As for me? I still run the office above the laundromat. The phone still rings. And sometimes, late at night, I think I see a woman with honey-colored hair walking past the window. She never looks back.
She smiled. For the first time, it reached her eyes. “Somewhere with no numbers. No families. Just sky.” I drove her to the border myself. A two-lane highway cutting through pines and silence. We didn’t talk much. At the crossing, she handed me an envelope. “For your trouble.” 50. A POV Story - Loyalty - Natasha Nice Jason ...
And my name is Jason. This is my POV story about loyalty, and the woman who taught me that some debts are paid not in cash, but in blood. I met Natasha Nice on a Tuesday that tasted like cheap whiskey and regret. She walked into my office—a cramped space above a laundromat on 7th—wearing a trench coat that cost more than my first car. Her hair was the color of honey left too long in the sun. Her eyes were the problem, though. They were the eyes of someone who had already lost everything and was just going through the motions of pretending she hadn't. As for me
I opened it. Inside was a photograph—Victor and a Marchetti underboss shaking hands over a document dated three years ago. The document was a contract. For her. And sometimes, late at night, I think I
She knew more than she was telling.
“You’re the guy who finds people,” she said. No hello. No smile.