It's not even that long a crawl. Forty feet, maybe fifty. The shaft connects my unit to Fred's unit directly across the hall. Earlier in the kitchen, Elliot showed me the building's HVAC blueprints on his phone, and told me, in his courtroom voice, that this was the only way to get me out without anyone seeing.
And that matters...since apparently it’s not enough for Nicolo Sestini to handpick the tenants. If Elliot’s to be believed (and the jury’s still out on that), he also has cameras installed in myapartment, and so the only “safe” place in this whole building is—
Oh, finally!
I’ve been feeling claustrophobic and suffocated since we started crawling, but now that the grates are off, cool air reaches my sweat-drenched body, and Elliot pulls me through the last few feet.
Oof.
I drop into a stranger’s hallway on my hands and knees. Not the most graceful landing, but that’s the best I can do. I’m not just forty-plus, but it’s also been forty-plus months since I last did Pilates, which is the closest experience I have to vent crawling.
“Welcome to 4C, Junebug.”
Elliot says it lightly, like we just walked in through the front door, but I can see the strain at the edge of his smile.
I straighten up, brushing dust off the sweater, and that's when I see the man standing at the end of the hallway with his hands in his pockets.
He's older than Elliot. Late fifties, maybe. Gray hair, tortoiseshell glasses, and a tattooed ring around his left index finger.
“Mrs. Sestini, good evening.”
I barely manage not to flinch. Will I ever get used to having people call me that?
“Fred, isn’t it?”
“Yes, ma’am. Can I get you a glass of water?”
I nod and thank him for the offer, not because I’m particularly thirsty or anything but just so I can buy myself some time. I want to look around and see if there’s anything in this place that would tell me I’ve made a mistake.
So, let’s see...
His apartment...looks normal. The couch, the lamp, even the stuff inside his kitchen cabinets. It’s all normal. But whether it’s normal normal or fake normal? I just don’t know. I’m not sure about anyone or anything right now. I don’t even know if I can really trust Elliot, much less Fred.
“I have something to show you,” Elliot says as he leads me to the living room, and...oh.
Six monitors on a folding table against the far wall, all of them showing my apartment.
There's my living room, my kitchen sink...and just about every room in my apartment, even the bathroom, but with the cameras angled away from the shower. I guess I should be thankful for small mercies?
“Sestini has you under surveillance, twenty-four seven,” Elliot goes on. “But don’t worry, I got Fred to do his magic, and he won’t be able to watch you now in real-time.”
I feel like I should be mad now. Or disgusted. But I can’t even manage to think. I never thought someone like me would be in a situation like this.
Fred reappears with two glasses of water, sets them down on the coffee table next to Elliot's elbow, and discreetly walks back intothe kitchen. I hear him put coffee on as I sit down on the edge of his couch.
How...very normal, which makes me feel the opposite.
“I know all about Sestini,” Elliot says abruptly. “His deal with the Feds. That mess with Pascual.”
“And?” Because I can sense that there’s more he isn’t saying...
“I also know what he had to do to put him back when Pascual escaped on your wedding day.”
And I’m right.
“He...he told me he had no other choice.”
“And you believe him?”