As Maya handed Max the file, she kept her gaze steely and unwavering. "This is about our next lead," she said, barely pausing before handing him a slim dossier stamped with the name Laura Smith in thick, bold lettering.
Max flipped open the file, eyes scanning the first few lines. "Who is this?" he asked, raising an eyebrow. Just as his fingers started to flip the page, Maya's hand clamped over the folder, pushing it closed.
"That's classified. I assume you've gathered enough about where the case is headed, haven't you?" Her tone was clipped, with an edge that said she was done entertaining questions.
Max tilted his head, holding her gaze with a faint smirk. "It seems pretty important if you've dedicated an entire file to it," he noted, his voice teasing yet insistent. "Must be a lot of pictures, too." His eyes tried to sneak another peek.
"Mr. Stillenski," she snapped, voice icy, "I trust you'll keep your curiosity in check. Some things are not your business." With that, she marched out, clutching the file close as though it held her most precious secrets.
Unfazed, Max shrugged and followed her out of the room, reaching for his phone. But as he passed the hallway, he heard her voice behind a door, talking in a hushed tone. "Yes, ma'am. We're still looking into her… No, no new leads yet. Of course. Understood. Goodbye."
The tone was serious, secretive. A part of Max wanted to dismiss it, but something in Maya's tone, a hint of urgency perhaps, made him feel that Laura Smith might be the loose thread he was looking for.
---
Later that day, Max parked his car outside Vivian's apartment. He got out, straightening his lapels, his suit sharp as ever, his gelled black hair with silver streaks catching the sunlight, making him look both charming and menacing. He pressed the buzzer, waited. The door creaked open, revealing Vivian, her eyes dark and unfocused. She didn't say a word—just turned and walked back inside, leaving him standing there, hand halfway raised in greeting. He dropped it with an awkward smile.
"Hey, Vivian," he greeted warmly as he stepped in, hanging his coat and bag on the hook by the door. "How're you holding up?"
Vivian, frail but composed, curled up on the couch, lighting a cigarette. Her loose, dark hair fell over her shoulders, and a thick, oversized sweater clung to her as if it was the only thing shielding her from the world.
Without a word, Max reached over, plucking the cigarette from her lips and, with a flourish, slipped a coffee-flavored lollipop between her lips instead. Vivian's eyes widened, taken aback by the swift exchange.
"What… What's this?" she mumbled, struggling around the lollipop in her mouth. She pulled it out.
Max grinned, casually rolling up his sleeves, he leaned close to her.
wha…wh…at are you doing?
he kept getting closer after all holding her hand that held the lollipop and other one steady on her shoulder to keep her still
Max… don't you...
"Just a healthier choice. Take it or leave it." Saying this he firmly nudged the lollipop into her mouth before she could finish. Vivian sputtered, trying to protest, but he nudged it further, before stepping back. He began gathering the overflowing ashtray and dumping its contents in the trash, then cracked open a window to let in fresh air, filling the stale room with a soft breeze.
Then he sank into a chair across from her, pouring himself a glass of water. "Hope you don't mind, Ms. Donovan," he teased, taking a sip without waiting for an answer.
Vivian watched him with a mixture of irritation and intrigue as he settled in, acting as if he owned the place. After a moment of silence, he finally said, "Here's the deal. I'm going to help find the killer. You don't have to do this alone."
Vivian frowned, trying to speak around the lollipop, her voice quiet but defiant. "I can handle this. I don't need anyone's help."
Max leaned forward, his eyes locked on hers with uncharacteristic seriousness.
"Can you? Look at yourself, Vivian. You're smoking yourself into an early grave. Instead of finding the killer, you're destroying yourself, one cigarette at a time."
He paused, his voice softening. "You owe it to your brother to pull yourself together, to get justice. Not to let it consume you."
Vivian shrank into her sweater, pulling the fabric close to her face to hide her expression. Her eyes flickered, a glimpse of vulnerability breaking through her hardened exterior.
After a long silence, Max asked, "Do you know anyone named Laura Smith?"
Vivian's head snapped up, her eyes narrowing as she shot to her feet, her expression hardened in a heartbeat. "Why?"
Max tilted his head, studying her reaction. "Do you know her?"
"I asked first," she fired back, yanking the lollipop from her mouth.
He leaned back, watching her with an unreadable expression. "She's the one who lured you to her house to get you trapped. The one who actually got you arrested."
Vivian's eyes blazed with fury, and she clenched her fists.
"Lies. Laura wouldn't do that to me!"
"Calm down, Vivian," he said softly, but his voice held a firmness that wouldn't be swayed. "This is the information I have. And from where I'm standing, she's a suspect."
"Stop!" Vivian's voice rose, trembling with emotion. "What do you want from me, Max? Why are you even here?" Her voice broke, her anger collapsing into something desperate and raw.
Max moved toward her, his hands steady on her shoulders. "Vivian, right now, you can't trust anyone. Not even yourself. You're too close to this. And you need someone who sees things clearly."
She jerked away from him, stepping back with tears brimming in her eyes. "Then you're the first person I refuse to trust," she spat.
"Leave!
Now!"
Max hesitated, watching her closely, but then he exhaled and turned, grabbing his coat off the hook. As he did, he pulled a small card from his pocket and placed it gently on the table.
"If you change your mind… Call me. You know this is bigger than you or me. You know you can't run from this forever. And maybe, this time, you'll decide to fight instead of running or hiding."
He turned to go, but her voice broke the silence just as he reached the door.
"What do you mean, 'run'?" she demanded, her voice shaking.
Max turned slightly, his eyes shadowed.
"You know exactly what I mean."
His voice was low, unyielding.
"You've run every time things got hard. Now, maybe it's time to stop."
Her face contorted with anger and confusion. "I don't know what you're talking about! I never ran."
"Yes, you did," he said quietly, his back still turned to her. He pulled his coat on, pausing before finally muttering,
"Every time."
And with that, he walked out, leaving her standing there, alone and adrift, haunted by a turmoil of memories and doubts.