Chapter 10: The Lovers
Nick Romeo has always had a type. Once, it was Nora, a fellow Division agent who very much enjoyed the stress position/waterboarding aspects of the job. They broke up because Nick refused to ‘open up’.
Then there was Aliyah, a big-shot lawyer whose swanky apartment Nick later found out was mostly paid for by a rich pedophile client she successfully defended. She and Nick had some differences of opinion regarding the criminal justice system.
A few months after that, Gemma—a club promoter—came into his life. Nothing of note besides that. They danced the night away, but eventually even she got tired of Nick’s permanently nocturnal lifestyle.
Dalia was a nurse in an old folks’ home who made a pretty penny stealing from the people she took care of. Nick caught her pawning off their belongings online one night. She bought him a Gang of Four record with that stolen money. He still listens to it from time to time.
After Dalia came Andrea, or maybe it was Rose; either way, they were both waitresses. One was a kleptomaniac, and the other liked to watch gore videos on the internet. Nick cannot for the life of him remember which one is which.
Up until two weeks ago, there was Sandu, the fortune teller. Nick recognizes her as the first outlier in a string of bad decisions. A fortune teller is the least strange person to be with, all things considered. She had an abrasive way about her, but that is Nick’s preferred tempo. They broke up without ever having been officially together.
Last night was, as Nick would put it, a very unorthodox experience. His mind meanders, foraging for details from last night. He tries to make sense of what he feels, without any luck. He forgets where he is for a second.
“Cousin?” Cosimo calls. His head is poking out from behind the door. In the dark corridor of the Cherry Pit. Nick takes a seat in Serenella’s office, with Cosimo sitting in the windowsill off to the side. Her blonde highlights look fresh. A smell of freshly brewed coffee lingers in the air.
“You want one?” she asks Nick from behind an espresso cup.
“Americano, please.” Cosimo gets up immediately and goes to make his ‘cousin’ a coffee.
“So I heard about last night.”
“Yeah. Your guy is taken care of.”
“Splendid. That leaves the five grand in cash, nine boxes of .357 Magnum, two of them with silver jackets, two with hollow points, and the rest are standard as per your specifications,” she points to the boxes sitting neatly on an ornate table near the exit. “Cosimo can help carry your things to the car.” She goes back to reading the list. One milligram of Alkahest solvent, thirty milligrams of Anguilles liver extract…”
As the list goes on, Nick retreats to his mind. He wonders about the case, about Naomi and Clara, about their missing pieces. These phantoms, whose heels he’s been licking this whole time. He thinks of Tanzer’s face as a gory Dadaist splotch. He imagines Liv and everything she entails. The very thought of her makes him angry. ‘How could she do that? As if my life had spare space for all this.’ His eyes fixate on a paperweight of the Duomo in Florence. Just above it, Serenella’s lips move soundlessly. ‘There will be a time when I become the person she hates most. She doesn’t know it, I can’t warn her or prepare her, I cannot make her hate me now to get it over with. I wanted to…’ Nick stops. ‘Whatever.’
“Americano.” Cosimo sets down a steaming cup. “Honey, right?” Nick nods and smiles. He turns to Serenella as she finishes the list of things he requested.
“Sounds like it’s all in order.”
“By the way, the freelancer never reached out. Did he make it out?”
“Nope.” Nick throws one leg over the other and dusts the toe of his boot.
“Shame.” Sere crosses a name off a piece of paper to her side. “Did you have any trouble with the job? Any setbacks?”
“None worth mentioning.”
“Splendid.” Sere smiles. “Now, the file…” She picks up a dossier and scans its contents. “This goes without saying, but you are to tell no one I gave you the name of a client. I’m doing this because you’re family, Nicky. Word gets back to me that I’ve been collaborating without the boss’s consent, I’ll send Cosimo to cut your balls off.” She points to her son, who waves at Nick. “There was a client by the name of Dex. He indeed did rent out Naomi once, in December. Then a few more times in March, April, and May, then one last time on June 11th.”
‘June 11th,’ Nick thinks, ‘the night of the murder.’ Somewhere out in the dark, Nick feels two pieces click together; he just cannot see why or how they pertain to the puzzle. Naomi was wanted by Tanzer or Dex the night of the murder. What role she played or whether she ended up showing is still up in the air.
“And did he ask for Naomi specifically?”
“Yes—gave her homework, too. A whole behavioral and aesthetic dossier beforehand, that costs extra.”
“You have a copy of it?”
“We never keep those on file. They’re burned after use. Part of our privacy policy.”
“And was Clara ever hired by this Dex person?”
“Never,” she says. Nick’s mind whirrs like a saw. ‘So whoever this guy is, he was the one who sourced Tanzer’s prostitutes? Or did he simply leave his personal dirty rendezvous reminder in Tanzer’s office? Seems unlikely but not out of the question. Where does Clara fit into all of this? Naomi is the suspect, or something else entirely; her best friend Clara is in the wind.’
Nick thinks about it, failing to notice his facial expression. Something else tugs at his mind and the corner of his mouth simultaneously.
Sere points a finger at him, squinting as she does. “There’s something different about you,” she says mischievously. “You finally got some last night, didn’t you?”
The question rattles Nick slightly. “No.”
“Come on, darling, it’s nothing to be ashamed of. I’m happy, if anything. Not like this one ever goes out to meet anyone.” She points with a thumb to her son, who smiles flatly and stares off into a corner. “Grandkids, I can forget about.” Nick’s chair scuffs the floor as it’s pushed back. He writes down all of the facts before leaving the office.
Naomi was hired multiple times; the final time was the night Tanzer died, and Clara disappeared.
Dex, the client who hired Naomi. Never hired Clara.
Something spooked Dex enough to hire Leon to transport him across the city. Linked to Tanzer.
Naomi was specifically requested by Dex; her involvement was not chance, at least not the subsequent times.
Clara was not involved with Dex in any official manner.
The number for Naomi written on the Cherry Pit card was found in his office, in a locked drawer.
Naomi was given a dossier to better impersonate someone. Was it for Tanzer? Who did she become for him?
All of the facts regarding this side of the case, added to what he knows about the penthouse break-in, do not account for much. Nick thinks of detective movies he’s watched, always guessing the identity of the killer ahead of time, feeling so smart. He imagines someone is watching him, doing the same thing. The thought keeps him pensive the whole way to the car. Cosimo walks next to him, small boxes of vials, ammunition, and minerals in his hands.
“So how’s Anton?” He asks.
“He’s alright.” The two walk outside through the VIP entrance. They round the block. “He’s all business as usual.”
“And you’re any different?” Cosimo snickers.
“Yeah, but he’s…”
“He’s with them, and you’re here with us.”
“You could say that.” Cosimo parts his lips to say something, with a quizzical look on his face. His eyes look forward, as if seeing great plains shifting before his very eyes. He turns to Nick.
“Cousin, I hope you remember, no matter what happened or what will happen: you’re his brother. You guys always had each other. I’ve always been a bit jealous.” Nick’s eyebrow tilts up. It sounds like someone else is speaking through him, and yet it makes sense. “No matter what. He might do things that you will find painful, but he has always loved you. He loves his family more than anything. That might be his problem.” Cosimo gives a warm smile.
“I don’t understand.” Nick is not afraid to admit.
“You will.”
After the two say goodbye, Nick sits alone in the van for a couple of minutes, watching a flashing line in his chat with Liv.
They are not supposed to meet for another couple of hours. Tonight is the interview with Elvira Xhetani. Nick vaguely remembers her as the bleeding-heart academic Head of the Histories Department. He saw her once in the hallway, late for a meeting. She had auburn hair, wrangled into a ponytail. Always with a concerned look in her eye. For some reason or another, the last name is a lot more familiar than it should be. Why does Nick remember the name so vividly? He thinks of the blur of names he’s memorized and forgotten over the years, but it comes up empty. He shrugs it off and sends Liv a message.
‘You hungry?’
“Alright, for you, sir, we’ve got the Pollo Guisado with Moro de Gandules and Tostones, and Swill Cola. And for the lady, the Chicharrón de Pollo with white rice, red beans, a side of avocado, and a Jugo de Chinola. Anything else I can get for you two? Maybe a Tres Leches or Flan to finish things off?”
Nick scratches his chin, “Hmm, let me get a flan.”
Liv follows suit, “ Un tres leches para mí por favor.” The handsome young waiter leaves to give the slip to the kitchen.
Liv looks at Nick with surprise, eyebrow raised. “Tough guy Nick Romeo enjoying a caramel custard?” The guitar and vocals from the corner speakers tell a bittersweet story of love lost to pride, the requinto guitar’s soft notes weaving through the room.
“You ever been to the DR?” Liv asks, trying to fill in the silence.
“I have, with my dad. I didn’t spend too much time in the city, though. We were more occupied with tracking down and studying Galipotes.” Liv instinctively looks at Nick to prompt him. “Big shapeshifting werewolf things. Annoying bastards.”
“I see.” Liv’s gaze shifts up to the ceiling fan, lazily spinning in place. Nick’s gaze falls to the floor, shining in parts through black scuff marks brought in by years of service.
Nick clears his throat. “Don’t they call passion fruit ‘maracuyá’ in Peru?”
“Don’t know, you’d have to ask my mom.” Liv shrugs with an awkward laugh. Nick nods. Liv’s laughter fades as Nick leans back in his chair, watching her with a faint smile.
Nick wonders if this is a date. The thought of going on a date with Liv makes his palms sweat. He usually has time to give his dates some cryptic backstory, erect a wall they will never cross. Liv has seen more of him than anyone he’s ever known, save his own family and maybe Sandu.
“Hey, listen, I’m, uh… sorry about last night. It was weird…”
Liv crosses her arms reclined against the red leather of the booth. “Which part exactly?”
“Well, I mean…” Nick gesticulates something complex with his hands. “The siren and how I wanted to leave…”
“Right…”
“And then the… y’know.”
Liv’s eyebrows climb her face, her eyes wide. “You mean how you kissed me? You expect me to just be casual about last night?”
“Wait, no, that’s not what happened…” Nick clears his throat again. His expression clouds once Liv starts laughing. She taps the table with her palm like a small drum.
“Dude, I’m kidding.” She throws her head back. “God, Nick.” She chuckles to herself. “Your face… I’ve never seen you like that.”
Nick’s chest heaves up and down, laughing, with a smoker’s cough. “You got me.”
The waiter appears at their table with a tray. “Cola for the gentleman,” Nick smiles and nods. “And a Jugo de Chinola for the lovely lady.” The waiter says before walking away.
Liv takes a sip of her juice, impressed by the flavor. “Honestly, I really never experienced anything like last night.”
“Kissing me?”
“Pfft, you wish.” Liv smirks. “Top ten maybe.”
“Ouch.”
“What I mean is, technically speaking, these past six or so months we’ve been doing this, we haven’t really helped anyone. We killed monsters that killed people, sure, but it felt cruel. Last night, when we saved those people from being frog food, I feel like that’s what I was hoping we’d be doing when I found you.”
Nick can’t help but smile. He remembers when Liv stopped him in the street, speaking so fast he thought she mistook him for someone. Sometimes he still believes she mistook him for someone. She said she knew who he was and how he fought monsters. She refused to leave him alone and offered to buy him coffee. Never one to refuse coffee, Nick obliged. This was nearly half a year ago. Liv had a certain way about her. Young, naive, incredibly annoying. He told her he’d think about it, without any intention of calling her back. Something that night, and all following nights that week, tugged at him. Something so familiar about Liv made him call her back that very same Monday. Now Nick smiles, thinking how many times he’d have been killed if Liv hadn’t stitched him up in time or disinfected him properly.
“I enjoyed that too. You know it may be hard to believe, but I got into this whole thing to help people.” Nick also reclines in his seat. “I don’t see any other reason to do what we do, what the PNCD does, other than helping people.” The sound of his fingers scratching at his stubble can be heard faintly against the music. “I guess not everyone thinks that way, though.”
“Well, last night was a rush. It was the first time we really worked together. I felt like I helped, instead of getting in the way.”
“You never get in my way.”
“I know, but… You get what I mean.”
“I do,” Nick says. “Is that why you kissed me? The rush?”
“It needed somewhere to go.” The two sit quietly, eating and occasionally catching each other looking.
“Just wanted to make sure.”
“Oh yeah, totally.”
“Don’t shit where you eat.”
“Absolutely,” Liv says.
As he eats, Nick remembers her fingers running through his hair. He feels like something has to give about this whole position they are in. He thinks and thinks before speaking.
“My last partner. During my Division days.” Nick presses the bottle to his lips. “John Gartz.” Nick lets the name breathe like opening an old wine. “Big son of a bitch. Like two of me. Texan drawl and the meanest left hook I’ve ever seen.” He takes another sip. “I won’t bore you with the details. But before that, let me ask you something: d’you know how the world hasn’t been engulfed by mythic-human war?”
“Memory erasure.”
“That’s one part of it…” Nick waves a finger with a mouthful of food. “Bribes, blackmail, disinformation campaigns, the entire wellness industry, reality TV, children’s programming, real tin-foil hat stuff, but it’s mostly real, and all handled by the Obscurity Department.”
“They have a whole department for that?”
“Oh, sure, they do, very well funded as well.” Nick takes a sip of his cola. “Cops who get a bit overzealous are let go or killed in the line of duty. I’ve seen it happen.” Liv’s throat tightens. Nick takes another sip. “But you’re right, memory erasure is the most commonly used. It’s the most basic one. Do you know how it works?” Liv shakes her head. “You ever seen one?” Liv nods immediately. “It takes a bit of concentrated energy. They take it, and they focus it through a small lens, then through your retina, like a light scalpel. The scalpel attacks specific neural pathways in the…” Nick snaps his fingers to recall the word, “main memory part.”
“Temporal lobe?” Liv says.
“Right, the parts of your brain that light up when you recall something. The machine erases the connections, like wires in a circuit.”
Liv furrows her brow. “And what happens to those memories?”
“They’re gone,” Nick says. “Not buried or repressed. Erased. Like they never existed. At least, that’s the promise.” He pauses, swirling his bottle. “But the brain doesn’t like being messed with. It tries to fill in the gaps, like an editor. You start having dreams that don’t make sense, false memories that don’t line up. For most people, it’s manageable. Usually, they have these for about a year, maybe you feel a bit alienated or lost in life, but beyond that, you’re fine.” Another sip. “The problem is when you have an underdeveloped adolescent or even prepubescent brain.” Nick holds out his hands like he’s holding one. “Kid brains are different. They cannot handle that kind of interference.” Nick leans closer. “They’re never the same. Up until age 25, messing with memory basically cripples the person’s brain forever. They can function and participate in daily life,” Nick points to his head, “they’re not really there.”
Nick balances each bite of plantain, rice, and braised chicken, savoring it and washing it down. “My first, let’s say, eight months on the job, things are going smoothly. I quickly got chosen for Etheric Control Sector —that’s ghosts— then I got curious about the machine, how it works, etcetera. I think at this point, I’m maybe—what—nineteen. I take it apart and find an old training manual from the Histories Department. I do a bit of reading and find out that little detail my team leader and instructor conveniently left out.” Nick’s teeth grind the meat down.
“So you started ignoring orders to erase people’s memories,” Liv states, her face numb. Nick motions with a fork.
“Only kids.”
“How many kids did you do that for?” Liv picks at her cuticles.
“Must be hundreds by now. From when I was nineteen up until a few years ago.”
“And are there any kids you remember?”
Nick thinks. “Not really. It all sorta blends together.” Liv nods as she tries to enjoy her food, but ends up picking at it. “Did they get the order wrong?” Nick asks
“No, I’m just not as hungry as I thought I was.” Liv weighs each word carefully. “Why did you do it?” The question hangs midair.
“I honestly don’t know. It’s one of those questions I may have had as a twenty-year-old. But now I look back at it and think that those kids needed a chance. No one ever gave me a chance.” He says.
“So anyway, the years go by, and I get promoted to SI. My partner is this fly-in from Texas named John Gartz. Broad as a barn and sounded like he was born in one. We get along well for the most part, despite him being a huge stickler for rules.” Liv can feel history speeding by with Nick’s words. “We even uncover a big conspiracy with this one—never mind—story for another time. I was around thirty-two when John realized what I was doing. I was usually very careful, but this guy was perceptive.”
The waiter comes along and asks if they need anything else. Nick smiles and waves him off. Nick regains his train of thought, then takes one long sip of his soda, savoring it.
“He confronts me and tells me to stop. We disagree, he threatens to rat on me, but I figured it would just blow over. I tell him I’ll stop, which I had no intention of doing. One night, we get sent upstate to investigate a powerful anomaly. I couldn’t even tell you what it was. Rain was pouring down all week. The thing I’ll always remember was the face on that little girl when she and her mom were safe.” Nick rubs his eyes. “And then Gartz says: Now, Romeo, I reckon you wait in the car while I finish up here.’” Liv can tell Nick is using the exaggerated Texan drawl to hide his discomfort. “And I-“ He takes a moment to stare at Liv’s plate. “I… Came up to him and slapped the machine out of his hand.” Nick’s voice becomes careful, measured.
“We fight. I get some hits in, but he pummels me, knocks my head against a drawer.” Nick points to the back of his head, nearly feeling the pain from that night. “Next thing I know, I’m handcuffed in the car.” Nick blinks for a second too long. “We’re heading down Route 17, near the Catskills, when I start struggling and trying for the wheel. I don’t know why, but I remember being mad that he managed to beat me. The car veers off the road cause of the water, and we end up crashing past a turn. The car flips, and I black out for a bit.”
“I crawl out of the car.” Nick’s voice sounds hollow as his fingers grip the fork tightly. “And so does he. I grab my revolver, and he gets on top of me, not seeing that I’m armed. I try to scream out to him, but my voice won’t come out; there’s mud in my eyes and rain pouring down, and my lungs are burning from the crash. He keeps wailing on me. At some point, I just hear a bang, and then a lightness, like a weight removed.” Nick goes back to eating his braised chicken. “And then I’m sure you can piece the rest together. Anton pleads my case, and I end up like this.”
“So you shot him?”
“Right through the lung.” Nick takes notice of Liv’s frown. “It’s fine, it happened. We’re here now.” He smiles.
Liv smiles back. She wants to cry for him, knock him upside the head for ruining his own life. Most of all, she wants to hold him. She puts her hand on his. He looks at her like a deer in the headlights. “Talk about a fucking bummer,” she says. The two laugh, and just like that, Nick is back. Liv wants to thank him for sharing, but decides against it.
The two finish their meal, and Nick pays. His watch reads 23:00, nearly time for the interview. “Alright, time we get a move on.”
The air in the car is charged. Nick asks once again for the address written down on his phone.
“9th and West 22nd. Apartment 4C.” Liv reads. “Zh- Zee-Ta-Nee?”
“Xhetani,” Nick says that familiar last name. “Soft ‘J’ sound.”
“Any idea why this woman’s a suspect?”
“Anton says she’s had a lot of correspondence with Tanzer; the two of them had a bunch of private meetings; he requested a lot of classified documents from her department. Strange, considering her people deal with archived documents.”
“She’s gonna be cagey like that Seer woman.”
“Let’s hope not.” Nick makes a turn at a light.
Liv had always wanted to know what happened to get Nick fired from the Division. She wishes she could help him, but at the very least, she knows what he’s dealing with.
Her contemplation is disturbed by the wail of sirens.
“Jesus, where’s the fire?” Liv asks, drowned out by police sirens and fire trucks blaring past them. She looks at Nick, illuminated in red and blue.
“Don’t know,” Nick looks past the windshield and over buildings to a black smokestack. “Doesn’t look good.”
Nick has to double-check the address as they turn the corner, a scene from Gehenna greeting them. Police shooing cameramen away, guarding a blackened car. Passersby can’t help but gather. News crews shoving through hastily placed yellow tape like the surf on a seawall. As smoke rises in meek puffs from the car, Nick’s stomach drops just as far.
“Is that—“
“Yeah,” Nick says flatly, his brow gaining deep lines.
In the banal chaos of a car bomb aftermath, a single man sits kneeling in a suit and tie, a briefcase next to him. Nick spots him and sees only the back of his head.