needed something. She had to have a hip replacement. It took months to heal. I literally put my life on hold for three months."
"What did the insurance company tell you?"
"I guess they routinely investigate accidents like this. They saw the monitor in the hallway when they came to the house and checked with the security company. They said they were denying the claim because it was faked. Not the injury. It was real. But the accident was set up. I didn't believe them. Not at first."
She hesitated and I prodded gently. "But they convinced you, didn't they?"
"They showed me the tape. There was no mistaking it. In clear black and white. She knelt down at the top of the bannister and removed the screws from the handrail. She jiggled it to make sure it was loose. Then she calmly climbed the stairs and started back down. When she got to a certain point right near the top she pushed her whole body weight sideways and went right through the banister. It was so cold and calculated. She said something when she was wiggling the banister. Even though it's not the kind of system that picks up sound, her face was clear on the camera. It showed her lips moving."
She looked up at me, very intent. "I never told her that the monitors worked. It never came up. I haven't told her since. I took the hit on the medical. Luckily, I can afford it now. Then I took a copy of the tape to a deaf school. They read her lips." Her eyes were tearing up again. She smelled of anger and heartbreak. Like she wished it never happened.
"What did she say?"
She pursed her lips angrily but her eyes were pained. "She said, 'Now let's see her kick me out.' Is that cold, or what?" Crystal tears glittered at the edge of her swollen lids.
I tried to absorb that. Tried to fathom a family member doing that. My mind rebelled. Family just didn't do that. I spoke before I thought. "That sort of makes me glad I don't have parents."
"They're dead?" She wiped at her face with a handful of tissues. Her voice was already more steady.
I nodded. "When I was ten. Well, my mom anyway. My father died before I was born."
"Who raised you?"
"My father's people. He was a small-time courier for the Family." I said it to imply the capital F.
She dropped her tissues in the wastebasket and shuddered visibly. "I'm really glad they were run out of town."
That made me glare at her with a surprising amount of venom. "I'm not! I had a home with them!" She winced and looked away again.
I took a deep breath and tried to explain. It was probably better if she didn't know about my past but the odds were good that I'd do the job for her, especially if she knew too much. That's what I told myself. And hey, I felt talkative. "They didn't have to take me in. My father was a two-bit hood, a wanna-be. My mom was a whore." She didn't say anything but I could hear her stiffen on the couch and smelled the sharpness of her shock, underlain with the dusty smell of shame.
I shrugged in response to the scent. "Prostitutes are moms too, you know. The Family didn't have to do anything. I was nothing to them. But my father got killed on a run. They felt responsible. He had told someone high up about this real lady that he was seeing. He was one of her regulars. He told everyone how beautiful she was and how he was going to make 'an honest woman' out of her and that they had already started a family. Patrone took him at his word. Gave me a home when she died of syphilis. Treated me like blood."
Her smell shifted again; wet, foggy, but not sorrow. Not exactly. "You're right. They didn't have to do that. I'm sorry for what I said. Is that why you do what you do?"
I shrugged again. "It's what I know. It's what I was raised with. Like, the boys in the Appalachians who don't know that they're not supposed to sleep with their sisters until they get into the outside world and find out it's considered deviant. It's the same in the Family. It's the way things are."
"But," she said, looking truly confused. "How
"What did the insurance company tell you?"
"I guess they routinely investigate accidents like this. They saw the monitor in the hallway when they came to the house and checked with the security company. They said they were denying the claim because it was faked. Not the injury. It was real. But the accident was set up. I didn't believe them. Not at first."
She hesitated and I prodded gently. "But they convinced you, didn't they?"
"They showed me the tape. There was no mistaking it. In clear black and white. She knelt down at the top of the bannister and removed the screws from the handrail. She jiggled it to make sure it was loose. Then she calmly climbed the stairs and started back down. When she got to a certain point right near the top she pushed her whole body weight sideways and went right through the banister. It was so cold and calculated. She said something when she was wiggling the banister. Even though it's not the kind of system that picks up sound, her face was clear on the camera. It showed her lips moving."
She looked up at me, very intent. "I never told her that the monitors worked. It never came up. I haven't told her since. I took the hit on the medical. Luckily, I can afford it now. Then I took a copy of the tape to a deaf school. They read her lips." Her eyes were tearing up again. She smelled of anger and heartbreak. Like she wished it never happened.
"What did she say?"
She pursed her lips angrily but her eyes were pained. "She said, 'Now let's see her kick me out.' Is that cold, or what?" Crystal tears glittered at the edge of her swollen lids.
I tried to absorb that. Tried to fathom a family member doing that. My mind rebelled. Family just didn't do that. I spoke before I thought. "That sort of makes me glad I don't have parents."
"They're dead?" She wiped at her face with a handful of tissues. Her voice was already more steady.
I nodded. "When I was ten. Well, my mom anyway. My father died before I was born."
"Who raised you?"
"My father's people. He was a small-time courier for the Family." I said it to imply the capital F.
She dropped her tissues in the wastebasket and shuddered visibly. "I'm really glad they were run out of town."
That made me glare at her with a surprising amount of venom. "I'm not! I had a home with them!" She winced and looked away again.
I took a deep breath and tried to explain. It was probably better if she didn't know about my past but the odds were good that I'd do the job for her, especially if she knew too much. That's what I told myself. And hey, I felt talkative. "They didn't have to take me in. My father was a two-bit hood, a wanna-be. My mom was a whore." She didn't say anything but I could hear her stiffen on the couch and smelled the sharpness of her shock, underlain with the dusty smell of shame.
I shrugged in response to the scent. "Prostitutes are moms too, you know. The Family didn't have to do anything. I was nothing to them. But my father got killed on a run. They felt responsible. He had told someone high up about this real lady that he was seeing. He was one of her regulars. He told everyone how beautiful she was and how he was going to make 'an honest woman' out of her and that they had already started a family. Patrone took him at his word. Gave me a home when she died of syphilis. Treated me like blood."
Her smell shifted again; wet, foggy, but not sorrow. Not exactly. "You're right. They didn't have to do that. I'm sorry for what I said. Is that why you do what you do?"
I shrugged again. "It's what I know. It's what I was raised with. Like, the boys in the Appalachians who don't know that they're not supposed to sleep with their sisters until they get into the outside world and find out it's considered deviant. It's the same in the Family. It's the way things are."
"But," she said, looking truly confused. "How
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