by Lolly Walter
Devin hated violence, hated fighting, especially hated weapons. A knife rested in his lover’s gentle hand. A weapon to pick up. To use. Regret and anger and horrible, brutal fear roiled in Devin’s stomach. Everything that could go wrong unfolded in his mind. If he picked up this knife, went with Joe, he could die. Joe could die. He might be asked to use that gleaming silver knife. If they walked into a fight, he might not have a choice. The only sure choice he got was happening right now. Stand with Joe, or let him take this run alone.
“Partners,” Devin said, his voice coming out hoarse. “We’re partners.”
With a shaking hand, he picked up the knife.
“I’m sorry,” Joe said. His eyes, so smart and sad, were luminous in the light. “You only have to use it to protect yourself. Only then.”
Devin nodded. He slid the knife into its sheath.
Joe bent and picked up a metal something with four circular rings attached to a slightly curved strip, all on one plane. He reached for Devin’s hand, the one opposite the side where Devin had strapped the knife. “These are brass knuckles.” He fitted the rings over Devin’s fingers and rested them at the second knuckle, then nestled the curved strip in Devin’s palm and curled Devin’s fingers around the metal. “They might be more dangerous than the knife, so be careful.” He slipped behind Devin and wrapped his fingers around Devin’s fist. “Downward motions. Keep your thumb on the edge of the ring around your pointer finger and hit with the side by your pinkie. No punching, just sharp downward strikes. Okay?”
For a moment, Joe moved Devin’s fist, demonstrating the proper technique. Afterward, he moved back toward the weapons. As he did, he said, “Aim for bones.”
Nausea churned Devin’s gut.
His brain dropped into autopilot, and he listened detachedly as Joe and Victor divvied up the remaining weapons. Joe pocketed the horrible little gun and a flat-ish black piece of metal. He handed Victor, who was still holding the light stick, a small wood-handled pocketknife and a pair of scissors.
Victor spat on the floor. “You give blanco a fucking Bowie knife and brass knuckles. You have a gun and a switchblade, and you give me a pocketknife and scissors? Thanks a fucking lot. What am I supposed to do, offer to file their nails and cut their hair?”
Devin snorted a laugh. He slapped a hand over his mouth to try to hide it.
“That pocketknife belonged to my father,” Joe said, ignoring Devin’s outburst. “You’d better take good care of it. As for the scissors, they work as good as a knife. Jab and stab. You taught me that.”
“You think it’s that easy, you take the scissors and give me the switchblade.” Victor dropped the scissors onto the bed and jammed his hand in Joe’s pocket.
The digging around was taking too long, and Devin was about to protest that Victor needed to quit feeling up Joe when Victor dropped the light stick on the floor and darted behind Joe, wrapping his now-free hand around Joe’s throat and pinning him to his chest. He yanked the black metal strip from Joe’s pocket and flipped a switch on it. A blade thrust from the short end.
“You stole from me, too? You thieving little shit. This was my father’s. You knew how much it mattered to me.”
Devin still had the brass knuckles on his hand. He raised his fist, but Victor flicked the switchblade casually in his direction.
“Sit tight, blanco. I’m not gonna hurt your boy. I need him for my fucking absolution.”
Maybe Devin shouldn’t have trusted Victor, but he did. He lowered his fist and watched Joe and Victor play out something old and ugly.
“We both took things from each other, Victor,” Joe said. His eyes were fixed on Devin, and he moved only to breathe. “You get Devin home safe, you can have the knife back.”
Victor retracted the blade and put the knife in his pocket. His fingers tightened around Joe’s neck, and he gave him a little shake.
“I want to wreck you, Efraín Brady. I want to take that knife and carve my name in your skin so you never, ever forget you belonged to me. You hear me?”
Joe hadn’t stopped staring at Devin. He mouthed “I love you” before Victor kissed his cheek more gently than any kiss Joe and Devin had shared. Victor’s big shoulders heaved, and he released Joe’s neck and laid his forehead on Joe’s shoulder.
“It’s time,” Joe said. “We need to pray before we go.”
“You can’t really—” Devin stopped because Joe was already bowing his head.
“Our Father, who art in heaven, hallowed be Thy name. Thy kingdom come. Thy will be done on earth as it is in heaven. Give us this day our daily bread. Forgive us our trespasses, as we forgive those who have trespassed against us. Lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from evil.”
Victor lifted his head and moved his hand from his face to his sternum and then across his shoulders as Joe finished the prayer.
“For thine is the kingdom, and the power, and the glory for ever and ever. Amen.”
Joe didn’t make the gesture Victor had. He just stopped praying, then snagged the scissors and put them in his pocket.
Devin was struck by it, how these men who hated each other, who wished one another harm, had bowed their heads together and asked a shared god to forgive them the way they’d forgiven others. Seemed like a serious way to fuck up the whole God thing, because forgiveness wasn’t something either of them had managed. But the prayer itself, Devin liked it. He liked the simplicity of what it asked for: food, forgiveness, a life absent temptation or corruption, a way to keep evil at bay.
“That was good, Joe. Amen,” he said.
He pulled the ski mask over his face and followed Victor to the door. When he’d almost reached it, Joe startled him with a tight hug from behind.
It ended as soon as it started, and Devin walked out of the room.
***
Joe had serious misgivings.
About the baby still being in Austin. About following Victor. About bringing Devin along. None of his worries stopped him as they made their way through the A dorm.
Victor had picked up the flashlight, turned it off, and, Joe assumed, pocketed it, so they were inching through the room in the dark, Victor in the lead. Ahead of Joe, someone grunted. Devin reached back and groped around Joe’s waist until Joe tried to stop him. As soon as their hands made contact, Devin latched on, the brass knuckles still looped over his fingers.
Joe shivered from the metal and from what he’d had to ask Devin to be ready to do. Unless they knew him the way Joe did, no one would guess it because Devin was powerfully built and talked such a fierce game, but he was so tender and decent. From those early days when Devin had pushed him away and called him names during the day then cuddled close during the night, Joe had known. His new partner, his lover, possessed such vulnerability, such kindness, and Joe had been hooked, drawn in and enthralled that someone so innocent could exist in such a hard world.
Little by little, Joe had whittled that sweet innocence away. His carving knife had been the ugliness of their world, and now, he’d put a real knife in Devin’s hand.
Joe didn’t enjoy fighting or violence. He had inherited that gun from his father. It had three bullets then, too. His dad impressed upon him what a grievous crime it was to kill another human being and had made Joe promise he would only use the gun if he had no other choice.
There had always been other choices. He’d never even aimed the thing until tonight when Victor had come into their room. Victor. God. He presented another problem, one that Joe didn’t want to examine too closely. He’d been sure his feelings about Victor were straightforward, uncomplicated, and completely negative. Why, then, had he let Victor hold him, even if it was only for a few seconds? It hadn’t been romantic, what he’d been feeling. It had been safety, protection. Even when Victor’s hand had closed over his throat, Joe hadn’t been threatened. Was there some small part of him that was more Efraín, that desperate little boy, than Joe, the man he’d worked so hard to become?
Thinking about vio
lence was easier, so Joe let his mind wander back there. He’d never fought unless he’d been provoked, but those times had happened. He knew how to handle himself and how to disable an opponent. Except for beating up Victor after Bea died, Joe hadn’t fought in years. His reputation had spread fast as he’d climbed the ranks of runners at Flights of Fantasy, and he’d only had to knock down a few men twice his size before people stopped itching for a fight.
Out on the streets had been much the same. Back when he had been living with Victor, a couple of grown men approached Joe and tried to rape him. They weren’t armed, and at first, Joe screamed and drew a bit of a crowd. Usually rapist cowards backed down when there were onlookers. Not this time, though. The men kept at it, ripping Joe’s shirt and bloodying his nose. The shirt had belonged to his father, and all the rage and fear he held bottled deep inside since he was ten years old made its way to his fists. He hit and hit until Victor found him and dragged him off the men’s limp bodies. After that, no one had touched him without his permission.
Something solid bumped his front. He’d run into Devin. He backed up half a step, confused about why they had stopped.
“How are we getting out of here?” Devin asked, his voice low.
“Ssh, they’ll hear you,” Joe said, right up against Devin’s ear.
Devin wiggled his hand free from Joe’s. When he spoke, they were face to face. “We’re in the hallway. As long as we’re quiet, we can talk.”
“Get your head in the game, Efraín.”
“Shut up, Victor,” Devin snapped. “You’re not helping him.”
“Neither are you, blanco.”
Victor and Devin spoke from right next to each other. Joe couldn’t see them, but he imagined the wall of muscle they made, a mountain of his past butted up against a mountain of what he hoped was his future.
“Why are we stopped?” he asked.
“I want to know how we’re getting out of here,” Devin said. “For that matter, how’d the kidnappers get in here the night they took Nina?”
“The elevator.” Joe hadn’t given much thought to how the kidnappers arrived, but the elevator made the most sense. The building had once had a fire escape, but it had been torn down not too long after Joe and Ebony had first arrived five years ago. “They must have turned the electricity on for long enough to come up, get the baby, and go back down.”
“That’s not how it works,” Devin said. “The power used to go off and on at my house for a long time before it went off for good. There’s a hum that comes from the electricity. You’re so used to the regular on and off times here that you don’t even notice, but you would have heard if it had come on at a weird time. Even all the way in our room, we would have noticed.”
“Maybe they have a way to just power the elevator, not everything,” Victor said. “Doesn’t matter. I know how we’re getting out. There’s a set of stairs the kitchen crews use. Bea and I used to go out there when we wanted some privacy.”
“How’d you know about it?” Joe asked. “I bet that’s how the kidnappers got in.”
“I didn’t know about it. Bea showed me.”
Weird. Bea hadn’t been one to keep secrets. She’d tended to share more than Joe wanted to know. Why would she know about a staircase that he didn’t?
Before Joe could ask about it, Devin said, “Let go, Victor. I don’t like holding your hand and Joe’s at the same time. If we keep doing it that way, I’m gonna fall. I’ll put my hand on your shoulder. Joe, you put your hand on my shoulder. That way we each have a free hand.”
Joe grumbled a little because he hadn’t wanted Victor touching Devin at all, and Victor grunted and said, “Fine, blanco. Whatever gets us moving.”
They set off again, trailing along in a line into the cafeteria. The flashlight would have been nice, but they couldn’t afford to waste the light. They shuffled through the room, dodging tables and chairs, and the pace slowed even more once they made it through the cafeteria and entered the actual kitchen. Joe had never been back there, hadn’t even glanced at the room beyond the woman who served his meals. He couldn’t see anything now, but it was more disconcerting, walking through a room he’d never been in, than it had been to walk through familiar surroundings, even in the dark.
He bumped into Devin again and almost swore. Not being in charge, not leading, agitated him. Leadership meant control and safety. Bumping along behind others, following commands, left him exposed and vulnerable. He didn’t like it. As soon as they exited the building, he’d need to take charge or he’d never be able to finish the job.
They stopped again, and this time Joe kept from running into Devin. A heavy-sounding door creaked open, and they moved through it. Joe’s shoulder brushed the frame as he passed. He reached back for the door and shut it behind them.
“Okay, stairs,” Victor said. “Go slow and feel with your toes before you take each step.”
The descent dragged. By the time they reached the last flight, they’d developed a system where they took the stairs at a staggered clip, all three taking one in rapid succession, Victor waiting until Joe had made it down the step before moving on to his next one. At least no one fell.
The door outside wasn’t even guarded. Halfway down the stairs, Joe had gotten Devin to hand the brass knuckles over to Victor, saying Victor was the one most likely to need them right then since he was first on the stairs and they’d want to knock out, not cut or kill, anyone they came in contact with inside the building. Mainly, Joe didn’t want Devin having any part in violence. But they found no one at the foot of the stairs and no one outside. Thank God, they hadn’t had to hurt anyone they knew.
While Devin got the brass knuckles back from Victor, Joe leaned his heel and ass against the brick wall of the building, tilted his head skyward, and took a deep breath. The dirty air clouded his lungs and compromised his health, but the night was chilly, probably in the fifties, and the crisp wind nipped his skin, cleared his head, and lifted his spirits.
Up above him in the sky, the moon was a sliver, barely anything at all, and the stars shone. Joe took another deep breath and smiled to himself. Wherever his dad was, if he was alive, he existed under the same sky. So did Ebony’s baby. Joe shook himself and focused.
“Victor, take us to the apartment complex, but leave us a good enough distance away so we won’t be seen and can examine the building.”
The stars and moon provided enough illumination to see the slight twist of Victor’s face. “You’re the boss, Efraín.”
Victor stalked off to the west, and Joe hurried to follow. Devin fell in step beside him and squeezed his shoulder.
A few people moved about in the dark. Most of them were little more than shadows, taking care to not be seen. The Flats wasn’t located in a residential area, where the traffic would be higher. The businesses that lined the streets around it had been pillaged a long time ago. Joe didn’t expect to see more than a handful of people. Still, he wanted to keep Devin away from them.
“It’s not too late,” Joe said. “You could go back to the Flats.”
Devin shook his head. “I go where you go.”
Despite how badly he wanted Devin to go home, to stay safe, Joe couldn’t help being touched by Devin’s devotion. “Thank you.”
“It’s nothing.”
“It’s something.”
“Yeah, well, let’s worry about what it is later, when Ebony has the baby back and you and me are snuggled up together in bed.”
Joe nodded and jogged forward to catch up to Victor, who was moving quickly, his eyes scouring their surroundings.
“Feliz Navidad,” Victor said.
Joe didn’t want to slip into Spanish and exclude Devin. “Merry Christmas.”
“We bring this baby back and it will be.”
“Agreed,” Joe said, though it wasn’t true. If Boggs found out he’d had anything to do with this rescue attempt, the bastard would try to hurt Devin. Joe couldn’t let that happen. Back in the bedroom, he’d almos
t told Victor no right away. In the end, he hadn’t been callous enough to follow through. He needed to come up with a plan to keep Devin safe, though. “We’ll need to make sure we’re not recognized.”
“I gave him that ski mask. I don’t know what more you want from me.”
“I don’t. I just…” Joe trailed off. He hadn’t recognized it before, how Victor was trying to keep Devin safe, too. “Thank you.”
“Yeah, well, don’t get used to it. He’s too stupid for his own good, you know.”
“You mean he’s too kind.”
“It’s the same thing.”
“He’s—”
“He’s right next to you, assholes, so knock it the fuck off,” Devin snapped. “Quit discussing me like I’m not here or too dumb to understand you.”
Joe laced their fingers together and squeezed. “Sorry.”
Victor didn’t say anything and Devin didn’t seem to expect him to, so they moved on without speaking. A couple of blocks from the big highway, Victor turned north, his shoulder pressing into Joe’s with the sudden change in direction.
“Why are we going north? We were searching west of the highway yesterday.”
“Bea and me, we snuck off to have some privacy.”
Joe couldn’t pinpoint anything out of the ordinary about Victor’s face or his posture or even his tone of voice, but something was off. It wasn’t odd that Victor and Bea had gone off the grid to have sex. They probably weren’t even the only ones who’d done it during the search. Maybe Victor had real feelings for Bea. Victor wasn’t heartless. Joe had no reason to believe Victor hadn’t cared about Bea. A vision of the way he’d looked yesterday, when he’d confessed that Bea had died, swam into Joe’s brain. God, he had assumed Victor’s misery had something to do with him, with him losing his friend. He hadn’t stopped to think that Victor had lost a partner, one with whom he’d been sleeping.
“I’m sorry you lost Bea.”
“Not the first time I lost a lover, Efraín.”
Victor shrugged like it didn’t matter, but it did. Devin’s hand, a little cooler than normal, came to rest on the small of Joe’s back. The contact steadied him. He wanted to turn to Devin, to be held, to mourn for Bea and for Victor and for himself, but he couldn’t. If they could bring Nina back to Ebony, at least Bea’s death wouldn’t be in vain.