Present Danger

by Susan Andersen

  “I said, where’d the weasel go?”

  “I don’t know what the fuck’s goin’ on,” James answered truthfully. “He gave me a call to pick him up and I’d just done so when you two showed up. What’d he do?”

  “Tried to rip off his dealer, freak.”

  Oh, wonderful, he really was dead. “I don’t know anything about…” Stubble-skull took a giant step backward and gave him a vicious knee-punch to the kidneys.

  “Lookit all this pretty blond hair,” the man said in his gravelly voice. “I think we got us a girly-boy, Butch.”

  Butch, James thought blearily. Jesus, it figured.

  His head was yanked back so hard the rubber band holding his hair clubbed at the nape of his neck split. He looked up into Stubble-skull’s eyes and what he saw there did not reassure him. “You a split-tail, boy?”

  “No.”

  Fancy-cut’s foot kicked him swiftly in the crotch and James sagged completely within the hold of the man behind him. Nausea rushed up his throat. “How ‘bout that,” Fancy-cut murmured. “Boy sure enough does have balls. Who woulda thunk it? Course, he ain’t gonna feel much like dancin’ with the ladies tonight.”

  They worked him over with systematic thoroughness after that, removed his wallet from his hip pocket, then stuffed him in their car. He kept drifting in and out of consciousness, only vaguely aware of his surroundings. He was surprised, therefore, when he peered through one slitted eye and recognized his own neighborhood. The two hoods were passing a pint of Cutty Sark back and forth and listening to a country-and-western station on the car stereo.

  “This here was in the nature of a warnin’, freak,” Stubble-skull said as they roared up his block. “Tell the weasel he’s a dead man, he ever tries to do what he did again. We even see him on our turf, he’s gonna get the same as you.” The car slammed to a stop, throwing James against the dash. The door was opened, and the next thing he knew, James was sailing toward the curb. He passed out cold the instant he hit the parking strip.

  Soft hands were cautiously brushing his hair from his face when he came to. “James?” a softly accented voice whispered. “Jimmy? Oh, gawd.” He felt the soft-skinned fingers move down to his throat and press against his pulse. “Please, please, please,” he heard her whisper. “Wake up. James, can you heah me?”

  He pried open one eyelid. There were two Aunies hovering over him, their coats open to showcase that damned short dress that hugged her curves like a second skin. Slowly, the two images coalesced into one. He licked his split lip, tasting blood. “Aunie?” He felt ridiculously pleased that she hadn’t gone home with some stranger after all.

  “Oh, James, thank God you’re awake! Wait heah, I’m goin’ to get Otis. No, Otis is at work. Ah’ll call an ambulance. Anyhow, I’ll be right back. Don’t try to move.” She started to rise to her feet, but James’s hand reached out and gripped a handful of her coat, staying her.

  “No ambulance,” he croaked. “Just help me get up to my apartment.”

  “Don’t be foolish, James,” she argued heatedly. “You need medical attention. Now let me go—”

  “No.” His fist tightened on her coat and she nearly toppled on top of him. “Help me up.”

  “Jim-meee,” she moaned in protest, unconsciously using the name his brothers and Otis generally used. “At least let me get Lola to help.”

  “There’s no sense wakin’ her up. We can do this.”

  “Gawd, you’re stubborn.” She squatted down as he gingerly pushed himself to a sitting position and maneuvered her shoulder under his armpit. It was a struggle, but she finally got him to his feet where he swayed weakly, sweating freely and swearing. Standing, the top of her shoulder only came to his diaphragm, so she wrapped her right arm around his waist, looped his left arm over her shoulder and held him in place by gripping his big, rawboned wrist in her left hand. Inch by agonizing inch, they shuffled up the walk and through the door.

  Aunie leaned him against the wall while she retrieved her purse from where it had been propping open the exterior door. She hung the evening bag around her neck by its golden chain and approached James. His eyes were closed and he was breathing heavily. “How’re you doin’?” she whispered anxiously.

  One eye opened a crack, showing the merest glimmer of moss green behind its swollen purple lid. “I love your accent.”

  Aunie swallowed an hysterical urge to giggle. “Do you?” she managed to reply. “My mama always said it made me sound downright common.”

  James made a rude noise and in his pain forgot his policy of never criticizing another’s family. “Your mama sounds like a real pain in the ass,” he said roughly and reached for her. “Ready to tackle the stairs?”

  “I think so. The question is are you?”

  “Yeah. Might as well get it over with. You gonna be able to navigate in those heels?”

  Aunie looked down at her four-inch spikes. “Oh. Maybe I’d better remove them. I’d hate to be responsible for toppling us down the stairs.” She took them off and stuffed them in her coat pockets.

  With her shoes removed, the top of her shoulders only came to his abdomen but she followed the same procedure as before, arm around his waist, his arm over her shoulder, securing him by her grip on his wrist. James’s strength was deserting him fast and he leaned on her more heavily with every step they climbed. They were both perspiring by the time they neared the top of the stairs. Suddenly, he started to overbalance and Aunie threw her weight at his torso to direct him into the wall rather than allowing him to tumble headlong down the flight of thinly carpeted steps. They banged up against the wall and James groaned low in his throat as every muscle in his body protested the twin battering of being caught between her resilient weight and the ungiving plaster surface. “God,” he said between his teeth. “And here I always thought you were such a lightweight.”

  “I’m sorry,” she wailed, stepping back to relieve him of her weight but gripping his biceps and pressing them into the wall to keep him upright. She tried to evaluate his condition by the expression on his face. “Are you all right?”

  “Yeah. Give me a second to catch my breath.”

  “I swear I’ll never drink again,” Aunie muttered to herself. “Never, never, never.”

  James tipped his chin into his neck and peered down at her. “You been hitting the bottle again, Magnolia?”

  “Honestly, James, I’m not ordinarily much of a drinker,” she avowed. If he’d thought he could have gotten away with it without inflicting a great deal of pain on his abused mouth, he would have grinned at her big owl eyes as she stared up at him with such solemn sincerity. “You’ve just caught me in a couple of weak moments.”

  “Nobody thinks you’re a lush, sugar. That is … you did use a glass this time, didn’t you?”

  “Oh! You are such a pig!” She laughed throatily and spontaneously swung a playful punch at his chest. Remembering his injuries just in the nick of time, she pulled her punch before contact was made. “Think you can make it the last few steps?”

  “Yeah.” He cautiously straightened and drew a fortifying breath. “Let’s go.”

  They were at his door before he remembered his lack of keys. Propped weakly against the wall, eyes closed, he swore with creative fluency for several moments. “Paul gets my keys, my car … I get his beating. That son of a bitch; I think I’m gonna kill him myself.” He rolled his head and opened one eye to peer at Aunie. “I’m sorry, Magnolia. I guess you’ll have to wake up Lola after all.”

  Aunie bit her lip in indecision. Then, resigned, she slipped to his side once again and assumed the position. “C’mon,” she said wearily and led him down the hall to her door.

  She hesitated inside until he said tersely, “Bathroom.” Once there she flipped down the cover on the toilet and eased him onto it. Through a haze of exhaustion, he watched her divest herself of her coat and toss it out into the hall. She helped him out of his leather jacket and tossed it carelessly after her own. Then she swept
aside a clutter of cosmetics, opened the medicine chest and began removing half its contents, lining the items up on the counter like tin soldiers on parade. Filling the basin with warm water, she dipped in a clean washcloth, wrung out the excess moisture, and gingerly cleaned the dried blood from his face. “I still think we ought to get you a doctor. There’s a gash over your eyebrow that looks as though it could use a few stitches.”

  “Just slap a Band-AidTM on it,” he said without opening his eyes. “I’ll be fine.”

  “Oh, big, tough man,” she snapped, angry that he was taking this so lightly. His face was a mess, and someone with more medical expertise than she possessed should be caring for him properly.

  “I am tough, Aunie,” he reassured her, “and the guys who did this were professionals. They aim for the maximum amount of pain with the minimum amount of permanent damage. Help me outta this shirt will you? The collar’s getting soaked.”

  She set down the cotton ball she had just soaked in hydrogen peroxide and reached for his sleeve, efficiently unbuttoning and stripping the shirt from his shoulders. Her breath hissed in sharply. “Oh, James, look at you.” Her fingers skimmed lightly over the bruises on his chest and stomach. “Who did this to you?”

  “I told you … professionals.”

  “Yes, I heard you, but what does that mean?”

  He stared at her. He’d forgotten that she was innocent of the sort of experience he took for granted, and the sudden reminder made him feel lousy for exposing her to the dark realities that often comprised his life. Christ, he’d been rolling in filth for so long, he sometimes forgot that not everybody did. Aunie, however, was like no one he had ever known: so pristine and untouched. And right now she felt sorry for him because he was hurt. If she ever realized even a fraction of the things that he had seen or done, it’d make her sick. He’d make her sick. Tonelessly, he said, “That’s not important. It wasn’t meant for me, specifically. It was meant for Paul. I just got caught in the middle.”

  Aunie didn’t understand any of this, but she held her peace and silently disinfected the cuts on his face. She pinched together the edges of the gash over his eyebrow and applied several strips of adhesive, hoping it would be adequate. On impulse, she leaned down and pressed her lips gently to the bandage.

  James went very still. “What are you doing?”

  “Kissing it better.” Embarrassed, she busied herself cleaning up.

  James had been taking care of himself and everyone around him for so long now, he didn’t rightly know how to react to being mothered. He was tempted to point out several other areas that could stand kissing better, but he feared it would offend or embarrass her. So rather than say the wrong thing, he decided to say nothing at all. But that little gesture made him feel good. It made him feel real good.

  “I’ve got some pain pills left over from … well, left over,” Aunie said. “You want one?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Here.” She tipped the prescription bottle over his open palm. “You’re probably twice my weight, so it should be safe to take two.”

  He washed them down with water and then she helped him to his feet. They were in her bedroom before he realized where she was leading him, but the instant he did he came to a halt. “I can’t take your bed.”

  “Yes, you can. The couch is long enough for me, but it wouldn’t be for you. Don’t argue with me, James,” she commanded with credible authority when he showed signs of digging in his heels. “Just get in the damn bed. I’m not in the mood for an argument.” She left him upright if slightly swaying while she flipped back the covers.

  He was too tired to argue. “I’ve got to call Bobby first.”

  “Give me the number and I’ll call him. You get in bed before you fall on your face.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” he said with uncharacteristic meekness, recited the number, and lowered himself to the mattress. “Tell Paul … watch his ass. They’re lookin’ for him.”

  Aunie eased his jeans down his long legs, trying not to wince at the additional bruises she uncovered. She pulled the sheet and blankets up around his shoulders and tucked him in. Then, turning off the light, she left the room.

  James rolled painfully onto his side, sliding his hand beneath the pillow to force it into the contour he desired. His fingers touched something satiny and he grasped it, pulling it forth. It was a neatly folded, cinnamon-colored satin slip—obviously Aunie’s nightwear. Feeling her pain pills beginning to take effect, he brought the slip up to his nose and inhaled. Then he gingerly raised his head, tucked it between his cheek and the pillow, and fell asleep.

  Bob picked up the phone on the first ring. “Jimmy?” His voice sounded anxious.

  “It’s Aunie, Bob. James is here.”

  His pent-up breath sighed out gustily. “He okay? I’ve been worried ever since Paul showed up.”

  “No,” she said in agitation. Reaction was beginning to set in. “He’s not. He’s been badly beaten and he wouldn’t let me take him to a doctor. He said the men who beat him were professionals, as if that makes any difference, and …”

  “If he said he’ll be okay, he’ll be okay, Aunie. He’s tough.”

  “Dammit, don’t you tell me that, too! You should see him, Bob. He’s black and blue all over, and they just threw him out of the car like so much garbage, and it took me forever and ever to get him into the house and up the stairs, and then he didn’t have his keys, because his brother has them …”

  “He at your place?” Bob interrupted her in a calm voice.

  “Yes. I cleaned him up and put him to bed. He wanted to call you but I wouldn’t let him.”

  “What’s your phone number?”

  She recited it to him.

  “What’s his message?”

  “He … he said to tell Paul to watch his rear end because they’re lookin’ for him.”

  If Bob hadn’t been so worried he would have grinned at her wording. It was doubtful Jimmy had ever said rear end in his life.

  As it was, however, he was worried. “Paul got away from me,” he reluctantly admitted. “He was kickin’ himself for leaving Jimmy with those thugs and went back to find him.”

  “And you let him go? What am I gonna tell James, Bobby?”

  “I didn’t exactly have an option,” Bob informed her dryly. “Paul is an addict, Aunie, and addicts are wily folk. He told me he was goin’ to the can, but when I went to check up on him I discovered he had slipped out the back door.” He sighed. “How much did Jimmy tell you about what happened tonight?”

  “Nothing. Not a darn thing, except that the men who beat him were professionals.”

  “Yeah, that’s Jimmy. He’s not one to share his problems—he always has to handle everything himself. Well the fact is, girl, Paul called him to be rescued after tryin’ to rip off his dealer, which is about the stupidest thing an addict can do. He didn’t even do a good job—he dropped his stash trying to get away. From what he told me, they apparently called in their heavy artillery to teach him an object lesson, but he got away and they were left holdin’ Jimmy instead. Drug folks are not noted for their tolerance.”

  “But if James had nothing to do with it …” Aunie protested.

  “We ain’t talkin’ about the kinda people you’re gonna find in the silk-stockin’ neighborhood you hail from,” Bob told her flatly. “They were told an example needed to be made and they had a bird in the hand, so to speak, so they did their job.”

  “Well, that stinks.”

  “Yeah, that it do.” He sighed. “About the only positive thing you can say about tonight’s mess is that before he gave me the slip, Paul was seriously talking about seekin’ help to kick his habit. He’s been through rehab four times already and he’s always gone back to the stuff. But it’s been a long, long stretch since the last time he even tried to go straight. Last couple years, he’s turned a deaf ear to anyone who suggested rehab, so this is a good sign.” Or it will be if he doesn’t get his head kicked in first, he quali
fied to himself but did not say aloud. No sense in freakin’ her out.

  “Y’know,” he said instead, “it’s mostly because of me ‘n him that Jimmy didn’t get to be a kid for very long. Paul knows it as well as I do, but this’s the first I’ve seen that maybe it bothers him as much as it’s been botherin’ me.”

  “But if he goes back there and those men are still around, they’re goin’ to beat him, Bobby.”

  “He’s two years older than Jimmy, girl; that’s just a chance he’s gonna have t’ take. Hell, he’s a thirty-six-year-old man who’s still lettin’ his kid brother take his punishment for him, and I think it’s finally stuck in his craw. High time, too. If Jimmy wakes up, you tell him nothin’. He’s got an overblown sense of responsibility, which Paul and me encouraged ‘cuz it suited our purposes to have him take care of us. But this is one time we’re gonna handle things on our own. Now that I know Jimmy’s safe with you, I’ll go lookin’ for Paul. You see to it the kid gets a night’s rest and I’ll call tomorrow to fill him in, okay?”

  “Okay.”

  “Thanks for calling, Aunie, and thanks for takin’ care of my brother. Good night.”

  “Bobby!”

  “Yeah?”

  “Be careful.”

  He laughed. “You’re okay, kid. I will take care, all right? Night now.”

  “Night.”

  Aunie rifled quietly through her dresser drawers in search of a nightgown. Somehow, her favorite sleep slip had made its way out from under her pillow and was now caught beneath James’s cheek. There was no way she could extricate it without waking him, for what wasn’t pressed into the pillow by his face was tangled in his long fingers.

  She had stealthily removed the second pillow from the bed, located a nightgown and blanket, and was tiptoeing from the room when the phone rang. Whispering a curse, she dove across the carpet to snatch up her bedside extension before it could awaken James. Kneeling alongside the bed, she brought the receiver to her ear. “Hello?”