Illegal Fortunes

by Sabrina Stark

  "You call it sneaking. I call it the element of surprise."

  "Hah! So you were sneaking."

  "Nope. Just being smart." He gave me a sideways glance. "Unlike the other night."

  "So," I said, "speaking of which…"

  "Cat."

  "Yeah," I said. "Cat."

  "Alright, here's the deal," he said. "We used to be a thing. We're not anymore. End of story."

  "Since when?"

  "A few weeks."

  "But you must've been pretty serious, huh?"

  "Why do you say that?"

  I forced out a laugh. "Other than your name on her boob, you mean?"

  "Hey, I didn't put it there."

  "So," I said, "are you sure she's not your girlfriend?"

  "I'm sure."

  "How about Cat? Is she sure?"

  His voice grew cool in the warm night air. "She is now."

  My thoughts drifted to that awful encounter on the beach. "You called her a bitch." I cleared my throat. "Is that a habit of yours?"

  "No."

  I waited for him to elaborate. He didn't.

  I gave him a sideways glance. His face was impassive, relaxed even. As if feeling my gaze, he turned his head to look at me.

  "So," I said, "why'd you two break up?"

  "Because," he said, "she's not my type. Not anymore."

  My feet stopped moving. Slowly, I turned to face him. "What do you mean?"

  The ghost of a smile drifted across his face. "I saw you the first time, you know."

  "The first time?"

  "In the field," he said. "I spotted you from maybe a half-mile away. But I'm thinking, not my problem. Forget it. Keep on going."

  I kept my tone light. "Well, that's not very nice."

  His smile faded, and a hint of sarcasm crept into his voice. "You think I'm nice?"

  "Oh c'mon," I said. "You were nice to me."

  "First time for everything," he said.

  I hesitated. "So, about Russell's car–"

  "It wasn't about the car."

  "What was it about?"

  His gaze met mine. "What do you think?"

  Stalling, I glanced around. Except for bars and restaurants, most of the shops were already closed. From a nearby pub, a classic rock ballad drifted over the sidewalk.

  "I don't know," I said.

  Sure, I had my suspicions. But if I voiced them, and I was wrong, I'd die of humiliation.

  "Let me put it this way," he said. "The guy leaves you alone in the middle of nowhere. With no phone. No money. And no car." His voice hardened. "At night."

  "Yup," I said. "That about covers it."

  "I couldn't let it go." He turned to face me. "But want to know what scared me?'

  "What?"

  "That I tried to, and couldn't."

  I shook my head. "I'm not following."

  "On one hand, I've got this girl I want to see again."

  At his words, I wanted to smile. But something in his voice made me stop. He wasn't smiling.

  "You wanted to see me again?" I said.

  He reached for my hand. "You gotta ask?"

  His hand felt nice, with long fingers that brushed my palm and made my stomach flutter. I met his gaze. "I don't know," I admitted.

  "If you only knew." His fingers tensed as he continued. "But let's say I blew off the thing with Russell, just walked away."

  "Which you probably should have," I said.

  "Yeah?" Well, how the hell am I supposed to even think of seeing you again, knowing I let some guy do that to you and didn't do a damn thing about it?"

  My head was reeling. "Technically, he didn't do anything to me," I said. "It was fine."

  "Was it?" he said.

  "Sure," I said. "I can handle Russell."

  "Maybe," he said. "But I can handle him better."

  "Except it was my problem, not yours."

  "Alright," he said, "Then let me ask you something."

  "What?"

  He grinned. "The other night, when you thought it was me on the lawn, were you really gonna jump in and kick my dad's ass?"

  "Oh shut up," I said.

  "Wanna make me?"

  My voice was breathless as I said, "How?"

  He leaned toward me, slowly, as if giving me the chance to run. But I didn't want to run. I wanted to lean into him, to feel his arms around me, and have his lips pressed to mine. Waiting, I felt my lips part, and my breathing grow shallow.

  Finally, his arms closed around me, pulling me close. A moment later, that first almost-kiss was a pale memory compared to the real thing.

  Chapter 30

  When I woke in my freezing apartment, that long-ago kiss seemed a different lifetime. After all these years, he’d barely changed. Worse, neither had my reaction to him.

  No matter how I sliced it, I’d need to resolve the council business quickly. My safe, Southern life was calling, and not just because of the weather.

  Burrowing deeper under the covers, I eyed my cell phone on the night stand. Temptation got the better of me. I called Steve and asked, "Can you guys go down to the river again?"

  "Still looking for Gilligan?"

  "Yeah," I said. "I need to catch him before I head to Alabama."

  "You're still in bed, aren't you?"

  "Maybe."

  "Loser."

  "C'mon," I said. "Will you guys see if Edgar's in his shanty?"

  "Oh what the hell," he said. "We'll come by the shop in an hour. Think you can make it outta bed by then?"

  "I'll see what I can do."

  "Pantywaist," he said and hung up.

  Damn it. I wasn't as weak as everyone thought. To prove it, I did forty pushups and a half-hour of cardio. I skipped the scalding bath and took a quick shower. I emerged from the bathroom shivering like a Chihuahua on an ice berg.

  For the millionth time, I wished the thermostat were in my apartment instead of Crystal's. Goodbye Siberia. Hello Bahamas. Once, I'd purchased a space heater, thinking I'd simply pay a larger share of the electric bill. It had sent Crystal into convulsions, thinking about the wasted energy no matter who paid for it.

  I dressed and headed downstairs. Crystal kept it a lot warmer in the store, thanks to a slew of negative comment cards, not all of them authored by me.

  Crystal stood the coffee bar, explaining to a couple of regulars what made the Magical Mochas so magical. "It includes a free fortune-telling session," she said to the couple, a husband and wife who stopped by monthly for astrology readings.

  "But this is the same exact price we paid last time," the husband was saying. "What's so magical about that?"

  "It doesn't get us arrested," Crystal said and ushered the couple toward a reading room.

  I spotted Steve and Anthony, sitting at a table in the corner. I wandered over and pulled up a seat. "Any luck finding Edgar?" I asked.

  "Nope," Steve said. "The dude was nowhere in sight."

  "I had a feeling you'd say that," I said. "Can you guys do one more thing? Take a run by his house?"

  Anthony grinned. "Already did."

  "How'd you get his address?" I asked.

  "Internet," Anthony said. "Maybe you've heard of it?"

  I ignored the taunt. "Where does he live?" I asked.

  "Just a few blocks from here. Two streets off Center." Anthony fished around in his ski-jacket and pulled out a scribbled note. "Here," he said, handing me the paper.

  "Did you guys knock on the door?" I asked.

  "Something like that," Steve said.

  "Steve just about kicked it in," Anthony said.

  "If the dude was home," Steve said, "he'd have answered."

  "From the looks of it, no one's been there for a while," Anthony said. "The dude's porch is trashed."

  "Trashed? How so?"

  "Like some dog got into his garbage," Anthony said. "I'll tell ya too, that guy's one hell of a junk-food junkie."

  "And the mail box was stuffed with all kinds of crap," Steve added. He reached into h
is inside pocket and handed me a stack of mail.

  "What's this?" I asked.

  "The dude's mail," he said. "Anthony figured you'd want it."

  "For the millionth time," I said, "you can't go around stealing mail."

  "We're just borrowing it," Anthony said. "Besides, there's nothing good, just a bunch of flyers and stuff."

  "Then why'd you even take it?"

  "Because we knew you'd ask about it," Anthony said. "Saved us a trip."

  "Well that's helpful," I said.

  Anthony smiled. "We thought so."

  A couple hours later, Officer Jolly came in for his regular coffee fix.

  I sidled up to his table and took a seat across from him. "Can I ask you a question?" I said.

  "Sure."

  "It's about Edgar Kreezak," I said, choosing my words carefully. "He's a stand-up guy, isn't he?" I lowered my voice. "Someone told me he'd turn on us. It isn't true, is it?"

  Officer Jolly took a long drink and set down his cup. He looked out the window, studying nothing in particular. "I dunno," he said. "If you asked me a month ago, I'd have said Edgar's your man. No doubt about it."

  My stomach clenched. "And now?"

  "I dunno. He's been acting strange lately."

  "How so?"

  "He called me last night, wanting to meet for a drink. But he never showed."

  "He forgot?"

  "Maybe," Officer Jolly said. "But he wasn't home neither."

  "My brothers went by his shanty this morning," I said. "That was empty too."

  "And you know how we fish together sometimes?"

  I nodded.

  "The last time we went, Edgar started on the booze at sun-up. By nine, he was plastered."

  "Is that unusual?" I asked.

  Officer Jolly gave me a look. "What do you think? You get plastered at nine in the morning?"

  "Oh look," I said, pointing to his coffee cup.

  He looked down. "What?"

  "It's almost empty. You need a refill?"

  "Nah, I've gotta get back to work." He downed the rest of his coffee and stood. "If I hear from Edgar, I'll let you know."

  After he left, I made myself a mocha and headed to the book room. I saw Gabriel standing by the window, his back to me. Engrossed in watching the picketers, he didn't hear my approach.

  "How's it going?" I asked.

  Gabriel whirled to face me. His eyes were dilated, burning like black coals, powered by an animosity so intense I fought the urge to jump back.

  "Yikes," I said. "Forget I asked."

  Gabriel returned his gaze to the picketers. "You see that sign?" he said.

  I knew exactly which sign he meant. "Burn and die, witches?" I took a sip of my mocha, hot enough to boil my tongue. "Yeah, that's my least favorite."

  "Mine too."

  "It's the flames," I said. "They look like the work of a first-grader."

  Gabriel turned to face me. "Fuck the artwork," he said. "What about the words?"

  "Oh c'mon," I said. "Sure, it's offensive, but you don't even call yourself a witch."

  "It doesn't matter what they call it," he said. "They're talking about me, and people like me."

  "They're talking about me too. Look." I read another man's sign. "Soothsayers suck."

  "No, they are not talking about you," Gabriel said. "To you, this is a pastime. To me, it's a way of life. You have natural gifts, but they linger on the shelf, unused and unappreciated."

  Outside, Darren paraded by, carrying his sign in one hand and a jumbo mocha in the other. When he saw us looking, he gave us a big smile and hearty wave. I smiled and waved back.

  "What the fuck are you doing?" Gabriel said.

  "Hey," I said, "he's our best customer."

  "No, he's not. He's the enemy."

  I rolled my eyes. "Oh please. It's not a war."

  "Yeah, that's what you think."

  Chapter 31

  It was early July, and Bishop and I had been dating – if you could call it that – for a couple of weeks now. Neither one of us had much money, so we spent our free time riding around on his motorcycle, hanging out by the river, or just sitting in the coffee shop, whether it was open or not.

  I tried to convince him that mochas weren't for pussies, and he tried to convince me that beer didn't taste like pig-swill. Just as I'd predicted, Crystal absolutely adored him, and before I knew it, he was spending most of his free time with me at the coffee shop.

  We'd spent like ten days in a row together when he abruptly told me he he'd be going to Detroit for a few days.

  We were standing in the coffee shop – me working behind the counter and him standing on the other side, facing me.

  "Really?" I said. "Why Detroit?"

  "Family stuff."

  "No kidding?" I said. "You have family in Detroit? Still?"

  Forever ago, mostly before I was born, I used to have relatives in Detroit too. Not anymore. Crime and the economy had sent them scattering forever ago – some to the suburbs, some to the Upper Peninsula, and even a few out of state.

  The way it sounded, the city was practically a ghost town.

  Bishop shrugged. "Yeah. Some."

  "Who?"

  "No one you know."

  I squinted up at him. "Well, that wasn't vague or anything."

  He leaned over me, brushing my lips with his. "I'll be back Monday," he said.

  My heart sank. Four whole days. I'd become so spoiled on his company, that the thought of nearly a week without him was enough to cast a shadow over the entire week. But I refused to be that girl, the one who couldn’t amuse herself for a just few days while her guy was off doing something else.

  But was Bishop my guy? We'd been spending an awful lot of time together, and he'd made his interest in me pretty clear. But in truth, I hadn't known him, really known him, for more all that long.

  And it wasn't like he called me his girlfriend or anything.

  Maybe this was exactly how Cat felt. Just like me, she'd obviously been under the impression they were a couple. And look how that had ended.

  Still, I made myself smile. "Have a good trip," I said.

  His eyebrows furrowed. "What is it?"

  "Nothing."

  He looked at me a long time. "You wanna come with me?"

  "I dunno," I said. "Is that a sincere offer?"

  He shoved his hands deep into the pockets of his jeans. "No."

  "Okaaaaay."

  "Only because it's not safe."

  "The city?"

  "That and some stuff going on."

  I stared at him. "Was that supposed to make me feel better?"

  "I dunno. Did it?"

  I made a scoffing sound. "No."

  He pulled a hand from his pocket. He reached out, giving my hand a tender squeeze. "Wanna know what I'll be doing?"

  "What?"

  "Missing you."

  My gaze narrowed. "You're trying to distract me."

  "Yeah. But that doesn't mean it's not true."

  I smiled in spite of myself. "So, will you be calling me while you're gone?"

  "Sorry. No phone, remember?"

  He glanced at the big white clock just over the coffee counter. "I've gotta go. See you Monday, alright?"

  Nodding, I gave him a small wave and watched him leave.

  True to his word, he didn't call, not even once. By Sunday, I was counting the minutes until his return the next day. But then, Monday came and went with no sign of him. Same with Tuesday, and then Wednesday too.

  With every passing minute, I was getting more and more concerned. Was he okay? Was he avoiding me? Going into full stalker mode, I started walking by his house, haunting our favorite spots, and running to the window every time I heard the mere hint of a motorcycle.

  No matter how hard I tried, visions of disaster kept playing across my brain. By the following Sunday afternoon, I couldn’t stand the inactivity one second longer. It had been ten days since I'd seen him last, and it felt like a lifetime. For o
nce, I found myself wishing the coffee shop were open on Sundays – anything to pass the empty hours.

  Seeking a distraction, I grabbed my book bag and headed to the library. The day was gloomy with the threat of rain. But the library was just a twenty-minute walk away, and I figured if I hurried, I'd make it back before it hit.

  I was wrong. I was halfway back to the coffee shop when it began to rain, little drops at first, and then in torrents. Fearful of ruining the books, I bundled up the bag as best I could and sprinted full-speed ahead toward the coffee shop.

  A block away, I stopped, spotting a familiar figure outside the shop, standing under the small green awning that covered our main entrance.

  There was only one problem. It wasn't Bishop.

  It was Cat Randolph, or as I thought of her, the girl with the Bishop tattoo.

  Chapter 32

  Refusing to back away, I started moving again, ignoring the rain as I plowed full speed ahead. By any normal definition, the coffee shop was my home, and I refused to be kept away by some psycho ex-girlfriend.

  By the time, I reached our front sidewalk, I was gasping for air and soaked down to my skin. She, on the other hand, was perfectly dry and groomed to perfection. Obviously, she'd been standing there a while.

  Ignoring the rain, I called out, "What are you doing here?"

  She gave me a nasty smile. "Friendly visit."

  "Yeah, right." I headed for the dry space under the awning. She made a quick sidestep, blocking my path. I moved to the other side. She did too.

  "Move it," I said.

  She widened her stance. "Not 'til I hear the password."

  I glared at her. "What password?"

  "If I told you, it wouldn't be a password, now would it?"

  "Oh come on!" I said, taking another step forward. She reached out and gave me a shove.

  I staggered backwards. "What the hell!"

  She was grinning now. "Sorry, wrong password."

  Gripping the soaked book bag, I plowed forward yet again. Again, she pushed me back. I slipped, nearly losing my footing on the slick pavement.

  "Careful," she called out. "It's slippery out there."

  The rain was deafening, and yet, I swear, I could hear my heart hammering in my chest. I felt my jaw clench. "Get out of my way," I said. "Now."

  "Lemme give you the password," she said, pointing to that stupid tattoo of hers. "He's mine! That's the fuckin' password, bitch! Got it?"