by Meg Jackson
She opened her mouth as though to retort, but closed it again quickly and shook her head, closing her eyes.
“I just…I just want to get some sleep…” she said, and suddenly she did look tired. Very, very tired. So tired that Cristov wasn’t convinced she’d even make it to the trailer park. But, at least, she wasn’t putting up a fight anymore, and she let him lead her around the corner to his car.
The ride was silent, which was fine with both parties. When they arrived in front of the Volanis brothers’ trailer, he told her to wait a moment. He wanted to tell Damon they were having a guest over for the evening.
Damon was sitting alone in the living room watching some old black and white movie. Cristov walked in right as some lady in a wheelchair was screaming, a dead bird on a plate in front of her.
“I hate this movie,” Cristov said, wrinkling his nose. He couldn’t remember the name, but he remembered seeing it as a child and feeling clammy with nausea over the horrible acts unfolding on the screen in front of him.
“Whatever Happened to Baby Jane,” Damon answered the unasked question with a shrug. “It’s a classic.”
“It’s fuckin’ disturbing,” Cristov said with a grunt. “Kennick around?”
Damon glanced up at him, the strange light thrown off the TV dancing on his face and obscuring his expression.
“No,” Damon said. “Why?”
Cristov explained the situation, and even through the distorted light, he could see the darkness in Damon’s eyes as he described what he’d stumbled upon in the alleyway. When he said that Tricia would spend the night and not to make a big deal about it, Damon nodded.
Only then did Cristov go out and retrieve the girl, who was staring blankly out the window. In the little kitchen, the sounds of the movie reached them as Cristov was showing her the door to Kennick’s room, where she could sleep. She turned, looking like herself for the first time that night, and walked through the narrow rooms to the living room.
“This is one of my favorite movies,” she said, lingering in the doorway, staring at the screen. Damon looked up at her and gave a half smile.
“You’re welcome to watch if you’d like,” he said.
“Uh,” Tricia said, seeming somewhat confused by her own reaction to the whole weird situation. “Maybe. I don’t…uh…”
Cristov, standing next to Tricia in the doorway, gently touched her shoulder. He noticed that her eyes weren’t on the screen anymore, but on Damon, and she looked entranced. Cristov had no doubt that she was going a little crazy from everything she’d been through, but Damon had a very calming effect on most people, and he thought that Tricia might be picking up on that.
“Maybe it will take your mind off everything?” Cristov said gently, and she sighed.
“Maybe. Maybe not. What do I know? I’m such an idiot…”
“Come on,” Damon said, moving over on the couch. “It’s getting to the really good parts.”
Tricia crossed the room like a zombie, plopping down on the couch. Cristov sat in the easy chair off to the side, trying to stifle his gut reaction to the images on the screen. When he looked over again, Tricia did look somewhat relaxed, and by the time they’d been sitting there for a half hour, she was almost asleep in the corner of the couch.
When the movie was over, she was definitely asleep, and snoring softly. Damon covered her with an old throw blanket and she stretched out in her sleep; groggily, her eyes opened and closed a few times, right as Damon happened to be looking down at her.
Cristov would have had to been blind not to see something pass between the two, but it was too long and too strange of a night to give it much thought. Instead, he took the opportunity to remind Tricia she was welcome to Kennick’s bed if she got uncomfortable on the couch; she yawned and nodded and closed her eyes again. And she slept.
31
The next morning, Tricia and Cristov agreed to meet at the police station at 10:00 – having woken up at 8, in the clothes she had been wearing the night before and a necklace of black and blues, Tricia insisted on going home to change.
“If I’m going to look like an idiot in front of people I consider friends, I might as well look like an idiot with some hygiene standards,” she explained when Cristov cocked an eyebrow at her need to go home.
“You’re not going to look like an idiot,” he said, shaking his head. “Paul is. And couldn’t those clothes be, like, evidence, or something?”
“He didn’t rape me,” she replied, crossing her arms and glaring. “My clothes aren’t going to show what he did.”
“Well, fine, but bring them in a bag or something, will you? Just in case? I don’t know what they’re going to want there. And don’t shower, you might have his skin under your nails. And I still don’t see why I can’t come with you,” Cristov said while sipping the coffee he’d made for both of them, Damon having yet to rise or show his face. Cristov noticed the way Tricia was looking around, though, seemingly wondering where the middle Volanis was.
“I just…ugh! I haven’t been alone…had, like, a minute to myself…”
“Alright, alright,” Cristov said, offering his open palms as a sign of truce. Tricia was getting all worked up, tears threatening to escape the corners of her eyes again. “But you know what’s going to happen if you aren’t there at 10, right?”
She nodded, calming herself down with patient breaths and closing her eyes. If she didn’t show, Cristov would assume the worst – that Paul had been waiting for her at home – and he’d raise hell to get people out there. Cops, Ricky, Kim, whoever; he’d have the damn place surrounded. If her goal in this was to escape embarrassment, not showing up at the police station at the time they’d agreed upon would be her downfall.
“I’ll be there,” she said, and when she opened her eyes again, Cristov was struck by the sheer determination in them. This was a Tricia he knew, at least somewhat. Gone was the scared, ashamed, timid woman from the night before. As she finished her mug of coffee and set it back down on the table, her jaw was set rigid and her knuckles looked pale.
“I should never have let it get so far,” she said, seeming to talk to her empty cup more than to Cristov. “I’ve never let people treat me like that – ever. My mother would be so ashamed of me.”
“That may all be true,” Cristov said gently. Over the corner of Tricia’s shoulder, he saw Damon’s form appear in the doorway of his bedroom, watching from a distance. “But it’s not all your fault, you know. It’s not like you’re the only chick to end up with an asshole. And you didn’t make him treat you like that.”
“No,” she sighed. “No, I couldn’t make Paul do anything. It was his way or no way at all. Is it weird that I kind of liked that about him? At first, I mean? It’s what attracted me to him. I liked how confident he was, kinda bossy, knew what he wanted and all that. And I never even thought about how…oh, well, it doesn’t matter now.”
“You can tell me, if you want.”
“No, I’d rather tell Ricky and Kim about it,” she said, and now a tear did escape, but it rolled silently down her cheek, a lone soldier. “I guess I’ll have to tell them about it. They’re gonna ask why we broke up and…”
“Don’t think about that now,” Damon said, making his presence known as he walked towards the still-steaming pot of coffee on the counter. “The future doesn’t exist until it exists, so you can’t predict what it’ll be like, and it’s a waste of emotion to try.”
Cristov couldn’t help but roll his eyes at his brother’s new age-y advice, and when he looked at Tricia he thought he saw a hint of the same in her slightly-curling lips.
“I guess that’s true,” she finally said, and rising from the table gathered her purse under her arm, her eyes fixated on Damon’s broad back. “Can you take me to my car?”
“Are you talking to me?” Cristov said, unable to resist the urge to tease her a bit about the way she was looking at Damon – he immediately regretted it. He knew as well as anyone the sort of vibe
s Damon put out, and how he could be a magnetic force in a room. And Tricia definitely didn’t need any snarky comments making a bad morning worse. But, to his surprise, she was actually smiling when she finally turned to him.
“Yeah, sorry,” she said, and though the smile was painted in sadness, it was real. Cristov rose to join her and headed towards the door. Just as he had one foot on the concrete stoop, Tricia close behind him, Damon turned and spoke again.
“Hey,” he said, his mouth a straight line. “Why was the nihilist dating service such a success?”
Tricia’s jaw dropped slightly as she stared at Damon, while Cristov groaned and leaned against the doorframe for support. Tricia glanced at him for some clue as to what was going on, but he shook his head to show he was helpless.
“Um, I don’t know?” she finally said, looking back at Damon with one eyebrow raised.
“Those people have nothing in common,” he answered, and he broke into one of those room-lighting smiles he reserved for his canon of awful jokes. Cristov groaned and pretended to fall down the last of the concrete stoop while Tricia broke into a huge laugh, the sound bright and hearty in the early autumn morning.
Now that was the Tricia that Cristov remembered meeting.
32
Jenner picked up his phone, hand steady. From his vantage point, in his cousin’s trailer, kitty-corner to the Volanis brothers’ trailer, he could see her perfectly well. The camera on his phone wasn’t stellar, but it would do. The picture taken, he sent it to the men who’d want to see it. The men who’d been pushing him for more information, something more they could use. The men whose pushing had begun to veer dangerously close to threatening.
This is his chick, he typed out to go along with the picture. He’s going somewhere with her now.
Cristov certainly didn’t see Jenner waiting there, watching him from the window. He drove down the dirt road to the exit and waited a moment at the intersection before pulling out, making the left turn that would bring him to town. Jenner’s work was done, at least for now.
Who knew what the Steel Dragons would make him do next? He sure as hell hadn’t liked killing the dog. No man is all evil, and Jenner had a mighty big soft spot for dogs, even mutts like Shep. The dog had been so happy to have company, and he’d recognized Jenner from around the park, so he’d barely even made a noise when Jenner slipped in through the screen door after Sam passed out.
It hadn’t taken more than a Milkbone to get the dog to stop his barking. But then, watching the little guy wag his tail and chomp down on that bland old biscuit, Jenner wished he’d brought along some nice, fatty bacon for him instead. Even a dog’s last meal should be a good one.
And the blood; he’d hated that. He didn’t care for blood in any form. It made him queasy. He’d damn near used up all the hot water trying to feel clean again after getting the dog’s blood all over his hands and chest. Good thing he’d taken his shirt off, or he would have had to figure out some way to trash it where no one would find it and link it back to him.
He’d hoped, with the inclusion of the Steel Dragons, he could sit back and relax while someone else did all the work. He had a fantasy of himself sitting with his heels up on a table, eating grapes or something, while his minions ran around causing hell in his name. Instead, he was like the club’s goon, doing all the dirty work for them while they waited around to reap the rewards.
Not that he could protest too much, at least not to them; he’d come to them after all, and even if he thought he was doing them a favor by providing them the opportunity, he still needed them. And he didn’t want to get on their bad side, either.
But what if they made him do something with the chick?
Not that he would mind, per say. At least, it wouldn’t bother him as much as it had bothered him to hurt the poor dog. But it was a lot of work, dealing with a fully grown adult human. She’d struggle and scream and squirm and all that, and what if she got away while he was in the middle of doing whatever to he? He guessed he’d be ok if the club told him to shoot her; that wouldn’t be too messy, and he wouldn’t have to get too close. But if it was something else…
He hoped that Rig knew his limitations. He’d gotten them the picture, told them to look out for her, given him Cristov’s car information and license. He didn’t know the woman, or where to find her if she didn’t come back to the park.
I’m getting ahead of myself, he thought. Gotta calm down and let things take care of themselves.
Yeah. Just let the chips fall where they may. Sit back and relax while he still could. Don’t bother thinking about how he was in over his head with some really nasty bastards.
No, it was better to fantasize. About the future he’d have once he ousted Kennick and his brothers. He’d keep Mina around, of course. She was young and cute and would make a nice little trophy. He’d be in charge, and everyone would respect him and do whatever he said. He’d take everyone away from this shithole town. Maybe go set up near Reno, or Vegas, somewhere that you could have some damn fun once in a while.
And he’d be loaded, he’d make sure of that. Kennick was an idiot for never giving himself more than he needed from the communal pot. A rom baro had needs, and it was his right to decide what his title demanded in monetary reward. Money to spend on women and poker and booze and coke and all life’s luxuries, everything, the whole world right there at the tips of his fingers, a real gypsy’s life…
These were the thoughts that made Jenner smile as he waited to hear back from Rig and the Steel Dragons Motorcycle Club. Thoughts like those lulled him, and made him feel that even murder would be in his power if it was necessary. He hummed a bit to himself as he set about making a fresh pot of coffee, hearing his cousins stirring in their rooms and knowing he wouldn’t have the morning to himself for very long. He tucked his happy fantasies away, behind his expressive eyes, where no one could see them and understand what he truly was.
His phone buzzed. Looking at the text, the single word trapped him somewhere between comfort and dread.
Okay, the text said. That was it. At least it wasn’t a demand to follow them, or do anything. But it didn’t exactly let him off the hook, either.
33
Cristov ground his teeth together. The sky was overcast, and the air held a sort of electric swampiness that hinted at rain. It was 10:20 in the morning, and Tricia was nowhere to be seen. He’d arrived at the police station at 9:45 and checked inside before deciding to wait on the bench out front. He would have recognized her car had she driven past, and he certainly would have recognized her if she had walked by.
He’d already called her twice, and texted her five times, with no response. He knew that if she didn’t show up soon, he’d have to make good on his promise. He didn’t know where she lived, or he would have gone there himself to fetch her. He felt like a tattle-tale, somehow, even though he knew he was doing the right thing. And for all he knew, that bastard Paul was using her as a punching bag right at that moment. With a grunt, he rose and went inside the station.
He recognized Jimmy, the cop that Kennick was friendly with, standing near the small dispatcher’s desk, and managed to catch his eye. A guarded smile crossed Jimmy’s face as he finished up whatever he was saying to the female behind the desk and strolled across the room, extending a hand.
“Hey,” Jimmy said, “it’s Cristov, right?”
“Yeah,” Cristov responded, taking the cop’s offered hand and giving it a quick shake. “Listen, I need to talk to someone – one of you guys, I guess…”
“Do you need to talk in private, or…?”
“I don’t know, damn…it’s a, it’s like a…a weird situation, alright? It’s just, you know…” Cristov stumbled over his words. He, like many Romani, had never been particularly fond of the police. As a rule, when things went sour, gypsies were high on the list of people to point a finger at. And Cristov, of course, had his own reasons to be wary of law enforcement. But this was no time to let his own prejudices get i
n the way, and he had nothing to really fear. This was about Tricia and Paul, not him.
“Is this about that gang?” Jimmy asked, concern painting his face. Cristov shook his head.
“Last night,” he said, squaring his shoulders and clearing his throat, “I was outside Sammy’s and I saw this guy with his hands around his girlfriend’s neck. Now, I don’t know their last names, but the guy was Paul and the chick is Tricia, who I guess you probably know? She’s friends with Ricky and Kim James?”
Jimmy’s face darkened as he nodded. It wasn’t surprising that Jimmy would know the people involved; it was a small town, after all. They probably all went to high school together.
“Anyway, Tricia’s dating the guy, like I said, all I know is his name is Paul. I broke it up, he was hurting her pretty bad. I told her we ought to go to the cops – last night, I mean, I told her last night – but she didn’t want to go just then, so I let her stay at my place because she was afraid to go home. And we were supposed to meet here at 10 to report the incident, or whatever. But she’s not here.”
“She stayed at your place, but you didn’t come together?” Jimmy asked, his easy demeanor quickly fading into professionalism, even his voice changing slightly. Cristov shook his head.
“She wanted to change her clothes and have an hour to herself, or something, I told her that was dumb and to let me come with her but she wasn’t having it, and I couldn’t, you know, make her do anything. But I told her, if she wasn’t here at 10, I’d tell the police myself. I mean, I don’t know if she changed her mind, she seemed pretty determined this morning. Determined to report it. So I’m worried that, you know, he’s with her, that he was waiting for her or…”
“Do you have anyone who can corroborate your story?” Jimmy asked, now flipping open a small black book and making notes in sloppy script. Cristov immediately stiffened, crossing his arms over his chest and narrowing his eyes.