Last Words

by Sam Mariano

  I can’t help grinning, privately amused as I conclude, “I’m her favorite villain.”

  Part

  Two

  Chapter One

  Vince

  I shouldn’t be alive.

  I don’t mean to be dramatic; it’s just the simple fucking truth. I don’t know why I am. There’s no logical explanation, and I’ve run through ‘em all. I’m not suicidal or anything (though I guess you could think otherwise looking at my track record) I just know how life works. I know the rules, I broke them on purpose, and yet, here I am, beating heart and all. I figure I won’t be for much longer. I’m not doing much to hide now. I left Vegas and moved east, found a town in Connecticut of all places, and now I wait. I know he’ll find me, I just don’t know what’s taking him so fucking long. I don’t even dread it; I just dread all the waiting. A time or two I’ve considered skipping this part and going back to Chicago.

  It’s too much like giving up, though. He’s clearly won, and once he finds me he’ll put a bullet through my skull; I should at least make the motherfucker work for it.

  The sky outside is starting to get brighter. With every minute that passes, I dread the possibility that she’ll wake up a little more. I guess I should get out of here and head back to my apartment. I tried to sleep, but I can’t sleep next to this random woman. I don’t even know why I came home with her. Every encounter makes me feel emptier.

  I don’t so much as glance at her as I climb off her bed and start gathering up my clothes off the ground. My shirt ended up on her dresser, half hanging off, half covering a picture frame. I retrieve my shirt and right the picture frame, cocking my head when I recognize the woman in the picture as the woman I spent the night with—not so strange, given this is her bedroom. A little less expected is the wedding dress she’s wearing, and the smiling prick in the tuxedo with his arm wrapped around her.

  Well, shit.

  I guess I didn’t ask if she was married, but that still kind of pisses me off. That’s the kind of information you should volunteer. Better yet, if you’re fucking married, don’t let other men pick you up; a difficult concept, I realize.

  I’m annoyed, but I still don’t glance back at her. Shaking my head, I pull my shirt on and make my way across the bedroom, easing the door open and slipping out.

  Old instincts compel me to do a sweep, ever vigilant, so my eyes go straight to the line of light beneath the bathroom door. I pause and glance back at the bedroom. Maybe I should step back inside. Can’t be her husband; she had no problem letting me fall asleep in her bed, so she couldn’t have been worried he’d come home. Unless she wanted to get caught. Maybe I was a pawn in some marital tiff. That would be mightily fucking inconvenient. I don’t especially feel like fighting anyone today, and if I did, it damn sure wouldn’t be over this woman.

  Before I can make a decision, the door opens. A blond-haired little girl comes out of the bathroom. She’s wearing cupcake pajamas. She stops when she sees me standing in the hall, her little blue eyes widening. Almost immediately her surprise is replaced with confused disapproval as she furrows her little brow at me, narrowing her eyes suspiciously.

  “Who are you?”

  Well, shit.

  “Tooth fairy,” I finally say.

  Her suspicion clears, replaced with a tentative eagerness. “You’re the tooth fairy? I thought the tooth fairy was a girl.”

  “Yeah, well, we’re modernizing. Are you the one who lost a tooth?”

  Her tiny hand comes up to her mouth. “No, I didn’t lose a tooth. I think one is gonna be wiggling soon, though. My mom read me a book about the tooth fairy.”

  I nod, reaching into my pocket and drawing out my phone. I make a show of tapping the screen. “No teeth lost. Got it. I’ll update the records.”

  “I didn’t think the tooth fairy had a cell phone,” she tells me, looking me over. “I don’t think that’s how you should dress, either. There should be more sparkle.”

  “Well, I’m still in training. I’m sure I’ll have something snazzier once I’m a full-blown tooth fairy.”

  She nods like this makes sense.

  I nod, glancing at the end of the hall. “All right, well, you should probably get back to bed,” I tell her.

  “You probably have more houses to visit, huh?”

  “Yep.”

  She nods, offering me a big smile. “I can’t believe I met the tooth fairy.”

  I don’t really know how to play this. I’m tempted to tell her she probably shouldn’t mention it to anyone, but I’m not sure it’s a great idea for a strange man to advise a little girl to keep secrets. It’s also not my responsibility to cover up her mom’s infidelity.

  This whole situation reminds me of Mia. This blond-haired, blue-eyed little girl could easily be her daughter. Mia could easily be the mom reading her stories about tooth fairies. I could even be the stupid asshole in the picture with her, grinning like a brainless sap on our wedding day. I used to think if I could just drag her away from Mateo, Mia could be faithful, but then I brought her to Vegas and Rafe swooped in. A complete fucking stranger, no twisted hold on her, and still she pulled her shit. I could’ve never trusted her to stay faithful.

  I could be the absent asshole out there somewhere whose wife is fucking someone else at home while our kid sleeps down the hall.

  Now I’m feeling surly as hell, so I’m done talking to this kid. As I walk past, I ruffle her hair.

  “Hey,” she says, like she’s offended, but she’s smiling at me like a playmate.

  “Get to bed,” I tell her amiably over my shoulder.

  I guess she does. Maybe not. Whatever happens in this house after I leave, I don’t need to know; I’ll never step foot inside it again.

  I slip out the front door and head to my car. I’m parked in her driveway for all the world to see. Across the street, a woman stares at me, robe clutched around her body, holding a newspaper in her hand. Well, she’s probably not gonna believe I’m the tooth fairy.

  Oh well.

  ---

  Despite the early hour, when I get back to my apartment complex, old man Gus is outside in his turquoise plastic chair, his cane propped up against the chipped white railing. He's drinking his coffee and chatting up the new neighbor girl. I've seen her around, but I haven't bothered saying hi. Now she's chatting up Gus, leaning against the white exterior of our apartments. She looks cold, hugging herself. She might not be so cold if she wore a coat, but she's just wearing a thin pair of black leggings and a too-big gray sweater that falls off her shoulder. Her dirty blonde hair is pulled up in a cute-messy way on top of her head.

  "Looks like Vince is already having a good morning," Gus remarks, grinning big and winking at me.

  New Girl rolls her eyes, smiling faintly. "Can't be that good, he didn't stay for breakfast."

  I crack a smile at that one, shaking my head as I walk past them. "Isn't it a little early for you two to be out here terrorizing the community?"

  "Carly here has the breakfast shift this morning; she's just having coffee with me first."

  Since he had to go and give me her name, and she's already remarked upon my sex life, I go ahead and stop, turning to face them. "We haven't technically met yet. I'm Vince. Vince Morelli."

  "Carly Price," she says, releasing her hold on herself to reach for my hand. She stops just before it connects and glances at my hand. "Actually, on second thought, I'm gonna take a rain check. I have an idea of where those have been."

  I don't even bother arguing. "Good call."

  Shivering as she nods, she brings her coffee cup to her lips. Her blue eyes are trained on me as she takes a sip. My gaze drops to her fingers, to the chipped finger nail polish. That makes me think of Mia, too. Mia hated chipped nail polish. She was always getting out her smelly-ass polishes and removers so she could wipe off the chipped crap and put a fresh coat on.

  Damn, sun’s barely up and I’ve already thought of that pain in the ass twice today. It’s shapin
g up to be a hell of a day.

  Dragging my gaze from New Girl’s nails, I offer a little nod and head for my apartment door. “Well, you two enjoy your coffee.”

  “We could pour you a cup, if you want,” New Girl offers.

  “Nah, I’m good.”

  Gus takes it upon himself to apologize to her on my behalf. “He’s not real social, that one.”

  I smile faintly to myself as I shove my key in the lock. I feel a small measure of comfort as I step inside, closing the door behind me and locking it. It’s nice and dark, just how I like it. I can’t shake the habit of searching the place once I’m inside, listening for a creak, a footstep, some indication there’s someone waiting inside for me. I flick a glance in the kitchen, sweep the living room, head down the hall and kick open the bedroom door. Didn’t check the bathroom. Don’t care enough to do it now. I’m dead tired and I have to work tonight, so I shut the bedroom door and fall into my own bed alone.

  Now I can finally get some fucking sleep.

  ---

  Someone is banging on the door like a fucking maniac.

  My eyes open but they still burn. Irritation moves through me and I throw back the covers. The apartment’s cold as fuck. I forgot to turn on the baseboard heating in the bedroom when I came in. I was too tired; all I could think about was the bed. Now I walk through the cold-ass living room and head toward the door, only realizing once I get there it’s not my door that’s being pounded on.

  “Shit. Shit, shit, shit. No, I’m sorry. Is Tawny there?”

  There are only three apartments on each level—this level houses me, Gus, and New Girl. Unless Gus got a sex change, switched races, and reverse-aged over 50 years in the last hour, the frantic-sounding woman outside my door is probably the new girl. Connie? Kayleigh? Fuck, I don’t remember. I’m just gonna call her new girl.

  I wrench open the door, squinting at the damnable brightness outside. New Girl turns to look at me. She doesn’t look relieved, exactly, but since Gus isn’t opening the door, she takes a step in my direction.

  “Everything all right?” I ask, not bothering to hide my irritation.

  A bitter gust of cold New England wind punishes me for being a good neighbor. I’m probably not going to fall back asleep now. What time is it? Too fucking early for this shit. The only acceptable reason for her to be banging on doors this fucking early in the morning is a masked man chasing after her with an axe. If someone is not out here ready to murder her ass right now, I volunteer my services.

  “Do you have the number to the office? I walked down but no one is answering the door. I have the phone number on the rental papers they gave me, but it’s inside my apartment and I locked myself out. I don’t have my car keys; I’m running late to work. I don’t know what to do.” She pauses abruptly, turning away from me to talk into her phone. “Hey, Tawny, it’s Carly.”

  Carly. That’s it.

  I shake my head and close the door, prepared to head back to my bedroom since this is not my problem. I don’t make it, though. The walls are thin and Carly is frantically apologizing to her boss for how late she apparently is. My head falls back. I haven’t even acted yet and I’m already annoyed with myself.

  I turn around and head back to the coat closet. My coat’s hanging up inside since I didn’t wear it to work last night. I move the coat aside and reach into the pouch hanging behind it, fishing out my titanium picks. Haven’t needed these in a while, but I like to keep ‘em on hand, just in case.

  By the time I get outside, New Girl is by her car, still talking on her phone. I head to her door, extracting a tool from my wallet-sized pouch of criminal gadgets. Haven’t picked this lock before, but I did pick mine just for the hell of it and hers should be the same. We’re not exactly staying at the Ritz, so these cheap-ass locks are nothing. Not that any lock I’ve encountered has been too great a challenge.

  New Girl must be curious what I’m doing over here because she sneaks up behind me. I’m tired and she needs to get to work, so I ignore her and finish my work.

  “Um, what are you—?”

  Before she can finish her question, I push her front door open and shove my pick back into its case. Her jaw hangs open as she stares at my tool kit, then her open door.

  “You just broke into my apartment.”

  Nodding once, I let go of the screen door and turn back toward my own apartment. “You’re welcome.”

  “That’s an interesting skill you have there, MacGyver.” For some ungodly reason, she’s following me to my apartment instead of rushing into hers to retrieve her lost keys so she can haul ass to work.

  “Nah, with these it doesn’t take skill. I could’ve done it without these and really impressed you,” I remark, opening my own screen door and heading back inside my apartment.

  The damn girl follows me right inside. “So, are you a burglar? You just pretend you’re some player, coming in early from random hook-ups all the time, but really you’re out burgling houses?”

  Glancing back at her over my shoulder as I walk over to turn the heater dial, I ask, “Aren’t you late for work?”

  Frowning, she rubs her hands up and down her arms real fast. “God, it’s freezing in here. Are you part penguin? You must be a terrible burglar if you can’t even afford heat.”

  “I am not a burglar,” I state.

  “Well, you have what I’m assuming is a lock pick set and you just broke into my apartment with apparent ease. That’s not really something they teach at Lothario School.”

  I roll my eyes. “I am not a lothario. That’s so lame; I can’t believe I even just repeated that.”

  Grinning, she leans against the front door she closed behind her. “You’re so James Dean you can’t even stand it, aren’t you?”

  “I don’t remember inviting you in,” I point out, raising my eyebrows and nodding toward the door. “Also, your front door is open out there. You should probably go get your keys so you can go to work.”

  “Oh, I’m fired.” She says this without concern, pushing off the wall and walking further inside my apartment instead of outside, like I just indicated I would prefer. Even though we’re inside, she hugs her white coat against her slim body. “Man, it is so cold. I think it’s actually warmer outside. How did you manage that?”

  “Why are you still here?”

  “God, you’re grumpy.”

  “Well, some maniac just woke my ass up from a dead sleep to help her out. I’m cold, I’m tired, and I’m not up for company.”

  Nodding toward the door, she says, “My apartment is probably still warm. If you want, you could come over there for some coffee while your place warms up. I make a mean breakfast scramble; I’ll even feed you.”

  “I don’t want food, I want sleep.”

  “Well, I’m not going to invite you to use my bed. Though, apparently you could just unlock my door and invite yourself inside if you felt like it,” she says, lightly.

  Now that she’s gone and brought up her bed, I find myself taking a second look at her. I’m certainly not going to fuck her; I don’t fuck my neighbors—too uncomfortable. Still, she put the idea in my head, so I look her over again. Her coat is fitted to her body so she still looks damn good in it. Dirty blonde hair, blue eyes, perfect eyebrows, classically pretty. Her lips are plumper, but this girl could easily be Meg or Mia’s sister. Maybe that’s why I don’t like her. I won’t lie and say I avoid fucking girls who look like Mia—sometimes I seek them out—but I’m always a little meaner to girls who remind me of her. This girl with her fucking chipped finger nail polish and big blue eyes, with her messy blonde bun and Mia’s fashion sense, not to mention she seems quick-witted, pushy, and friendly like Meg—this girl is my worst fucking nightmare.

  So I’m a little meaner than I need to be. “Trust me; I have no interest in your bed.”

  Her eyebrows rise slightly, which I expect, but she looks a little wounded, which I do not.

  Well, shit, now I feel kinda bad.

  �
��Okay. Well, I wasn’t inviting you into my bed, but… Thanks for your help.”

  I sigh to myself, feeling a little guilty, but it’s better if she thinks I’m a dick. Obviously she’s just a friendly person—Gus is pushing 80 and she hangs out with him all the time—but I don’t really do friendly. If she thinks I’m an asshole, maybe she’ll leave me alone.

  I keep my back to her until I hear my door click shut, then I glance back to make sure she left. She’s gone but she didn’t lock my door, so I go over and flip the one on the knob, then the deadbolt.

  Not that it matters. If Adrian wants inside this apartment, no lock is going to keep him out.

  Chapter Two

  Vince

  Someone is knocking on my door again.

  There’s only one person who knocks on my door, so I know before I open it I’m going to see Carly’s unshakably cheerful face. First it was “I locked myself out of the house again.” Then it was “Hey MacGyver, do you know how to light a pilot light? I’m turning into a Carly-sicle over here.”

  Swinging the door open, before I can even see her, I ask, “What is it this time? Can’t get the lid off your pickle jar, or your cat’s stuck in a tree?”

  “Happy Thanksgiving!” Her smile brightens and she shoves a wicker basket at me. “I don’t need anything from you this time, I brought you something.”

  I do not take the basket, but my gaze drops to it anyway. There are cellophane treat bags filled with cookies and tied with red and brown ribbons nestled around a bottle of Wild Turkey with “turkey feathers” attached to the back. She made a turkey’s head out of brown felt to go over the cap, complete with googly eyes and a red felt snood.

  “Get it? Wild Turkey?” She snickers, impressed with her own cleverness.

  I pluck the whiskey out of the basket. “I’ll take that, actually.”

  “No, you have to take the whole thing.” She snatches the alcohol right out of my hand and pushes it back into the basket, rearranging the cookies around it like it’s preparing for its first photo shoot. She furrows her brow and gives me a look of mild annoyance. “What are you, a savage? I made you an alcohol bird and cookies. Three different kinds of cookies. Here, take the damn basket.”