My Milkshake Brought the FBI to the Yard

Absolute silence is much louder than people think. It hums aggressively in the ears and wraps around your senses like a wool blanket, itchy and uncomfortable. I’m also itchy and uncomfortable as I try to avoid the piercing eyes of my best friend, Gwendolyn. Don’t let her whimsical name fool you, she’s as much Tinkerbell as a Doberman fitting into a teacup. Hah! She eyes me, unimpressed, and my smile falters. The chair creaks under my weight as I nervously shift, reaching for the damp napkin under my sweating cocktail. My drink and I have that in common at the moment, it seems.

With a heavy sigh, I brush away the tiny mountain of dismembered napkin, starting to explain the events that led up to me losing everything I owned because I trusted the wrong person. “You remember that I let Uncle Rob stay in the apartment over the bakery for the last few months, even though you thought it was a mistake?” The bakery was called Milkshakes and it definitely brought the boys to the yard- bill collectors and piece of shit relatives. Gwen rolls her eyes, gesturing impatiently to continue. Her maturity for not throwing an “I told you so” about Rob’s untrustworthiness was astounding. “Well, it turned out that he wasn’t out on his ass because of hard times. He got kicked out of his club for laundering and pushing narcotics, a real stand-up guy.”

I took a quick drink of my waterlogged mojito, gauging Gwen’s reaction so far. Her wide eyes told me she was just as shocked as I had been. “There’s more. The real kicker was that he had actually kept drugs in the apartment, like it was a safe in a high security bank.” There had been cops coming in and out of the building every day since we neighbor the precinct, we were lucky nothing happened sooner. “Anyways, Sergeant Buckley was downstairs one day with his K-9 partner, Cheddar. The dog must have picked up the scent of the drugs, and alerted his handler. Naturally, the cops came to investigate. Rob, the absolute idiot, panicked and dropped his cigarette when he heard Cheddar hoofing it up the stairs, setting the carpet on fire. He stuffed what drugs he could in a duffle bag, kicked out the hallway window and tried to squeeze through to the fire escape. No dice though, his fat ass got stuck halfway through.” I close my eyes, squeezing the bridge of my nose.

A muffled snort had me squinting one eye open, catching Gwen’s expression. Incredulous amusement paints her face. I get it, this sounds like a sitcom script. Or an episode of Narcos. How is this real life? “Things moved fast after that, including the fire. The whole apartment was charred to shit. Half of the stairway and a portion of the bakery, the kitchen and dry storage area, are toast too. The damage was too much to reconcile, not to mention insurance refused to cover the repairs because it is currently being investigated as arson. So, I had to eat the loss of the apartment and the bakery without any compensation. Basically, the business is closed indefinitely, and I am homeless at the moment. The end. Thanks for coming to my TEDtalk.” I drop my head down to my bent arms on the table, trying to breathe through the panic. What was I going to do, where would I go? I have no money, no savings, nothing.

I feel a gentle hand on my head and tilt my head to the side to see Gwen’s face. There is some sympathy, but it is overshadowed by the resolute look she gives me. “That’s an easy fix, you’ll stay with me until you get back on your feet. I have an extra room, so we won’t be in each other’s faces too much.” She must have recognized that I was about to decline the offer and actually bares her teeth until I quickly nod. She reaches for her purse, fishing out a few bills and tucks them beneath the empty wine glass. With a pointed stare, she grabs her belongings and motions for me to follow her. Alright, I guess that was that. I need a shower and sleep, anyways. Maybe tomorrow will be better.

The next day is not starting out so hot, maybe because we have the FBI banging on the front door early in the morning. Gwen and I had fallen asleep together on her bed after binging Breaking Bad, because why not? It fit the recent theme. The trauma was real, and we were coping as any good millennial can; through dark humor and a hell of a lot of avoidance…and snacks. The god-awful banging wakes us out of an alcohol infused coma, and we stare at each other without comprehending anything. “Wha…where is that…,” I whisper, wiping drool off the side of my face, looking around confused. The sudden deep voice announcing the FBI has us both gasping, because uhm… hello, the federal government doesn’t just stop by to ask about lawn care tips.

I am momentarily annoyed that Gwen looks so put together while I resemble the clump of hair I had pulled out of the shower drain yesterday. Her eyes dart back to mine and she jumps up, slipping on her magenta robe as I scramble out of the fluffy duvet. I snag my foot on the corner of the bedding when I try to stand up and tumble face first into the wall. Hissing out an annoyed breath, I check to make sure my teeth are still attached to my jaw as I go to follow Gwen down the stairs. She stops at the door to fluff her hair and readjust her cleavage. As a fellow woman, I have to admire the commitment to her character. Gwen is a proud exotic dancer, and she knows how currency really works in America. “It’s not in the billfold, honey. Women hold the power. We just let the men pretend they do because it saves us the hassle. These expensive nails aren’t meant to get dirty”, she told me with a wink when I had first met her. True to her word, she pastes on a Blanch Devereaux smile and opens the front door.

The two men standing on the porch slowly rake their eyes up and down Gwen’s figure and yeah, I get it. She’s a work of art and she knows it. Once the blood slowly filters back to their brains, they realize that I am also there, and wow, talk about a cold reception. I internally roll my eyes at their blatant lack of decorum. A throat awkwardly clearing brings my attention back to the suits, and Gwen finally invites them inside. Their tails are nearly wagging from her attention, and I am so not in the mood for nonsense today. “Hello, how can we help you?” I ask a bit defensively, and come on. Can you fault me? Life hasn’t been unicorns and rainbows lately. The older agent looks irritated that he has to deal with me but hey, he was no picnic either.

“You are Lorelei Reeves, yes?” he barely waited for my nod before he continues, obviously a great conversationalist. “We offer our condolences towards your situation, and while we are not unsympathetic, we do have a job to do.” Unsurprisingly, it seems like the bureau needs a crash course on empathetic door side manner. “We have been notified about a piece of evidence that has vanished in your arson case, and we need to locate it. Have you seen a small black notebook, plain looking with a piece of red tape on the upper spine?” I shake my head, positive that I haven’t seen anything like that. I’m confused about how evidence goes missing only one day after it is collected, but I’m sure as shit not going to say that to these guys. “Alright then, Ms. Reeves, that concludes our business here. Thank you for your time.” He starts walking away, then doubles back to grab the younger agent still making cow eyes at Gwen. She gives him a sultry smile and a little finger wave, and he lights up like a neon sign. Closing the door, she rolls her eyes and exhales, her whole persona changing in seconds. I am in awe of how much control she has of herself.

“Well, that was interesting. I swear, if one more thing happens toda…” her rant is interrupted by another knock on the door. Cursing, she aims a glare my way and then stomps back to the door. She rips it open, ready to ream out whoever is standing there. Her irritation deflates as confusion crosses her face. She takes a few steps onto the porch, and bends down to grab something. She walks back in, and places the parcel on the dining room table. “It has your name on it, Lo. It doesn’t have a return address. Is that strange?” Her voice sounds concerned, but her face screams curiosity. I exhale my nerves and walk into the kitchen to get a pair of scissors. She is peering down at the package, her phone out and 911 typed on the keypad. Were we being overly cautious? Probably, yeah, but who wouldn’t be in our situation. I reach out to the yellow package, and lift it slowly, listening for any sounds of a bomb…what did a bomb even sound like? I am operating on pure instinct at this point. Partially satisfied that we weren’t going to be blown to smithereens at the moment, I cut across the top of the package and gently upend the envelope.

A small black notebook with red tape on the spine, and a small silver key clatter onto the table. Gwen gasps dramatically, her dainty finger pointing at the book, “that’s the book officer what’s-his-name was asking about. Why is it here?” she whisper-shouted, leaning forward to see it better. Pausing, I pull the sweatshirt sleeves over my trembling hands before reaching for the notebook. I don’t want to get my fingerprints all over missing evidence. It looks so unobtrusive. Why would it would be of interest to the FBI? I open the front cover and almost drop the thing. My name is right there, along with a quote from my favorite book, The Great Gatsby, by F. Scott Fitzgerald: “So we beat on, boats against the current, borne back ceaselessly into the past.”

It doesn’t escape me that this book was about a man mourning his unrealized dreams. Isn’t that how I also feel after losing my home and business? Who is this person and how do they know such personal information about me? I flip through the pages and a piece of paper falls out. Unfolding it, I gasp. I turn shocked eyes to Gwen, and whisper, “it’s a check for $20,000 and the deed to a house in a safety deposit box. Oh my god, where…who sent this?” I slide to the floor, overwhelmed. Gwen reaches for my hand, and we both stare at the mysterious beginnings of a brand-new life.