by Stacia Kane
She waited. Didn’t raise her eyebrows. Didn’t look impatient. Just waited, like she ain’t cared how long it took him, it ain’t bothered her none. Or, more like she ain’t even noticed when it took him a long time to answer.
“Dame got attacked,” he said finally. “One of Bump’s, dig. Clapper Sue she name. Ain’t got who done it.”
“Is she okay?”
He nodded. “She be right. Ain’t—ain’t hurt bad.” It had felt bad enough lying to Edsel on it. Lying to Chess made him feel like shit.
But he didn’t have a choice, not on this. Weren’t just about Sue’s privacy, neither; aye, she deserved it, but he trusted Chess. She wouldn’t play pass-on with that.
Weren’t because of Sue that he couldn’t tell Chess what happened, or ain’t wanted to tell her. Were because of her.
She’d never outright told him anything. But she’d never had to. He knew. Dames like her didn’t hunt down an addiction lessin there was a damn good reason, and she’d sure as fuck hunted it down. He’d watched her do it, from the first time she showed up in Downside. Watched her not even fight with herself over it, least not what he could see.
And that was way before he really knew her, back when he’d just paid idle attention to her, kept track of her owes and every once in a while said something to her on them. Before he got to know how tough she were, and how tough she weren’t, too. Before he got to know just from the way them greeny-blue-brown eyes of hers clouded, or her mouth turned down, or she suddenly looked so sad and scared and pissed off at the world, what she was thinking on. Why she felt about herself the way she did. What they’d done to her, all them bullshit foster families or whatany they were.
Seemed like he were the only one who saw it, but he did. He knew. So how could he tell her about what happened to Sue, and watch her smile fade and darkness bloom behind her eyes? Watch her reach for that pillbox in she bag and down a couple? He couldn’t do that to her. He just couldn’t, not if he ain’t had to. Specially not when it seemed like she were in a good mood.
Funny, she had all that ink on her skin to protect her from ghosts and magic, and he were damn sure doing what he could to protect her outside that, but weren’t anything he could do to keep her safe from the memories.
He knew how that felt, too.
Chess studied him. Waiting to see would he say more. But she didn’t reach for her bag, so he breathed a little easier. “He just grabbed her off the corner? Or … ?”
“Lied like him were buyin. Robbed her in the car.” He reached for his smokes and raised his eyebrows at her. She nodded. He lit two and handed her one.
“Any clues?” She dragged off the smoke, her fingers slim and delicate around it, her gestures soft and graceful. “Did she get a description of him or anything?”
“Said had dark hair, but not much past it. Saying them all looking alike, dig, ain’t paid attention.”
She thought about it for a second. Like she always did. That thing in his chest, whatever it were, relaxed more. Chess was smart. She knew all kinds of shit he’d never even be able to imagine, and she thought on things and had opinions like he’d never consider himself. He bet she’d have some good ideas for him.
And if she didn’t? Just chattering on it with her made him feel better. Like he ain’t had to worry on it all on his alones. Like he had somebody besides Bump backing him up.
“Do you think he was just looking for somebody to rob, or something else was going on? Like he’s targeting hookers for some reason?” she asked.
“He ain’t said aught to Sue, like any on bein dirty, if you dig. Whores get attacked just for bein whores, usually they hearing that kind of shit.”
Shit. He shouldn’t have said that. What the fuck was wrong with him, how fucking dumb could he be?
“Yeah,” she said. Her eyes darkened. “I guess they do.”
Maybe he could change the subject. Or move it on, or whatany. He spent too long thinking of something else to say, then finally came up with one. “Got you plans for the new year? Heading out anywheres?”
Her expression cleared, and he felt better. Some. Trouble was, every fucking time he saw that look in her eyes, every fucking time he saw her frown like that, it got harder and harder not to tell her to write down a list of names for him. Every single name she had a recall on, causen he wanted to hunt em all down one by one and make sure they knew why as they died. He honestly couldn’t think of much he’d like more.
“Not really,” she said, obviously not knowing he sat next to her planning bloody revenge on everyone who’d ever so much as looked at her sideways, much less hurt her. “I think the Runouts are playing at Chuck’s, right? I might go. You?”
“Be a fight on. Figured on watching it. Maybe head Chuck’s on the after, aye.”
But he wouldn’t. Because Amy’d be at his place, and iffen he took her out after the fight he wouldn’t want to take her anywheres Chess was. Amy ain’t exactly liked Chess; the few times they’d been out somewheres and Chess showed up Amy’d wanted to leave right away. She’d been real casual on it, made up some other reason for taking off, but it ain’t been hard to catch that as soon as Chess walked in Amy wanted to walk out.
Weren’t hard to figure out why, neither, or that it was his fault. He knew that when Chess were around he looked at her, watched her for too long. He knew he kept glancing at her. He knew his eyes followed her when she moved, and that they ain’t stayed on her face neither. He couldn’t help it, no matter how much he wanted to.
“Boxing?”
He nodded.
She did that considering thing again, and his neck got warm. He could see it on her face, in her eyes, that look that made him feel like she saw right through him and pegged him to the wall. “You ever think of doing that? Like, prizefighting.”
He shrugged, trying to think of a way to answer, trying not to be uncomfortable. Not causen the question were a wrong one, but causen he ain’t wanted to think on it. On what happened. Ain’t wanted to recall how aye, he had thought on it. More than thought.
Funny thing was, though … he’d tell her, iffen the discussion went that far. He’d never told anybody; well, Bump knew, coursen, but nobody else. But Chess would understand. Chess he’d tell. Iffen it came down to it.
He ain’t wanted it to, though, leastaways not just then. She’d heard enough shitty stories. So he tried to think of a way to say it that wouldn’t be a lie but wouldn’t be opening it up, neither. “Thought on it, aye. When I were a kid. Only … met up with Bump, dig, he find me an took me in, an … just stayed.”
He waited for her to ask more, while the memories flashed in his head, harder and sharper because he ain’t had been expecting them. Darren who said he were a fight promoter. Darren’s huge house filled with expensive shit, the big gym, all Darren’s friends—powerful friends, connected friends—coming to meet him and telling him how he were gonna fight for real, in a ring.
And all of it a lie. And Darren climbing into his bed that night, and the next thing he knew there was blood everywhere, a bloody knife in his hand, and Darren were dead. Then running and hiding, knowing those friends was after him, hearing they was offering money for his head.
Bump found him first. He’d never looked back.
He felt Chess’s curiosity. He also felt her caution. Aye, she knew there were more than what he were saying. Question was whether she’d ask on it.
She didn’t. Instead she said, in the kind of light tone that meant she knew something were up but were letting him decide iffen he wanted to chatter on it, “Lucky for all the rest of them you like working with Bump better.”
Heat crept farther over his neck, up his cheeks. “More happening, aye?”
“And not so many rules?” She were smiling when she said it, though. Like she even accepted that, like it ain’t bothered her none.
Which meant he could agree, and admit it, without feeling like shit. “Aye. Ain’t much for those. An ain’t wanting all the shit goes with it, anyr
oad. Havin pictures taken an all.”
“Yeah. I wouldn’t want to do that, either.” She tilted her head. Her hair fell over her shoulder. He wanted to reach out and brush it back, let it slip through his fingers. Her hair was really fucking soft. He remembered that, remembered it so hard sometimes—the way it had felt, the way she’d felt, her hands on him—he thought he were gonna pass out. Probably because when he remembered it all the blood left his head and went somewheres else. “No privacy at all.”
Aye, he knew that about her. Funny thing was, he doubted she realized, or thought on, the fact that she ain’t had much privacy anyway. Everybody knew she were Bump’s witch now. Everybody knew she were his friend. Everybody knew who she were, was the point. And Bump’s people watched to make certain she were safe, causen he told em to.
But he ain’t said that. “How you case going? The one you told me on last week, them in Northside?”
She rolled her eyes, but she smiled, too, and shifted position to face him better with her legs tucked up underneath her. It amazed him, like it always did, how she changed when she talked about her work. All that … all that fragility, all that loneliness, faded, and she were confident. Not just tough the way she usually were, but confident. “They’re such morons. They have a projector set up, you know, to show an image so they can claim it’s a ghost? It’s not a horrible projector, actually, it’s a pretty good one, but it generates a lot of heat. And they tried to hide it by sewing it into a teddy bear. Like a nanny cam or something.”
It felt good to be amused by something. “Caught fire?”
“Yep. Dumbasses. It’s a good thing I was still in the room—they had it set up to go off when a light beam was broken, and I went at night, you know—because if I hadn’t been there to put it out their house would have burned down.”
“Too bad they ain’t thought on that afore. Coulda just burned them house down for insurance, save the trouble.”
She gave a short, light laugh. “They never do that. They’re so sure their insurance company will catch them but they never think we will.”
“They ain’t know you,” he said.
That flash of surprise on her face, just like every time he said shit like that, before her cheeks went pinkish. Looked so pretty it made his chest tight. He didn’t think he’d ever get tired of seeing it.
She took a drink of water from the bottle she always had on her. He bet she weren’t thirsty at all, just trying to cover like she heard how fucking amazing she was all the time, like it ain’t mattered.
Coursen, she probably did hear it all the time from dudes who wanted to fuck her. Wasn’t like he could say anything on that, neither, seeing as how he was one of em.
But he didn’t say it causen of that. He said it causen it was true. If he spent the next year doing nothing but thinking on it, he still wouldn’t be able to figure out why a dame like her wanted to hang out with him.
“Well,” she said. “I’ve got them, anyway, and this week I’ll file the paperwork.”
“Cool.” He finished his beer. He oughta go; were almost eight. And she were reading and all, she probably didn’t want to be bothered for too long.
He stood up. “Gotta get moving, aye? Still got shit needs doing.”
“Oh.” A flash of disappointment across her face. Aye, he felt the same way. “I thought—well, good luck finding the guy, anyway.”
He nodded and headed for the kitchen and the door, the desire to stay making him move slow. Not just wanting to stay, but something else, too. Something he needed to say, but had to be damn careful he didn’t say it wrong. “Hey, watch youself onna streets, dig? Know you careful an all, just sayin.”
For a second he thought she was going to be annoyed. He half expected her to be; he’d never known any dame who hated having people worry on her as much as Chess did.
But the second passed. She still ain’t looked happy, but he didn’t get the sense that came from bein mad or aught like that. “Good to know. Thanks for telling me.”
“Aye.”
“Hey … ” She followed him to the door. “I’ll probably be around all night. You know, if you wanted to come back later. I’ll be up.”
He wondered what she’d say if he told her how much he wanted to come back, how much he wished he didn’t have to leave at all. But then, he knew, didn’t he? She’d blush and stammer, maybe tell him a lie to try and spare his feelings like she had after that night, but that would be it. He could picture her shutting down, picture how uncomfortable she’d look, just like it were really happening.
Ain’t mattered. He’d be with Amy, and Amy’d expect to stay at his place or have him at hers, and he couldn’t very well dump her on her porch so he could come back and see Chess. Wouldn’t be right. Amy didn’t deserve that.
But Chess ain’t needed to know that, neither. “Aye. I come by, iffen I can.”
He walked into the hall, fast to remind himself he couldn’t kiss her goodbye, and heard the door close behind him.
CHAPTER FIVE
HE FELT LIKE shit. And Amy’s cheeriness weren’t helping, especially since he couldn’t figure out why he felt so shitty. Just tense, he guessed, with all that were happening. Slick and Clapper Sue and the idea that Slobag’s men were on the move into Bump’s territory … Coursen, they always were, it seemed like, but still. Them tryna sell on the border streets were one thing. Them heading that far in and trying selling there, that were another. That seemed like part of some plan.
Could be part of the same plan. Could be Slobag’s men killed Slick. Could be Slobag’s men attacked Sue. He ain’t wanted to think that one, but it were possible.
Fuck, it’d been a long-ass day. He ought should have cancelled with Amy. He just weren’t up for hanging out with her and listening to her chatter on TV shows or them she worked with or whatany else. Usually it ain’t bothered him—he liked Amy, true thing, she were a cool dame—but tonight … no, just not up for it.
Had he lied to Chess, by not giving her a full answer to her question? Or, no, he ain’t lied, but … maybe he’d done the wrong thing, brushing over it all. Maybe he’d hurt her, not telling her. Maybe she’d thought it meant he didn’t trust her.
Fuck, he hated this shit.
“Terrible, is you listening to me?” Amy set her hand on his chest. “You ain’t sayin much, you ain’t.”
“Aye, sorry.” Shit, what had she been saying? “Just got a lot on, aye? Some shit happening, is all.”
Her bright pink mouth twisted down. “Oughta just cancel with me, aye, iffen you ain’t gonna pay attention. Wanting chatter with you.”
“Sorry,” he said again. “You was sayin on you work, aye? What happen?”
“Two dudes coming on, telling me be a ghost around. Say a ghost kill Bump’s man on the other night. Be true? It a ghost?”
Her brown eyes were wide; she looked scared, and he hated that his first thought was to be annoyed instead of wanting to make her feel better like he should. With effort he kept his voice casual. “Naw, ain’t true. Don’t know where them dumb fuckin rumors starting, but ain’t true. Ain’t a ghost.”
Amy worked at a secondhand store up Sixtieth, old furniture and appliances and whatany. Fuck. Now she got people just coming in offen the streets, chattering on ghosts?
“Then why they—”
He shrugged. “Somebody tryin stir shit up, is all.”
Amy glanced around. “Slobag?”
“Maybe.” Probably. But until he were certain he ain’t wanted to say, and he were trying real fucking hard not to get mad thinking of it. Why the fuck all this shit starting up now? “Don’t need to be worryin on it, aye? No ghost.”
She nodded, but he could see the question starting behind her eyes, could see her wondering did he wish it were a ghost so’s he could call Chess, or was he saying weren’t a ghost causen he were already working with Chess.
He cut that off with, “Want me getting you a beer?”
“Aye.” She leaned back on the s
eat and folded her pale arms over her chest in a way that let him know she caught on that he were trying to change the subject. She wore a skimpy little pink dress, with thin straps and a short skirt. How she ain’t froze in that outside he didn’t know, but he couldn’t deny he ain’t minded at all when she looked mostly undressed.
Which kinda made him feel worse, causen they’d hang out there an hour or so, and then they’d go back to his and get that dress off her, and despite the fact that they never made any promises or aught like that—and he weren’t the only dude she saw, neither—he couldn’t help thinking he weren’t really treating her right. No. He didn’t think it. He knew it. And he knew why, which was worse.
The thought stuck in his head as he got up and pushed through to the bar. Thursday night, and especially crowded causen of the cold. Were hot inside Chuck’s; lots of people ain’t had heating, or tried to save what they had causen they couldn’t afford to use it all the time, so anyplace that were warm inside found itself awful fucking popular in winter. Just like places with air conditioning in summer.
But it meant a lot of people to shove aside, and feeling off like he was it only pissed him up more till he got to the bar and held up two fingers. Last time he’d been there he’d met Chess; they’d stood in the back then headed to her place, and he’d stayed til about four. That had been fun. A fuck of a lot more fun than he were having now, with Amy glowering from the booth and the memory of Sue’s face and ghost rumors and trouble from Slobag and the way Chess might think he ain’t trusting her …
Somebody banged into him, hard. On purpose; nobody hit that hard, that direct, without meaning to. He paused, turned around real slow.
He ain’t knew the dude. But he knew what the dude wanted, knew that look. Happened every once in a while, somebody got a few beers in em and decided they was gonna give him a try, prove to some dame or some gang of equally dumb fucks how tough they were.
The gang of equally dumb fucks stood behind him, off to the left, watching.
Normally he wouldn’t bother much. A stare and they backed down; if they did try to swing he caught it and knocked em over or something. Weren’t worth his time.