Clement was alone again in the early morning at a drab motel he and Pav held up in. Pav had left. "I'll be back within a couple hours," she said. Clement thought he could lay on the cream-colored sheets and just doze off but no. The stress of the entire situation he was in had him paranoid. He had been pacing up and down the creaky planks past both beds and the desk, into the cyan tiled bathroom, and back out. A click came from the front door, and Pav walked in shutting the door behind her.
"Wowie long night indeed, but got a lot done, Clemy." She placed a gun on the side table near the entrance and took off her leather boots after hanging her coat.
"What happened?" Clement asked.
"Well I got a loose end tied, had a stern talking to with your pal Stephanie. She won't say a word about our operation," said Pav.
"Oh… a talk. Ok. What is that, torture, or…?"
"Nothing so depraved! Really don't worry about it, just know you did a good job Clem," said Pav.
"Alright…"
Pav threw herself onto the closest bed face-first before rotating onto her back. Clement sat down on his bed carefully and kept his gaze fixated on a lamp in front of him. A silence remained for a while that accentuated the stuffy, stale air of the room. Clement thought of something but was nervous to say it. Still, it felt important, and Pav didn't really seem too unreasonable.
"Hey, Pav?" he called.
"Yes, partner?" she responded.
"I was wondering… how long is this going to take? This manhunt? My wife and kid get back in a week and it'd be nice if… they didn't know about all this." He was caressing his thumb with the other, nervous at how she'd respond. He was staring into the orange cotton shade of the lamp that illuminated the yellow wall behind it.
"Well Clem, we gotta be out here as long as it takes. Could be a week, could be a month. Who's to say?"
"Oh."
He turned to look at her. She had her arms behind her neck with her eyes closed, taking what Clement considered very deep breaths. Her whole body moved up and down in the span of twenty seconds.
"Clem," she started, "I know this whole thing isn't ideal for you. To be honest, it's not ideal for any of us. The people in charge are out of a good business, I have to hunt down some good people, you're away from your family. But we got here in the face of adversity already; we're showing the world who's boss right now." She reached an arm up above her in a fist.
Clement had nothing to say. He lied back on the bed and stared into the chipping ceiling. He wondered why he was even tagging along. He could just sit tight at home, drink coffee, ruminate, look for a new job. But Pav was paying well right now. Better than his job before the bust, but he also knew that it wouldn't last long; after all is said and done, what happens to him and his family?
He had always tried to keep his nose out of trouble. Born on a small family farm, it hadn't been long into his teens by the time the land dried up and became inhospitable. He barely had enough time to complete high school before he had to earn for his family, and he did so as a store clerk. However, he had aspirations for more, so he studied on his own, burnt midnight oil to make up for his lack of formal higher education. Then one day, he found his big break as a pencil pusher for his recent employer, except then he hadn't known a thing about what they really did. All he knew was paperwork and reports for a business that made reams and reams of paper. It was an ordinary day when some slick-back poorly hiding an ostentatious personality behind a nice olive sweater approached him at near midnight while he was completing his last report. All the others had left, but he still wanted to make a name for himself in that small pond by working hard.
"Sorry, I was unaware there was anyone still here," said the man in the olive sweater.
Clement had looked up from his work at the time and immediately recognized a superior. He had been quick on his feet. "Not at all sir, I apologize for remaining here past hours, there was just so much that needed to get done."
The man had appeared bemused. "Why apologize? We need hard-working, loyal people with us; these long nights are strenuous. I've filled your shoes before."
"You have?" He had asked. It was hard to believe these words then. People wouldn't believe it, but he was fairly observant. He knew money when he saw it. What he wished he had wrapped his head around is why this man had been at a paper factory at midnight. He can't remember anymore, but he thought this is when the gears had started turning on what was really going on. However, that night, the talons had clasped him before he had time to assess his options.
"I have. Which is why I respect my kind. People like me. People like you." The man had walked around behind Clement. "By the way, how long have you been with us?"
Needless to say, Clement had been promoted soon after that. The job made him good money, but as time went on, no one even had to tell him what was really happening, and no one ever did. It was unavoidable that he'd figure it out, and when he did, his loyalty was expected. So he had kept this end of the deal diligently. But all that was over now. Now he focused on shutting his eyes to sleep.
***
"Where the hell is she? She better not have gone back there!" [Redacted] was furious. He only gave Stephanie's door two knocks before he all but broke it down.
Aaron was concerned, but doubt would only make things worse. "She'll be back soon. Even if she went back, what can stop Stephanie? Nothing."
[Redacted] flung his typewriter off the central table. "No! Not nothing! It takes one unlucky bullet. Or even…" he looked at a computer screen on a desk shoved in the corner, "Or even someone more skilled than her…"
Aaron felt light-headed. Stephanie was a hot head but there was no way she'd get herself killed so unceremoniously and alone. "What are we gonna do with this access key anyways? Why'd she have to go so far in harm's way in the first place?" ask Aaron.
[Redacted] walked over to his typewriter upside down on the floor and heaved it up back onto the center table. "We're gonna leak more info to the police. Have the organization falter so we can make our break. Ironic. None of us were gonna say shit but to save our skin we'll air all their laundry." He laid his hands on the table palms-down and took a deep breath.
"What's the next step then?" Aaron asked.
"We have to deliver this drive to a federal precinct. Local won't work. The closest one is a territory over up north," [Redacted] replied. "In the meantime, I've sent correspondence to Carlos and Jesabelle. They should be in the city. Still no word from Jacob though."
"I really can just go to his farm house," Aaron began.
"Not worth it. They gave him that property. They have it staked out to hell. Still, no intercepted message. He's not dead ye…"
The computer began to hum from the corner and the screen illuminated a harsh dark blue. [Redacted] burst from his spot and charged the computer as fast as a brisk walk could be. An intercepted message. Was it about Jacob after all?
Stephanie Riker: deceased
End
The two of them were silent. They shared a painful understanding and desire to react tempered by the knowledge that it'd do no good. [Redacted] shut his eyes before the monitor faded to its default blank state.