Page 96 of What You left in Me

The map populated with red breadcrumbs. Waren’s week was a loop: Milo’s bar, the single-room palace he called an apartment, a strip mall with a payday lender and a pawn shop. Twice, he detoured to a street that sold meth as a lifestyle brand. The rest was just… rotten shit.

Heads up,Jim added, because he couldn’t help narrating.He sits in the back at Milo’s. ATM across thestreet catches his plates every other night. I can grab clips.

Grab everything.I was already on my feet.

Milo’s was where dignity went to retire. A neon sign that thought it still mattered, a parking lot that tasted like oil and old gum, a door that stuck, a bouncer there for decoration, not courage. I chose a booth with a view of the bathrooms, the exit, and the mirror behind the bottles because I like to watch men lie to themselves as well as to me. I didn’t have to wait long.

He came in five minutes late, because he thought time was a game he was winning. Greasy hair, eyes rimmed red like he’d been crying blood, skin with that gray-yellow tint that meant the liver was tired of being a punching bag. Jacket that used to be decent, now just stains with ambition. He saw me and grinned like a toddler who’d learned a new swear.

“Well, well,” he said, dropping into the booth. “If it isn’t Wagner’s son.”

I tilted my head, smiled without warmth. “If you wanted to keep your teeth, you’d start with hello.”

He laughed. Wet sound. “There it is. The famous charm.”

I slid a glass toward him. Cheap whiskey. He made a show of sniffing it like he had standards, then drank. His hands shook a little. Good.

“You know why you’re here,” I said.

He leaned back, put a knee up, the picture of practiced swagger. “Do I? Maybe I just missed your company from last time. Or maybe I like the way you glare. Does your mother know you look at people like that?”

The line slid between my ribs like a blade. He watched my face like a man and a scientist both, waiting to see if theanimal would flinch. I didn’t. I let the rage settle low and thick, somewhere useful.

“Say her name again,” I said, soft. The softness made something in him jump.

He sipped, smirked to cover it. “Alright, pretty boy. Let’s do this polite.” He wiggled his empty glass like he deserved a refill. I didn’t pour one. He drank what was left of his pride instead. “You already know. Otherwise, you wouldn’t have called.”

“I want to hear it from you.”

He tipped his head. “Your stepmother,” he savored it, “Eleanor, reached out years back. Said that she needed a problem solved.”

“What problem?”

“The kind where people bring flowers and say what a shame and then go back to their lives.” He shrugged. “She had money. She had… incentive. Said Richard was never leaving the wife. Said he was weak that way… loyalty, duty, whatever. She promised me she’d make it worth my while if his path got… clearer.”

My jaw ticked. “And you delivered.”

He fluttered his fingers. “I’m a facilitator. I connect desire to outcome.”

“What did you use?”

“Pills. The nice kind. Not a sloppy knockout, not something that would stain the narrative. We’re not talking antifreeze cupcakes. We’re talking gentle. A little benzodiazepine, helped along with liquor. People love the story where the pretty wife had one gin too many and forgot her limits.”

“And how did you get it in her? She wasn’t stupid. She didn’t drink what strangers handed her.”

His smile turned devilish. “Strangers, no. But the people in your house? The ones who stand two feet from your life for years and you never bother to know their last names?” He raised an eyebrow. “House help.”

Every muscle in me went steel-wire tight. “Who?”

He looked delighted. “Oh, relax. She’s dead. Time got her, not me. Old age. Natural causes. See? Nature participates.” He laughed, high and ugly. “She was… what was her name? Something with an M. Matilde? Mae? Doesn’t matter. Eleanor did the talking. Said this woman had been with them long enough to love money more than morals. You’d be surprised what a bonus buys. A tip here, a favor there, and eventually you ask for a real favor. The house help was thrilled to be noticed. People like that always are.”

I tasted metal, remembering that face then, soft and invisible. She had hands that set out glasses with quiet competence. I remembered being fifteen and telling her thank you because my mother told me to grow up into a man who says it. I remembered not learning her name because I was a boy and the world kept handing me gold without asking for names.

Waren saw it land. He grinned wider. “She didn’t know specifics. Not at first. Just that the madam wanted the wife to rest easy. Help her sleep, that was the line. A few weeks of ‘helping’ and the dose got bigger. People are greedy. That’s my whole business model. Eleanor tested the waters, then threw the fucking yacht in.”

He made a little boat with his hands and sailed it across the sticky table. I wanted to break his crummy fingers.

“She laughs,” he added. “In my head, I mean. Every time I think about it. The house help. That little giggle. Like she’d finally been invited to the party.”