by Jake Irons
She gives me a pointed look, then cuts her eyes to the large knife I’m still clutching in my right hand. I’m gripping the doorframe with my hands, so it’s kind of pointing at her. “Sorry,” I say quickly as I move out of the doorway.
Nadia breezes past me, takes off her sunglasses, and sets them on the sleek, stainless table beside the door. She takes off her hoodie and shakes out her long, raven hair. Then she turns and slaps me hard across the face.
“OW!”
“What were you thinking!?”
“Why are you hitting me?!”
“You know why, you—” She’s cursing me now, in Polish. She does that so often I’m surprised I haven’t picked up any of the words.
“You know I don’t understand you, right?”
“You are the stupidest fucking man that has ever lived.”
Can’t disagree with her. “How fucked am I?”
“Very fucked Eli, very fucked.” Her voice cracked on the word “very.” Now that I look at her more closely, I can tell she’s freaked out, not angry. Her skin is paler than normal. Her lips are pressed into a thin line. Her eyes unblinking.
“Fuck.”
“Why did you write everything so similar!” she demands.
“I didn’t!”
“You changed the story about Sticky on the roof to put him in a stairwell—”
“To get the sound of the shoes right!”
“I know!” she snaps. “And you renamed Julian Jason but you kept that he had a glass eye and that he lost it—”
“But I had him lose it on the Staten Island Ferry—”
“Those are not significant changes Eli!”
“Okay granted those aren’t the best, but most of the other stories—”
“You wrote about Michal killing that pimp with a cactus!”
“Yeah, that was bad—”
“That was more than bad, you idiot! Do you know how many people know that story?! And all of the other stories!”
Technically, only about half the stories in Mikey’s Boys are inspired by the stories Nadia told me, but I see her point.
“And why—why why why Eli!—why did you call him Mikey? Why couldn’t you have changed it to something else? Like Steve?”
“Steve?”
Nadia stamps her foot. “Or something else, you idiot!”
“You were the one who told me Mikey would be fine.”
“That’s because I hadn’t read the book. I didn’t know you’d write about the cactus, and Sticky, and—”
“I thought you said Michal couldn’t read.”
“I said he didn’t, not that he can’t! And he knows people who read, Eli!” Nadia looks at me like I’m the stupidest person in the world. She shakes her head and walks to my bar, a rolling drink station currently positioned against the end of the peninsula.
“You want ice?” I ask.
“No.”
I grab the ice bucket from the bar anyway, fill it, and hand it back to her. “What are we gonna do?” I ask.
“We?”
I feel ice in my veins. Nadia and I, we’re…friends. With benefits. We fuck a lot, and sometimes we chill before and/or after the fucking. It’s been this way for the last two years, after we met at a fundraiser for one of the art societies. Nadia’s firm was doing public relations for the event. There’s nothing deep and abiding between us. We both use each other. She uses me to increase her access to the city’s political elite, and in return she gives insight into the city’s criminal class.
Insight and stories. So many amazing stories.
“Seriously, Nadia, you aren’t going to help me?”
Nadia throws back half her glass then scoffs, “Help you? He’ll kill me too, if he finds out I am your source.”
I’m doubtful. “Does he know that it’s me? That I wrote the book?”
“Your name is on it Eli, so yes.”
“But does he know who I am? Does he know about The Watcher?”
“Yes, and he doesn’t care.”
“He doesn’t know about us?”
Nadia’s eyes narrow. “No. Not that there is an ‘us’ to know about.”
I shake my head. “That’s not what I mean. You could tell him we’re friends?”
“And then he’d figure out I was the one who told you all those wonderful stories that have him so enraged.”
“Not necessarily.”
“He is not stupid, Eli.”
“What if I pay him?”
“Pay him?”
“Yeah. I’ve made more than $300k off that fucking book. I’ve got most of it. Maybe I could—”
“He doesn’t care about the money,” she interrupts. “To my uncle, it’s a matter of honor.”
“Honor?”
She nods as she pours herself another drink—vodka, straight. “He feels incredibly insulted.”
“Insulted?”
“He said you made him to be gay.”
“Gay! What? What the hell are you talking about?”
“I thought you would be able to explain that to me,” she says.
“But what did you think?”
Nadia gives me a clueless look.
“You still haven’t read it?”
“Are you seriously concerned by that right now?”
“No. No. Of course not.” I come to stand beside her, take her glass, and finish her drink. The vodka burns, and I try not to gag. Nadia has claimed she was born drinking vodka, and I believe her. I never touch the stuff. She brought the bottle she’s drinking—Stoli. “It would help us figure out how much trouble I’m in if you had.”
I pour her another glass and pour myself Jack on the rocks. If Nadia wasn’t here I’d add Coke, but she thinks mixed drinks are for pussies.
She takes a large gulp. “Did you make them gay?” she asks after she’s swallowed.
I consider the question. “It’s not uncommon to read gay into hyper-masculine—”
“What?”
I shrug. “It was all subtext.”
“Eli!”
“No, I didn’t make them gay!”
Nadia frowns. “He mentioned something about tickets to a Britney Spears concert.”
“He did?”
She shrugs. “He wasn’t happy about it.”
“What the fuck would even be the problem?” The true story is that Michal and his girlfriend took a trip to Vegas. His girl wanted tickets to Celine Dion. Michal couldn’t get them, so he had one of his boys (he always has henchmen with him, wherever he goes) shake down a club promoter. It was a pretty straight-forward story, which I embellished a bit: Michal’s boy, called Rudy in the book, went all over Vegas looking for the tickets. I added a story about Rudy getting mixed up at a drag show. I also changed a few details for the book, like making the show Britney Spears instead of Celine Dion. In hindsight, that’s another story I shouldn’t have included, maybe. Or maybe I shouldn’t have written the fucking book.
But, “There’s nothing ‘gay’ in there. Not that there would be a problem if there was.”
Nadia rolls her eyes. “I’ll let you explain that to my uncle.”
“What am I gonna do?”
Nadia shakes her head. “You’re fucked,” she says. “We are fucked.”
I guess misery does love company, because I feel a lot better knowing she considers herself in this, too, even if she considers us both fucked. She can say what she wants about how she’s in trouble, too, but Nadia is Michal’s goddaughter in addition to being his niece. He has no kids of his own, and has always treated her as a sort of daughter he never had.
But whatever. I feel good enough to give Nadia the ole’ eyebrow raise. “Maybe we could continue discussing this in the bedroom.”
She snorts. “You really are a fool.”
“Fool for that pussy.”
Nadia shakes her head but smiles. “If we do this, it’s only because—”
KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK!
We both spin to the door, eyes wide.
&nb
sp; Chapter 4
Eli
Present day
I grab Tara, toss her in front of my truck, and fall on top of her as shots rip the air. I hear them hit the shed—WOMP WOMP WOMP! I hear tires spin on gravel.
“Up,” I snap as I jerk her up. “Into the shed!”
“But we’ll be trapped!” she cries as we race toward it.
“There’s a back door!”
I whistle for Acer, who speeds toward me from the back of the house. “Big trail! Big trail, go!”
He runs behind the shed, and I jerk Tara in through the door. I lock it quickly, then smack the button to lower the other, garage-style door.
BLAM BLAM BLAM BLAM BLAM!
I duck and Tara screams as more shots burst into the shed. I hear glass shatter as I leap up and shove Tara toward the back door. “There!”
After a quick glance behind to be sure the door shut, I grab the emergency pack I stashed behind my broken snowmobile, sling it over my shoulder, and grab my .38 from my ankle. I hand it to her.
“I used one round on Borys, so remember—”
“What!?”
“There are only four shots left.” I thrust it into her hand, and she holds it like I just gave her a dead fish. “Follow Acer down the path—”
“What about you!?”
“I’ll catch up.”
“Are you serious?”
“Yes, now go!” I tell her as I grab a loaded Glock 17 out of my pack.
“But—”
“Acer’s been that way a thousand times and it’s a clear path, so go! I’m not gonna try to take these guys on, I just want to see how many there are, now go! I’ll be right behind you.”
I push her out the door and watch for a moment as she races onto the trail. Then I dash back inside, double check the Glock’s chamber, and hustle to the front of the garage. I peek out one of the garage door windows that hasn’t been shattered. The gray Ford is parked behind my truck, and the doors are opening. All four of them.
Fuck. I might try my luck against two guys, but not three, and definitely not four. I duck down and hurry to the back door. I grab my pack, slide outside, and listen. I hear someone barking orders as I dash onto the trail. I sprint about twenty feet to the first bend, where I pause to look back. Sure enough, about half a second later I see one of Michal’s guys creeping around the back of the shed. I don’t recognize him, but I don’t know most of them by sight.
Regardless, it won’t take him or his friends long to find the trail. I back onto the path slowly, keeping me eyes stuck to the top of homeboy’s head. You’re not supposed to look at someone’s face when you’re trying to stay hidden. I know it sounds crazy, but I’ve had two different former spec ops bros tell me that. So I watch homeboy’s head as I back away. He presses himself against the shed’s back wall. He’s got his pistol up and ready, but he’s waiting. Probably for a—SNAP!
I freeze as the sound of the dead branch I just stepped on echoes like we’re in some kind of fucking canyon. Fuck…dude is turning this way!
I turn around and walk calmly down the trail, in the direction Tara just ran. Dude won’t see me. He won’t. There’s a bunch of woods between us. This isn’t some shitty Louis L’Amour novel. He will not—
“Here! He’s back here! Back here!”
Mother fucking fuckcicles! FUCK! I bolt down the trail.
“He’s running!” Dude cries. I glance over my shoulder—yep, motherfucker is giving chase.
I pick up speed. No way this dude is gonna be able to catch me, but I’ve got to think about Tara. She’s going to be slower than me if for no other reason than she isn’t used to running on this terrain.
There’s a big rock up ahead, and the trail cuts right just after it. I stumble off the trail and behind the rock and wait for dude. I can hear him—he’s as loud as a fucking elephant crashing through these trees. I’m going to shoot him. He’ll kill me if I give him the chance. Tara, too. I’ve got to take him out. And now. He’s about to run right by me.
I spin from behind the rock, and I’ve got a bead on dude in an instant. Not that that’s much of an accomplishment. He’s like fifteen feet from me at this point. I’m surprised by how young he is. Younger than me. A little shorter, too. He’s got blond hair, brown eyes, a crooked nose, and an expression that says, “Oh FUCK.”
I blast him in the stomach with two shots. He folds in on himself, crumples over, and immediately starts screaming. Real, guttural, involuntary screams, and I’m staring as his face twists in a way I’ve never seen a face twist. He brings his hands from his stomach and they’re covered in blood
“HELP!” he screams, and that’s enough to jolt me out of my stupor. I turn to run and try to ignore his cries, but God, they fucking carry. What’s going to happen? Will his buddies take him to a hospital? Will it matter? There’s no way they’re going to get him there on time.
Fuck that noise, I need to focus on the trail. The ground is uneven. Rocky. This was a game trail before I moved in. I widened it, and brought it to the back of my house so I could have an escape route. I used to run down it once a week, and I knew just where to duck to avoid branches, all the places where the ground dipped suddenly, where a wrong turn would send me tumbling.
This is Tara’s first time on the trail, but whatever lead she had on me must have been good, because I’m not seeing or hearing her. Obviously she’s running, which is good. She probably heard the gunshots. Also good. Acer is with her, so—
BLAM BLAM!
I duck as two shots ring through the trees. I don’t see where they hit. I try to look over my shoulder, but I don’t see anyone. Which should mean they can’t see me. Maybe they’re taking wild shots. Maybe—
BLAM!
That one sounded further away, but I hear it hit a tree nearby. The trail turns right just ahead, then runs relatively straight and up for two-hundred or so yards before cutting left and down. If I can get up that hill—
I see Tara! She’s maybe a hundred feet ahead. I’m running at a dead sprint now. Tara is not. “Run!” I yell, but she stops and turns to look at me, and why the fuck is she doing that? “RUN!” I yell, and I’m close enough to see her eyes widen.
She turns to run, but at this point I’m already beside her. I grab her hand as another shot booms through the trees.
I assumed if I ever had to use this trail to escape, I’d be by myself, so it’s not wide enough for Tara and I to run side by side. I drop behind her, giving her a good shove as I do. We’re running up hill now, will be running up hill for about seventy more yards. Acer has already made it to the top and is pawing the ground nervously, waiting for us to catch up.
The path branches at the top, or appears to. It runs right for a few hundred yards before sort of petering out. The left branch is the one we want. It will take us down, but it’s steep. I’m not sure how we’re going to run it. Maybe I should send Tara along with Acer and take my chances with our friends. I’ll have the high ground and the advantage of surprise. I’ve got thirteen rounds, and no more than three bad guys. That’s four per bad guy and one to spare. I can do that.
I lengthen my stride so I can pull ahead of Tara. I need to get a good look behind us, and we’re almost to the top. But as I pass by her, her foot tangles with mine. I stumble up and my foot slips on a patch of slush, and fuck—I’m falling! My arms reach wildly for something to grab but all I find is Tara.
We tumble over the other side of our hill and down an icy stone-face before sliding to a stop maybe thirty feet below where we started.
Tara gasps as we untangle ourselves. “I’m sorry!” I watch her get a few deep, steadying breaths. I don’t see blood or bruises, but she blinks a few times before grabbing my arm. “Are you?”
I raise a hand to my face and come away with blood on my fingers. Just a bit.
“Yeah, I’m fine, but we need to—shit! My fucking Glock!”
I search the ground around us for it, but I can’t find it. Fuck!
I glance u
p in time to see Acer. His head turns from us to something behind him. He whines, looks back at me, then dashes off.
Fuck! They must be close.
There’s a tree growing out of the steep slope we just fell down—maybe twenty feet away—but it’s growing straight up. Its roots have grown out, though, and have tangled so much they’ve created a bit of cover. Just enough for Tara and I to hide under it, if we can get there in time.
I grab Tara and drag her along as I dive for cover. I move her so she’s leaning against me, and I’m against the slope, trying my damnedest to sink into it. I cover Tara’s mouth, and a moment leader I hear the heavy panting of our pursuers.
“Where the fuck are they?” one growls.
“I think I saw them go down this way,” as second says.
“Are you sure?” the first pants. “I don’t see them.”
“I’m telling you they jumped down here,” second dude says. “I saw it.”
A few seconds of silence pass as both men suck down oxygen, and then the first one asks, “How do we get down there?”
Where is my .38? How do I ask Tara about it? It’s not in her hand. Did she tuck it in her waistband or something? If she did it probably fell out. But I need to check. Hopefully she won’t mind. Those guys—oh shit, I see my Glock!
Just—not even three feet ahead. Fuck. I can reach it with my right leg. I inch my foot forward, and Tara squirms on top of me, obviously alarmed. But I’ve got to get it. I hear Michal’s boys picking their way down the slope. I just need to get my foot out there. Slowly. Carefully. I’m almost—
“What’s that?” One of them cries, and I know we’re fucked. I’m about to dive for the gun when I hear something running above us, then BLAM BLAM BLAM!
I freeze, but none of those rounds land near us.
“Go!” one of the dudes yells, and I hear them running in what sounds like the other direction. I leave Tara where she is and crawl around the knot of branches just in time to see our pursuers disappear, headed down the branch of the trail that eventually fizzles out.
I see who they’re after, too: Acer. He’s leading them away, and I don’t have time to worry about him. I grab Tara, and we scramble up the hill. We go down the left branch, away from Michal’s boys, and we run like hell.