by Penny Reid
Surprisingly, Marie and Sandra made very efficient work of tackling the big man to the ground. Admittedly, he was still on his knees, trying to scramble upwards, when they reached him and- yes- Marie kicked him in the groin area with pointed boots immediately upon entering his sphere of personal space. Sandra grabbed the 9mm from him while he was distracted and, to my very great surprise, after promptly switching back on the safety, proceeded to clobber him with the butt of the gun.
“I-”
clobber
“-am going-”
clobber
“-to fuck-”
clobber
“-you up-”
clobber
“-bitch!”
It took me a moment to realize that Sandra was holding a ball of yarn in her other hand, the one not holding the gun. She stuffed it in the mouth of Goon#2 even as she brought the gun down for another bone crunching blow.
Fiona scrambled over to Elizabeth, cupping her face and trying to shield her from further violence and Quinn pistol whipped Sam, knocking the tattooed menace out with a single blow.
Marie picked up the tequila bottle and swung it wildly at Goon#1 who, seemingly, had just started to recover from the shock of being stabbed with a Susan Bates knitting needle. Goon#1 lifted the hand of his good arm over his face but a little too late; Marie brought the bottle down with a resounding crash and the tower of a man fell backwards, unconscious.
Kat and I were peaking under the couch. The only sound in the small apartment was labored breathing until someone, I guessed Marie, said:
“Oh, shit! Sandra! Is that the limited dye lot Madelintosh aran you just stuffed in that asshole’s mouth? You know I can’t replace that!”
CHAPTER 28
The police arrived not ten seconds later. It was a good thing, too. Marie was holding a broken bottle of tequila, shards of glass in every direction, and Sandra was holding a gun; they were arguing about the, apparently, very expensive and hard to find skein of yarn that Sandra had stuffed in the mouth of Goon#2.
Quinn turned towards me as soon as the police entered. His eyes met mine and what I saw there was potent mixture of tension and relief. But, he didn’t come to me. Instead he placed his weapon on the ground then moved his hands to the back of his head, waiting for the Chicago PD. The room, small made smaller by a crush of large officers and subdued bad guys and my somewhat traumatized knitting group, felt unbearably large.
The distance between us felt impossible.
It wasn’t until hours later, after statements and questioning and a pseudo-physical administered by an EMT, that we were all released; actually, all of us but Quinn. Soon after the police arrived they handcuffed him and took him to the police station- despite protests from me, Kat, Elizabeth, Sandra, Marie, and Fiona.
Ashley arrived around seven and was quickly filled in on the details by Sandra. As she listened to the story I watched a spectrum of emotions cross over her features.
Finally she settled on exasperation, “Why does everything good happen when I’m not there? I swear, the next time Janie’s hot boyfriend saves ya’all from neck tattooed goons, ya’all better wait till I’m done with my shift or else I’m gunna be pissed.”
“He didn’t save us, haven’t you been listening?” Elizabeth held an icepack to her chin where she’d been hit by a goon elbow, “Fiona stabbed one of them with a Susan Bates needle, Marie was wielding a tequila bottle, Sandra pistol-whipped the other, and I shot the third.”
“Where were Janie and Kat?” Ashley looked from me to Kat.
“Hiding behind the couch, like sane people!” Kat said before anyone else could speak.
Ashley gave us a suddenly watery smile, “Damn it, if something had happened to any of you, I would have been very upset. What were you thinking?”
She initiated a group hug which lasted well past what would have been considered typical as none of us wanted to let each other go.
~*~
After all the ladies left, Elizabeth leaving with Marie, but before the last police car drove away, I approached a short, stocky guard who I instantly recognized and who’d been watching me since the police escorted us all out to the ambulance for our EMT checkups. It was Dan the security man from the Fairbanks building.
We walked towards each other, meeting half way. His large brown eyes were big and kind and he gave me a small smile, it almost looked apologetic.
“Ms. Morris.” He nodded to me.
“Dan the security man.” I nodded to him.
He sighed, “Are you ok?”
I continued to nod. I didn’t want to say yes because I wasn’t, at that moment, at all sure how I was doing. However, I didn’t want to appear to be a basket case when I needed his help.
“Listen, Dan, I was hoping you could take me to Quinn- um- Mr. Sullivan’s place.”
“It’s ok, I call him Quinn, too.” Dan pointed with his thumb to a car behind him, a black Mercedes coupe, “That’s actually why I’m here.”
I half smiled and released a short breath, “Of course.”
“Come on.” He motioned with his head for me to follow.
When we were settled in the car and he’d pulled into traffic I noticed he was giving me long, sideways glances- as though he wanted to say something, ask something, but wasn’t sure how to start.
Taking pity on him I prompted, “Is there something you want to say?”
“Yes-” the word tumbled out of his mouth, “Yes, I wanted to tell you how sorry I am.”
I blinked at him, wondering before how I’d missed his very distinctive Bostonian accent; “Sorry? Why are you sorry?”
“Because Seamus is my brother and he is a complete fu- er, he is a very bad guy.”
I shifted slightly away, pressing my back to the passenger door so I could study him more fully, “Yes, well. In that case I suppose I should apologize for my sister. She is also a very bad… guy.”
He chuckled, “Yes. Yes she is.”
I squinted at him, “Did you know Jem?”
He nodded, “She is still just as crazy as she was when I knew her.”
“Oh- you saw her recently?”
He nodded, “This afternoon when you came to the new building with your friend, I was in the apartment with Quinn and Jem.” He glanced at me as he turned the steering wheel to the right and merged on to Michigan Avenue.
I stiffened, “So, you were there?”
“Yep- that bitch- er, your sister is crazy, but you know this. Quinn was trying to help her, he offered her money to disappear, but she started ranting and shit, taking off her clothes. I swear if I didn’t know her already- how nuts she is- I would have thought she was on something. Then she bit him, burned him with her cigarette, right through his shirt. It was crazy- blood coming from his neck.”
I winced, thinking about Jem biting Quinn with such force that she drew blood. “Why was she taking off her clothes?”
He shrugged his shoulders, “I donno. Cause she’s crazy? When you got there he was cleaning the bite mark and all the blood. He was leaving to get some new clothes. I would have taken a bath in alcohol and hydrogen peroxide if she’d bit me.”
I chewed on my lip, taking all this in, feeling relieved and stupid and anxious. Dan parked the car in the basement of the building and escorted me up to Quinn’s penthouse. He opened the door for me but didn’t go inside.
I’d been quiet since the car, wanting to start sorting through my tangled mess of emotions and the evening’s events. But I was restless to see Quinn and not really capable of dwelling on anything until I wrapped my arms around him and felt, rather than saw, that he was safe.
“So…” Dan handed me the keys to the penthouse, “Quinn should be home sometime tonight. When he called me they hadn’t charged him with anything and they shouldn’t ‘cause he has a license to carry that gun.”
I stopped him as he turned away, “Dan, can I ask you something?”
His eyebrows lifted as he nodded his assent. “Sure.”
/>
I shifted the keys from one hand to the other, tucked my hair behind my ears, “How long have you known Quinn?”
He shrugged, “Since we was kids.”
“Do you know why Quinn left Boston?”
He hesitated, his eyes narrowed as his lips twisted to the side, “Yes.”
I couldn’t help but smile at his one word answer, the very picture of cautious loyalty. “So do I… I think.”
He stood very still, watching me, his eyes moving over my features with a concentrated intensity; at length he said, “You know, he is really crazy about you. Not crazy like your sister Jem crazy. But, trying-to-become-a-better-person crazy.”
I pressed my lips together, my heart, whole again, skipped wildly in my chest before I replied, “The feeling is mutual.”
~*~
At first I didn’t even contemplate sleep. I did laps around Quinn’s bare apartment, wishing I’d brought a comic book with me, realizing I didn’t even have my stupid cell phone. However, in a fit of petulant annoyance, I threw myself against the bed and promptly feel asleep.
When I awoke I was confused. The panorama of the park and the lake and the city told me that it was still the middle of the night but I had no idea how long I’d been asleep. I stretched, planning to get up and check the time on my watch via the light of the bathroom, but I, acutely, realized that I was not alone.
There was a body next to me.
In fact, I was curled around that body.
And the body was not asleep.
My breath hitched, “Quinn?”
The arm around my shoulders squeezed gently before he removed it, shifting on the bed and propping himself up on an elbow so that we were facing.
“Hey-” his other hand immediately entangled itself in my hair, tugging my head back so he could cover my mouth with his. I leaned into his kiss, pressing my body to his, feeling joy and relief and gratefulness that were indescribable.
We kissed, just kissed, for a long time. Sometimes I was over him, sometimes he was over me, sometimes we were sitting up, sometimes we were lying down. It went on and on and, were it not for the necessity of air, we might have kissed for the rest of our lives. I would not have complained.
He pushed my hair from my face, at this point I was straddling his lap and we were on the middle of the bed, and rested his forehead against mine.
“Oh, Quinn, I am so sorry.” I hugged him to me, my arms around his neck.
“Janie, there is nothing to be sorry about-”
“But I assumed the worst, I saw you with Jem and I assumed that you- that you and her-”
His arms tightened around me, “Were playing ‘hide the salami’?” he quoted Elizabeth’s words from earlier which, despite the evening’s events, made us both laugh.
When the short burst of laughter ended I nuzzled my head into the crook of his neck, careful to avoid his earlier injury, “Dan brought me here and told me what happened, with Jem. I am sorry she bit you.”
His hand rubbed circles over my back, with each pass his hand moved lower until he was stroking the base of my spine just above the curve of my bottom. “It’s ok. I don’t care about Jem.”
I pulled just far enough away from him so I could see his face. He looked tired, weary.
“I also-” I sighed, “You should know that I do trust you.”
He offered me a small smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes, “We can talk about it in the morning.”
“No- no, listen-” I shifted backwards and at first he didn’t let me go but then finally allowed me to stand from the bed. I reached into my pants pocket and pulled out the folded email, my voice was still thick with sleep, “Olivia- at least I think it was Olivia- left this on my desk yesterday and I was going to show it to you today.” I shoved the paper at him.
He looked from me to the paper then, with clear hesitation, took the sheet from my hand. I crossed to the bathroom and flipped on the light which gave him just enough illumination to read the contents. He pushed to the edge of the bed and stood, his long form unfolding, straightening, then stiffening as he read. A rush of breath escaped his lungs and his eyes flickered to me.
“I haven’t seen this but, Janie- I can tell you-”
I covered his hand holding the paper with mine, “No- it doesn’t matter. What I wanted to say was, what I want to say is that I saw this yesterday and- yes, admittedly, I had a momentary freakout but then I thought about it and I knew, I realized that I trust you. I knew there had to be a reasonable explanation and I was going to show it to you today, tonight, before everything went from Judd Apatow harmless to Quentin Tarantino horrifying.”
Quinn took a step towards me, shaking his head, “I asked them to-”
“You don’t have to explain. I just- I trust you, I trusted you. I just wanted you to know that I wasn’t worried. I- I- I have faith in you.”
This time his small smile did reach his eyes and he looked almost proud of himself, and a little mischievous. His gaze moved over my face in a slow sweep as he licked his lips, “Let me tell you what this is about, ok?”
I nodded, “You don’t have to-”
“I want to.” Quinn dipped his chin and leveled me with a measured stare. He glanced briefly at the email and handed it back to me, “After you and I talked on Tuesday, when you told me you didn’t want to take the plane back with everyone else, you felt uncomfortable leaving things undefined at work, I called Betty and tasked her with asking the lawyers to put a proposal together which would define work expectations in such a way that would allow you and I to continue our relationship outside of work.”
My attention moved back to the email as he continued and I tried to re-read it with this information in mind.
“Obviously they misinterpreted the request. I wanted them to set up something- tangible, legal- that you could feel good about, that would protect you in case our relationship… ever… ended.” One of his hands moved to the back of his neck and he began to rub the tendons.
“It reads like they interpreted your request, your main objective, to be protecting the company. They want me to resign so that you and I can date without putting the company at risk.”
“I’ll get it straightened out.” He shifted closer, running the back of his knuckles against the skin where my scoop-neck shirt met my chest.
I surveyed the email once more before stepping away from him to discard it on the dresser, “I know you will.” I couldn’t meet his eyes. Part of me wondered if it would just be better for everyone if I did quit. Then, I could date Quinn without making others uncomfortable about putting his company at risk.
“Hey-” he tilted my chin back until I met his gaze, “What are you thinking about? And don’t tell me robots.”
Despite myself, I gave him a brittle grin, “Maybe I should quit.”
He shook his head, “No. That’s not acceptable.”
“Quinn-”
“That would be bad for my company.”
“But at least-”
“What are you so afraid of?”
“I’m afraid that if you get to know me you’ll think I’m weird.” The words, words I didn’t even know I was going to say, blurted forth like a disobedient hiccup.
His gaze refocused, met mine directly, “I do know you and, you’re right, you are weird.”
“I’m afraid you’re laughing at me instead of with me.”
He shrugged, “There is nothing I can do about that. You’re funny.”
“I’m afraid that your money, and my lack of money, will come between us.”
He placed his hands on his hips, “It won’t. I won’t let it.”
“I’m afraid that I feel more for you then you feel for me.”
He shook his head slowly, “That’s not possible.”
“I’m afraid that we’re moving too fast and that this is just infatuation.”
“I don’t know what this is.” He breathed in as though he were going to continue but then paused.
Quinn s
tudied me, held my gaze, his eyes moving between mine. He seemed to be considering his next words carefully.
I knew what I wanted him to say; I wanted him to tell me that this wasn’t infatuation, that he was certain we were meant to be together into eternity, that I looked pretty in this dress and ask me if I did something different with my hair, that I was the most beautiful woman in the world to him. It was what I wanted to hear because I was falling in love with him
…was in love with him.
Finally- his words deliberate, cautiously crafted- Quinn said, “I think about you all the time.” His gaze narrowed, his jaw ticked as though the confession cost him, “And I can’t guarantee that this isn’t infatuation because sometimes I think it has to be. But-” his gaze moved upward then to the left and over my shoulder, “- I don’t think of you as perfect.”
I frowned at him.
I don’t think of you as perfect.
“Oh… ok.” My eyelashes blinked in rapid succession and my brain started compiling the list of all my imperfections, “It’s because of my height? My seepage of trivial facts? My granny panties-”
“No- listen-” his attention swiftly moved back to me, “that’s not-” he shook his head and swallowed, “If this were infatuation- or just infatuation- then I would, we would become disillusioned at some point, yes?”
I nodded, I was sure unconvincingly.
He continued, “I don’t have misconceptions about you- that you’re flawless. And you don’t have any illusions about me. You’re too practical and- if you did- you wouldn’t have reminded me on Wednesday that I need to be a good guy.”
I nodded again, this time more convincingly albeit more wearily.
“I don’t think this,” he motioned between us, “I don’t think this is infatuation.” He shifted closer and I thought he was going to touch me but, instead, he crossed his arms and his voice became softer, gentler, “I know that life, in general, terrifies you; I know that you are frequently oblivious to the obvious; and I know you are completely irrational at times-”