Fistful of Benjamins by Kiki Swinson Page B

are coming in today to speak with some of us here who worked with Carlos. We all know Carlos didn’t have any family, so we were the closest thing he had to one. I guess they want to try and get a better sense of how something like this happens to a guy like that. I told the detectives that you and Carlos had a pretty close relationship,” Ben was saying. I was too nervous to even let him finish.
    â€œWe weren’t close! We worked together and that’s it! Why do people keep saying we were close!” I snapped, annoyed that everyone kept insisting that Carlos and me were so damn close. Ben looked at me, clearly taken aback.
    â€œWell, I would see you talking to him all the time—that’s all I was saying. I mean, he was your sorter and I could’ve sworn you guys were like friends. You all seemed to have gotten closer over the past months too. So I just assumed . . .” Ben replied, his eyebrows in high arches on his face.
    â€œDon’t assume. Carlos was my sorter and I used to speak to him at work. But, that’s it. I can’t stand to hear people keep saying we were close, as if we did things together or told each other our closest secrets. We weren’t friends outside of work or personal or close or anything like that. It was just a work thing . . . nothing more than that,” I rambled, immediately on the defensive. I was coming apart at the seams and I knew it. I had to get away from Ben before he figured it out. This was definitely more than I had bargained for. And where was Eduardo? Nowhere around to deal with the backlash of his fucking actions.
    â€œWell, the detectives will be here when you’re done with your route. So make sure you check back in because they want to speak to as many people as they can, so they can try to make some sense of this horrific incident. I told them we’d all help as much as we could. I told them it was important to speak to you, out of all of us,” Ben said, repeating the same thing again as if he was sending me some sort of message. He was still eyeing me suspiciously.
    â€œOkay, I’ll be here,” I said, as calmly as I could. I knew that I had no intention of coming back that day. I didn’t know if I’d ever come back. That was, of course, until I spoke to Eduardo.
    After my conversation with Ben, I headed into the sorting room. When Carlos first went missing from work, I had asked Ben if I could sort my own packages. Ben allowed it, but had said he was working on finding me a new sorter. That wasn’t good at all, but at least that day I was able to get Eduardo and Ant’s packages and get them delivered, so there was no lapse. When I got to my last stop that day and met up with Eduardo I told him what Ben had said about the detectives coming by to speak with everyone.
    â€œSo? Just got back down there and talk to them,” Eduardo had said nonchalantly, like it was no big damn deal. My eyebrows shot up into arches. I was really starting to think this nigga was straight-up crazy.
    â€œI’m not going back to speak to any cops, Eduardo!” I snapped angrily. “Do you know how nervous I would be? They would be able to tell right away from my body language that I knew more than I was saying. No way,” I continued my tirade, on the brink of tears. I was feeling weak and I knew how persistent cops could be. They would’ve been able to crack me like a fragile egg in the state of mind I had been in since the murder.
    â€œYes, you are. You are going to speak to them fucking pigs and act like you know nothing about what happened to that nasty nigga that was blackmailing and raping you. You can play dumb or put on a good show. I don’t really care how you do it, but dipping out is not an option. Avoiding shit is never an option, as you can tell from that nigga pushing up daisies right now,” Eduardo demanded.
    â€œWhat if they feel like I know something?” I complained,