American Animals: A True Crime Memoir by Eric Borsuk

Author:Eric Borsuk [Borsuk, Eric]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781684424504
Google: UM5XxQEACAAJ
Publisher: Turner Publishing Company
Published: 2020-11-15T23:34:19.510936+00:00

Spencer is smoking a joint in the living room, staring off into space. He jolts when we burst through the door, clearly startled, though he tries to play it off like nothing happened.

“Warren’s gone,” he says, sinking back into the couch and coolly tapping the joint onto an ash tray, as if he hasn’t been sitting here in a deep state of paranoia obsessing over all the shady things that Warren could be doing.

I start pounding on Warren’s door, but Spencer quickly stops me.

“Already tried that,” he says. “Trust me, he’s not down there.”

Obviously we can’t call him because he doesn’t own a cell phone, and seeing how I just trashed his burner phone, that’s no longer an option.

Just as I sit down, Warren calmly strolls through the front door, wearing a baseball cap over his newly auburn-colored buzzed hair, and lugging a backpack over his shoulder.

“Hey guys,” he says, while casually walking through the living room and searching his pockets for keys.

“Where have you been?” I ask.

“Just had to take care of a few last-minute things,” he responds, unlocking his bedroom door and disappearing into the basement.

We all stare at each other, confused and racking our brains for a reason to give Warren the benefit of the doubt. Then, without speaking, as if on cue, we all get up and follow him downstairs.

“What kind of last-minute things?” I ask, before even reaching the bottom of the staircase.

Flinging his muddy Wallabees onto the floor, Warren awkwardly spins around, surprised to find us all standing there. Although that doesn’t stop him from stripping off all of his clothes directly in front of us.

“Actually,” he blurts out, while stumbling around with his jeans pulled down to his ankles, “I’m glad everyone’s here. We need to talk.”

Once he’s done changing into his Adidas track suit, Warren joins the rest of us seated around the coffee table.

“So,” he sighs, searching for the right place to begin. “I was at the library—the UK library,” he instantly clarifies. “I had to send out some last-minute emails before it closed for winter break.”

“What kind of emails?” I ask.

“To our friend in Amsterdam … and others,” he mutters.

“What others?”

“Well, you know, there’s been a lot going on,” he dithers. “I didn’t want to worry you guys. I mean, everything is fine. It’s no big deal. It’s just, our guy in Amsterdam is getting a little impatient, that’s all. I had to break the news to him that Birds of America is no longer for sale. He wasn’t happy about that. Now he’s starting to question everything I say. He thinks we’re fucking with him. And if we can’t provide some kind of documentation proving that we have the other items, I think he’s going to walk away.”

As the news sinks in, a wave of disappointment engulfs the room, followed by a collective “Fuck.”

“Which is why I set up an appointment to get the books appraised,” Warren says, dropping a bombshell.

“What?” We all erupt at once.

“I had to make an executive decision!” he pleads.

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