoyed it much.”

“Ah,” I say. “I’m sorry to hear that man. Definitely not wanting to sound like I’m bragging, but my dude is for sure not a dud. He’s so kind… and did I mention a surgeon? It’s just our last few dates have gone off the rails a bit.”

“Ugh,” Bretton says. “Sorry to hear that. But like you said, those weren’t anyone’s fault.”

“I’m making it sound much worse than it is.”

“Not that it’s any of my business, but do you think you’re developing… real, feelings for this guy?”

I think about it for a couple of seconds. “Yes, actually, I do. I can see things being quite good between us if I could somehow stop all this other shit from getting in the way.”

“Sounds like there’s more to this story.” Bretton’s expression grows serious. “Is everything okay? Can I help with anything?”

I shake my head. “No, it’s just some personal stuff.”

“I’m a good listener.” Bretton picks up another chip, looks at it, and sets it back on his plate.

I smile and look down for a moment. Why not? It's time to start trusting people. Isn’t it? “I know when you asked about it earlier, I said I didn’t want to talk about it, but I’ve been through a lot the past week or so… seems like my life to ok a dump once the King Tut antiquities arrived from Chicago.”

“Does this have to do with your assault?” He points to the bruises and scrapes on my face. “If you’re up to talking about it, I’m here to listen.”

I nod.

“Were you able to find out why they broke into your friend’s place?”

I hesitate not remembering telling him about the break in, but say, “They stole something from me.”

“From you? Not your friend?”

A knot forms in my stomach. It's like I'm back in the academy and they're training for suspect interrogation. “A package was delivered to the museum made out to me… never even got the chance to open it until that night. When they broke in, it was like they knew where to find me and stole it right from my backpack. To be honest, I think they wanted to kill me and my friend London more than they wanted to steal the package.”

Bretton sits back in the booth. “Damn, that’s some heavy shit. I don’t even know what to say except I’m sorry you went through that. Is your friend okay?”

I nod. “It’s a miracle we survived, and her nana too. It was two guys, and they were big and strong.”

“Professionals?”

I freeze. The way Bretton says it, sounds more like a law enforcement officer, rather than just some guy working at a museum. “It crossed my mind.”

“Damn,” Bretton says. “Have you gone to the police?”

“Spoke to them after the break-in and attack, but didn’t give them every detail,” I say. “They already think I’m crazy.”

Bretton cocks his head to the side. “Why’s that?”

Damn it, just cracked open another can of worms. “I’m sure you know I used to be a cop? ”

Bretton nods.

“Well, I had to leave the force.”

“Like forced to resign?” Bretton asks. “Did you do something against regulations?”

The way he asks his questions makes me feel like he already knows the answers to the questions. I eye Bretton for a moment, contemplating what to say. “No,” I say. “I resigned of my own volition because I couldn’t get back into a healthy mindset.” I pause and then cross my arms. “There was an incident.”

“Don’t they have counselors for that sort of thing? I’ve heard of some crazy stuff happening to you guys. Can’t imagine processing it all without help.”

I nod. “I went… for a while. Didn’t really help much so I changed my career. Followed the path my heart was leading me down.”

Bretton sips his margarita and nods. “I admire you for following your heart. Not very many people can say they’ve done that.”

The waiter delivers our food. It smells delicious, and I dive into mine, eager for the break in conversation. “This is great.”

“Wow, my enchiladas are spicy too.” Bretton coughs, and we both start laughing.

An awkward silence falls between us, and I search Bretton’s eyes for a moment.

“It’s your turn to come clean,” I say.

Bretton’s eyes go wide. “What do you mean?”

“You’re not telling me your whole story. There’s much more to you than some guy working at the museum.”

“What makes you think that? Because I can assure you…”

I hold up a hand. “If you can’t tell me, it’s fine, but I’m starting to feel like you’re a cop. The way you asked me questions… it was like you already knew the answers. What gives?”

Bretton takes another large draw of the margarita and eyes me. He remains silent for a while, simply looking around the restaurant. I recognize the indecision in his body language. There were many times as a cop I would be interrogating a witness and they would want to tell me, to come clean about whatever it was they’d been arrested for but were too scared to admit to anything.

“You’re right,” Bretton says. “I’m not who I say I am, and I could get into a heap of trouble for talking to you about this.”

“In that case,” I say, leaning forward, popping a chip into my mouth. “Tell me everything.”

“In a nutshell, I’m an FBI agent.”

“I knew it,” I say. “Well, I mean you’re in law enforcement and I figured that much. What are you doing at the museum then?”

“Watching you.”

“Me?” I ask, confused. “Why the hell would you be watching me? I’ve not done anything wrong.”

“The thing is, Max. You’re being stalked, as I’m sure you already know by the bruises and cuts on your face. The FBI has intel that the serial killer Viktor Fedorov somehow survived. How? We aren’t sure, but our profilers have indicated that he will not rest until he’s finished what he didn’t get to do a couple years ago.”

“Kill me,” I say. “He’s really not going to stop until I’m dead.”

Bretton nods.

“Fuck. I knew it all along, but honestly hoped I was wrong.”

“I’m sorry, Max. I’m sorry I had to lie to you and that I wasn’t able to protect you and your friend when you were attacked the other night.”

“Did you know someone was after us?”

“I followed my intel to London’s home, and by the time I got there the attack was in progress. My boss threatened to pull me from the case if I intervened, so I called the police.”

“Why wouldn’t your boss want you to help save my life?” I shake my head. “I don’t understand that.”

“Ever since The Butcher reared his ugly head, the FBI has been terrified of it getting out to the public. There’s been a huge and growing distrust of the Bureau as of late, and it seems they’ll do anything to save face.”

“Bastards,” I say.

“I did everything I could while still remaining in the shadows that night. My anonymous call to the police still didn’t get them there in time to help you though, and for that I’m sorry.”

“It’s not your fault,” I say. “Makes sense now why the cops showed up relatively quickly when we didn’t get a chance to call ourselves.”

“I tried calling you multiple times before the attack, but for some reason I couldn’t get through.”

I nod. “Yeah, our computers stopped working, our phones were useless. The thugs Viktor sent to kill us were using sophisticated tech and even London couldn’t keep them away. And she’s the slickest hacker I know.”

“What I can tell you is we know Viktor and some of his followers are after you. We don’t know where he is though. If we did, we would have already taken him out.”

“London and I have been trying to track him as well. Stumbled across an underground cult that we suspect he and his followers are a part of, but we think they caught on to us somehow. Ended up tracking us to her home.” I sit back and cross my arms. “I don’t know what I would have done if she or her nana were killed. I couldn’t have lived with myself.”

“Do you remember the name of the underground cult? It might give me something to bring back to the profilers. Possibly help us track him.”

“Yeah, they call themselves the Followers of Kali.”

“Sounds creepy,” Bretton says.

“They are. Kali is a demon who literally drinks its victim’s blood.”

“I’ll take this information back to my people and see what, if anything, we can get from it. Thanks, Max.”

“Hey, if you can catch Viktor before we do, I’m all for it.”

“You’re still going after him? Even though the FBI are as well?”

“Damn straight,” I say. “You haven’t caught him yet and he’s been making contact with me for days now. No way in hell am I going to sit around and wait to get taken hostage.”

Bretton takes the last sip of his drink. “Fair enough. I imagine if I were in your shoes I’d be saying the same. I do have to warn you though, he’s as dangerous as they come. The profilers are saying that over the past couple of years he’s been stewing on his failures. Now that he’s reaching out and making his move, he’s all-consumed with his pride, desires, and rage.”

I think about his words and let them sink in. There wasn’t another choice. If I sat around and did nothing, I was inviting The Butcher to make a move on me. No. I was done being hunted. “Words of warning taken. I appreciate you doing what you can to help me.”

A silence settles over the table and soon our dishes had all been cleared away by the servers. I feel no ill-will, but there isn’t much more to say. It’d grown pretty late, and it made more sense to call it a night.

After leaving a hefty tip for Javier, I hug Bretton goodbye. “Thanks for suggesting we go for dinner. I’m glad you’re on my side in all of this.”

“See you at work tomorrow?” Bretton asks.

“Absolutely.” I get into my car and head home, the warmth that settled inside me was more than simply the spicy salsa. It was time to figure things out with Ben.

The red light is the perfect spot for me to stop and send Ben a text: Can we meet up soon? I really want to talk to you about something important.

Almost as soon as I’d sent the text and set it down on the center console, my phone beeps with an incoming text. It reads: Are you able to meet me at my house tomorrow? How about 7:00pm? I have something important to talk about as well.

I’ll see you then.