Play at Soul's Edge

by Sophia Amador

  “I want you to make a scene, pick a fight with me. Then we’ll—”

  There was a louder noise of derision from Ben. “What the—? Why are you drawing a bunch of cats?”

  “You idiot! I’m trying to draw a diagram so simple even a bonehead like you can understand the plan!” Her voice was sharp. “Besides, what’s wrong with cats? Now, I want you here, and we’ll fight in front of Mario’s classroom. I want him to come out and see us. Mario hates you, and if he sees us fighting, he’ll be more open to me. He knows what a good fighter I am; I could be useful to him. I’m going to drop some hints about needing money. I already told him a sob story about going to detention school.” There was a short pause. “Any questions so far?”

  “Yeah. I want to know why your drawings suck.” Ben’s voice sounded angry, but he was laughing at the same time.

  There was the sound of a loud smack.

  “Ow!” cried Ben.

  “Now, are you going to shut up and listen or not?”

  “You just told me to ask questions!”

  “I meant questions about the plan, idiot!”

  “Your plan sucks big time! Why the hell would Mario think that just because you’re fighting me you’d be a good recruit? Mario may look like a brain-dead goon, but he’s not a complete dumbass. He’s not going to fall for it.”

  Mario muttered, “Call me a brain-dead goon…” He fell silent at Cesar’s sharp glance.

  “Got a better plan?” Keisha’s voice was hard.

  There was silence.

  “Ben, Rapture is spreading like crazy. We’ve got to do something now.”

  Ben lowered his voice. “Yeah. But it’s dangerous.”

  “Idiot.” But Keisha’s voice sounded affectionate. “Of course it is. But that’s my job. This plan may not be perfect. But at least it’ll soften Mario towards me. Anyone who can’t stand his worst enemy can’t be all bad.”

  Adrian gestured to Cesar, who stopped the recording.

  Mario crossed his arms over his chest. “They’re right. I’m not so dumb to fall for that trick.”

  Adrian tilted his head. “Of course you wouldn’t, Mario. But in this case…”

  “You want me to pretend to fall for it, recruit her into the gang.” Mario’s mind was working furiously. What would Schwartz think about this latest move? And what about Rory?

  “Exactly,” Adrian said. “Don’t make it too easy, but allow her to pique your interest. Hint that you might be willing to recruit her. Draw her out.”

  “You want any information out of her?”

  “There’s nothing we need from her. She’s pretty much gone rogue, and this bogus idea is just part of it.” Adrian waved a dismissive hand. “Just let her think—eventually—you’ll be recommending her. Let her believe that her plan”—Adrian’s lip twitched—“is going to succeed.”

  The metal door to the abandoned parking garage clanged open, and Mario entered, holding Lonnie by the scruff of his neck. He tried not to wrinkle his nose; the air reeked of gasoline tainted with an acrid undercurrent that bit into his throat. He gave the kid a vicious shove, and he staggered and fell to his knees. Lonnie was gaunt and pale. Deep shadows lay under his bloodshot eyes, and his body shook with tremors.

  Schwartz, the lab owner, stood in the shadows at the other end of the low-ceilinged chamber, half-hidden behind a stack of corroding oil drums. Dark fingers of oil spread outward from his feet, staining the crumbling concrete floor of the garage. He watched as Mario hauled Lonnie up again, shoved him forward, and then kicked the backs of his knees so he fell to the ground again.

  “Mario, who’s this?” Schwartz’s voice, shrill and cold, reminded Mario of an oil slick on an arctic sea.

  Lonnie crawled forward on his hands and knees, whimpering. Approaching Schwartz, he groveled on the dirty concrete before him. “Sir,” he whined, prostrating himself. “Please—”

  Mario huffed out a breath. “Like you wanted, someone who got on the Captain’s bad side. No more slip for Lonnie, Captain’s orders.”

  Lonnie inhaled raggedly and pushed himself halfway up on his hands and knees, angling his face up toward Schwartz. His mouth twisted into a distorted grimace that might have passed for an attempt at a smile. “Please, sir, let me help you.” His voice broke. “I’ll do anything.”

  Schwartz regarded him thoughtfully. “Lonnie. I’m wondering how far you might be willing to go for me.”

  “Anything.” Lonnie’s voice shook.

  “Hmm.” Schwartz bent, dipped two fingers in the slimy, rainbow-hued pool of liquid in front of him, and held his greasy dark fingers to Lonnie’s mouth.

  The kid’s Adam’s apple bobbed and for a moment he froze. Then, slowly, he parted his lips. His tongue emerged, swollen and coated with white. With a jerky, awkward motion, he bent forward and licked the sludge off Schwartz’s fingers.

  He doubled over, retching and gagging.

  Schwartz’s thin lips stretched in a rictus of a smile.

  Lonnie coughed a few more times and stopped. “Like I said before, I’ll do anything for you,” he whimpered hoarsely. “Only, please, can’t I have just one hit…” He trailed off as Schwartz’s face darkened.

  “Oh no. You don’t get your reward until after the job is done, and done well. It displeases me that you’re asking even before I’ve told you what I want you to do. It makes me think that you’re not sufficiently eager to please me.”

  “Oh, no, no, sir, all I want is to please you,” he moaned. “Please, tell me what you want me to do.”

  Schwartz’s eyes glittered. “Excellent.” He leaned against the rusty side of one of the barrels. “I take it you have no objections to bringing down Adrian Salas.”

  24

  Keisha

  THE USUAL LUNCHTIME RUSH crowded the halls; the air was damp, redolent with sweaty teenagers and moldy paper products, and through it all threaded a slightly burnt odor from the cafeteria. Keisha pushed her way through a crowd of students. “Adrian, I’d like to speak with you in private, if you please.”

  “Sure, Keisha.” He gave her a deferential nod and followed her up the stairs. He stared around the supply closet in amazement. “This is your base of operations?”

  Keisha scowled. “Don’t ask questions. This is a secured room, so we can discuss matters pertinent to the case here but nowhere else.”

  Adrian nodded. “I see. How can I help you?”

  “First, I wanted to let you know that I was very pleased with the evidence you gathered in the report you submitted yesterday.”

  He offered her a humble smile. “I’m glad you found it useful. I’m very concerned about illegal drug activity in our community.”

  “I think it justifies upping the ante on the operation against Schwartz Pharmaceuticals. Based on what you said in your report, I’ve decided to set up a sting. The first thing I want to know is—how good are you at acting?”

  There was a pause, and then Adrian smiled modestly. “Well, I am president of the drama club. Although I have to admit we don’t have the budget to put on any plays, so I’ve never gone onstage.”

  “For this to work, it’s critical that you be convincing in your role. If you don’t think you can handle it, I’ll get another cop to come in on this. What do you think? Be honest now.”

  “I think I can do it.”

  Keisha weighed his response. He had done an excellent job so far gathering incriminating circumstantial evidence against Schwartz and Holman. It pointed to the manufacture of Rapture in their lab, and linked them with a known drug kingpin. Vince had been following up on all the leads and had told her Adrian’s information had been crucial. “You realize there is substantial risk involved, don’t you?” she asked. “If Schwartz or his underlings suspect something is going on, they could do anything. Drug manufacturers are seldom pacifists.”

  “I understand. But I’m willing to take that risk.”

  Adrian

  Adrian let himself into Elisa’s apartment with his k
ey. She had invited him over for dinner, and he was going to eat with her, discuss strategy, and leave immediately after. He was only coming over because he was hungry, not because he wanted to see her. It was… efficient, to share a meal while they discussed what would happen next.

  Elisa hummed to herself in the kitchen, and a large pot of spaghetti sauce simmered on the stove, filling her apartment with the scent of tomatoes and spice. Adrian set a grocery bag on the counter. She turned a page of her cookbook, hands covered with flour.

  He brushed her hair aside with one hand, and touched his lips to her neck. Her skin was flushed from the heat of the kitchen, and her pores had opened, allowing her scent to escape into his nostrils. He breathed in, a shock of excitement traveling from his head to his toes.

  She relaxed in his arms, and he felt the urge to sweep her up, take all that softness and those lovely curves into the bedroom, run his hands over her until she trembled. Until she wanted nothing but him.

  With his iron will he put aside his longings, kept his embrace neutral, dropped his hands from her body.

  “Adrian, it’s great to see you! Wait till you see what I’m making for dinner. Spaghetti and spinach soufflé!”

  “Sounds… original,” he said. “I brought some bananas and chocolate ice cream for dessert.”

  “Chocolate, thank you! I knew I’d forgotten something.”

  He took the groceries out of the bag and put them away in her refrigerator.

  “So how was your job today?” She switched on a burner, put a pat of butter in a skillet, and waited for it to melt. “You went to your internship, right?” Her fingers tensed on the handle. She was avoiding his eyes; it must have occurred to her that he was lying to her about his job too.

  His voice remained calm. “It went quite well.” He glanced at the stove. The pot was boiling so vigorously that red sauce was splattering over the white ceramic stovetop. He reached around her to turn down the burner. “The heat needs to be a little lower.”

  “The recipe said to simmer. Do you know how to set the burner?”

  “You set the knob about halfway.” He showed her. “The flames should be about that high, see?”

  “How come you know so much about cooking, Adrian?” She fell silent; she must have been aware of the unintended double entendre in her words. Would she speak of it today, question him as to the purpose to which he put his knowledge of chemistry?

  He shrugged, not responding, got a spoon out of her drawer and dipped it in the sauce, took a nibble. “Mmm. Tastes good. Although I think it could use a little more garlic.” He cut a clove from the braid hanging on the wall, found her garlic press, and squeezed the juice into the simmering red liquid.

  She watched his hand as he swirled the wooden spoon in the thick liquid, not meeting his eyes. He tossed the spoon onto the stovetop and pivoted to face her. The red sauce stained the utensil’s handle, turning the pale wood crimson. “Elisa,” he said. “Don’t look so troubled.”

  “I—” she whispered, her hands against his chest.

  Without breaking eye contact, he reached behind him to dip a finger in the sauce.

  “Don’t!” she cried. “You’ll get burned.”

  He laughed and bent his head to hers. “I never get burned,” he whispered. He held up his finger, now dripping with thick red liquid, and ran his tongue from the base to the tip. “Delicious,” he murmured. He brought his fingers to her lips. “Open up,” he commanded softly.

  She opened her mouth, taking his fingers between her lips, licking them quietly, her tongue curling around his fingers. Slowly, he lowered his mouth to hers, teasing her with his tongue, a sleek invasion he knew she would not resist.

  They had much to talk about—but he would be less distracted if they addressed physical needs first. He turned off the burner and carried her into the bedroom. When he released her, he tumbled her down onto the bed and leaned over her. He ran his hands through the luxurious array of her hair fanned out beneath her.

  “Elisa. You are so beautiful,” he whispered. It still astonished him how much she could affect him. When he was with her, he could forget, for a while, all the pressing, dangerous concerns that surrounded him.

  And yet, as he kissed her again, he knew that he was indulging himself recklessly in her. She was an addictive drug, taking his mind away from what he needed to do to survive. He should spend less time here, more time making sure his plans came to fruition.

  And yet—he could not tear himself away. Not tonight, at least. He would stay with her tonight. Tomorrow—tomorrow would be soon enough to do what he needed to do.

  Kim

  Kim crouched behind a leaking oil drum in the old parking garage, her heart pounding. When she had decided to follow Mario and Lonnie, she had no clue what was really going on. She had snuck in and watched their meeting with the creepy old guy—Schwartz, they had called him—and overheard just enough of their plans to make her shake with terror.

  Long after they had left, she remained curled into a small ball on the bare concrete floor, arms wrapped around her knees, rocking back and forth. The gasoline fumes burned her nose, but she made no move to leave.

  This was it. Her chance to finally get revenge on Adrian and that girl. She could tell Mario she wanted in. She could help them with their plan to destroy Adrian.

  Even by doing nothing, she could get her revenge. She could allow the plotters to go forward and benefit from the bloody destruction.

  That was probably best. It sounded like the old guy’s plan was going to succeed, but you never knew around Adrian. You never wanted to get on his bad side, just in case. It wouldn’t be smart for her to take sides in this battle. All she’d have to do is say nothing and let it happen.

  She hated Adrian with all her heart. She wanted to see him bloody and dead on the ground. She’d look at his body and laugh. She’d spit on his cold flesh. She’d kick his gorgeous face, see those beautiful eyes closed forever, that velvet voice stilled for eternity.

  Why did her eyes feel wet? She hated him.

  She wanted nothing more than to bring him down. She angrily wiped the tears from her face.

  Adrian thought less than nothing of her. If the tables were turned, he’d let her die. He’d use her or kill her if it pleased him.

  Kim bent her head to her knees and closed her eyes. She rocked back and forth for a long time, until her tears finally dried up.

  She couldn’t let it happen.

  Her lips twisted into a sardonic smirk in the darkness. She had it bad. It was crazy, stupid.

  Slowly she got to her feet. There was nothing for it. Her course was clear. She slunk out of the parking garage, and once out on the icy, dark street broke into a run.

  There was somewhere she had to go.

  She had to warn Adrian, but she knew she couldn’t get in to see him. He was still furious at her and had refused to have any contact with her since the incident with the slip in Elisa’s apartment.

  But she could go to his best friend and second-in-command. The kid who knew more secrets than anyone, who had been Adrian’s trusted lieutenant since middle school.

  She was going to find Rory.

  Mario

  Mario swaggered down the main hall past clusters of kids at their lockers. Shouts echoed from up the hall. He was going to enjoy seeing Ben Lancaster and Keisha Huston going head-to-head. They were both good fighters, fun to watch, and he couldn’t wait for a rematch with either of them. He was itching to fight Huston again after she’d taken him off-guard a few months ago. Hopefully his chance would come soon. There was no way someone would be let into his gang without demonstrating their fighting skills.

  Kids were gathered in a tight ring around the combatants. Mario pushed his way through the crowd. Most of them were cheering Keisha on as she delivered a sharp right uppercut to her much larger opponent. It was obvious to Mario’s experienced eye that Ben was pulling his punches. He was much bigger than her and just as fast, although she appeared to b
e better trained. Ben was a natural fighter, of course. The two of them shouted insults as though they hated each other, and Mario gave them kudos for doing that part of the show exceedingly well. Down the hall, Vince Devore leaned against a locker, pretending disinterest. Another good actor.

  Mario admired the grace and elegance of Ben’s style as he sidestepped, spun, and punched. His muscles bunched and flowed, his fine-featured, scowling face flushed red, and his shock of bright hair bobbed and shook. Now, there was an opponent worthy of Mario himself, as so few opponents were. He paused a moment longer just to enjoy the show before wading in to stop the fight.

  “Hey, Lancaster! Shouldn’t you be ashamed of beating up on someone half your size?” he called out, and had the pleasure of seeing Ben’s face flush even further with embarrassment.

  “Shut up, Fonseca.” Breathing hard, Ben spun so fast Mario almost didn’t block his first blow. Mario grinned with fierce joy and returned a volley of punches. Keisha gasped for breath, hands on her thighs, watching from the sidelines.

  Mario’s grin widened. Ben would soon have to pretend to be defeated and slink away. He’d be damned if he let the guy pretend. He was going to enjoy pounding his rival into the ground. He moved into a near clinch and delivered a powerful jab to Ben’s lower abdomen. Ben’s breath was knocked out of him, but he still managed to jump back, raising his fists immediately to block the next blow.

  “Stop!”

  Mario looked up. A teacher was coming at them from the other end of the hall.

  “Knock it off!” he yelled. “No fighting!”

  Shit. That was way too quick. You’d think Ben and Keisha could have planned it better.

  Both he and Ben stopped immediately with the ease of long practice avoiding school staff. Ben melted into the crowd in one direction, and Mario faded back in the other, carefully timing it so that he would be shoved close to Keisha.

  “Nice moves, Fonseca.” She rubbed the back of her hand over her face and grinned through a split lip.