by Tabatha Kiss
I set the red crayon down. “And what’d he say?”
She laughs. “Not sure if he’s been able to form a complete sentence that’s not grumbles and growls just yet, but I’ll let you know.”
“Sounds good,” I say, smiling.
I look down at my coloring book. A puffy pink dog and a bright red turtle hanging out on the beach. I sign and date the bottom with a black crayon, drawing a little heart next to my name.
From your friend, Milo.
“I should get going. Don’t want to cause any more trouble for you.” I close the book and slide it over to her. “Make sure Charlotte gets that, all right?”
Anna pauses, barely blinking as she stares across the table at me. “Okay,” she finally says.
I stand up, taking my duffel bag with me. “Bye, Detective. Thanks for letting me hang with her for a bit.”
“No problem.”
I turn to leave but Anna slides forward.
“You know,” she says, making me pause, “I meant what I said before, about how we can work something out. If you wanted to hang with her again sometime, I mean.”
I nod as my stomach twists into knots. “Sure. We’ll stay in touch.”
She gives a short smile. “Bye, Milo.”
I commit it to memory. The way her smile tugs on her jawline and brightens her eyes. The way her ponytail hangs just slightly over her right shoulder. Her cheeks suddenly flushing and slowly fading again. Her hands folded together on the table, slightly twitching.
I don’t want to forget what she looks like, just in case I never see her again.
“Bye,” I say again before walking outside.
* * *
When I first came to Boston, I arrived at this same train station. Seems fitting that I’ll leave from it, too.
I decided not to choose where I’d go to until I got here. I wanted to stand where I am now, stare up at the long list of destinations, and choose one at random. Letting fate decide has usually done well for me in the past but, then again, that’s how I ended up in Boston to begin with.
Boston wasn’t a total bust, I suppose. Still led me right back here again, though.
New York? Miami? Chicago? Maybe I’ll try out Canada for a change.
Or…
I walk up to the counter and the man behind it smiles. “I need a ticket,” I say.
“Destination?” he asks.
“Surprise me.”
I lay down a credit card and he nods, barely looking up. A few clicks on his computer and he swipes the card, triggering a ticket to pop out of his machine.
“Have a good trip, sir,” he says, laying it all down in front of me.
I blink. “I expected more of a reaction than that.”
He shakes his head. “Happens all the time, man.”
“Really?”
“Yeah.”
“Where do you usually send people?”
“You’ll find out,” he says with a smirk.
I grab my ticket. “Well done, sir.”
I sit down on an empty bench and turn the ticket over to read my next destination.
Annapolis. Really, dude?
Fate’s a cruel bitch.
I drop the ticket into my duffel bag at my feet and stare into the passing crowd. My train doesn’t leave for another hour, so I have some time to kill.
After a few minutes, a woman walks over and stops in my eye-line. Her closed umbrella drips a small puddle next to my foot. My eyes glide upward in annoyance, taking in her pale, white skin and red knee-high — oh, goddammit. Give me a fucking break.
“Hello, Mr. Murray.”
I raise my head and Morgan McGregor flashes that snake-like smile at me again. “Morgan,” I grunt.
“Do you mind if I sit?”
I lean down to grab my bag. “I’m actually just leaving, so you can take the whole bench—”
Two hands slam onto my shoulders. I look back at the two brutes from her car a few days ago.
Ah, crap.
Morgan turns and sits down on my right. She lets out an amused, almost infectious, sigh and crosses her legs. “Well, this is an odd place to be looking for my brother’s killer,” she says. “I mean… if I didn’t know any better, I’d think you were leaving town without fulfilling your obligation to me. Now, how do you think this makes me feel?”
“Honestly, Morgan… I really don’t care.”
Her eye twitches. “Mr. Murray, I don’t think you’re taking this job very seriously.”
“Whatever gave you that impression?” I quip.
That sour smile returns. “Turns out,” she says, “your horrible work ethic is a well-known liability.”
I frown. “Says who?”
Someone plops down on the bench to my left. I turn to see Daniel Quinn glaring at me with a large, white bandage covering his busted nose.
I sigh. “Fuck.”
“Yeah,” he says. “Fuck.”
Morgan licks her lips. “I heard about the loss of one of Daniel’s men,” she says. “In honor of my brother, I called to extend my condolences. It’s not easy to lose a valuable member of your family to such tragic circumstances.”
I roll my eyes. “Yeah, the community really sheds a tear every time a mobster gets whacked.”
She blinks slowly, fanning the flames in her eyes. Maybe I should cut back on the snark. Then again, fuck ‘em.
“Daniel and I had a lot to talk about,” she continues. “And guess whose name kept coming up?”
I don’t answer. She leans forward, expecting me to say something. I shrug, playing dumb.
“Yours, Mr. Murray,” she spits, impatiently. “Yours.”
“Ohhh,” I say.
Daniel slaps my shoulder. “Hey, show some respect, you little shit.”
I laugh. I can’t help it.
“I need help tracking down my brother’s killer. Daniel needs help fortifying his food truck enterprise. What’s that saying?” Morgan asks. “Oh, that’s right. The enemy of my enemy is my friend. Daniel will take over where you failed and help me find Canon’s killer. I will provide my family’s resources to help his food truck get in business again after your little fuck-up in exchange for half the profits. In the end, my brother got his wish. Peace and cooperation between the families really was the best thing for us.”
“Wonderful,” I say. “I’m so thrilled you two could bond over your mutual hatred of me.”
“So are we,” Daniel says.
“Now that y’all are bosom buddies, can we put all this behind us?” I ask. “Mob war averted. Whiskey for all.”
“Not all, Mr. Murray,” Morgan says, tapping my cheek. “Not you.”
“How about I make this solution super easy and promise to leave Boston and never come back? How does that sound? I was just on my way out anyway.”
“Not good enough,” she says. “You see, both me and Daniel here want to take a piece of you home with us today. He’s happy with your head. Just—” She slices a line along my throat with her sharp, red fingernail. “Lopped off, right at the neck. Me, however… I want something a little more below the belt.”
“Oh, yeah?” I ask, growing even more fed-up with this mob bullshit. “Is it my balls?”
She beams. “Very good, Mr. Murray!”
“You know killing me won’t solve any of your problems, right?” I ask. “You still won’t know who killed Canon.” I twist toward Daniel. “The cops still know everything about your dumbass food truck business. It’s only a matter of time before you and your whole families are rotting behind bars.”
“I don’t think you’re in any position to make threats, Milo,” Daniel says. “It’s actually a little rude.”
“Very immature, Mr. Murray,” she says, scolding me.
I turn to Daniel. “She’s just going to betray you once she gets what she wants. Canon was killed because he wanted to play nice with the Quinns. What makes you think she’s just suddenly going to start braiding your hair?” I look at Morgan. “And h
e’s never going to be happy splitting his business fifty-fifty. Are you kidding? He’s a cheap, old bastard and have you heard the way he speaks to his mother? He’s never going to respect you.”
They both crane their necks to look past me at each other.
Daniel shrugs. “We’ll cross that bridge when we get there.”
“Sounds reasonable,” she says, nodding.
They stand up and the men behind me release my shoulders.
“Get up,” Daniel says. “If you leave quietly, I promise it’ll be quick.”
Morgan hums. “Well, not quick, but like… not as slow?”
“I’m just saying we won’t torture the poor guy. The Quinns have some standards in this department.”
“I don’t want it to be painless, though,” she says. “Can we do his balls first?”
“Pretty sure that falls under torture,” he argues.
She sighs. “Okay, one ball, then his head, then the other one?”
Daniel scratches his chin. “It’s not ideal, but it’s a compromise.”
My mouth sags. “I have no words.”
“Good.” He waves at me. “Get up,” he repeats.
I push off the bench to stand between them. Daniel stares at me, his eyes painted black and purple from the deep bruises surrounding his nose.
“Does that hurt?” I ask him.
He frowns. “Yeah.”
“Cool.”
I head-butt him again and he collapses to the floor.
Morgan gasps behind me. I spin around and my elbow accidentally slams into her nose.
“Oh!” I say, raising my hands. “I did not mean to do that! I’m sorry!”
She bends forward and holds her face. “Fuck…” she whines.
“I don’t hit girls,” I say. “This was not on purpose. Are you okay?”
“Fucking shoot him!” she shrieks at her men.
I sigh. “Shit.”
They reach for their guns and I bolt into the crowd. I hear a few warning shots spray the ceiling, knocking out the lights above our heads. People scream as sparks rain down and I kick up my knees to run faster, bashing into others as they try to take cover.
“Excuse me! Sorry!”
I race for the entrance, looking back over my shoulder to see if I’ve gained any ground at all between me and Morgan’s giant bastards. They’re several paces behind me, not nearly quick enough to keep up. One of them stops and raises his gun.
“Fuck, fuck—”
I shift left and right and pray they aren’t well-trained.
“Get down!” I shout at anyone who will listen.
He fires at me, missing me completely but I feel every phantom shot in my chest. It rattles my bones, chilling me to the core. I can outrun this. I just have to keep going.
I crash through the entrance doors and look around. People wander by the station, most unaware of the danger coming their way. I rush forward, hoping to blend in with them but a quick look back shows Morgan’s men aren’t too far behind me.
I race into the street to get away and a taxi slams into me. I roll over the hood and shatter the windshield.
The driver hits the brake, shifting the momentum, and I roll right off onto the concrete. It slaps me in the face and I wince as dark spots fill my vision.
Pain fires through me, hitting every limb from my head to my toes, but I can’t stop. I push off the ground, forcing my legs beneath me to get myself back up.
“Sir, are you okay?”
A crowd fills the sidewalks, blocking the two brutes from following me. I turn from them and limp my way across the street, taking to the alleyways to try and stay out of sight.
I ignore the pain as it throbs up my leg. My ribs burn and my head feels like it could explode but I keep running. I’m always running from something.
I don’t know why I ever expected that to change.
Twenty-Five
Anna
So, how do you keep a child distracted when all she wants to do is go home and sleep in her own bed?
Shower her with love and games, load her up with sugar, and pray she wears herself out.
Mother of the year. That’s me.
Charlotte is too young to understand what’s going on and I’m not about to shatter her innocent childhood by explaining it. Sorry, honey. We can’t go home because the Irish mafia might be parked outside of it. No, we can’t go to your favorite park to play. We need to stay here, hidden away for just a little while longer until it’s safe.
And no, honey, your friend Milo can’t come over to play with you.
It didn’t take long for me to hear that one.
Luckily, baking cupcakes with Uncle Vincent is working to distract her. For now.
She and Zachary lean over the prep table in the bakery kitchen, each with a bag of frosting in their little hands. Zachary is already a pro at this, having successfully frosted about a dozen. Charlotte’s hanging in there, but she’s more concerned with how much of everything she can get into her mouth instead.
Vincent sighs but he’s long from giving up on her. “Charlotte, let me show you…”
He takes the bag and guides her hands to hold it correctly. It doesn’t last long. She drops it and he sighs again.
I take a sip of my drink, a very relaxing gin and tonic Tommy delivered for me from the bar next door, and chuckle quietly at Vincent’s perseverance.
My phone rings in my pocket. I reach in to check it, reading Trevor’s name on the screen.
“Hey, Trevor,” I answer. “What’s up?”
“Are you by a TV?” he asks.
“No, but I can be. Why?”
“Channel nine.”
I slide off my stool. “Be right back,” I say, drawing a suspicious glance from Vincent.
“Just happened about an hour ago,” Trevor says as I take the stairs. “Shots fired at the train station. Daniel Quinn and Morgan McGregor were arrested, along with two of her bodyguards.”
“Jesus…” I reach the upstairs apartment and walk over to turn on the TV. “Was anyone injured?”
“Bumps and bruises only, thankfully,” he says.
I sigh with relief. “Mob war in full force, I guess.”
“Oh, it gets better. Guess who was spotted — on camera — fleeing the scene.”
I change the channel. “Who?”
“Boston Police Department is asking anyone with information regarding this man to come forward as soon as possible. He’s wanted in connection to tonight’s shooting and should be considered armed and extremely danger—”
I exhale, staring into the familiar eyes of his mugshot.
“Milo,” I say.
“Still think he’s not the type?” Trevor asks, his voice sharp. “He left a bag behind full of fake IDs, stolen credit cards, and a ticket to Maryland. Looks like he was running.”
I keep quiet, my eyes locked on the looping security footage. Milo runs, dodging bullets and pushing others to safety as he rushes by. He races outside and my guts twinge as he gets hit by a car. Nausea strikes me cold but I breathe a quiet sigh of relief as he pulls himself up and continues limping through the streets.
“Anna?”
“They haven’t found him?” I ask.
“No,” he answers. “He slipped away. Only a matter of time, though. We have our best on it.”
My chest clenches.
“Thanks, Trev,” I say.
“Wait, Anna—”
I hang up and grab my jacket off the hook by the door.
Vincent meets me at the bottom of the stairs. “What’s up? Everything okay?”
“Yeah. We, uh…” I slip my jacket on. “We had an incident at the train station tonight. Looks like we need all hands on deck, so I’m going to go and see if I can be useful.”
“What happened?”
I lower my voice to censor it from the kids. “A shooting,” I say. “No one was hurt but it’s connected to our case. I can’t say any more.”
He nods. “I’ll call Eve
y over here and go with you.”
“No, just…” I raise a hand. “I’ll be surrounded by other cops. Trust me, I’ll be fine. Just get Charlotte to bed at a decent hour, please. I’ll be back later.”
He nods once but he’s not happy about it. “All right. Be safe.”
“I will.” I brush my fingers through Zachary’s hair. “Bye, Zach.”
He nods at me once, still very focused on squeezing out a few more perfect frosted peaks. Like father, like son. Maybe baby number two will inherit Evey’s talent for mixing drinks instead.
I lean over Charlotte to kiss the top of her head. “I love you, honey,” I tell her.
“Love you, Mommy,” she says, looking up at me with those sharp, multicolored eyes. His eyes.
I step out into the alleyway, feeling my heart pound harder with each step I take toward the parking lot in the back. Rain pours down on me as I fish into my pocket for my keys. I picture his body shattering that car’s windshield and another stab of worry digs deep inside of me.
Milo’s hurt. He needs help but he’s not going to get it now, not with the entire city on the look-out for an extremely dangerous suspect. They don’t know what I know or see what I see. He’s not the bad guy they think he is.
There’s only one place I can think to look.
I just hope he’s still okay by the time I get there.
Twenty-Six
Milo
Fuck…
The next time I want to get hit by a car… I think I might skip it.
I grab an ice pack from my freezer, practically bouncing on my left foot to keep my right ankle from pushes too hard into the floor. I wince as I lay the ice pack along my now-purple ribs. I’m not sure which stings more: the biting crisp or the throbbing bruises.
With a beer in hand, I ease back into the living room. I head toward the windows and close all the blinds. I lie down on the sofa. The TV remote is close by. I should turn it on and check the local news, but… whatever.
I open the beer and chug a large amount. I feel a bit better already.
It doesn’t seem like anything was damaged permanently. Just means I’m not running away as fast as I’d like to. I’ll check again in twelve hours. If I keep off this ankle, the pain will be more than manageable by then.