Marcus Sakey - The Blade Itself - v4.0 Read online

  “First,” his breath hot against her ear, “you have to take the safety off.”

  She could have cried at the thought of it, the way the button had to slide sideways before it could be pushed. It’d all just happened so fast. Horrible images flashed through her mind, thoughts of ending up a cautionary tale, used and abandoned in an alley, panties twisted around her ankles. She struggled against him, trying to tear free, but he was like machinery, his muscles pneumatic in their power.

  “Relax, kitten.” He sounded amused. “I’m not going to hurt you tonight. But you should be more careful. Chicago can be a dangerous place for a woman.”

  Before she could process his words he pushed her, still holding one arm, as if they were dancing. When she reached the end of her steps he let go, and the momentum sent her sprawling to the ground. Gravel dug cruelly into her legs, and she yelped, not a proper scream, just surprise and pain. She was free. She raised her arms to ward off her attacker and drew in a breath to shriek.

  And realized she was alone.

  The guy, whoever he was, had walked away. At the mouth of the alley he stopped, his back to her. He had shoulders like a football player. He pulled something apart between his hands, and she heard the clatter of keys on the pavement.

  Then he stepped out onto Franklin and was gone.

  Karen wanted to cry, to sit in the dirt of the alley and bawl, to let out the scream that had been building in her. But she thought of the movies, how she hated it when the bimbo just lay there. Life had been safe and soft the last couple of years, but she’d grown up with two older brothers, neither unfamiliar with the wrong side of the law, and they’d taught her to take her licks.

  Besides, she hadn’t been hurt. Hadn’t been raped. Hadn’t even been robbed. She didn’t understand. But understanding, like crying, could wait.

  One hand on the dirty metal of the Dumpster, she pulled herself up. Pain raked down the back of her thigh, but her legs held. There would be some bruises — what her brothers had delighted in calling raspberries — but nothing broken.

  Correct that. One heel had snapped when she fell.

  Somehow that made her laugh, actually laugh out loud, standing in the middle of the alley. The laughter was hard and high, and it didn’t feel right; she could taste the curdle of panic in it.

  Get it together, Karen. Don’t go hysterical in the middle of the alley. Pick up your keys, run to the car, lock the doors, start the engine.

  Then get hysterical.

  She hobbled to the sidewalk and retrieved the keys. Down the street, she could see a group of a dozen partiers, the girls’ thighs flashing, the men’s laughter loud. They were less than a block down. They seemed half a world away.

  The headlights on Lakeshore Drive blurring like those long-exposure photographs you saw on brochures.

  The Explorer surging when she mashed the accelerator, substituting speed for control.

  The soft green glow of the dashboard lights.

  The snap of the radio dial as she turned it off.

  An airbrushed sign for a nail salon on Belmont.

  Trees flanking the sidewalks, the rustle of shadows cast by streetlights.

  Then suddenly she was home, looking over her shoulder to park the truck, her blinker on as though everything were normal. She felt snapped back into her body. Like she’d been trailing behind it on a kite, string. Their apartment was twenty yards away. She could see through the bay window to the living room, where a light burned, and it made her feel naked. Could anyone look in so easily? Did they walk around unaware of the eyes watching them? Had the man been watching her?

  Was he still?

  The thought tore through her like ten thousand volts of adrenaline. She whipped her head around, sure he stood beside the car.

  There was nothing there.

  Stupid, stupid girl.

  She yanked the keys out of the ignition and threw the door open. Stepped out, forgot the broken heel, lost her balance, one knee slamming into the door frame, white-hot pain jamming up her leg. She kicked off the heels and stepped to the grass, limping as fast as she could. Front door. Light blue key. In, slam, lock. Stairwell door. Dark blue key. Up the stairs.

  She made it halfway before the tears caught her. Fear and relief mingled and twisted into an emotion too raw to have a name of its own. Sobbing, she pulled herself the rest of the way up using the bannister, heard the door to their apartment swinging open, saw Danny framed against the darkness, a running silhouette. When he reached her, she threw her arms around him, the tears coming freely now, her fingers catching handfuls of his shirt, not so much hugging him as holding on.

  They sat in the kitchen with all the lights on. The track lights, the one over the stove. The pantry door open and that light burning as well. She could feel the warmth of the tea through the cup, the warmth of the whiskey in her gut. Danny had his hands over hers, and it helped.

  She’d told him about it, the words spilling all over the hallway, and he had guided her inside and listened as she told it again, not saying anything except that it was over now, it was okay, they were going to be okay. She’d let the tears come, and his T-shirt had a dark spot on one shoulder. She felt better for the crying. And for being home, with all three locks thrown.

  “God, I just feel so…” She paused, looking for the right word, choosing the simplest. “Stupid.”

  “It wasn’t your fault.”

  “Parking in the alley, not having anyone walk me to the car…”

  “Shhh…” He stroked her hands. “You’re sure you’re okay? You don’t want to go to the hospital?”

  She shook her head. “I’m fine. Just shaken up.” She tried a smile, knowing it looked thin. “Really, I’m fine. Just ruined a skirt and a pair of heels when I fell. He didn’t even take my purse.”

  “What scared him off?”

  “I don’t know. I don’t think anything. He just let me go.”

  “Huh?” He looked up at her. “What do you mean?”

  “I tried to use the pepper spray you got me, but I forgot to take the safety off, and then he twisted my arm and took it away. So many thoughts were going through my head, you know, bad things, was he only after my purse, or was he going to rape me, was he some sort of psycho. But then he just kind of shoved me, and I slipped, and when I looked up, he was walking away.”

  That memory burned brightest, the muscles of his shoulders cutting clean lines against the streetlight. She’d been certain she would see him advancing, his hands unfastening his belt. She shook her head, the two images, one real, one imagined, overlaid in her mind. Danny was staring at her, the weirdest expression on his face.

  “What?” she asked.

  “He just let you go?”

  “Yeah. Well, first he said something.” She laughed nervously. “He told me that Chicago was dangerous for a woman.”

  “He… what?”

  She repeated herself, wondering what was going on in his head, why he looked so spooked. Danny sat quiet for a moment.

  “Did you get a look at him?”

  “Not really. I mean, I saw him in the club, but only barely, and it was dark in the alley. He was a bit taller than you. Really strong. Curly hair. He had gloves on.” She paused, remembering. “They smelled like cigarettes.”

  “Christ.” He stood up suddenly, hesitated, and then went to the counter for the bottle of scotch. Grabbed her glass and one for him. She could see that his mind was working, flying over something, but he focused on pouring, the amber liquid splashing up to the mark for doubles.

  “What is it?”

  “Huh?” He looked up, his expression startled. “Oh, nothing, baby. I’m just so glad you’re okay.”

  “You sure that’s all?”

  “Yeah.” He set the bottle on the table, and sat down himself. For a moment, it seemed like a thought was playing in his mind, like he had something to tell her. But she could see the moment pass, and when he caught her staring at him, he smiled softly, concern and reso
lve in his eyes. “I guess I’m just getting scared after the fact. You know, the way your mom used to get when she’d find out you’d done something stupid years ago. That’s all.”

  There was more, but she didn’t care. Not right now. He pushed the drink toward her. “Go ahead,” he said. “It’ll help you sleep.”

  She picked up the glass, not really wanting it, but hating the thought of lying awake till dawn. The burn pushed away all other sensations, and that she did want. “I think I’m going to take a shower.”

  He nodded.

  “Will you—” She paused, feeling self-conscious. “Will you come sit with me? I don’t want to be alone.”

  “Of course.” His smile wrapped her up safe as a blanket in fall. “And, baby — I promise. I’ll never let anyone hurt you. Whatever I have to do to protect you, I will.” His voice firm.

  Like he had made up his mind about something.

  19

  Exactly the Point

  Evan tossed the butt out the window while he waited for the light to change. A kid in a fluorescent T-shirt stopped asking passersby if they had a moment for Greenpeace long enough to glare at him. Evan stared back, and the kid quickly looked away.

  When red turned green he floored it, the Mustang roaring like it’d been kicked. He was finally out of the stretch of yuppie boutiques on Halsted, but on his way into Boystown, home to most of the city’s fags and the corner where Danny wanted to meet. He powered past a drugstore, a liquor warehouse, and across Belmont before the traffic stopped again. On the sidewalk two stacked guys, one white, one black, walked with their hands in each other’s back pocket. Funny to see. Inside it was different. Not like TV, or mostly not. Die-hard queers aside, in prison going gay was almost a way to pass the time. Another way the place humiliated you. Guys blowing each other just to break the monotony. Except you had to wonder, you spend long enough sucking off your cellie, at some point how different were you from the guys on the street here?

  Evan had broken the nose of the first asshole who’d tried his luck, and stuck to jerking off.

  Two blocks up, the car still creeping, he spotted Danny kicking back at a bus stop, his arms up on the bench’s back. He had the newspaper in his lap, but wasn’t reading it, keeping his eyes up and moving, scanning the traffic. Danny Carter, always too smart for his own good. He’d spotted Evan, but waited until the Mustang pulled in front of the bench before standing up slow and walking to the car. Evan leaned over to flip the lock. “Hey, partner.”

  Danny shot him a cold look as he climbed in. “Drive, asshole. Take Lakeshore north.”

  Evan chuckled, turned off Halsted onto a residential street, cut through an alley, and wound back toward the lake. Decided to ignore Danny’s expression now that it looked like he might be doing the right thing. The guy had reached out to him, after all, calling Murphy’s and leaving a message with the bartender. That made it his move. What would it be? Play the hard case, tell him if he ever laid a hand on Karen again, blah blah blah? It didn’t seem his style, but as he kept being reminded, this wasn’t the guy he’d grown up with.

  They merged onto Lakeshore, the Mustang purring as it muscled past a CTA bus with an ad for some computer thing on the side. They were two miles up, Evan thinking about turning on the radio, when Danny spoke.

  “Get off here.”

  Evan squinted at him, decided to go along, and exited at Montrose. Danny gestured to the east, toward the lake, and Evan pulled into a parking lot. Maybe thirty cars, most of them pretty hot, Beemers and Benzes.

  “Kill it. Let’s take a walk.”

  The lakefront was crowded with people biking and Rollerblading, a few jogging. A couple of old white dudes messed around on their sailboats in the marina, playing Jimmy Buffet, pretending they were in Margaritaville in June instead of Chicago a week before Halloween. In the summer the bike path was mobbed with chicks in bikinis, but now everybody wore a sweatshirt. Danny walked ahead, steering them past the marina, out to a point that jutted into the lake. It was a quiet spot, thin grass tapering to rocks at the water’s edge. Danny stepped up on a boulder and stared out to the horizon like he was looking for answers. The air was still, the water calm.

  Evan took out his smokes, tapped one free. Flicked the wheel on the silver Zippo, lit the cigarette, and held the flame a moment longer than necessary, looking at the lake through the flame, like he was setting it on fire. “So we’re here. Now what? You want to cuddle, watch the sunset?”

  Danny didn’t turn. “Let’s talk about the rules.”

  “Rules?”

  “The rules of the job.”

  Look at that. Been trying to make a point to the man for two weeks, and he’d finally gotten through. Apparently Karen was the lever to move Danny’s world. Worth remembering. “So you’re in.”

  “Not much choice, right? I got your point.”

  “Good.” He kept his tone light, with just a hint of steel in it.

  “You want my help, though, there are three rules.”

  “Yeah?” Just like Danny, to be talking rules instead of thinking about how much they stood to score. More worry than joy.

  “First off, nobody gets hurt. Not a scratch, you hear? Especially not Tommy.”

  “Who the fuck is Tommy?”

  Danny sighed, glanced over his shoulder. “Tommy’s the boy, Evan. The one you want to kidnap. What, were you going to call his father and say, ‘I’ve got that kid that hangs out in your house”?

  Evan made quick fists to pop his knuckles, then forced a smile. As long as Danny played along, he’d handle him gently.

  “Next,” Danny continued, his eyes once again on the rolling gray of the lake, “is that you listen to me. You want my help? Fine. My way. No messing about on the job. All right?”

  He nodded, thinking, Now how you going to control that, Danny-boy? But all he said was, “The third?”

  “The third rule is that this squares us. We do this, I never see you again. If I do, even once, I say to hell with the consequences and call the cops, and we go down together. You and I,” his tone still even, no anger in it, “we’re done.”

  Evan kept his mouth shut. His hopes of brotherhood had died just before Patrick did. The guy with him now was only an angle to be played.

  “All right.” Evan raised the smoke to his lips, stared at the horizon himself, wondering what Danny saw out there that was so damn fascinating.

  “One more thing.”

  The tone should have warned him, but he’d already dropped his guard. Danny swung around faster than Evan could get his arm up. The fist caught him square on the chin, snapping the cigarette, the world did that quick bounce-and-settle thing, and then, shit, his foot slipped on the wet grass. He fell, arms flailing. Hitting the ground smacked the wind out of him, and he felt the rage taking hold, all you had sometimes, the animal readiness to kill or be killed.

  But Danny didn’t press the attack. He stepped back to the boulder’s edge, shaking out his hand. “That’s for Karen, motherfucker.”

  Even before he’d gotten his breath back, Evan had his hand on the pistol tucked in his waistband. He started to draw. And then remembered where they were. Lincoln Park. Probably two hundred witnesses, and nowhere to hide.

  Evan let go of the gun, took a breath. Now he knew why they’d come here. Propping himself up on an elbow, he laughed. He’d been outplayed. Old school, the way the Danny he used to know might have done it.

  Forget it. This time.

  Danny stepped forward, holding out one hand, and Evan took it to pull himself up.

  “Let’s go to work.” Danny’s tone all business.

  “Now?”

  “Now.”

  As they pulled into Evanston the gloomy humidity had finally given way to one of those noiseless October rains that soaked the hell out of everything. Rotting leaves tattooed the asphalt orange and brown. The bossman’s house — Richard, it turned out his name was — looked cheery, porch lights glowing on either side of the carved oak doo
r.

  “Don’t turn off the engine.” Danny stared out the window. Some of the confidence was gone from his voice, like seeing the actual house had taken something out of him.

  “Why not?”

  “We’re not staying. This neighborhood pays for a security service to patrol, and we don’t want them stopping by.”

  Evan nodded. Rich cunts never failed. The more money they had, the higher the walls, the brighter the lights. Like hanging a target around their neck — just made it easier to spot a score. He rubbed at his chin. It was a little sore, but not likely to show a bruise. “So what are we doing?”

  “Looking at the house. Where do you want to go in?”

  “Right now?” He was surprised, but game.

  “Of course not.” Danny looked over at him. “We don’t even know who’s inside.”

  Evan pretended he’d been testing Danny. “That’s what I thought. So how about knocking on the front door sometime when we know the kid is alone? Grab him when he answers it?”

  “Walk up with masks on? We look a little old for trick-or-treaters.” Danny sat silent for a moment, then said, “We’ll go in the back, break in.”

  “House like this, there’s got to be an alarm system.”

  “There is, but Maria — Richard’s maid — kept setting it off. They only use it at night now.”

  Evan nodded. “When?”

  “Next week. We’ll do it one day after school.”

  “Do we need to worry about the maid?”

  “I know when she comes.” Danny turned from the window. “Let’s go, before a friendly neighbor notices us.”

  Evan put the car in drive and rolled forward, tires whisking on the pavement. He cracked the window to listen to the rain. “Most alarms have a panic button, right?”

  “Yeah.”

  “How do we make sure the kid doesn’t get to it first?”

  “Or for that matter dial 911? I’ll think about it.” Danny turned around to glance behind them.

  “You do that. Meanwhile, I got a question for you.” Evan smiled.