Cadillac Payback

by AJ Elmore

  Then, “Is it true, Josh? You think you love me?”

  He lets the silence stretch, no doubt searching his heart for the right words. His expression clouds and darkens. Finally he says, “I know I do. I've known it since I met you. I thought for sure we were going to die in Biloxi . . . I still shouldn't have said it.” He sighs out pot smoke. “Can't we just pretend I never told you?”

  “You'd rather live a lie?” I ask. I'm speaking to him, but I'm staring out at the silhouette of the plants at the edge of the yard.

  “It's not a lie if I don't speak it,” he answers. “Shit was fine until those words.”

  I nearly stutter some reply but choose to keep my mouth shut as his response hammers against the walls of my mind. Maybe he does know what he wants, and maybe what I believed he wants is nowhere close to true. Would he really be content to take back his words, just to stay close? I don't deserve him. I'm a monster next to him.

  “You're too good for this life. You don't belong with us, because you're capable of so much more.”

  At last I gain the attention that he doesn't want to give me. He looks directly into my eyes, and his gaze is so hard.

  He says, “Where else do I have to go? Back to my family that doesn't give a shit about me? Out to some new life? You and Charlie are the only ones who've ever made me feel welcome. You're the only person left who cares, in some fucked up way.”

  I wince at the conviction in his voice. It flows from him so strongly. He's right, of course, I do care and it is in a fucked up way. I finish off the blunt and flick it into the grass. Now I'm the one avoiding eye contact as I watch the tiny cherry sail off. I sigh again, the pressure in my chest is too much.

  I say, “I just . . . I can't love anyone the way you deserve. Especially not now, when I can't feel anything but cold, heavy hatred.”

  For a moment, I believe my tears will rise again to choke the moment. And again, I remind myself that I can't justify time to cry, I'm not worthy, and it will do no good. The sadness in his attention is damn near unbearable.

  He says, “I'm not asking you to love me. I know that you don't. Just don't turn me away. I have nothing else.”

  I move without thinking, wrap my arm around his shoulders and pull him close against me. His skin against mine makes me shudder. Here, in this moment of truth, I can follow nothing but intuition. I lean over, kiss him on the forehead. His muscles go rigid at first but he can't seem to hold the sentiment and I feel him relax against me. Just feeling him let it go coaxes my muscles to slacken. This is what Charlie meant when he said go with your gut. Here goes, our moment of brutal honesty.

  I say, “I don't know what's going to happen, but it's not going to be pretty. I just don't want to lose you. I don't want you to die because of me.”

  “I'd give anything to have your back,” he answers, staring down at the wood of the steps. “I'd rather take a bullet than let it have you.”

  “What if a bullet is the fate I deserve?” I wonder and a tear slips past my defenses to slide down my cheek.

  “It's not,” he says with a fierce shake of the head.

  I look up to the moon. The pressure of Josh by my side eases my panicky nerves. I can almost see those little red Xs that I left there in the sky. Please, before and above me, protect this one.

  “You're right, though,” I say softly, letting my lips whisper against his hair. “People like us gotta stick together. And when I said you don't belong with us, it's not true. You are one of us. But you're the only one who has a chance to do something better than slinging drugs and blowing up houses. We were born into this life, but you . . . you're different.”

  I feel his head shaking against me and he says, “Better? Like what? Starve as I try to live off of music in an overcrowded, commercialized market? Or how about some high-rise office job?” He pulls away, sits up, and his forehead lands in his palms. “There is no better, Maria. It's all fake. At least this is real, this . . . fucked up web between you and me. The guys might hate me, but it's better than the mundane machine that is the American dream. And it's better than the apathy that was my parents.”

  Every once in a while, and usually only when it's just the two of us, Josh says something to remind me of how good he's gotten at acting like the dumb playboy. He's so good at it, actually, that even I believe it rather than recognizing that façade as a smooth defense mechanism. When I told him he wasn't ready, it had been a bluff, as if I were trying to convince him I had five aces in my hand. The truth is that he has consistently risen to each new level of danger as I sink the ship farther.

  I prop my elbows on my knees, stare off into the undefined lushness of the looming swamp. The fireflies have exhausted their dance and the place seems enchanted in the soft and soothing moonlight. He massages his closed eyes with his fingers, then looks up at the same magical dank of the wetlands.

  He sounds so far away when he says, “I don't care if you're not in love with me. Because I know you love me in some way, and I'd rather die tomorrow to have that tonight than live forever without it. And in return, I can be whatever it is you want me to be.”

  His words carve much deeper into my chest than I could have ever imagined words from him ever would. Here it is, that searing honesty that makes him seem so out of place in our line of work. Here's his optimism that's so rare among the streets. He had to come from the outside to appreciate the game to its full extent. Izzy and I, and especially Freddy – we were born into it, jaded to it early.

  “I honestly can't say what I want you to be,” I tell him, carefully avoiding looking his way for fear of making eye contact.

  It feels surprisingly therapeutic to just say what I feel. As I realize this, I also realize that I've been hiding behind a big, heavy mask for so long that I had started believing in my own tough girl act. And just as when there's a crack in the dam, the words and emotions just roll from me.

  “I can't say, because I won't let myself really consider what I want at all. If I slow down long enough to feel, it will bury me.”

  He pushes off the stairs with a sigh, just to stand and surely to expend some of the nervous energy that is apparent along all his tensed, smooth lines. I had momentarily forgotten how absolutely divine he is when shirtless, with those little ringlets of fire and dirty blond lying against his neck. In the residual light, I can see the dusting of stubble along his jaw.

  It occurs to me that while the rest of us were busy not having faith in his ability to handle our way of life, he had been slowly and quietly growing up. This poker face of his has developed under the radar. It’s fierce and such a drastic difference from when we first met him. Yes, he has changed, and amidst finding his stride he has also found grace. He tilts his head back, watching the moon. I wonder if he can see the Xs, too.

  He says, “I'll run with you to the end of the earth if that's what you want. And I'll never ask for anything more.”

  I watch the outline of his beautiful face as he speaks quietly and calmly to the night. He has more than earned his place among us and since Charlie died, Joshua has boldly stepped into the heavy shoes of his next rank. No longer is he a novice, our apprentice. He's our diplomat and he's damn good at it. Liquor and weed tug at the edges of my resolve.

  “You may have the soul of a poet, but you have the heart of a warrior,” I tell him, and it's these words that finally bring his eyes to mine.

  For a stretch, we only stare at each other, the connection heavy with the fire that smolders between us. Not tonight. I have to look away just to buffer myself from the sexual tension.

  I add, “I am honored to have you fight by my side.”

  “No,” he says, and I can feel his eyes still on me. “It's an honor to avenge Charlie. He was the only real friend I've ever had, the closest thing to a brother I’ve known. It's an honor to do right by him, and protect you any way I can, because that's what he would want.”

  Tears well in my eyes as, again, his words cut deep. Do I
deserve this? Why do I feel like I don't? He'll throw it all away to follow me to battle, all the boys will – just for me, they are willing to die.

  I meet his gaze, I owe him that much at least. Surely he can see the truth, the devastation in my answering expression. He's tense, rigid in his moment of dilemma. I know he wants to come to me, to take away my tears, and be strong for me, but he told me he wouldn't ask for anything. So he lets it molder in his eyes.

  “So thank you,” he says, with brow furrowed and something like pain playing across his features. “For everything. Goodnight, Maria.”

  Then he breaks the connection, pushes quickly up the stairs and into the house without so much as glancing back at me. Silence descends. The humidity is like a blanket pressed close against me. For a moment, I mourn his absence. It's easy to let the Louisiana heat seep inside, easier to feel something – anything – when he's around.

  I put my arms around my waist, hug myself in my solitude, and a slow smile claims my lips. Charlie would be proud of us, all of us, for handling the situation with fortitude and teamwork. He'd be proud of the man that his protégé has become. Soon, we end this feud. Soon I'll either prove myself worthy of Charlie's blessing, or I'll fail and die. But I won't break down, I won't lose my shit, because if I do, I'm not just failing myself.

  Part 3

  Chapter 21 Seed of Hope

  Maria

  We're spread around my grandmother's huge dining room table, her legendary huevos rancheros on plates in front of us. She has given us permission to stay at her house while the smoke blows over at the restaurant – until we can get to our arsenal. Despite her harsh words upon our arrival, she has been decidedly very grandmotherly on this visit and that sits uneasily in my gut. Has she decided to put our differences aside? I'm not her only grandchild alive, but I'm the only one in the game and I'm the only one she knows. I've never met that long-lost cousin either.

  The boys are eating, slower than usual, and no one's talking. This dish in front of me has been a comfort food since childhood, but I don't have much of an appetite. I pick at it as I battle my nerves. I've led plenty of meetings before, just not in front of my grandmother, who also happens to be my kingpin. And the business today is heavy.

  I glance around. Everyone's watching their plates, except Abuela, who's watching me. Her expression is masked, carefully blank. I take a long breath. I’m about to ruin the peaceful morning.

  “Noah has been stabilized. He should pull through.”

  Josh glances at me, eyes wide, startled. Izzy's fork stops moving, and Freddy's expression crunches. Who knows what dredges of thought I've pulled them from.

  “Still, Gram's actions are unacceptable.” I say, my tone hardening.

  This brings their eyes to me. Izzy's gaze is steady. It would be. Frederick is reluctant to make the eye contact, but he does it anyway. Josh looks like he's been punched in the gut.

  “Shooting Noah was a bitch move, even for that sleaze. We can't let this escalate, so we need a plan that will deal with the problem quickly.”

  “That answer's easy enough, isn't it? We kill this Gram fucker, right?” says Josh.

  Izzy and Frederick turn to him in simultaneous annoyance, but I refuse to acknowledge their sentiment. It's not Josh's fault that he doesn't understand the reaches of Gram's slimy empire. We've left him in the dark about so much, especially about the inner workings of the Reaps.

  I say, “That is the idea, but how is the problem. We've been out of the information loops since we left New Orleans two years ago. Everyone except you, Frederick.”

  His gray eyes widen just a tiny bit, enough that he can't hide his surprise at being called out – not from me. He holds the contact, searching my expression for . . . something. And just like that, his mask is up and we're staring at each other from behind porcelain representations of ourselves.

  I can tell Izzy is about to speak, because it's preceded by a long sigh. I watch his shoulders heave under the breath, watch his lips press into a thin line. Then he says, “Poking around for that dirt is gonna get Freddy killed.”

  A moment of hesitation ricochets among us. No one expected Izzy to show concern for Frederick, but it's a reminder that we have no choice but to rely on one another. Freddy's eyes cut to the right to Izzy.

  “I have thought about that,” I say, shoving some egg around with my fork. “It's dangerous.”

  Freddy follows suit, looks down at his half-eaten dish when he says, “Danger doesn't scare me.”

  Josh, on Frederick's left, is watching his dark opposite with open curiosity. Frederick gives away so little, only reveals himself when he's forced to. Yet there's a quiet passion in his words now. It stirs my affections for him, the strange way in which we are drawn together. I already know what he's going to say.

  I tell him, “It's up to you. We can find another way.”

  He looks up and there's heat in those pale eyes. “There is no other way. We need to know what Gram is up to. He has more enemies than just us, trust me.”

  “I do,” I say quietly.

  The words present themselves without thought, without a moment's pause, and they create waves in the tension. His mask stutters and the heat in his stare turns to an altogether different emotion: desire. He quells it quickly enough, but I realize that Abuela is also watching him. She saw it, too.

  I break the contact, look to Josh. He stills under my attention.

  “Jack says the cops will be done with the crime scene today, which means tomorrow we'll be clear to get our guns. I want you to ride into town with Frederick. See if Jack needs anything, he's short a front-of-house manager. When the scene clears, get the shit and send it back this way.”

  Josh's eyes have widened and he's mute. He nods, slowly. Perhaps he wasn't expecting a big boy job in all of this. I need to remind him that I won't keep falling for his little act. He can't hide behind a mask with me. I volley my attention back to Frederick.

  “How long do you think you'll need?”

  Business is always an easier topic for him when there are other people around. I watch his expression shift to shrewd as the awesome machine that's his brain kicks into action. The resulting silence isn't quite as suffocating as the previous moments were.

  “If I play my cards right, not more than a day,” he says in a tone so resolved I could never doubt him.

  Isaiah cocks an eyebrow but doesn't say anything. He shakes his head with that disappointed knowing I've seen on him so much lately. He, too, knows that Frederick's resolve is unshakable, and that failure is never really an option for him. Izzy knows Frederick will come through, if he doesn't get himself dead trying. So I decide to put voice to Izzy's very valid point.

  “You don't need to rush this, take as much time as you need. I'd rather you be your charming, smart, and methodical self than slip up because of a clock.”

  He smirks, a one-sided answer to the hint of sarcasm in my warning. He says, “Then let my charming and methodical self handle it.”

  I let an answering smile play with just the corners of my lips, then look back to Josh.

  “I want you to stay at the restaurant when Frederick returns with the guns. We can't leave Jack hanging. I will send for you once we have a game plan.”

  His mouth opens. He wants to protest. He's being left out of planning. He will be far away from me. So many things I know he wants to say, but he just closes his mouth. His eyes cloud and he nods.

  I nod in return, a silent thanks for not opposing me on the matter. Then, finally, I nail Isaiah to his chair with my firm attention. He had to know it was coming. He always seems to know.

  “Iz, I want you to stay here with me and deal with the stall in our business. We have some antsy customers with no product. We have to do some damage control, or we'll lose them completely. We can't afford that right now.”

  For a moment, I can see the panic in his eyes. The two of us for a whole day. Sometimes I wonder what he's so afra
id of. Why won't he look me in the eye for long? But then, haven't I known for what seems like forever? It's pure chemical reaction: he wants me.

  He does, but he won't let himself break to it. He knows better. Look at Frederick, and Joshua. Or maybe he's already been burned in another life. I'll probably never know, he won't talk about his past to me.

  “We also need to crunch some numbers and assess our position.”

  He nods, but he deflects the attention by taking a drink of his water. I let him have it, let him skitter back as far as he can, given the present company.

  “Today we show our appreciation to Abuela for her kindness. We will do whatever jobs you see fit,” I say, looking to her.

  One sculpted eyebrow lifts, a rare show of surprise, but she just nods. Doesn't say a word. Can she tell that I'm trying to live up to Charlie's shadow? I'm trying, but will it be enough?

  “We'll start with dishes,” I say and the tension breaks. I can feel the collective sigh, the release on the moment. Domestic duties are easy, something we're all used to sharing anyway.

  I look around. We really are a fucked up family, but it’s what we are. We watch each other's backs, and we all give a shit when one of us is in danger – even if not all of us want to care.

  That thought is more comforting than anything has been since Charlie died. I bury it, a seed of hope, as I stand to clear the table.

  Chapter 22 As the Truth Falls

  Frederick

  The dirt road coats the Caddy in a gritty brown as we roll away from Abuela's plantation. It's just Josh and me and the infernal fucking heat. We both know the AC won't cut it, so all the windows are down. We haven't said a word since we left. To his credit, he didn't object when I said I was driving.

  I can taste the dirt in the air. It sticks to my sweat-streaked skin, a layer of grime to welcome me back into the underworld. Josh is a tight ball of emotion in the passenger seat. I can tell because he has completely ignored me since I put the car in drive. His thoughts have been directed out the window and his expression a hard set that's not quite anger. It'd be amusing, if I hadn't had that same expression just a few nights ago at the funeral – when she put me on guard duty.