“I won’t tell,” she says. “Are you here to stop a cwiminal?”
“Something like that.”
“What did they do?”
“They hurt someone,” I answer in the simplest way possible.
“Sounds like a vewy bad cwiminal.”
I cringe at the little girl’s words. Kat is not the criminal, not really. She’s so much more than her crime. Something deep inside me breaks as I realize how much more she is and how much more I want.
Just then, a frazzled woman appears above us. She’s got shopping bags, a purse, and a diaper bag thrown over her shoulder, a baby on her hip.
“Maggie! There you are!”
She frowns at me and grabs the little girl by the hand, yanking her away protectively. Maggie wraps her arms around her mother’s leg, but still smiles at me. I stand up and hold the woman’s accusatory gaze. She doesn’t back down until they’re halfway out of the store.
“I would never,” I say to no one.
I shake my head and turn toward a display on the wall. Just as I’m about to flip through celebrity photos, I spot Kat.
My stomach drops and I can do nothing but stare. She walks with a tall black kid to the center of the courtyard and spins around. His tattered shoes and the way his clothes are dirtier on one side tells me he’s homeless. Kat throws her arms out and bounces on her toes. I can feel her excitement and wonder from here. The kid laughs at her and so do I. There’s something about seeing her again that makes me anxious.
I debate leaving her here. No one would ever know. My reputation would be ruined, but it might save me from doing something stupid later on. That thought leaves my head and I shake free of it. I can’t do it. I’m not sure if it’s because I need to complete this job or because I’m not willing to give up my time with her.
I step out of the shop as the two of them hug. He pats her on the head like an obedient child and leaves. I could easily grab her now and get back on the road, but I won’t deny her this. My heart drums against my chest as I watch her dance around from square to square. She places her feet in the cement imprints of celebrity footprints, sometimes bending over to do the same with her hands. Her hair is down and wild, hiding most of her face. Still, I can see that she grins at some squares and frowns at others. Her lips move and I know she’s making comments about each one, as if anyone is listening. Finally, Kat takes a seat on the ground, wraps her hands around her knees, and closes her eyes.
My steps are silent as I approach. I want to be angry with her, but I’m not. I can’t blame her for running.
Tourists navigate around Kat as she sits in her square, blissfully ignorant to their gawking. My shadow falls over her and she doesn’t move or indicate that she knows it’s me.
“What are you doing?” I ask.
Kat’s shoulders jump, undoubtedly recognizing my voice. She drops her face down, curling in on herself.
“You’re ruining my moment.”
I sigh and cross my arms. “What moment would that be?”
“Johnny Depp’s hands are on my ass.”
I look down at the square and sure enough, she’s sitting on his handprints. I bend down and try to persuade her to make this easy.
“Kat, we’ve got to go.”
“I don’t want to go to prison,” she says. “Can’t you just leave me here? Let me disappear and you’ll never have to think of me again.”
I shake my head and refuse to tell her how impossible that would be. Kat opens her eyes and lifts her head. There’s a red mark across her cheek and I’m filled with instant fury. The same bruises across my mother’s face flash in my head. I reach out, but stop myself before I touch her.
“What happened?”
She ignores my question, stands and takes off toward the sidewalk.
“Kat! What happened?” I ask again, chasing after her.
Her footsteps quicken. I know she’s not running from me, but from my questioning. When she gets to the street, she looks left, then right. I wrap my hands around her shoulders and turn her around too roughly.
“What the fuck happened to you?” My voice is loud and several people look on with concern. I release her, cross my arms tight across my chest, and wait for an answer.
“Why do you care? This is nothing compared to what you’re taking away from me!”
Something about the tone of her voice, the way it breaks, slices through me. “Kat, you made your decisions. Don’t put that on me. You broke the law. I’m just doing my job. You want to be out on the streets alone with Boots and whoever did that to your face?”
“You’re right,” she says. “You’re right. Let’s go.”
I tuck my hands into my pockets and nod my head in the direction of the hotel. We walk two blocks until I can’t stand the silence.
“So, you’re just going to come with me? No fight? No running?” I ask.
“What good would it do?” she asks. “We played that game and I lost, remember?” Kat turns to me, a look of fascination on her face. “I guess I’m kind of impressed that you were paying attention enough to know where I’d go. I bet you knew I was coming here before I did.”
“Maybe,” I say. “We’re a whole day off schedule now.”
“I’m sorry ruining my life is putting you behind schedule.”
I exhale roughly into the night sky and continue on. After a few steps, I notice Kat’s not by my side. I turn to find her rooted in place. She stares ahead at something past me.
“Why’d you stop?” I ask.
“Uh, maybe we should go another way.”
“What? The hotel is this way,” I say, pointing over my shoulder.
She takes a step back and then another. I turn to look behind me and find a bald guy stalking toward us. He’s huge and menacing, an ugly scar down his face. He wears a plaid button down shirt buttoned all the way to his thick neck and heavily starched khaki pants. His military boots clomp loudly against the road and his sights are set on Kat. A smaller man follows wearing almost the same outfit as if it’s some kind of street uniform.
“Let’s go!” she finally yells at me.
“Who is that?” I ask.
She shakes her head and looks down at the sidewalk.
“His name is Damon,” her soft voice replies.
I stand between them now, squaring my shoulders and facing Damon. He tries to duck around me, but I step into his path. It’s only then that he takes his eyes off Kat and sees me.
“Move, boy,” he growls.
I don’t say a word and stand firm. His goon comes at me, but Damon raises his hand, silently stopping him.
“So, you’re the boyfriend, huh?” I don’t answer. I assume Kat has told this guy some story and I intend to stick to it. “Shit, I ain’t mad at ya. That’s a sweet piece right there. She’s mine tonight. You can have her back when I’m done.”
Rage builds inside me and I can’t explain it away. I want to knock his teeth in and blind him for the way he’s looking at her. I don’t turn to see Kat, but the fact that she’s quiet means she’s scared.
“Did you do that to her face?” I ask, my teeth clamped down tight as I try to control my rage.
He steps to me, our chests almost touching, and looks down.
“That ain’t all I’m gonna do to her.”
The last thread holding me back snaps. I cock my arm, feeling the burn in my already sore ribs, and hit him in the eye. There’s a crunching sound and I’m not sure if it’s his skull or my knuckles. He stumbles away from me. Pain radiates through my hand, but I fight through it.
The smaller guy comes forward. There’s a recognizable determination in his face, a need to prove himself. Before he can get closer, I step up, grab the side of his head and slam it into a nearby light post. The metal clang is loud, like the bell in a boxing ring as he goes down and stays there.
“Look out!” Kat shouts.
I turn to find Damon in my face. From this close, I can see that his pupils are dilated and he’s sweati
ng profusely. He’s high and therefore, unpredictable. He hits me in the ribs, the same damn place that Boots had. I cough out all my air and stumble backward. Damon comes forward again and hits me in the jaw. My head snaps sideways and I taste blood where my teeth cut the inside of my cheek. Kat screams as I go down on all fours.
I hit the sidewalk hard, but her voice gives me the strength to get up again. I shake my head and try to clear my vision. When I’m standing, I slide my piece out of my waistband and point it right between Damon’s eyes.
“One more step and you’re fucking dead,” I say.
Damon grunts, his chest heaves from the fight and he points his finger at Kat.
“Fine, bitch. You win this time. But I’ll find your lil’ pal, Greg.”
He jogs past us and out of sight, leaving his friend behind. Kat runs over to me.
“Oh, God! Are you okay?”
“Yeah, I just…” I take a deep breath and stand up fully, placing a hand over my ribs. “That’s the second time today I got punched in the ribs.”
“What?” Kat asks, her voice high and nervous.
“Never mind,” I say and point down the block. Tucking my gun back into my jeans, I start for the hotel. She takes my hand, helping me along. I ignore the memories of her touch from last night and focus on putting one foot in front of the other.
When we’re in the room, Kat grabs the ice bucket and leaves me there. I grunt and wince as I pull my shirt off. There’s bruising on my ribcage, but I don’t think anything is broken. I’m standing in front of the mirror when Kat returns. She pours some ice into a towel and wraps it up.
“Lay down,” she says, sweeping a pile of travel brochures from the bed onto the floor.
I obey her without thought. Kat kneels next to me and places the towel of ice on my jaw.
“My ribs hurt more,” I protest.
“Your jaw is swelling already. This will help.”
I nod and try to look anywhere but at her face. With no distractions, I return there quickly. Her eyes hold mine and a crackling energy flows between us. I don’t protest when she removes the ice and runs her fingers along my face. The moment is earnest, both of us fighting something bigger than ourselves.
“I bet you didn’t know what you were in for when you took this job, huh?” Kat asks.
“I’m certainly earning my payout.”
“How much am I worth to you?” she asks.
That’s a loaded question and my brain stumbles through a million different answers.
“Five hundred thousand dollars.” The number slips from my lips before I can stop it.
“That’s a lot of money. Glad I made you work for it,” she says, half-serious.
“You should put that ice on your face,” I offer.
Kat shakes her head and turns to look in the mirror. She lifts her fingers to her cheek and sweeps over the bruise there.
“We’re quite a pair, huh?”
I sit up next to her and stare at our reflection. We are a pair, a pair of battered misfits.
She reaches up and slides the small charm around her necklace. I notice she does it often. Like it’s a habit now, to touch it, to make sure it’s there. Security.
“That’s not just jewelry is it?” I ask.
Her fist wraps around the charm before tucking into her shirt. She chews on her bottom lip and shakes her head ever so slightly.
“It’s a key.”
“Okay,” I say, hoping she’ll explain. I lie back on the bed and wait.
“I have a degree in Computer Science. Dennis and his sister, Marilyn ran an investment firm in San Antonio. I worked for him after college, in the I.T. department.”
“You really are good with computers, huh?”
“Yeah. Too good. I found out they were stealing money from their clients. It was kind of genius. This key is the only way to access the money and the proof.” She pulls at the charm on her necklace and shows it to me. “It’s all on this USB drive that takes two keys to access the information.”
“So, why do you still have it? He’s dead,” I point out.
She pats her necklace and looks down at the floor.
“Because, Marilyn can’t access it without having this key.”
“I’m impressed,” I admit. She gives me a shy smile and looks away.
“That night, with Dennis, it was never about this key or the money. I wanted to blackmail him into letting my mom go, letting her leave. Things just … got out of hand.”
Kat closes her eyes and takes a deep breath. When she opens them again, I can see everything there—all her guilt, pain, and regret. Her trembling fingers mindlessly trace the rose tattoo on the back of my right hand.
“You want to tell me what happened with that guy?”
She shakes her head and presses the ice back to my jaw. “Can you hold the ice here? I’m going to take a shower.”
I bring my hand up and cover hers. The comfort of her touch makes me crave more before she slips away. Having her here with me again fills me with relief and fear. I don’t know how to act or who I am. For the first time in a decade, I don’t know what my next move will be.
Kat grabs her bag and disappears into the bathroom. It’s quiet for a long time, no water running, nothing. I get up and stand outside that door for a while. I tell myself it’s just to make sure she’s not trying to escape. The truth is I need to know she’s okay.
When the water turns on I relax a bit. I lean my forehead against the wall and close my eyes. Then, the sound of Kat’s crying seeps through the door. My fingers grip the doorframe and the anger builds in me. The cheap wood cracks under my fingers, the sound is my resolve breaking.
I tamp down all the scenarios that spin through my head. Something terrible happened to her and I can’t do anything about it. Everything that I imagine sends me further into my spiraling rage. This emotion expands in me until I can’t fight it anymore.
I push away from the door and grab the dusty lamp. I hurl it across the room and feel satisfied when it shatters against the wall. My face is throbbing, my ribs ache, but none of that matters. I hate feeling out of control and it seems to only happen when Kat’s around.
Slumping down onto the bed, I pull out my phone and send a message to my employer.
Delayed. San Antonio ETA two days.
Moments later, my phone buzzes. I stare at the screen, the dreaded word framed by a rectangle of light in the dark room.
Excellent.
* * *
An hour later, Kat lies in bed next to me. Her hair is damp and she smells like soap. She wears a tiny tank that exposes her arms and a small band of skin just below her navel. My mind and hands remember exactly what that skin feels like and the sight before me is a torturous temptation. We both keep our eyes on the television, which is playing local news. There’s a story about a wanted rapist who may be part of a gang.
“I wanted you to kill him,” Kat says.
“Who?”
“Damon.” I look at her and nod. “I wanted you to squeeze that trigger and end him right there.”
“We’ve already got enough trouble, don’t you think?”
She gives a hollow laugh and turns on her side to face me. Kat’s relaxed and comfortable here with me and I try to comprehend it.
“I don’t want to have those kinds of thoughts. I mean, yeah, I’ve killed someone, but I don’t want that to change who I am.”
“I understand,” I say. I don’t tell her that it’s too late. The moment you’re responsible for ending someone’s life, it marks you, scarring you in ways that last a lifetime.
“Do you? Because I feel like we just let a monster out into the world. He’s free to do whatever he wants to the next girl and that’s our fault. We could have stopped him.”
“You can’t save everyone, Kat.”
“I know,” she says, playing with the edge of the sheet. “You ever been in trouble with the law?”
I contemplate keeping quiet on this one, but the way s
he looks at me makes my ability to stay silent ineffective. Maybe I tell her as a warning. This is the kind of person I am. Or maybe I tell her simply because she asked.
“I was into some bad shit when I was younger. I had a partner once who screwed up. We were caught and interrogated in this tiny town’s police station. He was useless, telling them anything they wanted to know. I decided I had to get out before they started asking questions about me.
“I asked for something to drink, complaining about how hot it was. One cop left and returned with a cup of water. I took it from him, gulped it down and pretended to choke. When he came to check on me, I grabbed his gun, held it against my partner’s head, and used him as a hostage until we escaped.”
“How did you know it would work?” she asks, wide-eyed.
“I didn’t.”
“And you were willing to risk both of your lives to find out?”
“Yes.”
“Wow. I don’t know if that’s brave or stupid.”
“A little bit of A, a little bit of B,” I answer.
Kat gives a sad laugh and lays her head on her bent arm.
“When I was little, my dad used to take me to the park near our house,” she says. “It had this slide that seemed enormous. Every time we’d go, I’d stand next to the slide and just look up the ladder. Sometimes, I’d get one or two steps up before chickening out and coming back down.
“My dad watched, but he never judged me for being scared. Every time we got in the car to leave, he’d tell me ‘Take chances, Kat. That’s how you grow. Being brave is finding a way through fear. You’ll do it one day.’”
“Did you ever go down the slide?” I ask.
She blinks and a single tear slides over her cheek and soaks into the cotton pillowcase.
“I did. But he never got to see it.”
12: her
It’s strange lying in bed and talking with Steel. Even after exploring every part of his body, this feels far more intimate than anything we’ve done. There’s such a personal connection to memories and confessions. They hold so much weight inside, but once freed, they seem to float away into vapor. At least, that’s how it feels with him.
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