Wrong Ways Down (downside ghosts)

by Stacia Kane

  And now that he thought on it … he knew just who to call. It slipped into he head so easy that at first he thought it must be wrong, but a few minutes of considering it ain’t showed him any ways it could be. And iffen it were, Blue Bill and Rat was still right outside and could come up instead.

  Roley answered his phone on the second ring. Terrible ain’t let him finish saying “Hello” before he started talking. “Needing you over here. Now, dig? Get here now.”

  “Aye, what be—”

  “Just get here.” He gave Roley the address and hung up on his questions.

  The body still lay there on the floor—well, of course it fucking did. Took only a minute to shove it into the closet and close the door on it, another minute to make certain he ain’t got blood on him, wash his hands, and settle back on the couch with a smoke.

  Why would Roley be involved, though? Were true what Bump said before: Vole and Lacey were right up with Bump. All Roley had to do was keep heself clean and he’d be set; he’d walked into a job, one that paid good. One lotsa people would have killed for, and some tried.

  So why would he get heself involved in a plan to rape Bump’s whores, kill Bump’s men?

  Only reason Terrible could see was that he were just a piece of shit, which weren’t at all hard to believe. Lacey and Vole both vouched for him, which now made them suspect. In fucking Bump over—if he were, which there weren’t proof of, Terrible reminded himself—he were really fucking he family over.

  Terrible’d never had any family. Not that he could recall, leastaways. He must have had a mother and father; he were there, alive, so some woman had given birth to him after some man got her pregnant, but he had no recall of anyone. Even the earliest memories he could muster—the men with bells, a street full of people in the sunshine, a flight of dirty stairs, and a few of Haunted Week, of hiding in a metal cabinet he figured musta been made of iron—didn’t have any adults in em he knew, or who felt like they’d matter to him. Hell, nobody even ever gave him a real name, not what he could recall. He couldn’t imagine what it’d be like to have a family, for real. Bump were the closest thing he had.

  Which weren’t bad, true thing. Aye, Bump weren’t perfect, but so fucking what? Bump saved him. He wouldn’t be alive if it weren’t for Bump. Bump taught him everything he knew. Bump made him able to sleep at night.

  And he never forgot that. Could never forget it. He worked as hard as he could to forget everything around it, the years of fighting for scraps of food and getting used and being cold. He tried real fucking hard to forget Darren and running and knowing they was coming and he ain’t could hide from men that powerful and rich.

  He tried to forget his whole life before he woke up at Bump’s place to find a couple of women smiling at him and a dude in the corner with a gun trained on him just in case, but he never forgot what came after. Being fed. Being smiled at, talked to, given showers and clean clothes and shoes that fit and matched. Being taught how to read and write and figure numbers. Having a warm place to sleep, a room all his own.

  And not being asked to pay for any of it with his body—leastaways not asked to pay how Darren got killed for asking. The only things he were asked to do was what he woulda done anyway, wanted to do anyway, and they approved of him for it. Liked him for it. The thought of doing to Bump what Roley were—maybe—doing to his family? The thought of doing something that could get Bump injured, killed? Even that would cost him money or cause him problems?

  Never. Not iffen he could help it. He’d kill anybody else who tried it.

  He lit another cigarette and got ready to do just that.

  Roley got there just as he finished the beer he’d grabbed from Archie’s fridge. Ain’t made him feel good, drinking beer that fuckhead bought, but even not-remembering the shit he’d been not-remembering made him itchy and tight, and he needed to keep his temper when Roley got there. Had to be careful when Roley got there, causen if he were right Roley’d be real nervous, nervous enough to be on the alert.

  And again, iffen he were wrong, no harm done.

  Roley pushed the broken, half-open door aside so he could walk into the room. Terrible watched him. He looked nervous, aye, but could be any reason for that. Looked curious, too, but the kinda curious made Terrible’s skin prickle. Too curious. Too innocent. Before Roley’d got there Terrible had taken out his knife, set it half-under his right thigh where it couldn’t be seen. Just in case. He was aware of it now, easy to grab. He could rest his hand on it iffen he wanted to, the way he hadn’t been able to touch Chess when her head lay on that same thigh.

  “What’s this place?” Roley asked. Damn. The right question, or leastaways not the wrong one.

  Terrible shrugged. “Got me a call the dude living here maybe involved, dig. Check out in there.” He tipped his head toward the hall.

  Roley headed for it. Terrible followed close, tucking his knife into the back of his belt where he could grab it fast. Something was bothering him. Something in the way Roley was acting, the way he was handling heself, just … what the fuck was it?

  Roley opened the bedroom door, real cautious, and stepped through. Terrible ain’t could tell whether he got paler. He did know he looked confused. Kept looking at the spot where the body’d been—were obvious where, causen of the big blood stain—and back at Terrible.

  That was it. That was it, the problem. He kept looking at Terrible. He weren’t looking around the room, weren’t checking the place out. Ain’t even hardly glanced at all the pricey shit in the living room. He kept looking at Terrible, and he ain’t should have been. Only reason he’d keep looking at Terrible were iffen he were scared what Terrible might do, or iffen he expected Terrible to do aught to him. And no fucking reason at all he should be expecting that unless he knew he’d done something that would piss Terrible off.

  Tingles ran up and down his spine, but he still ain’t moved. It were enough for him. Iffen Roley weren’t who he were he’d be on the floor immediately. But he were, so Terrible needed to be real fucking certain. Needed just a little more.

  “So where the body at?” Roley asked.

  “Ain’t certain there was a body. No body, I getting here. Only this.”

  Roley looked confused. He waved his hand toward the mess. But he barely looked at it. Kept looking at Terrible, kept sneaking peeks at him from the corners of he eyes, kept tilting his head toward him. “But all that blood … guessing somebody dead, aye? Dude living here be dead, what I’m guessing on? Who the dude be?”

  “Naw, naw, dude lives here ain’t the dead one.” Terrible watched Roley real tight himself. “Name of Brian Tyler, only he alive. Got he waiting in the warehouse, if you dig.”

  Roley’s eyelids fluttered. All the sudden seemed like he grew a couple extra hands, they moved around so much while he tried finding something to do with em; he tucked em in he pockets, pulled em out, folded he arms, all that shit. And that was enough. Roley knew that name, and it made him nervous, and that was enough. “We heading over there next? Give him some askings?”

  Terrible put his own right hand on the back of Roley’s neck. Real gentle. His left hand he fisted at his side, ready. “Aye, we heading over there next, Roley. You an me.”

  Roley looked at him then, right at him. Terrible waited for his eyes to widen, waited for the fear and knowledge to show up real, before he knocked him out.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  BUMP STARED AT Terrible, his eyes narrow. “Where Roley fuckin bein at now?”

  “Tied up.” Terrible shrugged. The movement hurt, his body were so tight. Leaving Roley unbloody were one of the hardest things he’d done in months. “Let he sit there waiting, dig. Figured on you wanting the ask, what action you want, seeing as it Roley.”

  “You got yourself fucking certain?” Bump clasped his hands together and rested his chin on em. “Certain be fuckin Roley, an on this dude Archie or fuckin Brian whatever-the-fuck.”

  Terrible nodded and handed Bump Roley’s phone. “Stopped
over Lee’s place, asked he break in it. Dumbshit got he numbers listed by name, dig. Brian in there.”

  Bump examined the phone like it were a dead bug Terrible gave him to eat, the way he looked at just about everything cepting money, drugs, or dames. “Vole gave me Roley were fuckin smart, yay, thinkin he were all fuckin wrongways there, all wrong. Kinda fuckin moron leaving this shit on he fuckin phone?”

  Terrible shrugged. Arrogance made people stupid. Being convinced they were smart made people stupid. Being secure, the way Roley was with he cousins so trusted by Bump, made people stupid.

  Bump sighed, shook his head. “Ain’t had the thinking Roley fuckin be scum like that, yay, never had that fuckin thought. He the only one?”

  “Tryin finding out.” Another good question, one Terrible planned on asking. “Roley ain’t could have killed Slick heself, aye? Got witnesses on him, all night that night. Ain’t knowing iffen whoever done Slick one of ours, though, if you dig. Coulda been anybody.”

  Bump nodded. “You fuckin finish up with he and that fuckin factory, you fuckin get youself on the phone with me, yay, you giving me the call you fuckin done, heading you back over here. Bump gives Lacey and Vole the ring-ups, we giving them the fuckin asks then, with whatany you fuckin getting, dig? Get this fuckin shit done now, yay, had enough, all fuckin done on it.”

  He looked up and his eyes hardened the way Terrible knew real well. “Bring me he fuckin head, Terrible.”

  Terrible nodded, and left.

  He drove around a little before heading to the warehouse. Let Roley sweat some more. Let Terrible think on what all needed asking, on how to handle all and what to get done. Gave he time, too, give Timmy Vee the ring-up and give him the tell what all he’d need to put together.

  Then he were ready.

  The heavy padlock on the warehouse door gleamed dull and sullen in the moonlight. Terrible opened it without letting it touch the metal door, slid the shank out of the hasp without scraping. The one problem he had with being wrong-handed was doors opening the other way, but he could move fast enough for it not to matter.

  Roley started looking up when Terrible shoved the door open. Meant he were staring right at Terrible when the padlock hit he in the face. Terrible hadn’t thrown it real hard; he ain’t wanted to knock Roley out again, just to get his attention.

  Not necessary. Roley were paying attention. Roley were scared shitless, looked like. Good. The pleasure burning in Terrible’s chest probably should have shamed him, but it didn’t. Instead he went ahead and let Roley see it, let him see how much Terrible planned to enjoy this and how pissed he was.

  “So where Brian at?” He kept his voice casual, real conversational. “You give me him, be easier for you, dig?”

  “What you talking on? This ain’t funny no more, Terrible, hurt my eye you done. This some kinda—”

  Terrible interrupted him with his fist, right in the mouth. Damn, Roley really was stupid after all. “Where Brian at?”

  “Ain’t knowing any—”

  Iffen Roley liked getting punched, Terrible were happy to help. He went for the exact same spot, on the right side of Roley’s mouth; he felt teeth shift under his knuckles. “Oughta just give me the tell, aye, ain’t helping youself out.”

  “But I ain’t knowing any—”

  A third punch, and time to try something different. He hadn’t been hitting with all his strength; nowhere near, since he ain’t wanted to make Roley unconscious or aught just yet. This time he reached down and grabbed the index and middle fingers on Roley’s left hand, bent em back far enough for Roley to know what were coming next. “Where Brian at? Seeing as him faked he death an all, guessing he ain’t planned on coming back here. So where he at now?”

  “Where Bump be? What he saying, he hear—”

  His scream echoed off the bare cement walls of the warehouse. It were an ugly room, water stains and blood stains and grime in the harsh light from the lone bare bulb hanging from the ceiling. Fitted the place, though, since what happened in there were never pretty neither.

  Terrible let go of the two broken fingers and held the next two. Ready. “Got all night, aye? I got noplace else I needing to be. Ain’t bother me none, you wanting keep goin on. Kinda hoping you do, if you dig me.”

  “Bump ain’t gonna be on the happy side—”

  “He already ain’t,” Terrible said, but he didn’t think Roley heard him, since he broke Roley’s fingers as he said it.

  Usually he weren’t real emotionally involved in this shit. He could turn himself off, was the way he thought of it: just do his job, whatany it was needed doing. But now … he kept seeing Clapper Sue’s face, Essie’s face, Drina’s face. Kept seeing them huddled under that pink blanket in that stuffy room, and how broken they looked. It made him feel like a redlining engine, and he wanted to take his foot off the fucking brake pedal. He were sweating from wanting it so bad.

  He waited for Roley’s screaming to die before he talked again. “You really wanna do this? We both got you gonna give me the tells, aye. Oughta just give it now.”

  Roley hesitated. Aye, Terrible knew that look. He were sorry to see it, too; well, not sorry, causen he needed the knowledge and faster were always better, but sorry he wouldn’t be able to hurt Roley more.

  Leastaways not much more.

  He reached up and took Roley’s right hand in his own right, braced Roley’s arm with his left. “Wanting see how it feels, you wrist breaks? Or you wanting chatter instead?”

  He didn’t give Roley time to think on it. He tightened his grip, started to twist Roley’s hand and pull it back, figuring Roley’d speak up before he finished the movement but perfectly happy to go ahead iffen he kept quiet.

  “Waitwaitwaitwait!” The words—the one word repeated—ended in a sick, panicked little scream. “Wait, aye, look. Weren’t my fault, dig? Ain’t meant to—never fuckin meant for it to go down like so, swearing it. Ain’t ever meant that shit happening.”

  Terrible raised his eyebrows, let boredom sit all over his face. “Where Brian?”

  “Lied to me, he done, he lied. Gave me him only wanting hair offen em, dig? Say were all him fuckin wanting.”

  What the fuck did he care on this? He ain’t gave a shit why Roley done it or what Brian said or whatany else. He just wanted to finish it up.

  He increased the pressure on Roley’s wrist. “Where Brian?”

  “Please, please lemme give the explains, weren’t my fault—”

  Terrible finished the movement. He felt Roley’s bones crack and snap, felt the muscles around them spasm under his hands.

  Roley shrieked like a dame. Terrible guessed he ain’t could blame him too much. Broken wrists hurt. But he hadn’t screamed like that when it happened to him, so he went ahead and rolled his eyes as he lit a cigarette. Roley probably would need a few minutes before he could talk again.

  He did. Were about five before he finally stopped crying and got he breath back. “Ain’t knowing certain where he live. Moves around, him do. Got him a place up Northside, but I ain’t got where exact.”

  “How you stay touched up with he? On the phone, or you meet him up?”

  “Both.”

  Terrible waited.

  Roley sighed; red drool ran out the corner of his mouth and dripped down his chin to his shirt. His face was a mess of tears and blood and snot, his skin shiny pink. “Use the phone, dig, set up meets. Only he lied to me, Terrible, he lied, he ain’t told me what he for true wanted.”

  “You keep sayin that,” Terrible said, shaking his head a little. “Like it fuckin matter. Only it don’t.”

  “Can pay up.” Roley’s eyes were wide. “Can pay up, them can, pay back for fuckin em. Just counting as an owe, aye? Them ain’t shoulda taken it, but they whores, be what they do anyway just—”

  Terrible slammed his bent elbow into the side of Roley’s neck, where it met his shoulder. Roley’s whole body jerked hard. He made a sort of half-scream half-grunt; every breath he took whine
d in his nose and throat. Good. Was he fucking serious? Like it were about the money. Like that were the problem with what he did.

  Terrible held up Roley’s phone. “Where you meeting him, on the usual? How often? How you set up, you call or text?”

  Roley looked at the phone. Looked at Terrible. Looked at Terrible’s fist for a long moment. “Either. Meet whenever we gots shit needs chattering. Ain’t my fault, Terrible, needed the lashers, aye? Fuckin broke, I were, ain’t could pay no bills, and … what you doing?”

  Terrible didn’t look up from the phone, where he were writing a text to Brian. He was barely listening anyway; Roley could make any justification he wanted, but none of it mattered for shit. Betrayal was betrayal. Not much in life were black-and-white. This was. “The fuck you think I’m doing?”

  The text he sent said, “Meet me 5358 Foster space 12. Now.”

  It looked like the other texts he’d read on the phone, and now he were more certain they was real and not planted. He didn’t think there’d be any reason for Brian to suspect it, leastaways.

  If Roley were telling the truth and Brian lived in Northside, it’d take him maybe half an hour to get there. More than enough time.

  He got up without another word and left Roley there while he moved the Chevelle into the garage space they had a few doors down, and closed the door so it were hidden. Took a couple minutes to give Timmy Vee a ring-up, too, tell him time to start moving out.

  Roley looked more scared when Terrible got back. Aye, he ought. Should know what were coming.

  Terrible punched him again, to get he attention. The chair rocked back, righted itself with a thud. “Got any else you wanting give me, while you still got the chance?”

  A flash of defiance on Roley’s face, of anger. Even now the asshole thought he hadn’t done aught so bad. Amazing. “All I done was make some extra lashers on the side, is all. Aye, maybe them whores got roughed up some. So what? Happens alla fuckin time, and you knowing it.”

  “Aye? What about Slick?”

  Confusion. Confusion that looked genuine, though it were kinda hard to tell with Roley’s mouth swollen and eye puffing up too. Made his voice slurred and thick, specially with that whiny tone that felt like somebody running pins up Terrible’s spine to hear. “What on Slick? I ain’t killed he.”