a place we know| ✓

forty seven

"And find a place where every single thing you see tells you to stay."
S E E K E R
.
.
January 30th
9:12 AM
New York
- - - - - - - - - -

While the apartment was quiet, every interval of silence was followed by loud, repetitive knocks.

Gunner jolted awake, his consciousness salvaging its way to the front of his mind and allowing his vision to settle on the faint, morning light shining through the bedroom window. The knocking persisted and he sluggishly rubbed sleep out of his eyes, adjusting to the cool air and inhaling the nicotine-infested fragrance sullying his sheets and clothes.

Throwing his legs over the edge of the bed, he first debated answering whoever it was at the front door. He didn't need anyone's company and could do without the meaningless attempts at small talk from neighbors who only gave a shit because it was mandated etiquette. Everyone was aware of his circumstances–news travelled faster than the speeding bullets they shot at night.

He waited for whoever it was to give up, but they were determined to ruin his morning. Gunner just wanted to sleep, even though he rarely dreamed these days, and succumb to the dark. It was kinder to him than most and despite his faults, would welcome him every night.

Knees weak, he stood and dragged his feet as he exited his bedroom. He kicked bottles and dirty clothes aside and made his way to the door. He didn't bother checking who it was because unless he was owing rent (which he paid earlier this month), it couldn't have been someone important enough to warrant concern.

Gunner unlocked and twisted the knob, the door creaking on its hinges as it opened. He looked out at a man, smartly dressed in a suit, and a woman, wearing heels and coat that probably cost more than his rent. Clipboards in hand, they stood out, white in a black scene; wealthy among the poverty-stricken. People of their caliber wouldn't voluntarily take a morning stroll in the Bronx if they weren't out for something. They'd either leave without noticing the expensive watches had disappeared from their wrists or with less money in their pockets.

And Gunner wasn't completely opposed to snagging a new watch for himself. As he stared down at the man's wrist, he mapped out all the pawn shops he'd be able to visit today and just how much cocaine Ace would be willing to give him for a couple hundred dollars.

"Gunner Shaw, correct?"

The man's monotonous droned in Gunner's ears, redirecting his attention to the stern faces in front of him. "Who's asking?"

Gunner shook the hand he extended. It occurred so quickly that the man had no time to register that Gunner's fingers unclasped the watch and expertly slid it into his pocket. At least one good thing came out of being woken up.

"We're with the Child Protective Services." His eyes darted to the expressionless woman. Her blue eyes were winter itself. "I'm Leah Shaw's assigned social worker and this is my colleague, Anthony Wilkins. The court forwarded your case to me and as noted, we are here to check in on her living conditions."

They were the epitome of authority. Remnants of sleep were cleared from Gunner's eyes and his expression guarded. He had police officers show up at his door before, so this didn't feel any different. But there was an aura around them that he couldn't shake. They scrutinized him inch by inch, devising what they'd report to the court after this meeting.

They struck gold–an impotent father in a low-income neighborhood, smelling like drug abuse and failure.

"She's not here," Gunner stated the truth as it was.

Anthony quirked a bushy brow. It was less than comforting to know he actually did have emotions to show. "Oh really?" he probed, flicking his brown eyes to his clipboard. "From what we have here, you are Gunner Shaw, your common-law is Audrey Rahal, and you have a daughter named Leah Shaw. So can you please tell me what you mean when you say she's not here?"

Gunner folded his arms over his chest and clenched his jaw, and if his gaze could pierce them, they'd be dead. "Her mom took her and left. That's why she ain't here. Is that good enough for you, Anthony, or do you want more?"

"You are in no position to incite hostility, Mr. Shaw. I suggest you co-operate or we will file a report that'll have Leah out of your custody and make her a ward of the state. Is that clear?" The woman said it without a falter in her voice and expression. She must have been used to threatening families, which Gunner guessed couldn't be legal. But what did he know about the law?

It was her word over his.

"I don't know where Audrey and Leah went, so I can't tell you anything else. I've been here alone for the past week or so." Gunner delivered his answer as articulately as he could, though the quivering of his hands betrayed him. He shoved them into the pocket of his sweatpants and studied the floor, the sound of his breaths heightening.

"Ms. Rahal's disappearance with your daughter was not part of your court order," Anthony said.

"And what am I supposed to do about it, huh? I can't find her, I don't know where she is, she's not answering my calls," agitation laced his tone. "I'm a dead end. Go bother someone else."

"Mr. Shaw, it's crucial that Audrey and Leah return else this is a violation of your court ruling. I don't care how you contact them, but make sure you do."

"No shit, you don't think I've tried."

"Mr. Shaw–"

"We won't report this incident this time and we suppose we can give you some additional time to find your girlfriend and daughter," the woman explained. "You have another month. If she fails to return, then it will be considered parental alienation and you will need to fight for custody in court. Is that clear?"

"You want to take me jail?" Gunner stepped forward, eyes frantic and lips pinched in a frown. "Threaten me some more? Go the fuck ahead. I don't care."

"That is highly–"

"Get lost, fuckers."

Gunner slammed the door and locked it. He didn't hear any knocking, but his ears listened to their fading footsteps. Once he was sure they had left, dug into his pocket for the Rolex watch that had been on Anthony's wrist. It was a nice little thing: silver and black and shiny. He needed to pawn it before they could come back and accusing him of theft.

But the Bronx was full of thieving, conniving, low-lives. Gunner despised them. He despised himself too.

He marched out of the living area and into his bedroom. Calling Audrey was his next motive, yet the weight of the overpriced watch was distracting. Staring down at it, he visualized dollar signs and long-lasting euphoria.

He'd give Audrey the message sooner or later. Now he had a watch to sell, money to make and high to claim. 

***

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