by Celia Crown
He doesn’t have food in front of him, and I hazard a guess that he is neither here for the food, nor did he wanted to order any. He looks like he eats caviar off a gold spoon and drinks one hundred years old wine.
“I just thought you would know where she is since you come here often,” he says.
The cup does break in my hand and water spills over the counter; a commotion happens behind me, and I step away from the stool before the water travels over the edge. I glare at the smiling man, it grinds me in the wrong way when he looks unaffected, but it bothers me more that he knows Nora and he’s looking for her.
From the times I spent with her, I had concluded that she was running away from something and I didn’t know what. I never wanted to push her to tell me. I might lose the connection I have with her, and she will shut me out of her heart.
“I-it’s okay, I’ll clean it up!” the waitress comes between Adam and me, furiously wiping down the diner counter with her towel and letting it absorb the liquid before the owner comes out from the kitchen.
“Hey, are you okay?” his gruff voice asks.
I nod back stiffly, unable to turn my eyes away from the man as he sips from his cup of coffee.
One distraction after another, my mind is still rattled and trying to contain information as to why this man knows Nora and why is he looking for her.
The bell on the door shrills violently; it shakes the diner as the tension in the space gets sliced through clearly by the sound. Customers that were looking at Adam and I turned to the noise at the door.
I turn, and my world comes crashing down on me.
There are the colors of yellow and orange on a band of bandanas around three men’s arms, the colors of a cobra that is the insignia of the tattoo on their arms. They have colors now, and this tells me that the new leader has changed some of the things in the gang; at my time, they were black and white.
They are young; too young to be in one of the biggest gangs in Chicago and too immature to be carrying guns in front of their sagging jeans. It’s impractical and stupid of them to dress this way. It doesn’t make anyone afraid of them when they lean back to stagger their ways into the diner.
If they know that I am here, it means that the new leader back in Chicago also knows. Members don’t do anything without permission, and I rather not think what they are going to think when they have me back to that place.
I left a long time ago. There is no need to come for old gang members after being missing for fifteen years.
“Yo, Eric!” one of them is the leader of the trio. He hooks his hands into his pants and unsubtly jiggles them to make the silver of his gun flash.
Other customers are starting to be afraid, but one of the men goes to lock the door and standing there with his own gun out.
The one that’s approaching me takes out his gun, and my muscles are tense, coiling up for the impact of the bullet that never comes because he’s waving it around to scare me.
Anyone would be wary of a gun, but Adam is too calm and collected while he sips his coffee as if he isn’t one of the people taken a hostage in a diner.
The last man goes to the kitchen to force the owner to come out so he can guard the back exit, everyone is trapped in the diner, and it’s all my fault.
I should have kept running and never settled down. I pray that Nora doesn’t come into this scene. She can’t be hurt. I would never be able to forgive myself.
“Y’know… there’s a big reward for bringing your ass in, Eric,” the young man waves his gun in my face, I’m taller than him, so I get to see the black hole of his barrel.
“Twenty-five grand, that shit is huge!” he laughs, the gold crowns of his teeth flash when he opens his mouth.
He pushes the gun to my chest and holds it above my hammering heart, but I remain quiet as I don’t know what to do in this circumstance. I can’t fight them all since they have guns and there are too many civilians in the diner; any number of outcomes would have them in pain and maybe dead too.
I won’t survive the guilt.
“How did you find me?” I ask, trying to buy time so someone from the outside might see what’s happening and call the sheriff.
The man taps his gun several times on my chest with a click of his tongue, “A bird told us; he told us a lot of things.”
His grin is making my stomach churn as I meet the eyes of the scared waitress. Nora’s image comes to mind, and I’m glad she’s not here to show me that horrified expression.
“You’re shacked up with this fresh meat… Nora, was it?”
My nails pierce my skin, blood seeping into my nails as I ground myself with a clench to my jaw. It’s hard to refrain myself from swinging my fist across his face, but I have the lives of more than ten people in my hands.
“My pupil is quite reckless,” Adam comments from behind me.
There is no hint of fear or panic in his voice. I wonder what planet that man is from because anyone in here is terrified out of their minds. Adam might have a medical condition that renders him incapable to feel any emotions, and that’s the only explanation I can think of other than being a very good actor to suppress his anxiety.
“He calls himself Crow, and he has a big ego that was his downfall. He believes he can surpass Death and become one with God.” Adam chuckles, sipping on his coffee and finishing it with a tip of his head.
“If he had taken the time to read, he would realize that he wishes to be a raven, but he is foolish to provoke Eve.” Adam shakes his head and sighs, but he’s not regretful or shamed of whatever he is saying.
The man that points a gun at me pushes me out of the way and nudges the barrel to Adam’s neatly slick-backed hair.
“What the fuck you’re talking about? How’d you know about Crow?”
Adam turns his head, and the gun stops at his forehead. His eyes are calm with a storm curling in his eyes as he meets mine over the shorter man.
“Crow fancies himself as a hitman. He studies others who are familiar in my line of work, and he wishes to take my name. Adam is a precious gift that needs to be earned through years of hard work. It is not a simple task to be in this spot.”
Before anyone could say anything, Nora comes from the kitchen where I think she walked in through the back door. It’s hard to tell because there wasn’t any noise and I know the back door is rusty, so it makes a loud screeching sound every time someone opens it.
“Oh my,” she gasps with a hand to her lips.
Her eyes scan the area, and my body is acting on instinct when the third man walks up from behind her. She’s oblivious to the impending death if she keeps moving.
“I see you have met my pupil,” Adam says with a laugh, and he flings his coffee cup to the side of her head.
It grazes her blonde hair and smashes into the face of the man; it shatters upon impact, and the man falls to the ground with blood running from his nose and cuts on his face.
Nora is neither bothered nor shocked. She’s calmly walking behind the diner counter while Adam had taken the gun from the leader of the trip group and slammed his head to the counter.
She pats the space in front of the counter and gestures me to sit. It’s as if I’m in a trance with her smile and the easiness of her body language. As soon I sit down with the struggling man in between Adam and me, she takes my hands and turns them over to see the crescent moon marks with dried blood caked on my skin.
“You shouldn’t hurt yourself, my love,” she frowns, using a napkin to dab the wounds to see if it’s still bleeding.
I look over my shoulder when Nora flashes her eyes to the door. The last man is shaking with his gun aimed at the counter where all four of us are stationed.
I can’t tell where he’s aiming at; me, innocent Nora, mysterious Adam, or the thrashing trio’s leader.
Nora closes my palms together with the napkin between them and runs her soft fingers through my rough knuckles, “Let me take care of you.”
She crooks her fingers for the man to c
ome closer and he’s too scared to deny Nora. The power she holds in her body and the way she’s poised and deadly in her skin makes me question if this is a dream or not.
“Ladies and gentlemen, I would greatly appreciate if you would remain seated. I will free you soon, please be patient,” she says to the customers who are too afraid to move a finger.
The owner and the other waitress is seated at a table, watching us while contemplating what to do with the other customers. I can see the emotions running through their faces. Some are close to tears while others are trying to not bolt out the windows.
“How old are you?” Nora asks the younger boy.
He shakes, “F-fifteen.”
The trio’s leader yells while trying to get free, “Shut up—”
It’s too fast and too swift for me to see when Nora had gotten a butter knife. She had it impaled on his hand and through the diner counter with a sunshine smile. She smiles through his screams of agony and for the fuck of it, she rotates the knife and embeds it deeper.
“No talking, sir,” Nora wags her small finger.
Disbelief and shock run like electric currents in my body as I’m in constant denial of what I just saw. My sweet, naïve, and pure Nora just stabbed someone with a butter knife without any remorse.
“Now, why did you join this gang?” she turns back to the younger boy.
Whatever compelled the boy to spill his guts, he’s doing it without a breath in between. “T-they said they’d kill my family if I don’t! I didn’t want to, please don’t kill me. I don’t want to die!”
I can connect with this boy; he and I are trying to escape the streets of Chicago’s big gang, but it’s too hard when we have no help and no resources to turn to. We have roots in that place, and it’s virtually impossible to leave; I can emotionally check out, but physically leaving it is like trying to test our wills to live.
“Shut the hell up, you fucking shit!” the trio’s leader hisses like a snake.
“Do you want to leave?” Nora asks, ignoring the yelling from the other guy.
I don’t look away from Nora when I hear a nasty crack on the counter, and the yelling from behind me stops. It’s a good guess that the man is either dead or unconscious in the hands of Adam. I don’t know which choice is worse for him, but I’m more interested in understanding why Nora is not reacting in ways that I would expect her to.
There’s a groan, and it’s confirmed that he isn’t unconscious or dead.
“I want to leave the gang, but they’ll kill my family!” the boy trembles like a leaf.
“You have to face your fears, young man,” Nora says cryptically, pouring a glass of water in the plastic blue cup and hands it to him. He takes it with perplexity and downs the glass of water with shaky hands.
“Each step you take to conquer your fears is the road you build to protect your family. You have to start small, and there is no time better than now.”
Manipulation or a great speech, but the boy practically had lights in his eyes going off as his brain fires thoughts and connects what Nora said to his decisions. Nora’s hand comes to find mine, and I turn my palm open to trap hers, and she whispers my name tenderly that echoes in my head.
“N-no, what are you doing! Stop, get the fuck away—”
I look over to the voice of the trio’s leader’s voice and a loud bang ripples through my eardrums, splitting a headache that drops my head down to my hands promptly to grind my teeth down as a way to shake the ringing away.
I hardly notice Nora’s hand running through my hair as a soothing act, it helps, but my vision is turning in directions where it’s almost similar to a black and white hypnotic swirl pattern.
“Would you look at that,” Adam’s muffled voice has amusement in it.
I sneak a peek through the corner of my eye while pressing my forehead to my knuckles. Red is splattered on the counter, and there are screams of people rushing out of the diner.
“This is all your fault, Adam,” Nora says, scraping her fingers through my messy hair, “You are fortunate that my Eric is not harmed.”
“How was my pupil? I might have let it slip that Eric is your first favorite and may I add, last too.” Adam’s laugh is soft, almost tender when he talks to Nora.
“He was a narcissist, and I would love for you to refrain from turning more amateurs to me.”
I wince at the remaining buzzing in my ear as it goes away gradually. Nora greets me with her usual smile.
“Oh, my love,” she coos, trailing her fingers on my stubbles and cupping my cheek. “What should I do with you? I have grown so fond of you. I adore you too much, and it’s worrisome. I cannot take you away. It wouldn’t be fair of me to take your choices away. I wouldn’t be any better than those who have done so in the past.”
She’s talking about my gang affiliations, but I don’t care about them anymore. I’m oddly not sure why I don’t care about the lethal actions she has displayed body when she sliced through a hand with a butter knife.
Nothing matters because my heart and mind had synchronized their desires.
I want to be with her.
Adam scoffs lightheartedly, “Manipulating wench.”
Chapter Nine
Nora
“You are not a hostage, my love.”
Eric doesn’t make a noise, not even his usual grunt that answers some of my questions.
We’re one state over, all three of us coincidentally landed in the same town with the same transportation. The car had been ditched and wiped down. All my previous identification had burned in a pit of fire while I was bleaching the entire house that I had rented.
My DNA and fingerprints are destroyed by the chemicals, but I wanted to make sure that my weapons are cleaned too in case they are linked back to me.
The habit I formed over the years is that every gun I fired gets a good scraping in the barrel so the bullets can’t be traced back to the gun. I bleach the knives and break them in pieces and scatter them down a sewer drain which had thousands of particles floating in there.
The police always have a hard time picking up the knife pieces.
The guns are expensive, and it’s a heavy price to pay when I destroy them after every job, but it’s a guarantee that they won’t be traced back to me since they are black-market guns without a manufacturing number.
Those who make the guns aren’t stupid enough to print them on. It’s bad for business, and we need secrecy to continue to be their customers.
“Also, why are you still here, Adam?” I sigh, leaning back on the chair of a small restaurant.
There is hardly any business, and I chose this place for its silence so I can blend in, leave no trace, and slowly fall off the face of the earth when I walk out of this restaurant. It’s easy to do so. I have done it many times, but I have Eric to deal with.
That man is stubborn to a fault.
He won’t let me out of his sight, even to the bathroom and he went in with me. It was an odd experience, and I had to make him go outside so I can utilize the restroom for what it was designed for. It took a lot of reassuring that there is no window for me to escape from. Eric has no reason to think that I would have tools pulled out of thin air and break through the concrete walls.
I can understand Eric not having anywhere else to go, and I am the only familiar face he knows, but he should be concerned that I had manipulated a man into killing his friends and then turning the gun on himself.
What I don’t understand is why Adam is lingering like a bad smell of rotting cheese. He might be spending too much time in Italy. Adam loves the air of love, and I had never cringed so hard in my life when he practically inhaled the entire oxygen supply of the country in one breath.
“I’m spending time with you,” he says with a hum.
“You are not welcomed,” I shoot back, extending my hand down to pat Eric’s knee to calm him down.
Eric doesn’t like Adam. Everything in his body language tells me that he wants to kill Ad
am; tense muscles, struggling control, and the clench of his strong jaw. He’s so handsome. He has this raw, primitive anger rolling in him that is poison to my addiction to being surrounded with his possessiveness.
“We have been together for so long. Is that how you treat an old friend?” Adam teases.
I roll my eyes, “Acquaintance at best.”
Before Adam can say anything else, I want to get to the bottom of what he’s planning. I don’t have myself to worry about now. Eric matters too much to pull any reckless actions if Adam decides to do something funny.
“What do you want?”
Adam grins, eyes cold and borderline insane. “I have attained quite impressive gifts from another colleague of ours.”
Ah, yes. I have heard about the massive influx of military-grade explosives that have gone missing. Word of the streets is that it’s a crew of militias, but the more probable explanation is that it was stolen by a team of professionals who executed the plan and sold it to Adam.
Adam would never buy anything from sources that he has no run-ins with. He doesn’t deal with militias, and it’s not hard for him to find those who were responsible for the crime. Adam has many fingers dipped in the pond of sin. He’s got connections from the United States to North Korea.
There is a reason why people want him alive and dead, and it’s all because he knows too much. They want information, but some are too scared that they take offensive actions to make sure the information doesn’t get to the enemy’s hands.
“Oh my, what a tease,” I reply dryly.
That news is old, and the hype has died down long ago. I don’t understand why this man is bringing up things from the past. He isn’t the type to brag or be arrogant. Adam is confident, and he doesn’t breach the line of egotism like his useless pupil that I had left to be fertilizer for the trees.
“Not those kinds of gifts, Eve,” he says as he clicks his tongue.
“The waters are spectacular. You could read the emotions on my fishes’ eyes. Begging and pleading to be free, but I was not generous that day.” Adam cocks his eyebrow, leaning on his fist as his elbows digging into the tablecloth.