(Re)Visions: Alice ((Re)Visions)

by Kaye Chazan

  It’s a beautiful night, sky so clear I can almost see stars, even with the bleed of the city lights. The city lights themselves look like stars, and it occurs to me that it’s a long way down from here to the street below. I shiver at nothing at all. Suddenly, I desperately need another drink.

  What I get, though, is a sharp fucking blow to the back of my head, and all the lights go out.

  I wake up with my face against cold concrete, and an ache in my head that tells me I’m not the one who put it there. Opening my eyes is the hardest thing I’ve ever had to do, and I don’t quite make it all the way.

  “Look, Shel, he’s not dead.”

  “Oh good, she would’ve been very upset with us. Not that she needs a reason to be upset with us.”

  “Alice?” I rasp. My voice is barely there, creaky and pathetic.

  “You probably shouldn’t talk, mate. We kind of beat the hell out of you.” There are hands at my shoulders, my waist, pulling me up into a chair and yanking my hands behind my back. The movement makes my back scream in protest; I think I feel a boot print on my kidney.

  “Sorry about that... nearly there,” someone soothes, while the other man ties my wrists to the chair, then my ankles. By the time I think to kick back, I’ve already been secured. The room is still swimming, but the faces in front of me are at least starting to swim into focus.

  “Griff?” I ask. “Shelly? What happened?”

  “Hey, Shel, he remembers us!” Griff says, pleased. Of course I remember them. I’m the guy that hired them in the first place. I used to be their boss, but given the circumstances, I’m getting the feeling that’s no longer the case.

  “Hi, Jack,” Shelly mutters. “How are you feeling? Oh, don’t answer that. What am I thinking? Ugh, I’m such a failure.”

  Griff clucks his tongue. “Don’t be so morose, you’re always too hard on yourself.”

  “So I…” I cough weakly, trying to get some kind of moisture into my raw throat. “So I take this to mean I’ve been fired, right?”

  “So clever!” says Griff, and the hell of it is, he’s not even being sarcastic. He’s just this chipper. All the damn time. “Although that’s really kind of an understatement, Jack. You have gotten yourself in a pretty predicament.”

  Shelly nods his head in agreement. “He’s right. I hate my life, think it’s absolutely terrible, and I still wouldn’t rather be you.”

  “Now, Shel, your life’s not so bad.”

  “It’s bad enough.”

  “He’s always like this,” Griff tells me, conspiratorially. “Poor little melodramatic Shelly. You know, he actually has it quite good, and I don’t just mean compared to you.”

  I lift my head to look at him, and my neck howls at me. “What happened?”

  They both laugh, even though it looks more like a grimace on Shel. “Come on, Jack,” Griff warbles. “Don’t play coy. Everyone knows it was you.”

  “Everyone knows it was me what?”

  “I’m just saying, three hundred and eighty thousand dollars didn’t just get up and walk away, now did it?”

  “Three hundred and…” What the fuck is he talking about? “When? How? I’ve been here the whole time.”

  “Oh, we know,” says Shelly. “That’s how Kingsley figured out it was you.”

  “I did not steal three hundred and eighty thousand dollars.” That’s true. I was only going for about thirty or forty thou, but somehow I don’t think that’s going to help my case. Three hundred and eighty thousand dollars… the Queen doesn’t keep that much where she can’t see it. I have no idea what’s going on.

  “Okay, man,” Griff chuckles. “Whatever you say.”

  “I’m serious, Griff, I didn’t fucking take it.”

  “Then who did? And how?” Shel asks me, and I’m the worst head of security ever, because I have no idea. Oh, I wouldn’t bet against Alice being involved, but that kind of heist seems impossible.

  She’s smarter than you. Trust.

  Son of a bitch.

  “I don’t know,” I say. Maybe she’s set me up to take the fall, and I’ll take that out of her hide later, but I’m not willing to sell Alice up the river just yet. Maybe she really does have a plan. Maybe it's even a plan that doesn't involve me getting killed.

  “Okay,” Griff shrugs affably. “It’s none of our business if you did or didn’t. But if you did…” he whistles low. “Color me impressed, is all I’m saying.”

  I’m saved from dignifying that with a response by the echoing slam of the door banging against the wall as someone throws it open. And not so saved, as the Queen is the one doing the throwing, nothing but righteous anger in stilettos and her red velvet evening gown.

  "I'd say I'm not even mad,” she starts, and I shiver at the way her fury burns cold, “that I'm just disappointed, but that would be a filthy fucking lie."

  I'm still breathing, so either she's not as angry as she sounds—unlikely—or she's not as sure as she wants to be that I'm the one who made off with the goods. I hope it's the latter; I can work with that.

  "Ma'am, I don't..." I say, throwing every bit of earnestness I've got at her. I clear my throat, spit a little blood on the floor, out of necessity, but the effect is appropriately dramatic. "I don't understand."

  "I think you understand just fine, Jack. I think you know exactly what's going on." I start to look around the room beyond the Queen's snarl, and it's a regular family reunion. March and Maddie are there, Kingsley, Canary, Duchess; hell, I'm half-convinced I see Jimmy Cheshire, just for a second—just a second and then he's gone. They say that right before you die, your life flashes before your eyes. I'm starting to believe it.

  And there's Alice, standing by herself, watching. Her arms are folded across her chest like she's cold, or nervous maybe, though her face isn't giving anything away. I wish I knew what she was thinking. I let my head hang down, feel the pull in my arms where they're still bound.

  "But, you know, I am disappointed, Jack. I trusted you," the Queen continues, circling my chair like a shark. "That's what it's really about: the trust. You wanted more money, you should've asked me."

  "You'd've said yes?" I say, and maybe it's nothing but insolence, but maybe I got a death wish.

  The back of her hand cracks across my face, and I can feel her rings cut into my cheek, the sting of salt-sweat in a fresh wound. "Fuck no," she spits, pulling her arm back to belt me another one.

  "Stop this," a voice calls out, and it isn't until I hear the clack of heels that I realize it's Alice. My head's still reeling. "What proof do you even have, huh? Other than this bozo's say-so." She jerks her head towards Kingsley, towards the Rabbit, and when the fuck did he even get here?

  The Rabbit flinches so visibly, even I can see it, half-dazed and way across the room. Alice continues, undeterred. "And isn't that funny, how your main man is hanging out with a known associate of Frank Duchess? Nothing suspicious about that at all."

  "I d-d-don't work for Duchess anymore," the Rabbit counters, standing up, even though he's nervous. Jumpy, even, with Alice right in front of him. "You made sure of that."

  Alice waves him off. "That's nothing but hearsay and conjecture. Just like this nonsense."

  "Nonsense?" says the Queen, indignant; rounding on Alice, who doesn't back down. "You know an awful lot about this 'nonsense,' little girl."

  "Me? I know nothing whatsoever about it. Only what I can see with my eyes." She leans in, where anyone else would be running for their life. "Maybe instead of beating the guy who risks his neck for you, you should ask why it is that the head of your house, your boyfriend, is so trusting of a known rival. What does he stand to gain by having Knave out of the way, by having a patsy to pin his crimes on?"

  "I did nothing of the kind," Kingsley huffs, red in the face with anger and anxiousness. "Queenie, you gotta believe me..."

  She rolls her eyes at him. "I do, Kings. You're not smart enough to pull this off. Now shut up." He slinks back, embarrassed.

&nb
sp; "Okay," says Alice, easily agreeable. "But you know the Rabbit is. Maybe he wanted to take something for himself, make a clean getaway out of this town. Or maybe he wanted to get himself back in Frank's good graces, make a tidy sum and humiliate the Queen all at once."

  "Hey, don't go bringing me into this," Duchess says. And then quieter, a hiss meant just for Alice: "You tryin’ to piss me off, baby? You're about to find yourself out of a job, or worse, I sweartagod."

  "Maybe it was your idea all along, Frankie," she counters. "Everyone knows you want the Queen's operation for yourself, so why shouldn't you take a piece?"

  Now I'm starting to get worried for her. She's about to find herself in the middle of a fucking turf war, with all arms aimed at her—and what's more, it seems like that's her goal. I'm not worried for her survival, I'm worried for her sanity.

  "Lady knows how to play a part, huh?" someone whispers in my ear. Suddenly, my legs and arms are free, and I don't have to look down to recognize the heavy weight being pressed into my hand. I know damn well what my gun feels like. "I suggest you play along."

  "Cheshire?" I ask. “What are you…?”

  "Don't look," he says, patting my cheek in farewell. "I was never here."

  I do as I’m told, leaving my hands where they were, except now they’re clasped around my weapon. I feel more alert already—cold hard steel is better than coffee, and I’m ready to move when I have to. The way Duchess and the Queen are screaming at each other, looks like that could be any minute now. Alice is right in the middle, egging them on.

  "You want a piece of me, Frank? I'll take your fuckin' head. Hers, too, you don't stop fuckin' with me."

  "You wanna kill her? Go ahead! Stupid bitch."

  "Who's afraid of you?" Alice snaps back. "You're no better than a pack of cards! The lot of you!"

  "That's fuckin' it," Kingsley yells, pulling a pistol out of somewhere under his jacket and taking a potshot at Alice. He can't shoot for shit, so the bullet goes wide, grazes Frank's arm and he responds in kind. Maddie screams, the numbers pull their pieces, and it's fucking chaos.

  I kick my chair backward and hit the ground rolling. As many guns as there are blazing in here, I'm as liable to be hit by so-called friendly fire as anything. Not that I'm sure who's friendly and who's not anymore. I scramble to my feet and start running, take a dive over a table knocked sideways and sit up, back to the wood, assessing the situation. The unmistakable click-slide-lock of someone reloading tells me I'm not alone behind my cover.

  "Nice moves," Alice says, pulling bullets out of her purse and sliding them into the empty magazine. In the blink of an eye, she's slamming it back into the pink mother-of-pearl handle of her pistol. "I had no idea you were such a dancer."

  "Should've guessed you'd carry a Flamingo," I smirk, high on adrenaline.

  "Careful," Alice grins at me. "She bites."

  I laugh; I have to, I’m flying high and probably still concussed and this whole thing is fucking hilarious. Alice is looking at me like I’m one for the loony bin, but she’s grinning, too, clearly on the same page.

  “So what’s the plan?” I ask, once I can breathe again. “You know, since you’re smarter than me.”

  “I am smarter than you,” she says, all matter-of-fact. A spray of bullets hammers against the table, just over our heads, cracking the hardwood and raising pockmarks in its gleaming mahogany surface. Alice darts around the side, lets off two quick shots, and I hear someone curse, someone else fall.

  “Richer than me, too, I guess.”

  She narrows her eyes at me, but she’s still smiling. “You don’t have to guess, Jack. You know.”

  “Yeah,” I admit, and I’ve never wanted her—never wanted anyone—more than I do right now. Beautiful, deadly, and loaded, just like her gun. “Why though? Why here, why now?”

  “You think you’re the only person who gets bored, Jack? The only person who likes a challenge?”

  I have the stupidest grin on my face. I know this. “So, is that offer to work together still on the table?”

  “What do you think we’ve been doing all this time?” she says, like I’m a moron. I’m not completely sure that I’m not.

  “I don’t like taking things for granted. Also, I might be brain-damaged.”

  Alice laughs, and it fizzes through me like champagne bubbles. “It’s not the best look for you.” Two more shots hit our table, and Alice answers back. “Now are you gonna help me out, or are you gonna make me do all the work here?”

  I’m becoming aware that for the last few minutes, I’ve been sitting here like a dope with my gun in my hand, and not doing a damn thing about getting us out of this mess. Not the best impression to make on a beautiful dame. “That wouldn’t be very gentlemanly,” I say. “So about that plan?”

  “I’ll break right, you cover me, and try not to get shot. How’s that for a plan?”

  “And after that?”

  “I get the fuck out of here,” she says. “And I suggest you do the same.”

  Sounds like a shit plan to me, but I don’t have anything better. “All right,” I nod. “Shall we?”

  She looks surprised for a second, like I’ve defied her expectations again and she doesn’t know what to make of it, or maybe she just can’t believe what a dumbass I am. Then she snaps back to herself, looks down, calm as anything, and loads her Flamingo up again. “Okay,” she says, racking the slide, and okay, my mind is made up.

  “Alice,” I say. “If we make it out of here, I’m going to kiss you.”

  Her eyes are hot when she looks back up at me, and I can’t tell exactly what she’s thinking. She’s definitely not surprised this time, and I don’t know why, but I’m starting to think maybe I am a dumbass.

  “Why wait?” she says, and then she’s leaning in and she’s kissing me, deep and dirty and desperate, like it’s our last chance. Fuck, maybe it is. Her mouth is soft and slick, her hand is warm on my side, under my jacket, and I don’t even get the chance to catch up before she’s pulling away, biting at her lip, and I suddenly can’t focus on anything else.

  “If we get out of here,” I say, proud of how steady my voice sounds, “I’m going to kiss you again.”

  She laughs this time, pats my cheek in a manner that would be insulting if I weren’t so starry-eyed. “You know, Jack, I just might let you,” she tells me. Then she vaults up over the table and hits the ground running, and I’m focused on the gun in my hand, on keeping her path clear. Once she hits the door, she’s gone, and I know like I know my own name that’s the last time I’ll ever see her.

  Now is not the time to think about it. The shots have pretty much stopped now, everyone tired and confused or injured, or a little bit of all three. I’m sure a lot of them don’t even remember what started the fight. Frank Duchess is under the bar, grabbing at his wounded arm and muttering about backstabbing bitches while the Rabbit tries to patch him up. The Queen is going to look at this and know what Alice did, stealing the money, setting this distraction, and she’s going to put a bounty on her head, but it’s not going to matter. Alice is long gone by now.

  Speaking of her Highness, I see the Queen tucked along the wall, and run to her side. Now is the time for damage control, and getting back whatever good graces I can.

  She only punches me a little when I help her up. I consider it a win.

  After the fight, Duchess crawled off somewhere to lick his wounds, the Rabbit reinstated at his side. The Queen is still in charge, the sun's still shining, and everybody is cursing the name Alice. It might be the first time I’ve ever heard so many people agree on anything in this town.

  Is it going to usher in a new era of peace and unity? No, but the quiet is kind of nice. For once.

  The heat is off me, though I still have the bruises to show for it. Everyone knows Alice took the money. Everyone knows Alice is miles away by now; might as well be in another world for all they could get to her. The Queen knows when to cut her losses, though she puts a hit out all th
e same. Gotta keep up appearances, after all.

  Griff and Shel can handle it. Me, I’m seriously thinking about that retirement. Hell, maybe I’m just tired.

  When I finally manage to drag myself home, all I want is a drink, and to maybe sleep for a year. There’s a moment there, in the hallway, when I think about drawing my gun; when I half-expect Alice to be sitting on my sofa, same as she was, smiling like she knows a secret.

  I don’t, and she’s not, but right there, on the table, is a brand-new bottle of whiskey, the good stuff, with a tag tied around the neck. “Drink me,” it says.