by Anna Zaires, Pepper Winters, Skye Warren, Lynda Chance, Pam Godwin, Amber Lin
I needed to brush my teeth and drink half a bottle of mouthwash.
“Where you going?” Terry asked as I picked up Odin’s leash and started back towards the building.
I pointed at the door of the apartments and then moved up to swipe the security badge you needed to get in late at night. Terry stayed at my heels, but when he started to walk in with me, I put a hand out to his chest and stopped him.
“What the fuck?” he said. “I just saved your life, and you don’t even let me in to wash my hands or something?”
“Not exactly in the mood for company,” I said.
“I just saved your ass!”
There were very few things that annoyed me more than someone who fished for compliments. Whether it was a chick wanting me to tell her she didn’t look fat in the fucking dress, a server batting her eyelashes for a bigger tip, or a punk wannabe thinking I needed to thank him for hanging around my apartment at an opportune time, I found the very act pathetic and undeserving of praise.
“What the fuck are you doing around here anyway?” I asked. Now that my mind was going in that particular direction, I did find it odd. I’d never seen Terry around this area before. “You don’t live anywhere near here.”
“I was down at Sweetwater’s watching the game and having a beer,” he said. “I needed to walk and clear up my head, so I cut through the park – figured I’d take the Red Line – it’s the only one running this time of night.”
The places he was talking about were close, at least. I shook my still fuzzy head and waved a hand at him.
“Go home,” I said. “I’m going to bed.”
The door shut behind me, and I didn’t look back to see whatever annoyed expression might have been on his face. Instead, I let Odin lead me to the elevator and then down the hall to the apartment. I didn’t even make it to the bed, but just the few steps it took to get to the couch and pass out.
As the room spun around and around and consciousness started to leave me, I realized the walk from Sweetwater Tavern and Grille to the Red Line train was the opposite direction from my apartment. There was no way a Chicago native like Terry would have walked the wrong direction to get to the L.
He lied to me.
* * *
Most people probably thought my line of work was always dangerous and exciting. It could be, I supposed, but most of it was fucking dull. There was a lot more research than target practice or killing – that was for sure.
I Googled. I clicked. I hovered the cursor over balloon links to other sites. I read celebrity gossip websites and websites that debunked various celebrity gossip websites. Ashton was represented in every one of them, of course. Women couldn’t get enough of him, gay dudes couldn’t get enough of him, and straight ones put up with it because their women came home horny and ready to blow them.
I couldn’t seem to find any pictures of Ashton in compromising situations with any of the women, though. No scandalous love affairs with senators’ daughters or the co-star from his last movie. No groupies getting groped at parties or secret rendezvous in shady hotels with cute little American Idol starlets.
If anything, he seemed more likely to hang out with the starlet’s brother.
Interesting.
He wasn’t openly out of the closet, but he hadn’t denied anything, either. I was perfectly straight, but if he wasn’t…well, it was something I could possibly use to my advantage. Whatever got the job done, got me back on my regular pay and off of Rinaldo’s shit list worked for me.
The whole watching every word I said thing was getting old. I didn’t mind being overly polite to the boss – I was used to calling people above me sir, so it came pretty naturally anyway. Still, I felt like he was always waiting for me to screw up again, and I hated feeling like I was being evaluated all the time, especially when he compared me to a second-rate little shit.
There was the added little tickle in the back of my head that told me I was going to have to kill Terry Kramer.
He was in my thoughts a lot as I lay on my stomach at the local shooting range with my rifle up against my shoulder. With a twelve round magazine instead of a ten, I made multiple holes in the center of the target’s forehead.
“Nice shootin’.”
“You ain’t supposed ta smoke in here,” I told Jonathan. I cringed as I realized his accent was being extra contagious today.
He laughed out loud and made a grand gesture as he looked around for some stupid motherfucker to argue with him about it. I rolled my eyes and squeezed the trigger again. I was pretty sure Terry’s face would look pretty nice with a little round hole between the eyes.
At least thoughts of killing him were keeping my mind occupied. It seemed every time I wasn’t thinking about killing someone, thoughts of a brunette riding my cock in a hot, stuffy cabin in the middle of the desert kept coming back into my mind.
Terry Kramer’s little appearance at my apartment building at three in the morning hadn’t been a coincidence. He had spent his whole life in Chicago and wouldn’t have gone the wrong direction from a bar to the train, no matter how much he had to drink. Aside from that, he had been perfectly sober enough to lie to my face about why he was there. If he just happened to be at my apartment as two thugs decided to take advantage of a drunken idiot, there were only a couple of ways that was possible. I never considered coincidences to be possibilities.
One, he had been following me.
Two, he hung out around my apartment a lot but kept out of my sights.
Three, he arranged for the thugs to be there.
For a dozen reasons, I was going to go with all of the above.
Various thoughts, considerations, and scenarios occurred to me as I continued researching Brad Ashton’s movements via the internet. Most of the thoughts started with Terry being a little too power hungry for his own good and ended with a bullet in his brain.
First things first, though – Terry wasn’t on my kill list. It wasn’t that he had to be on an official list approved by the boss, but if I went off on a tangent before hitting my target, Rinaldo wouldn’t be overly pleased about it. I needed to take care of Ashton, which meant I needed to figure out everything I could about his Atlanta trip.
I took a few more shots, packed up my rifle, and sat down in the lobby area with Jonathan and Nick. No surprise at all, Nick had found the one and only woman at the shooting range and was telling her some bullshit story about being a makeup artist who specialized in painting women’s boobs.
She was totally buying it, too.
“You wanna hit the bars tonight?” Jonathan asked. “Looks like I’m gonna lose lover boy over there early.”
“Nah, I still got work to do.”
“You got a big job,” he agreed. “Terry keeps asking me about it.”
“That little fucker needs to stay the hell away from me,” I muttered.
“He does push yer buttons, don’t he?”
“Doesn’t,” I corrected.
“Wha?”
“Nothing,” I replied. “I’m outta here. Gotta let the dog out.”
“Sweetwater later?”
“Yeah, okay,” I said. “I’ll meet ya there.”
“Want a ride?”
“Nah, I’ll take the L.”
“You’re the only fucker I know who has a choice and still takes the fuckin’ trains.”
I gave him a wave and a shrug as I headed off. Nick was already feeling up the chick’s tits, saying something about how he thought he could paint her whole chest as a butterfly or something. I wondered what he did when the chicks he conned called him out.
Maybe they never did.
Maybe he really could paint a titty-fly.
With my rifle in a bag up on my shoulder, I moved through the turnstile and jumped on the next Red Line train. I had a ways to go before my stop, and I found myself a seat near the back of a car, facing forwards. I hated it when there were only backwards-facing seats available. Sideways was all right, but riding backwards mad
e me want to puke.
I really did hate that feeling.
Two nuns in traditional garb got on the train at the next stop, and I watched them carefully. I had been raised by nuns, and though most of them were pretty decent, the ones in power were just as corrupt as the powerful in any organization. It was a lesson I had learned firsthand at a very early age.
“You are turning into a charming young man, Master Arden.”
“Thank you, Mother Superior,” I reply with a smile. I feel no love for this particular woman, but I have a plan I intend to see carried out. “You know I have so many questions for you…”
It had taken months, but I had eventually worn her down. Found her collection of sex toys and ultimately convinced her to let me out of that hellhole as an emancipated teen. It was either that or I tell everyone about the Harley-themed vibrator in her top dresser drawer.
The thing was totally frightening.
These nuns didn’t even sit down but got off the L at the very next stop and went on their way. Having them off the train made it easier to think of something else. I watched them walk off, which was when my eyes spotted something round and shiny down by the door.
A quarter.
Though I rarely admitted such things to myself, I had been doing a decent job of keeping a certain abandoned-in-the-desert brunette out of my thoughts. As long as I kept myself busy, I was fine, but every time I saw a fucking quarter, it was like it all came rushing back to me.
“Not going to do it,” I told myself as the urge to pick up the coin washed over me.
A couple of college kids glanced at me and quickly looked away again.
Fucking awesome. Now I was talking to myself right in front of other people. I stood up and got off the train at the next stop, walked twelve blocks, and then hopped on a bus instead. By the time I got back to my place, Odin was looking like he might actually piss on the carpet.
“Sorry,” I muttered. “I can’t even blame work this time – I was just fucking around.”
He sneezed once and then stood by the door as I grabbed his leash. I took him out, then spent a few minutes rubbing his head before I left to meet Jonathan at the bar.
Sweetwater Bar and Grill wasn’t my kind of place at all – big sports bar with a hundred TVs all around and guys with baseball caps serving your drinks. It was packed both with tourists and locals pretty much ninety percent of the time, which meant the bartenders never really had a chance to talk with anyone. They were quick with the drinks, but the place was just too crowded.
Jonathan loved it, but he was seriously into football.
It was the most convenient drinking place to my apartment, though, so I was there often enough. I recognized the bartenders immediately – a girl I liked and a guy I hated. I couldn’t remember the dude’s name. I knew since the day the place opened he was far too busy to do anything other than smile politely and make sure whatever you asked for was poured efficiently.
Okay, so that was basically his job, but I liked a little more effort.
The chick was dark-skinned and had a huge mound of braids all over the place. I couldn’t remember her name – only that it started with a “T.” She was a lot friendlier than the guy, and her smiles more genuine, but it was still the same “I’m too busy” vibe I got from the rest of them.
It was also a total meat-market.
Jonathan got up to smoke on the porch, and I held onto our ill-gotten table.
“Hi there!”
I only glanced at the girl as she sidled up to the booth where I sat. There was a huge line at the door, and I had seen her come in as I was entering. Of course, Jonathan had used some app he wrote on his phone to hack into the waiting list, and his name was up front as soon as a table became available, so we didn’t stand at the door for very long.
She peeked over the back of the booth, probably making eye contact with the blonde who came in with her before focusing back on me. Her red-lipped smile only annoyed me as she moved closer, leaned over, and made the tops of her boobs stick out of her shirt a little more.
“Watching the game?”
“Not a fan,” I answered. I picked up the pint glass of whatever microbrew had been on tap and took a sip.
“What do you like?” She tried to give me what I assumed was her version of bedroom eyes, but I just couldn’t be bothered. I wasn’t looking to get laid tonight. If I was, and it was going to be her, I’d end up having to buy her drinks all night and spend nearly as much as I did with Bridgett.
“Go wait for your own table,” I muttered just as Jonathan was getting back. The girl glared at me before stomping off.
“Hey, dude – she might have had a friend!”
“So?” I countered.
“Even Nick would have helped me out there, bro!”
“Nick would have gone home with her and her friend.”
“Point taken.” Jonathan sighed, leaned back in the booth, and tapped his fingers on the table top rhythmically to the beat of whatever song was playing. “Didn’t your mama teach you to be nice to girls?
“I don’t even know who my mama is,” I said as I tipped back my beer.
Jonathan laughed for a moment, and then looked at my face and the laugh died.
“Dude – are you serious?”
“No clue,” I replied. “Never met her. Don’t even have a name.”
“Man, I’m sorry,” he said. “I had no idea, brother.”
“It’s okay.”
The server came back and set his chocolate milk down on the table, and I snickered a bit.
Jonathan loved chocolate milk; he couldn’t get enough of the stuff. He’d move over to booze soon enough, but he always started the night with a big glass of chocolate milk, usually ordered off a restaurant’s kids’ menu.
“So who raised ya?” Jon asked. “Your dad?”
“Nope. Never met him either.”
“So who then?” he pressed a bit. “I mean, if ya don’t mind my asking – I ain’t tryin’ to pry or whatever.”
I sipped, considered, and then downed my beer.
“I was raised in a convent.”
“With a bunch of nuns?” Jonathan laughed loudly. “Are you serious?”
“Why do you ask me that?” I looked over at him as I drained the rest of the beer. “When do I bullshit you?”
“I get ya,” Jon said with a nod. “I just didn’t know.”
He pulled another cigarette out and lit it right there in the bar. I raised an eyebrow.
“If they bitch, you’ll be able to order another beer.”
I shook my head slowly and stared at the top of the table. I inhaled deeply, and wondered if taking up smoking again might help me sleep.
“So what was that like?” Jon asked.
I considered for a moment again and figured what the hell? My shrink was only interested in the war shit and had yet to get around to the “tell me about your childhood” shit. He was far more interested in how I was tortured as a prisoner.
I was still pretty sure the fucker was writing a book.
“Pretty fucked-up,” I answered honestly. “I was the only guy there except for the one priest who came by every Sunday for Mass.”
“Seriously?”
I rolled my eyes at the word.
“Sorry, bro, it’s just habit. So how’d you end up there?”
“No one would ever really tell me,” I answered. “When I got older, I figured it was one of the nuns, and they just didn’t want me to know which one. I tried to figure out who it might be, which is when I started watching everyone around me really carefully. I thought if I could read their body language, I’d be able to figure out which one was my mom.”
“Did you figger it out?”
“Never did,” I said. “Learned a lot of other shit.”
I laughed.
“There was a girl there named Marie.” I recalled the heart-shaped face of the redhead. “She was a couple years older than me, and she’d been sneaking out of the conve
nt at night to meet up with some guy. I found out, and she offered to fuck me to keep quiet.”
“Did you take her up on it?”
“That’s how I lost my virginity!” I exclaimed with a grin.
“Ha! Ha!” Jon laughed. “That’s custom!”
I finished up my beer, and Jon clacked his fingernails against his chocolate milk glass.
“I might be able to find out,” Jonathan said quietly. “I mean, they gotta have a birth certificate on file somewhere, right?”
“I have documents signed by the Mother Superior as my legal guardian according to the State of Ohio,” I told him.
“What’s the date on it?”
I glanced up at him and narrowed my eyes.
“My birth date,” I said. “May fourteen.”
“Are you sure?”
The server interrupted us at that point, and we ordered a round of the same microbrew. I rubbed the heels of my hands into my eyes and thought about it. The idea that the date I had always assumed was my birthday might not be what I thought it was pissed me off.
I had to know.
“Okay,” I said, “see what you can dig up.”
“No worries, bro,” he replied. “I’ll see what I can find on the interwebs.”
When we parted ways, I slowly walked between the buildings to get back to my apartment. I passed the drunks and the tourists without a glance, my head focused on two different memories.
One was the time I flat out asked Mother Superior if she knew who my parents were, and the look on her face told me she did, even as she lied about it. I reminded her about that particular commandment, which earned me a full day of prayer to reflect on my sins.
The other memory was Lia.
Again.
Her body, her voice, her eyes when she glanced back at me before boarding a bus to Phoenix – it was stuck in my head on repeat as I reached my apartment and took Odin out for a late-night walk. She was stuck in my head when I lay down to sleep as well, but the dreams I had were of a different sort.
