Lost & Bound by Tara Hart Page B

he says this guy will help us, I believe
him.
    I undo my seatbelt as I wiggle my toes. The
two-hour drive numbed my body, but not my mind as I hoped it would.
    We walk down the rickety path, surrounded
by overgrown grass and weeds. It seems Cruz has no time for gardening.
    “I don’t want to know how you know this
guy,” I whisper to Eric.
    His mouth lifts at the side. “You’re right,
you probably don’t.”
    When we approach the two steps that lead to
the porch, a gruff voice barks at us. “Who the fuck are you and what are you
doing on my property?”
    We halt immediately. I can only make out
the outline of a man hidden behind the hazy screen door. I imagine Cruz
standing there, cradling a shotgun and waiting to offload a few rounds.
    “Cruz, Cruz…” Eric holds his hands in the
air as if he imagined the same gun. “It’s me, Eric.”
    The man otherwise known as Cruz pushes
through the screen door and steps onto the porch.
    “Who’s your bitch?”
    “Excuse me?” I step forward, ready to show
him that I may dress well, but I am no one’s bitch.
    Eric pushes me back, his hand hitting my
stomach, telling me to step down.
    “He’s my old friend, Callum.” Eric shrugs.
“And hopefully your next client.”
    Cruz smiles, revealing a
surprisingly perfect set of pearly whites.
    “Well, you better come inside so we can get
down to business.”
    The house is as I expected. Small, dark and dreary. Every crevice filled with some type
of gadget or some other piece of junk. I sit next to Eric on an overstuffed
sofa, the stench of stale cigarettes makes its way to my nostrils and I hold
back the urge to cover my nose with the collar of my shirt. Cruz lights up a
fresh cigarette. A cloud of smoke blows past us and I let out a not-so-subtle
cough.
    “So, what do you need?” he asks, his words
coated by tar.
    “I need a tracking bracelet removed.”
Straight to the point, no pleasantries, just the way I like it.
    “Ankle?” he asks, tapping the ash from his
cigarette onto the floor.
    “Wrist,” I answer.
    He nods his head.   “Nothing to do with prison?”
    I shake my head. “Not the type of prison
you’re used to.”
    Eric’s elbow smashes into my ribs, but Cruz
just laughs.
    “The model?” he asks.
    The model that would help, I feel like an
idiot. “I have no idea,” I answer. “I can get a photo for you.”
    Cruz looks vaguely unimpressed.
    “It’s white,” I say.
    Genius.
    Cruz lets out a sigh as he slumps back on
the sofa. He stretches his legs and rests his feet on the coffee table. For the
first time I notice he isn’t wearing any shoes, the soles of his feet stained
black.
    “I need to know the model. Get the photo to
me and I’ll study up beforehand.”
    I nod my head once. I’m not entirely
disappointed by this bump in the road. It’s an excuse to visit Leila during the
week while my father’s at work. The thought excites me more than it should.
    “You’ve done this before?” Eric directs
toward Cruz.
    “Yeah, man.” He stubs out his cigarette in
an empty beer bottle before reclining back in his chair again. “Piece of cake.”
    “Cool.”
    “When is this going down?” he asks.
    “Next week, probably Thursday night,” I
say.
    He grabs his phone and scrolls through his
calendar. “Next Thursday should be fine.”
    I fight back the urge to laugh. I’m glad
Cruz can fit us into his busy schedule.
    “We’ll aim for nine,” I say.
    Cruz nods his head as he types something
into his phone.
    “Listen, man, how much will this cost?”
Eric asks. “Cal is a good friend of mine.”
    Money. We haven’t even discussed a dollar
figure yet, but it seems irrelevant at this stage. Cruz is my only option at
tripping this bracelet, which leaves little room for bargaining.
    “How much?” Cruz drums his fingers on his
chin as he seemingly calculates a figure in his head. “Short notice, travel to
the country…”
    “Merling is hardly the country,” I scoff.
    “It’s not a thirty