"Shaken up, dear?" Kelly glanced at Jemina through the rearview mirror.
"That was pretty intense," Jemina admitted. All the energy had been sapped from her, and she traced the passing hills with her eyes. Trees sprouted off the mounds, but they looked the toothpicks from Jemina's distance.
"I am so glad I didn't have to do that," Kelly chuckled.
"What?" Jemina leaned forward, straining against her seatbelt.
"I just became an associate. All I did was the Omertà."
"Well, all I became was an associate, too. Why didn't I just have to do that?" Jemina scowled.
"I had suggested that we give you the full initiation. The boss agreed." A hint of a smile graced Anthony's face. Bastard.
Anger boiled in Jemina's gut. Why did he keep making her life harder? For no reason, just to be a jerk. All she wanted to do was smack him, but she restrained herself. She wasn't about to start an argument in a car—a trapped space—so she just swallowed her argument.
"Well, dear, at least you became an associate just in time for that gala next month."
That night, her mind began to rewind the events of the day. It was something Chua had taught her before she left. By all accounts, the day had been very successful. She had finally accomplished something worth showing off—infiltrating a mafioso family.
But, instead of feeling proud, she felt drained. Just like last night.
Tears welled in her eyes. There was no one she could call—no one she could talk to. Kelly, as motherly as she had been, felt at an arms' length. Jemina felt like exposing her fear and insecurity would undermine herself as an agent. Her family? It's been years. Friends? Who has time for them between her work schedule? Chua? Back at the base.
No place to retreat to. This was her home now.
No identity to cling on to. She was just getting more and more confused each passing day.
Tucked in a ball, the first tear slid down her cheek. What was she doing?
"I'll have to get out dead." Is this what she signed up for?
Dreamless sleep grabbed her as the ache in her heart dulled to a quiet beating.
-
The next few days were quiet. With nothing to do and no phone call from any shop manager, she just roamed the downtown.
As she window shopped the antique stores, her phone buzzed in her pocket. Thankfully, it was not Anthony. An unknown number.
"Eva Sorrentino speaking."
"Hello, Eva! This is Bluestone Juice. We'd like to set up an interview with you. Are you free tomorrow?"
"Yes, of course." Excitement sparked through her fingertips.
"What about nine in the morning?"
"That's perfect."
-
Sleep had not come invitingly to Jemina despite the fact that she had started using earbuds at night to drown out her thoughts.
Her shirt and skirt were ironed, and her hair straightened. Well, half-straightened. It was so thick she gave up midway. Instead she just clipped two front pieces back at the base of her head. Boom. Business chic.
Or was it too formal for an interview?
The bureau barely did interviews—if you survived the academy, your credentials usually spoke for themselves. She felt woefully underprepared.
That morning she had mentioned to the two agents that she had an interview today. Anthony had insisted on driving her. Apparently, it's "a bad first impression if you walk to the interview."
Whatever that meant. She just hoped he was starting to warm up to her.
"I'm leaving!" Anthony's booming voice carried up the stairs.
"Coming!" After she tossed her resumé, notepad, and some breath mints into her bag, she was ready to take off.
Anthony had one hand on the wheel and the other illustrating his points. "Ask questions to the interviewer—show you care about this stupid sandwich bar. Never use your phone as you're waiting, in the interview, or as you're leaving. It's bad etiquette."
Jemina could see the neon orange shop squished between the two brick buildings a mile away.
As he shut off the engine, Anthony turned to her to make his most serious point. "Use one of those breath mints. That mouthwash did you no good."
Armed with new low self-esteem and a mint in her mouth, Jemina entered the shop.
"Yvette" was scrawled across the employee's name tag working the bar. Yvette smiled at her and Jemina returned the gesture. "I'm here for the interview?"
"Oh, yes."
Sparse furniture decorated the backroom, in contrast to the wacky front of the restaurant. Why would you decorate if only employees would see it?
Jemina's resume was filled with references—to chains that had long closed down. Who were they going to call? Toys R Us?
The lady came in and went through the basic interview questions and Jemina never missed a beat. When it was her turn to ask, Jemina sent three questions and was out the door.
At this point, she didn't even care if she got the job. She felt like she aced a test.
Sun rays bounced off the sidewalk and glinted off Jemina's sunglasses. The familiar smell of booze assaulted her olfactory senses. Floors above was the rooftop club she had visited her first night.
She had actually gone back the other night, but Marin wasn't there. Apparently he hadn't showed up the other night, either.
Marin. The guy was an enigma. His words the night of the initiation kept bouncing around in her head. That conversation was one of the reasons she started to listen to music as she went to bed. It was easier to ignore the thoughts creeping in if she could focus on Paramore's painfully 2000's hits.
Unfortunately, Jemina had no earbuds to keep out the mental onslaught this sunny afternoon.
The main question remained at the forefront of her mind: who was she taking down? The director had made it pretty clear it was the whole family. That night, however, it had almost presented that Marin wasn't a willing participant.
If she got evidence and took down the family, would she be taking down Marin too?
Logically, she knew yes, but for some reason, her heart just wouldn't accept that answer.