Total pages in book: 124
Estimated words: 117574 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 588(@200wpm)___ 470(@250wpm)___ 392(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 117574 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 588(@200wpm)___ 470(@250wpm)___ 392(@300wpm)
Auggie exhales. “There he is.”
I look, and, yep, Carlo is standing a short distance away near a crowded baggage carousel.
“Smile,” I whisper to Auggie. “From this moment on, we don’t have a care in the world. We’re a happy couple on vacation.”
“Happy, happy,” he deadpans.
“Carloooooo!” I say brightly, my arms outstretched, as we close the gap between us. “So great to see you!”
“Hey there, sweetheart,” Carlo says, before pulling me into a bear hug and pecking my cheek. “You’re looking beautiful, as always. How was the flight?”
“Delayed quite a bit, as you know, which was annoying. But once we got in the air, we both crashed after takeoff and only woke up at landing.”
“Good for you. That’s always the best way to fly.” He extends his hand to Auggie. “Hey there, big guy. Good to see you again.”
“You, too. Thanks for the lift.”
“You bet. Were you walking kind of funny, just now? Everything okay?”
“Yeah, I’m just a bit stiff from the long flight.”
“Gotcha. Happens to the best of us.” Carlo points to the two rolling carry-on bags on either side of Auggie. “Which one contains the you-know-what?”
My heart stops. “Don’t play like that, Carlo.”
His face drops. “I’m not playing. If you are, then don’t.”
I look at Auggie, suddenly too stressed to form words, and he comes to my rescue.
“We gave it to your colleague yesterday in Seattle. He came to get it from us, per your instructions.”
Carlo’s face drains of color. “Did he give his name?”
Auggie and I look at each other. Did the guy ever say his name?
“I-I don’t think so,” Auggie stammers out.
“No, he never said it,” I confirm.
Carlo asks what the guy looked like, and Auggie and I furiously describe him.
“Paolo,” Carlo mutters, running a large palm across his dark beard. “Fucking Paolo.”
Auggie is panting, same as me. He sucks in a huge inhale, probably trying to calm himself down, and blurts, “You seriously didn’t send him? If you’re pranking us, then tell us now. Please.”
“I didn’t send him.”
“Fuck,” I choke out, as the full horrendousness of the situation dawns on me. “We gave him everything, Carlo. Every dime we owed. Plus interest.”
“Interest?” Carlo booms. “What?” A vein pulses in his neck. “Charlotte, we had a plan! You know I’d never change a plan without telling you myself. Never.”
“Fuck,” Auggie murmurs under his breath. He’s pacing, gingerly, in little circles, like a duck with a broken wing. “Fuck, fuck, fuck.”
Carlo grabs my arm. Not roughly. He’s just feeling a surge of adrenaline, I think, and he wants my full attention. But Auggie leaps to my defense and grits out, “Let go of her.”
I’m impressed and flattered. But he’s misread the situation. Carlo wouldn’t hurt a fly. Well, I mean, I’m sure he’s killed people. But he wouldn’t hurt me.
To his credit, Carlo lets go of me and raises both palms, letting Auggie know he meant no harm or threat. When the moment is diffused, Carlo inhales deeply, like he’s searching for any drop of Zen he can muster, and says, “Tell me every fucking thing Paolo said and did, without leaving anything out. I want every detail, no matter how small it might seem.”
Our threesome heads into a corner of the bustling baggage claim area, so we can talk away from the all the crowds and hustle-bustle. As my heart crashes and my stomach churns and tears stream down my face, I ramble the whole story to Carlo, with occasional assists from Auggie. Throughout our telling, I keep hoping against hope Carlo will break into a crooked smile and say, “Gotcha! Haha! You should have seen your faces!” But no such luck. The more we talk, the more it’s clear Carlo is deeply distressed by our fuck-up. We’ve been hoodwinked. Conned. Bamboozled. Paolo somehow caught wind of Carlo’s plan—and our three-way guilt—and he then used the juicy information to con himself into a cool and easy seventy-five grand.
“He said we’d see him at the party,” I gasp out hopefully. “So, maybe we’ve got this all wrong.”
“He won’t be there,” Carlo says flatly. “He’s gone rogue. I’m sure he said that so you wouldn’t be suspicious of him.”
Auggie’s chest heaves. “Unless . . . Could it be Paolo was sent to get the money from us at someone’s else’s direction?”
Carlo runs a rough hand through his dark hair. Auggie’s meaning is clear enough. He’s wondering if maybe Mr. DiMarco himself caught wind of my thievery somehow—and Carlo’s simultaneous betrayal of him, too—so, the big boss sent Paolo to Seattle to see if the information he’d obtained was correct. If that’s the case, then, surely, we confirmed everything well enough, by handing the money over.
“What should we do?” I whisper-shout, wringing my hands. “We’re all out of money, Carlo. Maxed out on all our credit cards, so we can’t even offer a goodwill peace offering to the big boss to convince him to give us more time.”