The Red Flag

Part C - "Knowing Where I Stand"

My eyes widened in disbelief. Of all the insane shit I had been told tonight, this was the bit that had topped it all.

"What the hell does Steven have to do with this?"

I couldn't imagine how someone like him, a funeral director for Christ sake, would be mixed up with people like this. Everyone in our lives knew him as a husband and father of three kids who lived in the same house for the past eighteen years.

From what I could remember, he got up everyday, put on a suit and tie and went to work in the city. And every evening he got home, had dinner with his family, and proceeded to get ready to start the day all over again the same way. The man couldn't be anymore average. He was always devoted to his work. Then again. . . maybe there was more to it than any of us really considered.

Steven never really spoke openly about the types of clients that would come into his funeral home. Usually, it would be your typical grieving widow or occasionally a distant friend of the family whose relative passed away for one reason or another.

My mind really began to wander away and back to another time. Those late nights where I could hear his work phone go off at two, sometimes three a.m.. I could tell it was work related because soon after it would ring, I'd hear the engine of his car start. He'd get dressed and have to go back into work. All without question and without hesitation.

A bridge began to form in my mind between then and now. And then it hit me. Steven never once spoke about his nightly trips back to the funeral home. Never breathed a word of the type of clients he'd work with- not a shred of info on who the people were that died. I understand the concept of having respect for the dead and all, but there seemed to be a fine line there. One between professionalism and secretism.

These people who Sofiana described, as ruthless and unfeeling as they sounded clearly needed Steven for a purpose. If it was their job to kill people, then where else would you bring a dead body without looking suspicious? 

"Oh my God," I hissed under my breath. My heart thundered widely in my chest. Please, oh please, let me be wrong about the assumption I was about to make. "Did. . . did Steven dispose of the bodies that you people killed?"  

Sofiana focused on the road ahead, expertly diving in and around cars without causing too much of a scene. She took in a deep breath. "Yes."

She turned to look at me with soft eyes. "Understand that the work he did was honest."   

Was she seriously trying to reassure me of this? I had been clenching my fists so tightly I finally exploded, sending my right hand into the car door beside me.

"What exactly about this situation is fucking honest to you?!" I snapped. "You're telling me that this man, who I thought I knew my entire life, actually worked for a group of sketchy people and disposed of unmarked bodies." Tears filled my eyes, blurring my vision. "Why the fuck would he do something like that?"

A heavy silence fell between us for what seemed like hours.

"Because the money was good," she muttered.

I scoffed, "money? What money?"

Had there ever been an argument in the house growing up it was about money. Steven always claimed that there was never enough. Our mother learned how to spend what we had each week on what was necessary. It's not as though we were poor, but I think Steven always felt that we were in a way.

And now this woman, who I've known for less than an hour, is telling me that there was money that came attached to each one of these secret jobs Steven had. I spared myself the pain from hitting the door again. All I could do was shake my head.