“Uh, excuse me?” If this is who Viv sent to pick up Kendra, I think I would rather take her home myself.

The old guy looks around and then repeats himself. “I was sent here to make a pickup. Are you who I need to talk to?”

I look at Kendra and then back to the man. “It depends on what you were sent to pick up. Can you at least tell me that?” I’m hoping that he has the wrong vehicle and he’s looking for drugs.

He nods his head in the direction of Kendra. “Her.”

Shit.

Do I let him take her? How do I know that Viv really sent him, this old guy who looks more like a drug dealer than anyone who would work for Viv? Although, the kind of work Viv may have him doing is probably in the same ballpark as a drug dealer. Maybe worse. “Who sent you?”

“You know exactly who sent me. You work for her and just talked to her about twenty minutes ago. Now am I picking up a package or not? Cause I’m gonna have to let my boss know one way or another.” He stands up, sticks his finger in his ear and twirls it. When he takes his finger out, he sniffs the end before wiping it on his pants.

Ew. I think I’m going to vomit in my mouth. “What’s your name? And how do you know my boss?”

“Ugh! C’mon lady! My name is Harold, I’m Frank’s brother. That’s how I know Viv. Now can I just do my job? I gotta long way to go to haul her to the home.”

“Wait. The home? Not her home?” My palms are starting to sweat.

Harold scoffs at me. “You didn’t possibly think that she was going to be able to just go home and take care of herself, did you? She’s not even going to be able to wipe her own ass. Viv has me taking her to a rehab facility. She hired a real good doctor. Sheesh! Viv said you would fight me, but I didn’t believe her.” He runs his hands through his greasy, grey hair, making bits and pieces stand up at weird angles. “Can we get a move on? Someone is going to see this and think it’s something else going on, like a drug deal.”

He’s not wrong. If I saw this, that’s exactly what I would think. Or a prostitution thing. “Yeah, I guess.” I hate the fact that I have to hand over Kendra to this greasy character, but I really hope he’s afraid of Viv and doesn’t do anything to Kendra on the long drive back to Kalamazoo.

I unlock the doors and get out of the car and make my way to Kendra’s side. When I open her door, I’m half praying that she will wake up and protest going with this guy, but she stays silent. She’s still slumped in her seat like she’s asleep, but I know that she’s not really asleep.

I reach in and unbuckle her seat belt. I know that he’s going to have to put his hands all over her to lift her out of my car, but if I can do just one thing to prevent one touch, I’ll do whatever I have to do. I slowly stand up and move out of the way. Just as I do, Kendra loses balance and slowly leans over the middle compartment between our seats. I go to reach in to fix her, but Harold pushes me out of the way.

“I got her. Get her bags, will ya?”

I hate the fact that I have to let her go with this guy, but I don’t really have any choice. I can’t fix her. I don’t even know what they do for this kind of thing. By the time I get to the trunk, Harold has Kendra out of the car and flung up onto his shoulder like he’s a fireman rescuing her from a burning building.

I pop the trunk and grab her bags. The bile is raising higher in the back of my throat the farther I get from having her with me. I set one of her bags onto the pavement so that I can close the trunk lid. Harold has her over by a black Mercedes. I’m shocked that he drives such a fancy car, but then again, he’s employed by Viv to do things that, I’m guessing, other people wouldn’t normally do. She must make it worth his while. At least Kendra will be comfortable. If I had to pick a vehicle that I thought Harold would drive, it would be an old, rusty Ford truck. The kind that the fenders shake and rattle when it drives down the road.

Harold waits for me near the back passenger door. “Can you open this?”

I rush over to his car, set down the bags and lift the door handle. Even the handle feels expensive. When I get it open, Harold gently lays her down on her side in the backseat. He stretches the seat belt over the lower half of Kendra, tucks her feet up on the seat, and then closes the door. He picks up her luggage from the ground and sticks them in the trunk. When he slams the trunk shut, he starts to walk around to the driver’s side door.

“Uh, um, bye?” I don’t know what to say but I don’t want to just leave.

“Yeah, bye. You gotta get to work.” He waves a quick flick of the hand and then opens his door. Before I can say another word, he pops into the vehicle, and closes the door. The taillights turn on as the engine purrs to life. In a heartbeat, he has it in drive and is pulling away, my best friend in the backseat.

The author's tale has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

I stand there, watching him drive out of the parking lot. What am I going to do now? Viv sent me the information to my phone but seriously, I’ve never hunted for an author before and what do I say when I find him? This is definitely not something I wanted to do by myself. And this isn’t even as bad as the actual job Viv hired me to do.

I decide to get back in my car and park it where I normally would, under a parking lot light. Once I get my car back into the parking spot I was in originally, I shut off the car. I look next to me and see the empty passenger seat. This trip has not been great, let alone even remotely normal. And yet, here we are.

Here I am.

I get out and lock the car, pop the trunk, and get my luggage out. Without Kendra, I have to make sure I know where I’m going, so I grab some paper and a pen to make notes and keep track of what I need to do. I slam the trunk closed and hear it echo in the night air.

The hotel doors are glass with fingerprints all over it. I barely want to touch the handle because I don’t know who’s hand had what on it when they touched this door. I fight against the urge to go back to my car and drive home. Instead, I pull the right glass door open and make my way to the front desk. A young girl with long brown hair sits behind the counter playing on her phone. She doesn’t look up when I come in. I guess you would probably get used to people coming and going. I walk up to the counter and expect her to look up at me, but she continues playing on her phone.

“Ahem.”

The girl groans and puts her phone in her work vest pocket. “Do you have a reservation?”

“Yes, I believe so. It should be under Effi Graber.”

The girl punches something into a computer and finds the reservation that was made by Viv, grabs a key card, works her magic, and then hands it to me. “Check out is 11am.”

As much as I want to tell her that if she acted like she actually wanted her job, she might get paid more, or even advance, I just take the key and walk away. The key card has #220 on it. Since the girl didn’t even tell me where this was, I can only hope that it’s on the second floor seeing that all of the rooms on this floor start with a one.

The elevator takes forever to get to me after I push the button. When the doors open, I’m relieved to see that there’s no one inside. There’s nothing worse than standing in a small box with a group of strangers.

Once the doors open, I finally see a sign pointing me in the direction of my room. I pass by two side by side rooms that have their doors open with kids running back and forth. It must be a family on a trip together. I walk past four more rooms and find mine on the right. I slide the key card in and open the door. My nose is met with that initial stale smell of a room that doesn’t have the air conditioner running. I close the door behind me, drop my bags on the table because who knows what’s on the floor, and turn on the air conditioner. I grab the plastic rod on the curtains and pull on it enough to see that my view is nothing more than a parking lot. I can’t even see my car from here. I pull the curtain closed and make my way to the bed. I’ve seen too many TikTok’s about hotel rooms to lay down on the top blanket, so I flip it back and sit down on the sheet.

My stomach rumbles, even though it’s late enough that I shouldn’t eat, if I hadn’t set my bag down across the room, I would grab a granola bar. My laziness wins out and I lean against the pillows. I feel my phone in my pocket and remember about the email from Viv. When I open the app and see the email, I wish I would’ve just gone to sleep instead, but curiosity always wins out with me.

Dear Effi,

I’m terribly sorry that you are left to your own devices on this first trip. Rest assured that I will make sure Kendra is taken care of so that we can get her back and working to her capacity. Please find attached the information on the author, and his current last known location, and tips to finding someone. Normally we would’ve trained you to do this, however, given the current circumstances, we will have to do this a different way. Please feel free to call with any questions.

~ Viv

Viv is always so professional. I click on the first email entitled “Author Info.”

Name: Blake Randolf

Address: 144 Roxbury Rd E, Niantic, Connecticut 06357

D.O.B.: 10/31/1967

Goals: To be the most well-known author, better than Stephen King.

There are a few other things but nothing that seems to matter much. I open another attachment entitled “Kendra’s Notes.” At first, I feel like I’m reading someone’s private diary entry, but I know that Kendra would want me to read all of this to ensure I find him. Especially since she can’t help me in any other way.

Blake Randolf is a squirrely fellow, scrawny build, black greasy hair slicked back and tied in a man bun at the base of his neck. I’m sure he tried to dress up but his 1980’s button up looks like he’s had it since the 80’s and is his only form of dress clothes.

Blake is nervous, wringing his hands when he talks as his eyes dart around the room. I can’t seem to get him to look at me. Maybe it’s because I’m a woman. He talks about writing different genres in the future but wants to start out with romance. He states that his mom and dad stayed together while he lived at home, but they weren’t very loving toward him or each other. He hints of abuse but doesn’t come right out and say it.

He says that the place he’s living in now belongs to a friend who is letting him stay there as long as he makes payments. He states that he believes he will make enough money to own one of the bigger houses in Niantic and be able to take care of his mom. He did not mention taking care of his dad.

Great. Sounds like this guy has some baggage. I try to open the last file, but it gives me an error. It’s probably fine. It looks like it’s just tips on how to find someone. It’s probably something as silly as “just ask around.”

I pull up Google on my phone and type in Blake’s address. The first hit on the internet doesn’t give me much hope for this endeavor.

It says, “Foreclosed.”