“I got that, thanks,” I replied. What the fuck was this about?
“So for instance,” Boomer continued, licking his scarred lips, “if I happened to know that Jester's pal Angelo always hangs out at a pizza joint called Maggia's, then I certainly wouldn't be in a position to tell you something like that. Otherwise, you might be tempted to follow him to Jester and stick a blowtorch in his ear until his brains roast.”
I raised my eyebrows. “And we couldn't have that,” I said.
“No, we couldn't,” Boomer agreed. “One more thing. Chicago's become a major shithole since you left. Crime everywhere. I blame the schools. Anyway, I figured you might need this.” He reached behind him, taking a 9mm Glock from the waistband of his jeans and handing it over. Before I could thank him, he held up a finger and dug into his pockets, producing two extra clips of ammunition.
I smiled and gave Boomer a bear hug. “Thanks, man,” I whispered in his ear. “I owe you big-time. Congrats on being Sergeant-at-Arms.”
“Hey, congrats on the VP patch,” he answered. “Just make sure you live long enough to sew it on, okay?”
I told him I'd do my best.
I didn't realize that might not be good enough until it was too late.
Chapter 5
Jewel
On the average work day, I'd leave the office at about 5:30 and head home on the Red Line. Unfortunately, as it turned out, Wednesday was not an average day.
It was tax season, which meant the number of files we handled quadrupled. Likewise, the phones were a lot busier, so it was harder for me to find time for the necessary typing and filing during the day. I'd skipped lunch to make up the time, but that afternoon, an important file went missing. I had to spend four hours tearing the office apart to find it so Bertrand would have it for a meeting the next morning, and another hour putting everything back in place after I realized the silly thing had slipped behind the file cabinet.
Just when I thought I was ready to leave for the night, a package arrived from another CPA's office that was transferring nine new files to us. I had to mark and annotate them so Bertrand could review them when he came in.
By the time I left, it was almost 8:00. Even though the walk to the train had always given me the creeps in the daylight, it turned out that nighttime was infinitely worse. Hookers in colorful spandex mini-dresses strutted up to parked cars, leaning into the windows. One of them laughed when she saw me, and another one rolled her eyes. Young men in gold chains and sagging jeans leaned against the walls of the buildings, hooting and catcalling at me as I passed.
Every block I walked felt a mile long. As usual, I kept my eyes pointed straight ahead, trying to concentrate on the bright lights and busy streets up at the train station.
When I was just two blocks away from the Grand Street station, I saw that I was getting closer to the alley next to Maggia's Ristorante Famiglia. This was the alley where I'd always felt the most certain that there were eyes staring out at me, and I usually hurried past it.
This time, though, it was worse. As the alley's entrance drew nearer, I heard a man's voice, sobbing. “Please...Jesus, Angelo, don't fuckin' do this, okay? I'm sorry I did it! Is that what you want to hear?”
“You're only sorry you got caught, Maggot,” a hoarse voice answered. “And that kind of sorry don't count. Now where is it?”
I slowed down. Whatever this was, it sounded horrible and I didn't want to get too close to it. I thought about turning around and heading back to the crosswalk to take a longer way around. But part of me couldn't ignore the fact that I could get into plenty of trouble that way, too, depending on what other kinds of strange people might be out in this neighborhood. I figured I should just rush past the alley as fast as I could without looking into it.
I was so scared by the tone of the voices that I wasn't paying much attention to the words they were saying. I assumed that the worst-case scenario was that someone was getting beaten up or mugged, in which case they'd probably report it to the police later. There was no reason for me to get involved.
I just had to walk past it quickly and forget I'd heard anything.
“Where is what?” the sobbing voice said. I heard a smacking sound, followed by a cry of pain.
“You know what,” the hoarse voice insisted. “No one's coming to your rescue, Maggot, so stop fucking stalling and spill it.”
Just give him your wallet, I begged the man silently. Or your watch, or whatever else he wants. Just get it over with.
The alley was just a few feet away and getting closer with each step.
“Okay, it's at the place in Milwaukee! Jester knows the one I'm talking about!” the crying man said.
I'd reached the entrance to the alley. Half of me prepared to rush past it while the other half begged me not to, insisting that whatever I was hearing, it definitely wasn't a mugging.
But just two more seconds, I thought, and I'll be past and I won't have to care what it was. I'll probably even skip the news tomorrow just to make sure I'll never find out, either.
As I ran past the alley, I heard the crying voice scream, “No! Don't! Help...!”
There was a series of gunshots. Before I could stop my body from reacting, I froze and turned to look at the source.
I'll never regret anything in my life as much as I regret doing that.
The flashes from the gun's muzzle lit the alley in split-second bursts like a strobe. I saw the victim hit the ground face-down as the bullets tore into the back of his shirt, sending up clouds of red mist. The man who shot him was tall and broad-shouldered, his face twisted into a snarl of rage as he pulled the trigger over and over. With each blast, there was a flicker of golden light from his hand, as though the gun itself was gold-plated.
The gunshots ended abruptly and I suddenly realized that I was still rooted to the spot and staring into the dark alley. I tried to make my legs move, but the fear made them feel like they were encased in cement. My heart felt like it was going to punch its way out of my ribcage.
I saw movement in the shadows and heard the hoarse voice in the alley. “Jesus, who the fuck is that? Grab her! Now!” There was a scuffling sound as several pairs of shoes hurried toward me.
You're going to die, my mind insisted. Whoever these men are, they're going to murder you. You need to run. Now.
But I was still paralyzed with terror. I saw the barrel of a gun raise in the darkness ahead of me, briefly catching the glare of the street light above. I shut my eyes helplessly, waiting for another loud bang followed by endless nothing.
I heard the bang, then another, and prepared to feel the bullets tear through my body. Instead, I heard a jumble of confused voices in the alley and felt a hand grip my shoulder firmly, pulling me backward.
I opened my eyes and found myself staring into a man's face, inches away from my own. His skin was pale and he had piercing brown eyes. Handsome and rugged-looking, he was probably in his thirties.
“Come with me,” he said.
Chapter 6
Rafe
Before I left the party at the Nest, I walked over to Bard and asked, “Okay, so where is she?”
Bard furrowed his eyebrows in mock confusion. “Who are you referring to, Rafe?”
I rolled my eyes. “Come on, man. Seven years. I got no conjugal visits. I didn't collect stroke mags. Hell, I didn't even fantasize about anyone except for her. Now I'm free and I want to see her. I want to touch her. I want to ride the fuck out of her all night long. So don't be a dick. Tell me where my Rosie is.”
Bard smiled and reached into his pocket, pulling out a set of keys. He handed them to me. “She's out back in shed number three. We all took turns giving her plenty of love and care while you were gone. Go to her.”
I smiled and sauntered out the back door, jingling the keys. Every day at Potawatomi, I'd been able to deal with the constant fighting and yelling and cursing around me by just closing my eyes and thinking of Rosie. Every night, I'd escape from my lumpy cot and itchy blanket by dreaming about the thrill of having her under me again.
When I got to the metal door of shed number three, I bent down and put the key in the lock near the ground. I pulled the door up and the light from the street shined into the dark shed, reflecting off the customized paint job. Thorny black stems with blood-red roses blooming on them coiled around the bike's front fairing. The headlight was turned toward the entrance to the shed and when the light caught it, it seemed like she was opening her eye to look at me as I walked in. My old helmet hung from one of her handlebars.
My faithful Rosie.
I gazed at her lovingly for a long moment, then rummaged in the shed until I'd found the notepad and pen that was used to keep lists of parts and tools which needed to be bought. I shrugged out of my Reapers cut and folded it carefully, draping it over the top of a folded stepladder.
I kept the note brief. “Bard – Thanks for the patch, but I need to take care of this first. I'll be back for it.” I folded it and tucked it into the denim vest, then detached the key to the shed from the ring and laid it on top neatly.
I used the toe of my boot to lift the kickstand, then wheeled the bike out of the shed. I straddled Rosie and inserted the key into her. When I turned it, she came to life between my legs, purring for me just like she always had. I savored the moment, enjoying the vibration that buzzed my inner thighs before wrapping itself around my hips and lower back. Even my best dreams hadn't compared to the joy of being with her again.