Page 43 of Bulletproof Baby

There are two bedrooms to the left. There's a pantry and a small office space to the right. There isn't much in the office besides an actual fax machine and desktop bulky computer that looks like it's off the set of some ’90s office comedy. The space doesn't look like it's been touched much and I don't want my fingerprints all over it. After I explore it, I get this eerie feeling that I'm peeking into someone's memories, like I'm reading a diary. I close the door and decide the best way to keep my mind busy is to get it drunk.

There's a great wine collection in the wine rack against the wall inside of the pantry and some bottles of sauvignon that grab my attention. I grab a bottle, a glass, and a plate of almond cookies before plopping down onto the sofa to watch whatever's on TV. I need the noise.

The quiet is great at first, but having spent the last four years working on construction sites, it gives me too much anxiety when I don't hear work going on. I end up flipping through a few channels before I land on a random romantic comedy. After a glass and a few cookies, I doze off hoping to wake up in Valentino's arms.

It never happens.

The entire weekend goes by without a word or a phone call. I want to panic. I want to talk to someone, anyone, but all I'm left with are the imaginary characters from TV shows. They feel like they're watching me more than I'm tuning in. All I want to do is go back to my life, or at least know what's happening with my parents, my family.

That's when it dawns on me to go back inside the untouched office. The door creaks when I step inside bright and early Monday morning. The sun shines through a window with sheer curtains. There's a desk with a gritty layer of dust, making me wonder who used to work out of this room.

I can picture Valentino, early in his CEO days, coming here after a weekend of bare knuckle brawling to put together work assignments for manly men doing security. A soft laugh escapes me as I move through the office.

The fax machine isn't big. It's about the size of the one I use at the office. The only reason the Bonetti Brothers use an archaic piece of machinery like this is because the local inspectors from various city departments enjoy being a pain in the ass. “It's more secure than an email.” That's the response I get any time I point out the inconvenience of government offices still using them.

When I power it on, it whirs up like it never stopped working. My heart thumps as I check the wiring to see there's an outlet securing the machine's wires to the wall. Even better is the phone line being split in two with some converter box. I follow the other line around the edge of the bookcase. The fax machine sits on top of it, but I can't see where this second phone line runs.

I have to use my hand to reach behind the small shelving unit to grab the gray wire, running my finger along it until it leads me to the bottom drawer of a metal filing cabinet under the window. I pull the drawer, but of course, it doesn't open. Why would this be easy?

My eyes scan the room for anything to help me.

"Take a breath, Lia. Think." I tell myself.

Whenever I lock a file drawer, like our petty cash drawer, the key is on my key ring, or in my desk drawer. I move toward the desk, moving the leather office chair with its cracked seat covering away from the desk. There's an outline of dust around the five wheels since this chair hasn’t been moved in who knows how long.

I check the skinny drawer running the length of the desk and sure enough, there's a key ring inside with two bronze keys staring at me. It doesn't take long to get the locked drawer open to see the phone sitting inside of it with the handle of the receiver disconnected.

Fuck.

I pick it up, turning it upside down to see everything else is still in working order. I decide to click the speakerphone button and get that all-too-familiar sound of a dial tone. My parents practically tear up when I understand what they're talking about when they discuss their old bits of technology. But I’m glad I do understand because this time it's actually helpful to know how all these things work from using them at the office.

The first number I dial is to the construction site office. It's been a while, but I still know a few numbers by heart. It doesn't ring at all. Instead, I get a weird message playing back.

"The number you have dialed is out of service. Please hang up and try again."

I dial the number three different times and still get the same message. That's weird. Maybe I don't know the number as well as I used to.

I try to remember Frankie's cell phone number, but that doesn't work. I can't even remember the number to the bar he works at. Fuck. I need to get out of here to speak to someone, anyone. What if they're hurt? What if Saul got to them after he thought I was kidnapped? What if he got to Valentino and killed him, Frankie, my parents?

I know I'm supposed to stay put and wait for Valentino to come back, but I have no idea how long that's going to be. The last time he dropped me off somewhere, I didn't see him for three weeks. Granted, he left me at Frankie's, and we did talk over the phone every few days, but this feels different. Something's going on and I need to know what's happening to my family. I need to make sure everyone's safe.

I get the idea to go next door, to a neighbor's house with the hope of them having an actual cell phone. I can at least get a hold of Frankie through social media. We can connect and he can give me an update. However, when I step outside, I see something even better than a phone. There's a car parked in the driveway.

It's not all black, like the security vehicles Valentino's been shuffling me around in. It's a light blue vintage muscle car with a cloth top. It's clean and all I need are the keys. It doesn't take long to find them as they're sitting on a hook under a mail holder. I get into the car and turn the key, praying it has gas.

The engine roars to life, and the car's tank is just above half. I hop into the driver's seat and drive off the property, trying my best to remember the way Valentino came that first night after the auction. I'll do my best for now, I just need to check on my family.

By the time I find my way back to civilization, I head straight for the construction site. No one's expecting me in this car. The engine rumbles as I drive up to Saint Bartholomew's Community Center. The site is alive, bustling with workers as it should be on a Monday, but I don't recognize a single face.

My pulse races as I peer through the windshield, desperately scanning every face for our foreman, Pattie. The big lug is nowhere to be seen, but the one thing I notice is the plaque secured to the gate.

The words come out of me in the silence of the car. "Bolton Realty? Saint Bartholomew's Community Center coming 2025. What the fuck is going on?"

I drive the car further down the street where I notice the halal cart is still there, slinging meat for hungry workers. After rolling down the window, I shout to the man operating the food cart.

"Hey, buddy, what happened to the old crew that used to work that site?"

"Oh, they pack up and leave last week. So sad. They had a death in the family and did not come back. You order something from the app?" he asks, waving his phone at me.