Shadows and Truths
918 Words
Kathleen hadn’t slept. Not really.
She’d closed the shop, flipped the sign to "closed until further notice," and vanished into the underworld she thought she’d left behind. Old numbers were dialed. Distant voices answered. Some hung up. Some made excuses. Others offered whispers. But they all said the same thing: “No one’s seen him.”
She knew better.
This wasn’t a mugging. Rafael didn’t just disappear. Someone had taken him. And someone close had let it happen.
At midnight, she met with DeMarco, a contact she’d once threatened with a blowtorch. Now he owed her a favor—and a debt.
He lit a cigarette and gave her a long, greasy smile. “You look like hell, Kitty.”
“Flatter me again and I’ll rearrange your teeth,” she snapped.
He shrugged. “You want answers or a fight?”
“I want Cruz.”
DeMarco exhaled smoke. “You know what asking means, right? It means you don’t trust your own people.”
“I don’t,” she said flatly.
He narrowed his eyes. “That’s dangerous.”
“So is wasting my time.”
He gave her a name. A place. A whisper. And a warning: “If you dig too deep, you’ll find out things you don’t wanna know.”
She looked him dead in the eye. “Then I guess it’s time I got uncomfortable.”
Meanwhile, Rafael sat tied to a different chair now—same damp air, same stench of mildew and stale cigarettes, but this room was quieter. Too quiet.
A new man entered. No jacket. No flashy threats. Just a long shadow across the floor.
“I trust they’ve treated you well?” the voice was calm, almost elegant.
Rafael tilted his head. “The gum-chewer was delightful.”
The man chuckled. "I’m not here for banter. I’m here for truth."
“Big fan,” Rafael said. “You got a podcast?”
The man stepped forward. Tall. Neatly dressed. Gray at the temples. Smooth voice like velvet and razors.
“Let’s drop the games. You were seen with Kathleen B. You work in her shop. You clean her floors. You watch everything. People like that don’t just show up by accident.”
Rafael kept his face still. They didn’t know who he really was. That was good. They weren’t after him. They were after her.
“I just needed a job,” he said carefully. “And she needed someone to mop up her soda spills. It’s not exactly espionage.”
The man tossed a flash drive onto the table. Pressed a button.
A small screen flickered to life. Footage rolled—Kathleen in grainy black and white. Exchanging a small package with a known supplier. Taking cash. Laughing.
“She’s not who you think she is,” the man said softly.
Rafael’s jaw tightened. “That doesn’t mean anything. Could be anything in that bag.”
“Could be. But you don’t believe that.”
The screen changed again. Kathleen, this time yelling, slamming a door, walking away from someone with a bag thrown in frustration.
“She’s angry,” the man said. “Something went wrong. Maybe with you. Maybe because of you.”
Rafael stayed quiet. He had no idea how deep she was in. He wasn’t even sure how much of her world was real and how much was performance.
“You know what she is,” the man said. “You know what she runs.”
“I know she makes decent sandwiches,” Rafael muttered.
The man smiled faintly. “The longer you hold out, the harder this gets. We don’t want you. We want her. Help us understand how she works, and we all go home with our teeth still in place.”
“Maybe I like soup,” Rafael said. “I could go soft-food forever.”
The man sighed and stood. “Think about it, Mr. Cruz. We don’t believe you’re part of the cartel. But we do believe she trusts you. That’s dangerous for her—and for you.”
The door closed behind him. Rafael sat alone again.
Kathleen’s search grew desperate.
She circled back to her crew. Asked questions. Looked in their eyes.
One of them was lying. She didn’t know who. But she felt it in her gut.
Worse, whispers of Rafael’s disappearance had already started circulating in places she didn’t want to hear them. And everyone wanted to know one thing:
Who was he really?
And why did she care so much?
That night, the man returned to Rafael’s cell with a different approach. This time, he brought company.
A new figure stepped inside. Younger. Harsher. Cold eyes. The kind of guy who probably polished bullets before breakfast.
“This one,” the older man said, “is less patient.”
Rafael braced himself.
“Tell us what you know about the shop,” the new guy demanded. “The backroom. The shipments. The names.”
“I know Carmelo hoards expired gummy bears and Kathleen likes strawberry soda. That’s about it.”
The man slammed a fist into the table. “Don’t play dumb!”
Rafael stared him down. “I’m not playing.”
They left him again. Lights off this time.
The darkness whispered doubts. About Kathleen. About the truth. About whether he was getting in too deep.
But somewhere beyond the concrete and silence...
Kathleen B. was hunting.
And she wasn’t going to stop until she got him back.
- Writer
