by Rob Hart
“What?”
“Serenity. How fucked up is that?”
He tilts his head. He doesn’t understand what I mean. I’m not sure I do, either. It’s just the thing I needed to say right now.
Inhale.
One in the group, a guy in a tight black T-shirt and jeans, charges at me. He’s small but building up a head of steam. I let him get close, dip down and lift him straight up, deadlift him into the low ceiling. Something cracks. I don’t know if it’s him or the tin plating. I step forward and he falls into a heap behind me.
I was using the guy’s momentum. Barely even felt the weight of him. Still, it looked impressive. That seems to have gotten everyone’s attention. A wave of fear ripples through them, everyone wondering which one is going to have the balls to step out next.
That trepidation passes and two more come at me, from the left and from the right. The one on the right, I jab him quick in the throat. He bends forward and I put my boot into his stomach and he flies into the bar. The one on the left crashes into me but I pivot and get behind him, use his momentum to drive his head into the wall next to the door.
The impact leaves a dent.
He hits the ground and goes limp.
Tommi ducks down underneath the bar, probably going for the gun. Calypso and Carnage leap up and grab at Rat Face. They throw him to the ground and stomp him, and unfortunately for Rat Face, they’re both wearing chunky platform shoes.
The guy holding the gas canister drops it, pushes past me, and bolts for the door.
Wuss.
That leaves me and Brillo Head, looming like a boulder in the middle of the room.
A big, seething boulder.
“Fair fight now, I guess,” I tell him.
Tommi is up now, the small black revolver pointed at Brillo Head. He sees this and drops the bat and starts to put up his hands and I tell Tommi, “Stash that.”
She asks, “Are you fucking kidding?”
“I am not kidding.”
She drops the gun an inch, unsure of what to do, and Brillo Head seems to get what I’m aiming at, because he roars and charges me. I meet him head on, slamming into him and knocking him back. He’s bigger than me, but his anger isn’t bigger than mine, and I lift him off his feet and slam him on the ground, climb on top, pinning his arms down with my knees.
He thrashes underneath me as I slam my fist into his face.
His head thuds against the floor and his eyes go wavy for a second, but he focuses and tries to get up.
So I hit him a second time.
And a third.
Then I stop counting.
When his face looks like the inside of a pot of chili, Tommi grabs me, hauling me to my feet and yelling into my ear, “You’re going to kill him.”
The fog lifts and I look down at his face, the bloody ruined mess of it. He’s alive, groaning. I don’t think I actually did any irreparable damage. But that asshole will never be pretty again.
And I want to feel bad, but I don’t.
My hands sting. I look down at my fists. Painted red, knuckles mottled black. I clench them and feel my fingers slide where they’re slick with blood.
That feeling again.
Exhale.
“I’m sorry,” I tell Tommi.
There’s a grunting sound behind us and the guy I threw into the ceiling is charging toward us from the other end of the bar, a bottle in his hand. I put my arm around Tommi to get her out of the way when Calypso sticks her foot out and he goes sprawling, tumbling into the bar and cracking something. Then she and Carnage are on him.
I turn to Tommi. “Are you okay?”
“What the fuck is going on?”
“Too much to explain. Let me get the fuck out of here.”
“Ash. Tell me what the fuck is going on right now.”
Sigh. “Crystal’s dad is a politician who hired someone to wipe all traces of her off the planet so he can run for higher office. Crystal doesn’t actually know this is her dad behind this so maybe don’t tell her if you see her before me. He’s also the one who’s been fucking things up here so that there’s no trail leading anyone back to her.”
Tommi’s eyes go wide. “Fuck.”
“Right?”
“And what about you? I thought you were a pussy.”
I don’t have anything in the chamber for that one, so I shrug.
Tommi is about to say something when the smell of smoke hits us. We both turn and see a black cloud billowing out from the kitchen door. I nudge it open and see the guy I face-planted into the wall, his face covered with layers of thick maroon blood, is tossing junk from the changing room onto the top of the lit stove. Mostly lingerie and costume stuff, but also the Battlestar Galactica box set.
Hood is going to be so upset.
I grab the fire extinguisher off the wall and spray it with a burst of foam, turn off the burner, and jab the end of the extinguisher against the guy’s head. He goes down and doesn’t get up.
Back out front Tommi is talking on the phone, screaming at someone, insisting they send someone over immediately. Calypso sees one of the thugs stirring and kicks him in the head.
I keep walking out onto the sidewalk, pull out my pack of cigarettes, get one out, leaving red fingerprints on the white paper. I know I shouldn’t be taking the time but I need something to tamp down the adrenaline. As I’m getting it lit Tommi comes up behind me.
“I need to get the fuck out of here,” I tell her.
“Why?”
“This isn’t over.”
“Fuck. Fuck all of this. I called the fucking cops and I have a gun on me.”
She pulls it out of her waistband. I take it from her hand and stick it in my pocket. It’s small enough to fit but it’s heavy and it pulls down on my jeans.
“Fletcher has ties to the cops,” I tell her.
“We’ll figure it out. He can’t know everyone. I’ll make enough noise that they can’t ignore this.” She puts out her hand. I give her a cigarette.
“Tommi… I’m sorry for all this.”
She sighs. And then she looks at me, and her eyes are soft. She wraps her arms around me and pulls me tight, squeezing so hard I might burst. She pats me twice hard on the back and lets go, her hand on my shoulder. Her eyes are heavy with tears, shoulders even heavier with the weight of her dream falling to pieces.
“I’m going to get the guy who did this,” I tell her. “Make him pay.”
Tommi looks at me. Long and hard, trying to see past my face to the thing underneath.
She says, “Good boy.”
It’s a long drive to the hospital Crystal picked out. A half hour outside the city proper, and I get lost twice after I get off the highway, but eventually I find it. A big box on a tree-lined block. I park far away and walk over, stand under the tree on the sidewalk near the emergency entrance, light up. My stomach grumbles, residue from Wilson’s parting nutshot.
“Ash.”
I didn’t even hear her come up behind me. I turn, and she’s draped in shadow, moonlight curving around the edges of her face, washing it out someplace between blue and white. She looks tired. I get close and she hugs me and stays like that.
After a little while, she pulls away. “You smell like smoke. Fire smoke.”
“Someone tried to burn down Naturals.”
“Fuck.”
“It’s okay. He didn’t do a very good job.”
She looks at me a little bit closer. “You’ve got blood on you.”
“Not mine, I don’t think.”
She steps back. “Ash… what happened?”
I want to tell her. I really, truly do. Because maybe if I can tell her, she can save me from it. But I’ve still got work to do, and I need to be this way for a little while longer.
I ask, “What’s going on with Dirk?”
“He’s going to live.”
“What happened?”
“We dumped his wallet and ID. He gave a fake name. The hospital will call the co
ps, but out here they aren’t too concerned with junkies, so they’ll take their time. Even when they do show up, they won’t put him under guard or anything. The plan is, once he’s patched up we can sneak out.”
“That’s not a bad plan.”
“Junkies can be resourceful. I’ve been to this hospital before, back in the day, and again with Rose once. They don’t care much for checking IDs or guests. As long as you’re quiet, they pretty much leave you alone.”
“That’s good. So… how much did Dirk tell you?”
“Everything.”
“Everything?”
She looks away. “That Fletcher is my fucking dad, yeah.” Crystal steps to the curb, looking down at her scuffed canvas shoes. She kicks at the sidewalk. “I never knew my dad. My mom told me he was dead.”
She hugs herself, tilts her head up to the night sky.
“I can’t believe he’s capable of this,” she says. “Not that it means anything. I don’t even know him so how could I know what he’s capable of? And now… I don’t know what we’re going to do. We go to the cops, who are they going to believe? We still have the same problem.”
“I’ve got a plan.”
She turns to me, one eyebrow raised.
“I’m going to surrender to Wilson tomorrow,” I tell her. “Meet him someplace safe and secluded and he’s going to tell me where Rose is. Then you and I are going to get her.”
“That’s a terrible plan.”
I smile. It’s a weak, sad smile, but it’ll have to do. “I can be persuasive.”
“He’ll shoot you.”
“No he won’t.”
“Are you going to take a gun or something?”
“I don’t do guns.”
That I’m saying this with Tommi’s gun weighing heavy in my pocket is a little beside the point.
“Ash,” she says. Gets close to me and takes my hand. “I want my little girl back, more than anything in the world, but I can’t let you kill yourself to do it.”
“No one’s getting killed. I told you, I have a plan. I’m going to find out where she is and then I’m going to stop Fletcher. I’m going to do those things and you two will be safe.”
“And what about you?”
“Irrelevant.”
Crystal doesn’t move, doesn’t flinch, but her eyes are suddenly wrapped in a fine mist of moisture, shining in the moonlight. The beginning of what might be tears. She blinks and the shine is gone. Just those blue-green tempered glass eyes. She brings her fist up to her face, sticks the edge of her thumb in her mouth and bites down hard.
I step forward, take her hand in mine. There’s a thin rivulet of blood trickling down the side of her hand. She looks at the torn skin on my knuckles, the traces of blood that didn’t come off on my jeans. I press my lips to the tip of her thumb, taste copper.
She puts her hand on my cheek, moves my face up, and kisses me. We linger like that, barely touching, trading breath, not wanting to pull back or get in too close. Hovering on the edge of each other. Pushing apart. Because no one actually touches. All you’re really feeling is resistance.
When we step away she asks, “Why are you doing this? Don’t give me some trite answer. Why would you do this for me?”
“Because it’s the right thing to do.”
Not the whole truth, but close enough.
There’s nothing left to say. I take her hand in mine and squeeze it, and I look down and not into her eyes, because right now, I couldn’t bear it. I drop her hand and walk back to the hatchback, look at the pool of Dirk’s blood on the gray cloth seat in the back, illuminated in the yellow parking lot light. I take out my phone, dial the phone number that’s registered to Ellen Kanervisto.
Wilson answers. “What?”
“I want to make a deal.”
Pause. “I’m listening.”
Today, of course, is the day the sun comes out.
I can’t remember the last time the sun came out for more than a few minutes. It’s been gray for so long. And I get that feeling, of the world being too big. The greens of the tree are too green, the browns and reds of the brick show too much contrast.
The world is so big I don’t know if I can handle it.
I got to the warehouse a half-hour early. The empty parking lot where Wilson first put me on my knees, wearing that stupid fucking mask, and warned me to stay away. Someplace quiet, where he would think he had the upper hand. It’s important for him to think he’s got that.
I’ve dealt with people like Wilson before. He’s smart. So smart he thinks he’s smarter than everyone else around him. And that makes him do stupid things. Funny how that works.
I pace, exhaustion tugging at the edge of my brain. Hope he doesn’t double-check his gun. Hope he shows up on time, and alone. Hope for things I have no business hoping for.
And I make a promise to myself.
I’m not going to hurt him.
That thing last night in the bar, that was a last resort. I’ve given in and given in and given in. Told myself I wouldn’t pump myself full of poison anymore, and then mainlined nicotine and alcohol at the first sign of trouble. Told myself violence wasn’t the answer and then wrecked a bar full of assholes. I fell into a life that mirrored the life I was trying to get away from.
No more giving in.
I’m going to solve this and we’re both going to walk away.
He won’t have any other choice.
At noon on the dot, the whole world devoid of shadows, Wilson’s car creeps into the lot from around the corner of the building, sunlight screaming off the shiny paint. I adjust my hat to keep the glare out of my eyes. I can’t see inside the car. It rolls to a stop twenty yards away and Wilson gets out. He’s wearing the fancy gray sweat suit again. Dressed like he’s got some heavy lifting to do. His face is a mess. His nose is taped up pretty good, and there’s a massive bruise taking up the whole middle portion of his face, darkest underneath the eyes. He moves slowly, favoring his left side. I might have broken a couple of ribs, too.
And he’s got the gun in his hand. That shiny silver revolver he pulled on me when we first met.
Good.
He holds it down at his side, ready to pull up, but he doesn’t feel the need to kill me right away.
Also good.
“So,” he says. “Here we are.”
“You owe me for my cell phone, you know.”
“What?”
“You broke my phone.”
“Are you kidding?”
“They charged me thirty dollars to re-up my plan. I wouldn’t have had to pay that if you didn’t break my phone. I’ll give you a pass on it, though, because I have a deal for you.”
“Okay.”
“You tell me where Rose is. Then you leave her and Crystal alone. We’ll call the phone thing even.”
He laughs a little, under his breath, which grows into a full-body fit. That drags on his ribs and he winces, pressing his hand to his side.
Even though the pain, he’s smiling.
It’s that fucking gun in his hand. Makes him think he owns the world.
He takes a few steps toward me, blond hair shining in the sunlight.
“I’m not a monster,” he says. “The family I placed Rose with is good. They’ve been trying to adopt, but it’s an expensive process. They were thrilled to get a kid, along with a pile of money to not say where they got her from.”
“You’re clever. I get it. Congratulations. Now tell me where to find her.”
“So you know, I’ve been digging on you.”
“Have you now?”
“Do you want to know what I found?”
I hold up my hand, beckon him to proceed.
“The cops liked you for a murder back in New York. They caught the killer, but seems they looked at you pretty hard. You’ve been skirting the edge of the law for a long time. Consorting with some very unsavory types, including a drug baron who dresses like a woman. I don’t know what the fuck you think you are, or why y
ou’re getting wrapped up in this shit, but I was almost worried you’d try and get the drop on me here. Now I see you standing there like an asshole, empty-handed at a gun fight.”
“I’ve never been very smart.”
“Why get involved in this? Do you think you’re a fucking cowboy or something? Ride into town and save the day? Or was it all about you wanting to fuck the stripper? Did you think she’d throw some pussy at you if you helped her out? Are you really willing to die over some slut?”
My teeth grate until they hurt. “Give me the address and this will all be over.”
Wilson raises the gun and points it at me. My breath catches a little, even though I’ve got fair cause to believe this will work out.
“Why?” he asks. “Why the fuck would you get involved in this fight?”
I can’t think of a better answer than the one I gave Crystal.
“Because it’s the right thing to do,” I tell him.
Wilson shakes his head. “You’re a fucking idiot. The kid is with a very nice couple named Mike and Laurie Beck. Sorry that won’t be of any help to you.”
We stand there, the open space between us a vacuum.
The sunlight beating down on us.
He squeezes one eye, looks down the sight with the other, and fires.
I jump a little, because there’s no way I wouldn’t jump at something like that. The gunshot explodes, the sound of it bouncing off the walls of the warehouse, dissipating into the trees, and they’re waving at us, as if they’re trying to get our attention.
I place my hand to my chest, to be doubly sure that there’s no gaping hole there. That Wilson didn’t check his gun too closely.
Then I shrug at him and smile.
He tilts the gun, points it at me, really concentrating, thinking maybe he missed. He fires twice.
Again, I jump a little.
And, nothing.
He pops open the cylinder, peers inside. “What the fuck?”
I cross the space toward him. “Something I noticed at your apartment. Lots of whiskey bottles. I know your type. You move at high speed. You have a hard time sleeping, don’t you?”
He closes the gun and fires three more times.
I’m still alive.
“So you drink yourself to sleep,” I tell him. “Drinkers are heavy sleepers. I would know. Last night I snuck into your house and I found your gun and I replaced the bullets with blanks. Seems you’re still not fucking smart enough to lock the back door.”