by Lolly Walter
Blood gurgled from Victor’s lips as his mouth moved. Joe leaned over him, his hands roving Victor’s body, frantically trying to find the wound so he could close it.
“You can’t help him,” Sam said, holstering his weapon and coming closer.
Joe returned his attention to Victor, lifted his bloody head.
Devin burst through the door, wielding that Bowie knife like he’d been born with it in his hand.
***
The shots went off seconds apart, the first one loud and solid, the second two all heat and no fire. Devin startled from his perch on the floor of the apartment’s pantry. Picking up that knife back in the safety of their bedroom may have been a test, but this was one, too. Life was a series of them.
He stopped crouching like a frightened child, afraid of the danger, afraid of his feelings, afraid of his brother and his lover and himself. The knife fit better in his hand than it had fit in Joe’s, and he held it the way Joe had showed him as he ran across the hall and into the other apartment.
The baby cried in another room. She’d been quiet enough all this time that her healthy lungs sounded like music. But Devin was glad she was too small to remember the scene he’d have to carry her through.
So much blood. Blood on walls and on the floor and over three bodies. More blood than Tanner had bled.
Devin cried out when he saw Joe, bloody at the arms but upright and lucid, hovering over Victor’s body, cradling Victor’s head in his hands. Sam was bent over Oliver, and — was that Candy? Boggs’s wife? Her tiny body lay in the biggest pool of blood. Devin fought back his revulsion and focused on the part of the scene that mattered most.
He sheathed the knife and stepped over Victor to get to Joe. His knees squelched in the bloody carpet where he knelt. He fought down the scream threatening to rip free. He pulled Joe’s face away from Victor. “Are you all right? You’re all bloody.”
Joe stared at him, his mouth open, his lower lip trembling, and nodded. “It’s Victor’s blood.”
Devin crushed Joe to him. He would have tucked him away and stowed him inside his own body if he could have. Words tumbled from his mouth in no order. He couldn’t get them right, so he settled for blurting “You,” “never,” “leave,” and “asshole,” but the word that meant the most was “safe.”
He kissed Joe then, hard enough to leave bruises, to cut Joe’s lips. He forced his tongue into Joe’s mouth and kissed until Joe kissed back. When he’d had enough to quench his fear, he pulled Joe back by the hair so he could see his eyes. “Never again.”
Joe nodded. “I swear.”
“Efraín.”
Victor wouldn’t leave this room. Already, his voice was weak, his golden skin growing pale. Devin let go so Joe could say goodbye.
“I’m here, Victor,” Joe said.
Somehow, Victor managed a smirk. “Shoulda shot Ollie first.”
Devin couldn’t tell whether Joe laughed or sobbed. They sounded the same. “Thank you.”
Blood dripped into Victor’s eye, and Joe lifted his head a little higher and used his own t-shirt to wipe the blood away.
“Make it matter. Always loved you, Efraín. Run.”
The blood flowing from Victor’s mouth had almost stopped. Joe wiped Victor’s lips with his t-shirt, too, then leaned down and pressed their lips together. “May you walk with God, my brother.”
Joe hooked his arm under Victor’s head. With his free hand, he picked up Victor’s hand and made the same sign that Victor had made across his body before they’d left the Flats.
His eyes fixed on Joe, Victor took two more breaths before he breathed no more.
Joe laid Victor’s head on the floor and used his thumbs to close Victor’s eyes. Doing so left Joe’s thumbprints on Victor’s eyelids, and Devin wanted to wipe it away, but Joe had already seen. Knowing Joe, the prints would haunt him, remind him of his guilt. Whatever had happened in this room, Victor must have died protecting Joe.
Joe slipped his hand into Victor’s jeans pocket and pulled out the pocketknife that had belonged to his father. He opened the blade and carved a small crescent along the outside edge of Victor’s arm below the elbow. After a moment, he stuck his tongue between his lips and cut a line extending from the middle of the crescent. Again he went to Victor’s pocket. This time, he withdrew the black knife they’d called a switchblade. He extended the blade and, beneath his own elbow, cut a shallow V. It hit Devin then that the crescent on Victor’s arm had been first a J and then an E. Joe retracted the switchblade and shoved it and his own knife into his pocket.
“You have to leave,” Sam said. He was crouched next to Oliver’s body, holding his hand. “Other guards will come on duty soon. You have to get out before they show up.”
“Why did you do it?” Joe asked.
Sam squeezed Oliver’s hand. “Ollie was a good man, understand that. But what we do here is wrong. Stealing babies. Killing children. Making our livings off using you as sex workers. Ollie didn’t like it, but he would’ve let it all happen. Take that baby to her momma and tell her to run.”
“We will,” Devin said. “Thank you. I’m sorry you lost your friend.”
“Don’t lose yours.” Sam handed his weapon to Devin, who slipped it into his pocket. “You’ll need to knock me out so it can look like Victor disarmed me and shot Ollie with my gun and Mrs. Boggs with the old-fashioned one.”
Joe shook his head. “Boggs knows my gun. But we’ll knock you out so you don’t get blamed.”
For the first time, Devin noticed the little silver gun in Victor’s hand. It mattered who’d pulled the trigger. Like removing a wedding ring, Joe slid the brass knuckles from Devin’s fingers. His hands were steady.
Sam dropped to his knees nearer to Victor, and Joe lightly tapped his forehead. He dropped onto his face, and Joe checked his pulse.
“He should be all right. Get the baby, and let’s go.”
Following orders like he’d never stopped, Devin headed toward the sound of Nina’s cries. He glimpsed her chubby cheeks and squinched-shut eyes before he stopped at the bedroom doorway and turned back to Joe. “If you ever want to speak to me again, you will tell me everything that happened. Leave nothing out.”
Joe put his bloody hand over his heart. “On all their graves, papi. All of them.”
Thirteen
Joe didn’t leave anything out. He didn’t want to. The sun rose as they walked and talked, the baby curled tight-fisted and heavy-eyed in Devin’s arms as Joe told him not only what happened, but what was going on inside his head, too. Devin had always been a good listener, and he kept his interruptions to a minimum. He made Joe repeat Candy’s offer, and the decision to turn it down, multiple times. He didn’t ask Joe to relive the confusion and horror of the shootings more than once.
Victor’s blood stained their jeans. They couldn’t do anything about that, but they stopped in an old bar where water still flowed in the faucets, and Devin cleaned the baby’s poopy bottom, re-covering her with his own shirt, while Joe scrubbed his arms until his skin glowed pink. Joe only saw the red, though. He still felt Victor’s cracked lips on his, Victor’s cold hand when together they’d made the sign of the cross.
He wasn’t sure what his future held, where he’d be or who’d be with him, but that foreboding that had been prickling his skin since Nina went missing didn’t itch anymore. He’d been waiting for the inevitable time when he would have to leave this life behind, and now that it had come, more than anything, he was relieved. Victor had asked him to make his sacrifice matter, and Joe intended to.
“Papi, we’ll take the baby back, but after that…”
“We have to leave.” Devin hadn’t touched him aside from the fierce, almost violent hug and kiss in Candy’s apartment. Joe knew he wasn’t forgiven for all that he’d withheld, but hearing Devin say that they both would need to leave gave him some hope. At the very least, Devin understood the situation.
“I understand if you don’t trust me enough
to leave with me, but—”
Devin grunted. “I don’t know if I trust you, but I need you. And you need me, asshole. We’re partners.”
“What you said to Victor in the closet, about not putting up a fight to keep me…”
“Ask me in a few days or weeks, or maybe a month or two.” Everything Devin said came out clipped and gruff.
Joe deserved it. “You’ll be with me in a couple of months?”
“Where else am I gonna be? Now shut up about it before I get mad and yell and wake the baby. She finally fell asleep.”
More tentatively than Joe remembered doing anything in his life, he slipped his fingers down Devin’s arm. Devin didn’t move away, but he didn’t offer his hand, either. Rebuilding their relationship would take time. Joe hoped they had time to spare.
Devin swayed slightly closer. They walked down the middle of the road, dodging potholes. The Flats was visible a couple of blocks away. With any luck, they’d be able to get in, drop off the baby, pack their stuff, and get out before Boggs sent someone for them. There wouldn’t be time to attend Bea’s funeral, which would be Victor’s, too, even without his body, and Joe hated not being able to say a proper goodbye. Bea had done something awful, but he’d forgiven Victor; he could forgive Bea, too.
“I’m never lying to you again,” Joe said. “I swear it. But I think we shouldn’t tell the others what Victor and Bea did.”
“You aren’t going to change at all, are you?”
Devin moved so far away that the street barely held them both.
“It’s not that simple. I care about how they’re viewed, what the others’ reactions will be. That matters. They don’t deserve to be hated in death.”
“Maybe they do.”
“Do you hate Tanner?”
“You know I don’t. But what he did—”
“Was keeping you trapped and afraid. He didn’t accept you for who you are. He could’ve helped you.”
“He did all that stuff because he loved me. He was trying to do the right thing.”
“But he did it all wrong. And you don’t hate him. Bea and Victor, they weren’t bad people. They just got sick of me, and we’ve already established that there are some really good reasons why people should hate me.”
Devin stopped, then came at Joe so fast he woke the baby. He grabbed Joe by the arm and shook him. “Shut the fuck up. I may be pissed at you, I may never want to be your lover again, but you are a very good man. No one could have led the runners as well as you. You’re principled and kind and” — Devin made a choked sound — “you’re not someone who should be hated. Not by anyone.”
“I want to be better,” Joe whispered.
Devin nodded. “I believe you.” His voice was softer, less angry. “Keep proving it. Give me time to forgive you. I’m not giving up on you.” He kissed the baby’s head. “I never wanted a life like this, but I always would have wanted you, no matter where we were or what our lives were like. All right?”
“Yeah.” Joe didn’t have any other words, and they had reached the unguarded door of the building. This would have been Oliver’s shift.
Marlette let them in, her face grave, and they didn’t run into any of the other workers who manned the first floor. Joe had considered asking at the req desk for another weapon, but he couldn’t think of anything small enough to be carried the long distance they’d be traveling. Besides, he didn’t want to use a weapon of any kind for the rest of his life.
“Let’s say goodbye to Bea,” he said. “We’ll make it short.”
“I don’t, um, do so good with dead bodies. You go ahead. I’ll wait in the hall.”
Joe kissed the baby’s head, mainly because it gave him the chance to be closer to Devin. Any other time, he’d have insisted on Devin staying with him. Even now, he didn’t like having Devin out of his sight, but he was going to try hard to treat Devin as his equal. And being equals meant trusting that Devin was capable of taking care of himself.
“Right.” Joe had opened the door when Devin’s hand landed on his shoulder and squeezed. The warmth of the gesture helped steady him as he walked to the exam table and stared at the body that had housed his friend.
Bea was beautiful, even in death, though she wouldn’t stay that way long. Her eyes were closed, and though she must have bled like Victor, someone had cleaned it all away. Long, dark eyelashes fanned across her cheeks. Joe didn’t touch her, didn’t want to feel her cold, but he traced a lock of her hair where it rested on the table.
“I’m really mad at you.” His words sounded too loud in the tiny office. “You did something horrible, but you went and got yourself killed trying to make amends. I don’t get to yell at you, and I don’t get to say how sorry I am that you thought taking that baby was an acceptable choice. And I never get to be your friend again. I missed you these last couple of months, BeaBea, and now I’ll always have to miss you.” Joe sucked in a shaky breath. “Devin and I are leaving. You were right about how much I needed to open up to him. Wherever you’re headed, I hope you find peace.”
The words were inadequate, but Joe didn’t have time to stick around and find the right ones. Someone at headquarters had probably noticed Sam’s absence by now.
Joe tried to picture Bea alive, laughing. “Thank you for being my friend. I’m sorry I let you down.” He leaned over, kissed her hair, and walked out of the room.
Out in the hall, Joe found Devin rocking Nina in his arms. He was softly singing a tune Ebony had sung during one of Nina’s crying jags.
Joe put his hand on Devin’s back. “Let’s take her to her parents.”
***
The elevator ride was silent, save for Nina’s suckling noises as she slurped at the side of her little fist. Devin shifted his feet back and forth, dancing Nina to keep her happy. He wasn’t sure if he was more at ease on the steps that moved him into Joe’s space or the ones that pulled him away. All that anger that had been inside him during the night was tempered now by the baby in his arms and the memory of Joe covered in Victor’s blood.
What had happened reminded Devin of how tenuous life was, how easily it could be snatched away. Breath and heartbeats stolen. Noise and movement ceased. He wouldn’t make the mistake of withholding commitment and love for Joe. The trust wasn’t there, but Joe had lied because he’d been trying to hold on to Devin. A part of him understood that now. There in that apartment doorway, knife drawn, he’d known. He’d do anything, anything, to keep Joe safe. That was all Joe had been trying to do for him. He’d have to forgive. As soon as the anger faded.
The doors of the elevator opened, and together they stepped out. The shabby, faded gray walls of the hallway had become comforting. The floor under his feet, cracked and wrinkled vinyl, was as familiar as the plush velvety carpet of the house he’d lived in for seventeen years. And they were about to leave it behind. On the other side of the door waited a group of people who’d taken him in, and if they hadn’t been friendly at the outset, at least a few of them might miss him when he was gone.
Without any fanfare, no heavy sighs or shared words, Joe pulled open the door and motioned for Devin to enter.
Most of the runners slept. The room only had one empty bed, and that one would stay empty until Boggs filled it. Zeke and Trig, whose mattresses were next to each other, sat talking quietly. Trig raised his eyes as Devin stepped farther into the room, and the big man’s mouth and shoulders dropped. Zeke turned toward the door and jolted off the bed.
“Ebony!” he shouted. “Ebony!”
With surprising gentleness, he lifted his daughter from Devin’s arms and clutched her to his chest. The first joyous sob wracked him as he dropped to his knees on the mattress. Ebony startled, and she went rigid before her hands pressed and caressed and fussed over her child. Zeke tried to hand Nina over. They were both shaking too hard. Nina woke and started to cry.
“Maybe lie down,” Joe said. He’d stayed behind Devin until now, but he finally stepped into the room. “You and
Zeke can both touch her that way.”
Ebony nodded vacantly and lay down. She pulled up her shirt, and Nina latched onto her breast. Zeke lay beside them.
That was it. Devin didn’t know what he’d expected, exactly, maybe shouts and those fireworks things Joe had told him about, but definitely not this muted response.
Joe crouched at the foot of their mattress, and Devin moved behind him. The weight of the night dragged his shoulders down and forced a heavy sigh.
Ebony was bawling quietly, her mouth stretched into a smile. Zeke had buried his nose in the baby’s neck. His sobs came so quickly that he wasn’t making noise.
Needing to help, Devin squatted behind Zeke and rubbed his back. “Zeke, man, breathe.”
“You found her,” Roxy said. Devin hadn’t seen her wake, but she stood next to Joe and carded her fingers through his hair. “Gloria a Dios.”
“How?” Trig asked.
The other A runners dragged themselves from their mattresses and assembled around the reunited family’s bed. A hand rested on Devin’s shoulder, and he peeked up to see Flix, glassy-eyed and breathing heavily. Flix, who had made the maps and plans. Devin patted his hand. “You did good, junior.”
“Victor and Bea—” Joe started. He was going to tell the truth — Devin could see it in his eyes — and he’d be doing it for Devin, not because he thought it was right.
“Victor and Bea are heroes,” Devin said. “They found Nina yesterday and tried to rescue her. Victor took me and Joe back last night.” He spared a glance at Joe.
Those big chocolate eyes that Devin loved so much were round and grateful. Joe’s bruised lower lip trembled, and he mouthed, “Thank you.”
“Where’s Victor?” Trig asked. The other runners looked around as though they were just noticing Victor’s absence.
“He died,” Devin said. The gasps of the other runners, including Ebony, broke like glass inside his chest. “He went back to save the baby, knowing that the kidnappers had already killed Bea. He gave his life for Nina and for me and Joe.”