Kiss Me, Kelly

by Mary Kay McComas

  “A hundred,” he said sharply as he shook the dice in his right hand, then let them go to fly to the opposite end of the table. This was the moment he’d been dreading. He was no longer gambling on the roll of the dice, he was gambling on Kelly’s love and understanding.

  “Are the orange ones worth more than the purple ones?” She’d already guessed that they were, as there were fewer of that color than any other lying on the table.

  “Yeah,” he said, steeling himself to do what he had to do, hating every second of it.

  “So purple is fifty and orange is seventy-five,” she said, trying to quickly add chips and money values.

  Elgin shook his head without glancing away from the table. “Black’s a hundred, purple’s five, and orange is a thousand.”

  “Dollars? Orange is a thousand dollars?” She asked the question, but the relevance and significance of the answer hadn’t yet occurred to her. When it did, she felt as if the huge building had toppled down on top of her.

  She stood openmouthed and silent for several minutes, her mind staggering over the facts. They didn’t make sense. How could an orange chip be worth a thousand dollars? The idea was unfathomable. She toiled over the unrealness of it for several more minutes before her confusion boiled down to a single question.

  If the orange chips were truly worth a thousand dollars each, why was Elgin playing with them?

  After that, it was one clear, concise question after another, with only one final answer. How could he afford thousand-dollar chips? If he could afford them, where was the money coming from? Had he cashed a huge personal check at the casino, or had he brought a large amount of cash with him? Did his parents own a bank? No, he said his parents were poor do-gooders, their work depressing and not profitable. They didn’t own the Loop. The only explanations left were a large inheritance, the lottery, or…Joey Hart’s drug money.

  She heard none of the activity going on around her; she saw no one but Elgin. In all they’d shared about their lives, a large endowment or winning a lottery wouldn’t have been excluded. She would have given her right arm for another prospect. Her chest tightened with fear and dread, restricting her breathing.

  “Elgin?” She said his name, but the only sound to pass through her choked throat was a faint, harsh whisper.

  “Elgin?” she said again, and bit her lower lip to keep it from quivering. Her heart was pounding slow, hard. Engrossed in the game, his features sharp and severe, Elgin didn’t appear to hear her.

  “Elgin.” Her voice and the hand on his arm were both insistent.

  “What?” he asked, annoyed. When words failed her and when her silence irritated him long enough, he looked at her.

  She stared into green eyes that were cold and empty. Nothing was there. No trace of the man who not two hours earlier had smiled warmly at her and prompted every hidden, raw emotion she possessed to surface and ache for satisfaction. There was no sign of the man she believed to be honest and trustworthy. No compassion. No understanding.

  His blank gaze made him look hard and ruthless, even frightening.

  “The money,” she said, forcing herself to speak. “Where did you get the money, Elgin?”

  He studied her with narrowed eyes. “Where do you think I got it?”

  She knew she’d feel excruciating shame if she was wrong in her assumption, but the need to know egged her on.

  “I think you stole it from Joey Hart.”

  “Damn. I should have known you were going to act like this,” he said, his disappointment in her looking very much like disgust. He turned away from the gaming table so the others wouldn’t hear what he had to say. “I’ve spent the last ten years living with scum like Joey Hart. He takes kids and turns them into drug addicts and prostitutes and gets rich doing it. I scrape their dead bodies off the pavement and what do I get? Peanuts. Who deserved the money more, Kelly? Me or Hart?”

  “You did,” she said. “But you’re a cop and you stole the money. Now you’re the same as Joey Hart. Neither of you deserves it.”

  “I should give it back to him so he can buy more drugs and kill more kids with it, is that it? You think that’s what I should do?”

  She looked into the angry face of the man she’d fallen head over heels in love with and couldn’t think of a thing to say. His point was valid, but it didn’t change the wrongness of his actions, or the fact that he was a crooked cop and not the moral, upright man she’d believed him to be.

  Suddenly, she felt exhausted. Bone weary and numb. She lowered her gaze from his, unable to tolerate the strain of looking at him and feeling her heart break at the same time.

  “I’m going back to the room,” she said quietly. “I’ll be there for about twenty minutes if you feel like taking me home. After that, I’ll be gone and I don’t ever want to see you again.”

  Baker released a long, slow breath as he watched her walk away. With the craps table to support him, he bent his head down. He could still see the pain in her eyes, and it inflamed a blaze of rage that had been smoldering in him since his first glimpse of Kelly Branigan.

  He slammed his fist on the wooden rim of the table, scattering his multicolored chips over the table and floor. Glaring savagely, he turned to the croupier and said, “You better make damned sure she gets home safe.”

  Eight

  GOING HOME SWADDLED in the obscure shadows of night seemed rather poetic to Kelly. It also seemed appropriate, as she’d never felt more “in the dark” in her life. How could she have been wrong about Elgin? she wondered in misery. She scrutinized every thought, every emotion, every instinct she had, and found them suspect, completely unreliable.

  How could she have been so wrong?

  Against her better judgment, she had lifted her ban on getting involved with a cop. She’d conned herself into believing that maybe she could find enough happiness with Elgin to outweigh all the negative aspects of his career. Like a fool, she had taken stock in that trite old saying that it was better to have loved and lost, than never to have loved at all.

  To be perfectly honest, though, she had assumed she’d lose her lover to a bullet before she lost him to greed. Elgin’s profession wasn’t relevant anymore, anyway. Rich man, poor man, beggar man. Doctor, lawyer, Indian chief. The night had shown her that above all else, Elgin was a thief.

  She rested her head against the backseat of the taxi and closed her eyes. She’d fallen hard and fast for Elgin, and hit bottom just as hard and just as fast. Now what? Tears leaked from the corners of her eyes and trickled down the sides of her face.

  Had she done it again? As with her mother, had she been so wrapped up in her own feelings, her own dreams and desires, that she’d missed all the blatant evidence of Elgin’s disease? Tommy had tried to warn her, but she’d been so absorbed in her own little world of happiness she hadn’t listened.

  More than anything else, she resented the doubt Elgin had infused her with. She’d always been so sure of how she felt. Situations were either good or bad, and she either enjoyed them or she left. She either liked a person or she didn’t. Then, depending on the intensity of her dislike, she either avoided the person altogether or tolerated him as a harmless annoyance.

  Everything was so simple when her instincts told her what to do and how to feel, but now…

  “Hey, lady. You asleep?” the cabbie inquired from the front seat. “I got us this far, but I’ll need directions from here on.”

  Kelly opened her eyes and sat up to get her bearings. The streets lined with houses, shops, and apartment buildings welcomed her with familiarity. She was almost home. She’d be safe at home—wounded, but in a safe place to nurse her raw and bleeding injuries.

  “Wait here. I’ll be right back,” she said when they reached The Library. She dropped her purse into the front seat for collateral.

  In Atlantic City, even the cab drivers gambled, she’d discovered. This one had staked a high fare against her honesty when she’d explained that she’d have to pay him at her destinat
ion. She wasn’t sure if he was used to people having no money when they left the casinos, or if he’d simply taken pity on her. Either way, she felt like he’d saved her life and planned to overtip him.

  The Library had long since been closed for the night, but even as she entered the gloom of the old bar, she breathed a sigh of relief. She’d pick a glass of ordinary water to a magnum of champagne any day of the week, she decided as she let the well-known surroundings close in around her.

  It was her grandfather’s practice to leave money in the cash register at night. It wasn’t a great deal of money, but it was enough to satisfy a junkie or second-rate holdup man—the neighborhood’s most common criminals—and keep them from going up the back stairs for more.

  Kelly was about to take the entire amount out to the cabbie when the phone beside the register rang. The loud piercing noise frightened her with its immediacy and abnormal timing. Only someone who knew the length of time it took to drive from Atlantic City to The Library would try reaching her on the bar phone. She hesitated as she pictured Elgin on the other end of the line, wondering what he had to say to her, hoping it was what she wanted to hear, yet not knowing exactly what that was.

  The phone rang again as she stood, hand poised over the receiver, torn between her emotions and her morals. She picked it up.

  “Hello?” Her voice cracked with uncertainty.

  “Keep your mouth shut. Understood? Keep it shut or you’ll pay. Got it?”

  She’d been braced for an unpleasant experience, but the deep, muffled, and exceedingly virulent voice was not what she had expected. Too stunned to speak, she heard the person repeat his message and ask again, “You got it?”

  “Yes, but…Elgin?” she said, her heart racing with fear, her stomach in riot and threatening to revolt. The line went dead. The dial tone buzzed in her ear for several seconds before she lowered the receiver to its cradle.

  Her mind reeled with torment and turmoil. How could she have been so wrong about him? Who was Elgin Baker, really? What kind of man would steal and then call her on the phone, disguise his voice, and threaten her?

  Shaken and heartbroken, she knew she should call Tommy Shaw, tell him the entire story, then gloat over the fact that Elgin would spend twenty years in prison. It was a fleeting inclination. All she wanted to do, all she thought she had the energy to accomplish was to pay off the cabbie, climb the stairs to her room, crawl into her bed, and pull the covers up over her head.

  She craved the oblivion of sleep. Her heart was swamped with pain, her mind was a bog of confusion and doubt. She’d keep her mouth shut for the moment, but tomorrow would be another story.

  “Thanks for waiting,” she told the cabbie a minute later, forcing a smile to her lips. “And thanks for trusting me.”

  “No sweat, lady.” He looked in his rearview mirror, then back at Kelly with a frown on his face. “It’s none of my business, but how much did you lose tonight, lady? I mean, did you run up a tab or just blow your wad?”

  “What?” she asked. He could have been speaking Swahili for the sense his words were making to her befuddled brain. “I’m sorry. I don’t understand what you’re asking.”

  “Well, I don’t want to scare you, but somebody followed us here. They’re parked down the block.” He motioned with his head. From her stooped position, Kelly glanced over her shoulder and spotted a dark, nondescript sedan parked at the street corner. Under normal circumstances it would look perfectly innocent, but in light of the night’s experiences, it took on a menacing and terrifying appearance.

  “If you’re in trouble,” the cabdriver said, “I can put you in touch with someone…”

  “No. I’m fine,” she said, trying not to sound like she was lying. “If they really did follow us all the way from Atlantic City, I’m sure it was a coincidence.”

  “Positive?”

  “Yes,” she said, backing away from the cab. “But thanks anyway.”

  The cabbie put the car into gear, and she dashed for the door. Bolting it behind her, she hastily turned to one of the front windows, pressing her face against the glass for another look at the car. She couldn’t see anyone sitting in the car and there wasn’t anyone loitering on the street.

  Willing herself to remain calm, she surveyed the bar. She felt a small comfort in knowing that all was as it should be and nothing was out of place. She turned the light near the register off and walked through the swinging door to the back of the building.

  Years of habit, thousands of nights of climbing the stairs to the second floor, made lighting unnecessary—even if it had been available. Bailey and her grandfather hadn’t expected her to return home, or they’d have left the lamp in the hallway burning for her. She hardly noticed that the landing was as pitch black as the stairwell, except for thinking that she’d have to explain why she’d returned at such an odd hour of the night.

  Suddenly, halfway up the stairs, she felt another presence, like the boogeyman from years gone by. She couldn’t see, hear, or smell him, but she knew he was there. Adrenaline surged through her. She stood still, heart pounding, telling herself that it was only her imagination.

  She took several more steps before she heard him breathing. Her mind groped for logic and grasped the only answer possible.

  “Papa? Bailey? Don’t shoot. It’s only me.”

  She’d gone a couple of steps farther before she realized she hadn’t gotten a response. “Papa? Bailey?” she repeated, unconsciously slowing.

  When her hand ran out of railing, she knew she’d come to the top of the stairs. She took the last step, straining her eyes to make out a shadow, to see something, anything in the blackness. She listened for the breathing, but couldn’t hear it.

  Two steps forward and she was reaching for the lamp on the hall table.

  Hands. Hard, cruel hands grabbed at her mouth and waist from behind. She was jerked backward and held tight against a body taller and larger and much stronger than her own. She couldn’t breathe. The hand covered both her mouth and nose. She struggled to be free. She tossed her head back and forth to loosen the hold, or at least to dislodge it enough to allow her some air, but it was like a living nightmare. Nothing she tried worked.

  With her feet she kicked out at the table, hoping to get some leverage, or perhaps upset the lamp and alert Bailey. Her terror took second place as panic seized her mind. What if the intruder had already gotten to Bailey and her grandfather? What if they couldn’t come to her rescue? What if—

  Suddenly, the floor was gone. Her legs lashed out at nothingness and found no place to rest. There was only air below her. The stairwell. He was holding her at the top of the steep stairwell. If he released her…

  She went rigid and still in the man’s arms, prepared to catch herself if he let go. Oddly, though still unable to breathe, she registered his scent in her mind, the odor of stale smoke and sweat. Would this be her last smell of life? Her mind groped for comfort, for the scent of lilacs, her mother’s scent…

  It all happened so quickly, she didn’t know she was falling until her hip hit one of the stairs. She automatically filled her lungs with air and screamed as her arms flew out to act as brakes, to slow the momentum, to protect herself.

  She continued to fall, hitting her elbow and bumping her knees. Excruciating pain washed over her in waves with each new injury. Her head hit two consecutive steps before her body twisted. Shooting pain ran up her spine from the impact on her tailbone, then her back.

  Just as abruptly as it began, it was over. She wasn’t moving. Couldn’t move. She tried to raise her head, but it felt like an anvil, too heavy to lift and being pounded by a thousand sledgehammers.

  “Stay away from Baker,” she heard someone say. He sounded as if he were talking from inside a goldfish bowl or through a long metal pipe. “You hear me? Stay away from Baker and keep your mouth shut.” Then, in a voice calculated to strike terror in the bravest of hearts, he added, “Or I’ll be back to shut it permanent.”

  She
listened to footsteps on the linoleum floor. Her eyes remained closed and her body continued to send distress signals until her brain throbbed with unspeakable pain. The footsteps faded away, and with each step, so did her consciousness.

  She heard sounds, but she couldn’t identify them. A bright light filtered through the cracks she made with her eyelids. It stung her eyes, so she kept them tightly closed. She hurt, but she didn’t know where. It was more like a total, cumulative body ache that climaxed most intensely in her head.

  She lay very still and prayed to go back to the place she’d just come from. The empty place, where she had no dreams and reality had no meaning.

  “Kelly girl? You in there?” It was her grandfather’s voice. “Don’t squeeze ’em closed now, open your eyes. You stay asleep much longer and I’ll have to call your brothers in on this. You know what a mess they’ll make of it.”

  “Papa?” Her mouth was as dry as a desert and felt just as sandy.

  Someone probed at her eyes, flashing light into each one, then fingered the back of her neck.

  “The doc here says that you’re pretty banged up, but you didn’t break anything and he doesn’t think there’s much damage to your head. But you gotta wake up and talk straight before he can tell for sure.”

  “I think we should admit her overnight, watch her, to make sure,” she heard someone, presumably the doctor, say. She opened her eyes and closed them again, but not before she saw the high intensity light above her.

  Using her hand to shield her eyes, she tried once more to open them, with better success.

  “There’s no skull fracture or cranial bleeding,” the doctor went on. “The contusion appears to be mostly superficial, but it’s always best to be careful.”

  Kelly focused first on her grandfather and the silent Bailey standing behind him, then on the doctor, a middle-aged man with dark hair, graying at his temples, and dark-rimmed glasses.

  “I’d rather go home,” she said. Crawling into her own bed and pulling the covers up over her head still held the appeal of heaven for her.