No one else in Lotus Town tried to speak or stop me. Through the ever-so-familiar corridors and turned around the hidden corners, I mindlessly drifted to the room reserved for the most important clients. In there, I had served the same man I was to confront.
Emotionlessly and stiffly, I pushed the door open and was greeted by what I had expected to see.
"I'm here to talk," I said blankly. "Get these girls out of here."
"I see that you've learned the good manners from Murphy," De Rossi didn't trouble to pull the sheets to cover himself and dismissed his companies by flinging his hand upward. Hurriedly but not embarrassedly, they picked up their clothes from the floor and walked by me, undressed.
I waited until they had left and closed the door behind me: "I'd like to cut a deal with you."
"That's interesting," he slowly began to get dressed. "Enlighten me."
I maintained eye contact with him: "What if I told you Neil wasn't responsible for your brother's death?"
"Oh please," he put on his spectacles and adjusted them.
"What if I told you Thomas was behind it?" I said coldly.
"Huh," he adjusted his spectacles once more, "go on."
"You were right. I did try to free Neil," I confessed. Clasping my hands, I continued monotonously. "Thomas worried the family would get into trouble with you if you knew what I did. He was the one who got to Matteo and made you believe Neil did it."
"Say, what you just said was true," Antonio De Rossi's eye twitched, "I'm afraid that won't change our agreement. Ferguson has to go. Therefore, if you're here telling this in exchange for Ferguson's life, that will not work."
"Don't get me wrong," I said, "that's not what I'm here for."
He raised his eyebrows: "How curious. What would you like me to do for you then?"
"I'm asking for your help," I said firmly. "I plan to leave the family."
"Oh, do you?" He laughed. He was seemingly amused.
-----
Wesley was late. I risked being punished by Thomas if he were to find out. Yet, Wesley was late. I stood idly on the other side of the closing gate. The sunlight reflected off the golden-colored roof of the nearest neighbor's house from afar. I worried about him, though that worry was forbidden from being displayed. So, the concerns stayed hidden. I feared that he had gotten into trouble, that Thomas had done something unspeakable to him. Or he was simply late. Overslept, perhaps, distracted by the outrageous stories in the morning paper.
The sound of car tires on the paved street drew my attention. Glancing over, I saw him, one hand on the wheel and the other holding a cigarette. The driver-side window was half down, letting the smoke find its escape. It was my fault he picked up the filthy old habit again. And I, myself, was an old habit that refused to stay away.
He pulled over and stepped out. Still having that cigarette between his fingers, he took a puff and walked around the car to be in front of me. I lifted my chin so I could meet his eyes. He squinted to avoid the sun.
"They had to fuel the car," he explained.
I nodded.
Taking another drag, he looked over his shoulder and lowered his voice: "Sorry if I made you worry."
"It's all right," I said quietly, opened the passenger side door, and cleared my throat to make myself heard. "Let's go for a drive."
He dropped the cigarette on the ground and stepped on it with the sole of his shoe. He vacantly stared into the distance before hurriedly getting inside the car and starting the engine.
I planned to tell him that I went to De Rossi. Now that he was here, I was reluctant. I trusted him, yet I was childishly afraid of what he'd say about my impulsive and reckless decision.
"Do you know what's funny?" He said when we turned onto Sunset Boulevard. I could hear the faint taunting in his tone. "You and Thomas have the same indifferent, poised face whenever something bothers you. It's very subtle, but I recognize it every time I see it."
Lacing my fingers, I shifted in my seat to face him.
"I spoke to De Rossi," I said flatly.
A second ago, he was staring straight ahead, eyes on the road. When the sentence was spoken, he glanced over. And when he comprehended the seriousness in my tone, he turned towards me.
"You didn't…" he slurred the words.
I knew he had already figured out what it was. He didn't need to be told; he needed to be assured.
"Yes," I said, looking into his eyes.
Wesley swallowed. The oncoming car let out a loud, screeching honk that drew his attention back to the road. For a moment or two, he continued driving without saying anything else. Eventually, he sighed:
"You don't need me to tell you what will happen if he crosses you, right?"
"Then I'm fucked," I said nonchalantly.
"Fucked?" He raised his voice slightly. "If it's only that simple."
"Thomas will probably kill me," I continued in the same tone. "In his mind, my life is his to give and to take."
He opened his mouth, but no words came out. I could tell there were many things he'd like to say to me, though he deemed them unnecessary.
"What's done is done," he said after a brief silence, "I hope you're aware there's no turning back from this."
"I'm aware."
"Good," he repeatedly nodded like he was lost, "good. Should I drop you off at The Charmont?"
"I'll tell Laurie later," I said cautiously as I carefully observed his expression.
"Don't you think he deserves to know as soon as possible?" He asked. We were driving down Sunset in the opposite direction as we planned. I realized that he was heading toward Santa Monica. "He's the brains behind it, and he's more involved than ever. I think you should tell him."
"I will, but not now," I insisted, "I'd like to wait until things are settled. I need to handle Neil, and De Rossi needs to buy the house."
"Do you have a plan?" He was ruffled.
"Hyuk, please," I was distressed by his questions and reaction, "just give me some time. I'll sort it out properly. Don't worry."
"Yeah," he muttered, "yeah."