“You couldn’t guess that, already?” she breathed in El’s ear.
“I did.”
Riley’s mouth dried up. All that time she’d been counting the minutes until she could run, all those days she’d been gritting her teeth or clenching her fists, all those days she’d thrown punches and insults, all those days . . . someone had been back to back with her against the world. Someone had turned her into a poem, a song, and she’d been too busy to hear it. She’d missed the opportunity of El, because she was afraid. She was supposed to be clever, but if she couldn’t even learn a lesson right in front of her, what was she doing going out into the world alone?
“I’m so grateful you’re here, Riley.”
“Come on,” she rasped. “I’m the one who’s grateful.”
El’s confusion was adorable. Riley couldn’t help but praise her for it with a peck to the cheek. Looking into such a forgiving mirror as those two eyes, she knew she was going to have to start asking a hell of a lot more from herself.
“I don’t think about the future. I don’t try to imagine.”
“Why?”
“Because things end.” Her voice caught. Tears slipped along the bridge of her nose. El caught them and wiped them away. “I just . . . I never thought about who I could be, I guess, but I could be . . . I could be someone good for you. I think.”
“You already have been.”
Riley blinked furiously and couldn’t stop the grin. “Makes it easier . . . knowing where you’ve already been.”
“True.”
“Okay!” Happy returned from the back. In her hand she had an immaculate copy of the sketch, lines cleaned with computer accuracy. The snowflake was crisp, and the letters wove and reflected an external light source. The artist stepped back into the conversation smoothly, her warm demeanor so comforting, Riley forgot her mascara was probably dribbling down her face.
“It’s so pretty!” El murmured. “Where should we get them?”
“I was just about to ask you!”
El leaned over the drawing. “I want to be able to see it. Can I get it on my arm?”
Riley shrugged off her coat and brought out her right elbow. In the crook of it was her first tattoo, a bold compass rose. “Like this?”
“Yes! What about on the other arm?”
“Works for me.”
Happy tapped the image and nodded. “It will look good, because they’re similar shapes. So left arm on both?”
El bounced in place. When Happy handed them the paperwork, she filled hers out with a kind of gleeful flourish, wiggling her backside to the rock music blasting over the speakers. This was an important step for El, a physical mark that couldn’t be undone, a scar the very shape and color of her spirit.
All Riley’s ink was special to her—marks of where she’d gone and who she’d always been. But this was different. This was a declaration of who she would be and where she planned to go.
This was a promise.
On the tattooing table, El’s glee faltered a bit. She looked pale against the bed of her vibrant hair. As Happy prepped the needle, wrapped it in plastic and dipped it in the dark paint, El’s hand shot out and clamped around Riley’s wrist. “Does it hurt a lot?”
“Like being scratched a bunch. Not too bad. Way less than you think.”
“Less than falling out of a moving car?”
Riley let out a dark chuckle. “Yeah. Way less than that.”
El pressed her lips shut with a nod.
Happy flipped the switch and set to work in a singsong buzz. Though El's features were at first contorted in a grimace, she soon relaxed. Her fingers released Riley, and she sat up to watch the progress through hooded eyes.
The snowflake crystalized on El’s arm in a smear of deep blue and purpled blood. Happy’s lines were incredibly precise, and though her gaze was narrowed on her work, she smiled as if she were singing.
“Snowflakes are all unique, you know. A bunch of vapor that sort of condenses, like magic. Things just drawn together that cling and make this perfect mathematical shape, always symmetrical, always different.” She picked up more ink, her glasses on the tip of her narrow nose. Glancing over them at Riley, she winked. “People talk a lot of shit about snowflakes, these days, but that’s because they’re dumber than a sack of bricks and don’t know they’re oppressing themselves.”
El’s adrenaline was fading. She shivered a bit as her eyes rolled to the black ceiling. “If I have to hear one more fucking word about safe spaces and trigger warnings being the death of independent thought, I swear . . .”
Happy let out a snort. “Cracks me up. God made you in His image, says you’re unique and beloved, but not them, right? God says turn the other cheek, but that’s for them to do when you hit them with a tiki torch, yeah? Not something that applies to you. God knows everything and can do anything and His creation is perfect . . . except when you disagree with it. An omnipotent deity who makes the Devil, but can’t kill him? What kind of God is that? A pretty human one if you ask me.”
“Looks a lot like my mother, actually,” El said, lying back against the vinyl pillow. “Man made God in his own image. Not the other way around.”
“Yeah, and used it as an excuse to be complete assholes.”
Riley crossed her arms. “It’s a dull life, if you’re so bored you have to be all up in someone else’s business. Go learn crochet or computer programming and shut the fuck up.”
Happy’s brows went up in agreement. There was a blank slash across her brow where a piercing had probably been in her rebellious days. “Snowflakes are made by the biting wind and the bitter cold and the lightning. Storms at deadly altitude sculpting flawless geometry that looks soft as a feather, but can level a city if you get enough of them together. Can’t think why that’s weak. Completely terrifying if you ask me.”
El wore a soft smile and her lids fluttered, as if she were sleeping deeply. The shading work would take a little while. Casting her eye to the front of the shop, Riley tossed her jacket over her chair. “I’m gonna go get us some drinks, okay babe? You’ll want one for after. You all right here?”
The girl nodded, though she looked as if she were already in a dream state. Unable to resist, Riley dipped over her forehead and left a kiss as a farewell.
“See you in a minute.”
Outside in the bright sunlight, she dropped her shades and looked along the wide street. As they had ridden in, she’d spotted the thrift shop a few blocks away. Riley chewed her lip and sized the window display by eye. The leather jacket seemed a perfect fit, though El probably wouldn’t be too psyched about the fringe. That’s what scissors were for, though. Pressing her nose to the glass, she found the tag and knew it was too good to pass up.
The hanger was brought down. Inside and out the jacket was in great condition, all the zippers working. It was softer than she’d expected, a dark green lambskin, but the collar had the definite weathering of someone who’d worn a helmet. The money changed hands—another portion of her per diem that went to a worthy cause—thumbing her nose at El’s mother.
Triumphant, Riley walked to the gas station and got two Slurpees, an indomitable grin in place. Nothing could fuck up this feeling. She was energized, strong, unbreakable.
Until the black SUV screeched around the corner, and a jarhead in a buzzcut shot her dead with a glare.
A car horn blared, deafening as it cut into Riley’s skull. The driver of the vehicle revved the engine in threat, but she didn’t move from the crosswalk. She stared at the front of the tattoo parlor, at the place where El had been when the men threw her into the SUV. She knew she had to take charge of her limbs, to mount her bike and race after them, but her temper—that demon in her soul from the get-go—had abandoned her.
El was gone again.
In only two days, El’s companionship had taken root and burrowed so far down into Riley, that all the gears of rage and ferocity had ground to a halt. Finding the girl had been the all-consuming g
oal. Speaking her heart even in the most jumbled words, had been her one desire. Suddenly, she was a machine without a navigator, and knowing they’d taken El from her inspired nothing but abject and disarming misery.
A chorus of horns continued to demand she cross or cut bait. The one-way street had a line of vehicles backed up all the way to the freeway exit. Two windows had rolled down and people were shouting at her.
“Goddamn it, get out of the way! Are you crazy? What’s wrong with you?”
A man rushed toward her, looking so overcome with anger that he wanted to strangle her. He snapped his fingers repeatedly, as if he thought she was hypnotized and only he could wake her. “Hey! Hey! You stupid—”
“Did you call 911?” Riley looked at him. He stopped dead in his tracks at her expression.
“Oh, I’m gonna call the cops if you don’t fucking move!”
It wasn’t enough. Riley needed more. She needed a spark, a catalyst. She needed to turn this emotional engine over and get it moving again.
“A girl was just thrown into a car, or were you so busy bitching about five minutes of your day that you didn’t notice?” She pointed to the shop and the tire marks on the asphalt. Happy was nowhere to be found. Riley wondered if they’d hurt the woman and suspected it must be so. “She was screaming for help and you did nothing!”
“Get. Out. Of. The. Road. Bitch!”
Riley closed her eyes as the forge in her chest began to warm. She could hear her own robotic voice from far away, smooth as steel and foreboding as fuck.
“What did you call me?”
He took a step toward her. She began to flex her fist until she realized she was still holding the Slurpee. Her heart sent a fearsome thud of motivating pain through her. In one smooth arc, she launched the drink full force at the polished windshield of his shiny car.
He let out a wail. “What the hell?!”
“Thanks for that.”
Riley cracked her neck and looked both ways. Jogging swiftly through traffic, she skidded into the parlor. A loud banging came from the rear of the shop. Riley flung aside the curtain and found that her chair had been shoved beneath a doorknob on a utility cupboard.
Happy was unscathed, but clearly shaken. Despite the fact that she’d been imprisoned in her own closet and had one of her clients literally kidnapped from her chair, she patted Riley down with heavily ringed hands.
“Are you okay? Oh my god. Did they hurt you?”
“I’m fine.” Riley took hold of her hands. “What happened?”
“I was just finishing up and these fucking goons bust in. They just grabbed your girlfriend and dragged her out! Oh my god, I need to call the cops!”
“No!” She shook her head darkly. “Don’t bother. I know who they are and where they’re going.”
Certain that Happy was all right, Riley sat the woman on her own table and ran back to the design computer. With a jiggle of the mouse, she was online, fingers flying at top speed to log into accounts and enter passwords. The blue dot pinged as the map manifested from the satellite feeds. The SUV was on the move to Interstate 80, headed east.
Were they going to drive El back across country?
And how had they been discovered? El had ditched the iPhone . . .
Unless they weren’t tracking El.
“Oh fuck you, you assholes,” Riley swore, because she knew she had to be to blame. They’d acted so surprised to see her at the diner, but if they’d known about her from the beginning, if Mama had betrayed her despite the admonitions to the contrary, then they would know what she was driving. Her bike had been right there for them to see. They must have done the same thing to her that she’d done to them.
“Oh Mama . . . am I gonna fuck you up and enjoy every second of it.”
A siren tore at the air suddenly, and flashing lights flickered on the monitor. Someone had apparently called the cops, though the only people she’d seen on the street were the cars she’d barricaded, and no one would come that quickly to defend a man’s car from slushed ice. A shop owner could have called about El, but in this neighborhood, if a guy right across the street decided to ignore it, then it was likely everyone else would too. So who had called the police?
Riley’s flesh ran hot and then deathly cold, and every cell seemed to sink into the ground. She knew the answer all too well.
The artist saw the screen over Riley’s shoulder as she shut down the programs. With a few shaky steps, Happy moved toward the front of the shop. “What do you want me to tell them?”
Riley blinked in astonishment. “What?”
“I’ve been around the block, chica. I don’t know what the fuck is going on, but I’m guessing you don’t want the popo involved.” The penciled brows twisted with quirky wryness. “Just tell me they’re the dickbags.”
Riley looked out the window. The black and whites had come to rest at angles and the sirens choked off like a bird drowning. The mannequins looked so patriotic, flipping off the world in alternating red and blue while the uniforms unpacked like clowns.
“It’s a long fucking story.”
“Give me the Cliff’s Notes.”
Riley’s jaw dangled, but she was beginning to feel a kinship with this woman. It was like seeing herself in forty years. “It’s some Shakespearean shit, but yeah. They’re the dickbags.”
Happy let out a long-suffering sigh. “You want me to mention your friend getting black-bagged or not?”
“Only tell them if they ask.”
“But, why wouldn’t they . . .” Happy looked back and forth between the door and Riley. The cops had their weapons drawn and were scrambling behind their open car doors for cover. “How the fuck did the cops get here so quickly?”
“They called. As payback to jam me up so I can’t chase them.”
Riley reached for her coat and unzipped the pocket. The ATM card and knife were side by side. In one swift move, she opened the utility closet and dropped them into an open box of ink bottles. When she turned around, Happy’s eyes were rolling.
“Keep the knife safe, but shred the card. Thanks for being cool.”
The artist shook her head, just as the megaphone peeled their eardrums with the equivalent of audible acid. “This is the Richmond Police Department. Please exit the building with hands up!”
“Jesus fucking Christ. My neighbors already hate me,” Happy growled. “Where were they last year when someone threw a rock through my door, huh?”
At the entrance, Riley tapped her on the shoulder and tucked a set of keys into Happy’s back pocket. “They’re gonna arrest me. I don’t want them to search or impound my bike. Say it’s yours. I’ll come back for it.”
“Sick ride like that will look good in my window,” Happy muttered permissively.
On the sidewalk, they were ordered to turn around and drop to their knees. As soon as they were in position, Happy began to loudly declare her rights as the owner of the property. Propped up against a cop car, Riley overheard them explain to her that they had been answering an anonymous call of an armed robbery in progress. As Riley’s pockets were searched for her wallet, and her identification was run for warrants, Happy was allowed to sit in a car without cuffs.
“There’s no robbery! She’s a paying customer! You’re disrupting my business!”
Two officers were sitting in the front seat of the car next to her. They appeared to be looking at their computer monitor. She knew what they were seeing. No doubt, when she’d stopped calling in, Mama had reported her to the police back home and used her clout to get a warrant issued for Riley’s arrest. The mercenaries may even have known this had been done when they’d repaid Riley for her stunt at the café. But now that the police had her ID, it was finished.
“Fuck,” she whispered, putting her forehead to the roof of the car. Eighteen for a week and already arrested for theft. So much for proving everybody wrong.
Riley knew that each breath was one more moment El was in their hands, being dragged back into that hell
she’d escaped. She could only hope that those four were at least honorable in that respect, though given their track record, she doubted it. In their custody, El might be safe from the outside world, but what about them? What would they do to her?
After an eternity, the officers returned to her and informed her she was under arrest. She was searched and asked about her property, making no mention of the bike. Cuffed and locked in a patrol car, Riley caught one last look at Happy as she was driven away. The woman’s arms were outstretched in disbelief and concern. They’d only just met, but something told Riley that her bike would be safe in Happy’s care.
All the way to the jail, Riley tried to recall every detail her father had given her about what it was like to be arrested. It was extremely unlikely that Mama Glasse could get a prosecutor or judge to sign off on a warrant that didn’t contain bail for such a small offense as theft of an ATM card. Truth was, even if she’d stolen ten grand in diamonds, they probably still wouldn’t set the bail any higher than five hundred dollars. If that proved true, she could post the bond and be out by the following day.
Riley just had to be patient.
She said nothing as they photographed her and put her hands over the fingerprinting scanner. When the officer filled out the paperwork, she gave one-word replies. The holding area had a phone in it. Riley called her father and dropped the bad news.
“I’m going to kill her,” he rumbled.
She lowered her voice. “Dude . . . Dad . . . can you not say shit like that right now!”
“I’m sorry Rye, I just get—”
“You’re fucking up my motivational fantasies, okay? I’m the one who gets to kill her? Claro?”
He chuckled. “Claro. Do you want me to call a lawyer?”
“Naw. This is a cake walk. Bail can’t be high, right?”
His noise of doubt was like an engine idling. “Knowing her, I’d say she’d find a way to keep you there while she does whatever she is going to do to El.”
The chilly air and loud sounds broke through her defenses. Riley shivered and folded up on herself. “Yeah, but Dad, I didn’t take anything from her. It’s all lies.”
Love Under Glasse Page 28