Chapter 12: Trade
Bulb swung overhead. Light cut across Enzo face then dropped shadow behind crates. Air smelled like dust and old wood and cold. Rope bit into shoulders, loosened fraction still hidden at right wrist. I felt slack press against skin and didn't move.
Enzo stood close, arms crossed, snake tattoo catching light when he turned head. He'd been quiet since deadline talk. Quiet worse than words. I counted breaths. His slow, controlled. Mine shallow through nose.
I broke silence first.
"You want something from me," I said. "Name it."
He tilted head. Smile didn't reach eyes.
"I already did," he said. "I want to see how tough you are."
"Tough doesn't help you," I said. "Info does. Or action. Tell me what you actually want, I trade."
That got reaction. Eyebrows lifted fraction. He uncrossed arms, stepped to chair, hand rested on rope at my shoulder. Fingers close enough I felt heat through blue blazer.
"Trade," he said. "You think you have leverage."
"I have what you came for," I said. "You didn't bring me to warehouse for nothing. Rope took time. Tape took planning. You want more than scare."
His jaw tightened. Light made stubble sharp.
"So, where's all that confidence now?" he said again, softer this time, testing.
I kept eyes on his, didn't look down at rope.
"Still here," I said. "You just tied it down."
He laughed once, short breath.
"Offer," he said. "Let's hear trade."
I swallowed. Mouth dry since tape ripped off.
"You loosen rope," I said. "Not off. Loosen. Two inches. I give you what you want. Statement, recording, whatever you need for whoever sent you."
His hand pressed rope slightly tighter, then released.
"That's not trade," he said. "That's you begging with extra words. Try again."
"That's concrete exchange," I said. "You get usable thing. I get circulation back."
He leaned in. Bulb hummed overhead. Cool blue from window cut across his black shirt.
"I don't want usable thing," he said. "I want admission. Say you're scared. Say Mary River not tough at all. Say it and mean it. Then we talk rope."
Chest tightened. Blind fear rose fast, then settled. I recognized trap. Cheap admission would satisfy him for second, give him nothing real to leave with, keep me bound same.
I shook head once.
"No," I said.
"No?" He straightened. Voice dropped.
"Not that," I said. "You want true thing, I give true thing. I'm scared you won't leave and I'll stay tied to chair while light dies. I'm not scared of you seeing me. That's different. That's truth, not performance."
His eyes narrowed. Controlled demeanor cracked at corner of mouth. He exhaled through nose, stepped back, paced two steps toward crates then back.
"You think you're clever," he said.
"I think negotiation needs two sides," I said. "You asked for tough. Tough isn't saying what you want to hear."
He crouched so face level with mine. Close enough I saw pulse at neck beside snake tattoo, faster now. Stubble, dark wavy hair falling forward.
"Please, that's new," he said, mocking old line. "Now tough, now trading. Which one, Mary?"
"Both," I said. "Tough enough to offer real trade instead of plea. Enzo, please loosened nothing. Offer might."
He stared. Silence stretched. Warehouse ticked. Wood creaked somewhere behind crates. My right wrist kept slack hidden, fingers curled slightly so rope didn't slip.
He stood abruptly.
"Wrong answer," he said. "Trade denied."
He turned toward crates, shoulders tight, hands flexing at sides. Frustration showed in way he moved, not smooth anymore, jerky. Bulb light swung slightly when he brushed hanging cord.
May you like
I didn't call after him. Didn't beg. Kept breathing steady, kept slack hidden, kept eyes on his back. Negotiation failed, but I kept thing he didn't know about. Two inches I asked for already there, just unseen.
He stopped at crate, didn't touch it, head bowed. I waited. Rope held. Chair held. Warehouse held us both.
