SS:TIE 006

Rey slides back into the bed and puts her arm around Kayla, who gratefully melts into her. Rey pulls up the covers and gets comfortable.

“You said you’re homesick? What do you got waiting for you back there?” she asks.

“Not much,” Kayla admits, resting her head against Rey’s chest. “Not really. I think I miss it because it’s small and I know everyone. Things here aren’t how I pictured. People knew me in Gurlberg, at least. I didn’t have the best reputation,” she adds with a snort.

“You have trouble meeting people?”

Kayla shakes her head. “It’s not that. It’s probably the same reason I ran out here in the first place. My mom’s a lawyer. She’s successful. Everyone loves her. She’s popular as hell. My sister’s a fucking celebrity now. And that’s some weird shit, because I used to be the popular one. Then there’s me. I couldn’t get my shit together long enough to get a shitty four-year degree from UFG. I don’t know.” She sighs. “Struggling is one thing, you know? A lot of people struggle. But I look around and everyone’s miles ahead of me, and I don’t know how to catch up. I feel like I’m nothing.” Kayla snorts and looks up worriedly. “Sorry you stayed yet?”

Rey sighs, then she smiles. She leans over and kisses the top of Kayla’s head.

“No,” she says. “I know exactly what you mean.”

SS:TIE

Sally puts the car in park, ignoring the way that Shelby keeps judging the dark circles under her eyes.

“We got a lot of catching up to do,” Shelby says.

“I know.” Sally climbs out of the car. The dingy alley is narrow, and they’re blocking it, but the sedan has police plates. It’s so early, yet it’s already too hot for Sally’s light pantsuit. She throws her jacket into the car and situates her gun at her hip. Shelby joins her at the metal door. They look in either direction, and Sally knocks.

They wait.

“Don’t you fucking make me knock again,” Sally shouts.

Heavy locks and bolts move, and the door squeaks open to reveal a skinny woman with short, bleached hair. Marijuana smoke pours into the alley, but Sally pushes her way inside. Shelby follows, slamming the door shut behind them.

The workshop is cramped, full of locks, keys, and locksmithing equipment. Shelby coughs on the smoke, and empty beer bottles clink when she bumps the table.

Nevaeh wears overalls tied around her waist and a sweat-stained crop top with no bra. All of her exposed skin is covered in tattoos, and she’s gotten a few new piercings since Sally has seen her.

She turns away and nervously lights a cigarette.

“Those things’ll kill you,” Sally warns, sweeping the workspace with her eyes.

“You’re gonna get me fucking killed,” Nevaeh replies bitterly.

“What do you got?”

“On Cheese? Nothing. I don’t know who that’s supposed to be.”

“You got till tonight to find out.”

“Sally, I’m trying to run a business.”

Sally snatches the cigarette away and pulls Nevaeh close. “Tonight.” She takes a drag from the cigarette and makes a face. “Tonight. Or I revoke your ass and you go back to eating pussy for extra ramen noodles at FWR. Tonight,” she says through her teeth.

“Sally,” Nevaeh begins.

“Tonight.” Sally presses her forehead against Nevaeh’s and looks into her eyes. “Tonight. Time is never time at all. You can never ever leave.”

“What?”

Sally pulls back with a snort. “Jesus. You look like that, and you don’t listen to music?” She slams her fist on the table, making tools clink and bottles fall to the floor. Nevaeh flinches. Sally goes to the door and points at her. “Tonight.”

SS:TIE

“You look tired,” Lora says. Her Miami Beach bungalow is always spotlessly clean and full of mid-century art and furniture. It’s cute, in a Twilight Zone sort of way.

Rey sits in the kitchen in rumpled clothes with raccoon eyes. Laura’s still in her bathrobe; she doesn’t leave the house much. Half of her body is covered in burns, but Rey is one of the few people that she will agree to meet with in person. She pours coffee and sets the mug in front of Rey.

“Thanks.” Rey picks it up and drinks gratefully. “I had a late night.”

“Was she pretty?”

Rey snorts and sags in the chair. “What do you have?”

“You know Adella Salazar?” Lora turns and leans against her counter, stirring her coffee with a spoon.

“I know of her. She has a connect with the Cubans. Her father’s a big deal in Europe. She’s pretty hands-off, right?”

“She is. But wholesale is still good money, and she’s got a thing on the side that she’s been doing. She’s been taking in strippers, giving them a makeover, then training them and getting them jobs as secretaries in the hedge funds. They’re selling blow at a huge markup to these guys, then making sleeping with the ones who don’t have pre-nups and blackmailing them.”

“Sounds like a lot of work.”

“She knows how to hustle. But she’s messed up. Her girls rolled a couple of guys who come from real, old money. You can’t fuck with old money.” Lora takes a sip. “There’s a federal case coming down hard on her. She doesn’t have much time, and someone has tipped her off. She’s going to move her liquidity.”

“Move it where?”

“Onto a boat. It’s clever. Real clever.”

“This something we can do quietly?”

Lora wiggles her hand. “Maybe.”

Rey grimaces, reading between the lines. “How much?”

Lora chews her lip for a moment. “At least ten million. Could be twice that.”

“You aren’t sure?”

“I know what Salazar is spending on this scheme to get the money to safety. She wouldn’t do all this for small numbers. I think it’ll be more than you can carry.”

“I can carry a lot.”

Lora smiles; that’s a rare sight. “And you might not have to. Not if we do this right.”

“You have an angle?”

“More like you do. Your crew is the only crew that looks good in bikinis.”

“Not as good as you think. You aren’t the only one who got scuffed up over there,” Rey says, pointing at Lora’s burns.

“It’s called concealer, Rey.”

Rey finishes her coffee. Finally, she nods. “You’re on.”

SS:TIE

Glynda stands outside Lora’s house, her phone at her ear.

“Am I speaking to Irina Orlova?” she asks, pressing her collar down. The warm breeze keeps messing it up.

“This is she,” says the calm voice on the other end of the line.

“There’s some baking flour that fell off a truck recently. It needs a home.”

“I have my own flour.”

“That’s just it, Ms. Orlova. This flour belonged to your competition. If this flour were to hit the street with that brand image intact but its quality reduced, you understand the implications that would have for the broader market. There is a move to be made here with no risk to you.”

“You’re not a baker.”

“I’m an economics teacher.”

There’s a pause. “I’ll take this flour. Where?”

Glynda considers it. Orlova owns several popular clubs. Having lots of people around can offer good protection, and it’s hard to imagine someone like Orlova trying anything potentially messy in her own lap. On the other hand, somewhere more isolated is easier to control and wouldn’t be Orlova’s home turf if she were inclined to be difficult.

Set the deal at one of Orlova’s clubs? Or somewhere deserted?