I shook my head. “There is no other way.”
“You’ll get killed! You’ve got no idea—literally no idea—what you’re getting into. You’re too...good.”
“I know! That’s why I need you! You’re—” I cut myself off, but it was too late.
He raised one dark eyebrow. “A complete bastard?” he finished for me. I went to protest, but he shook his head. “No, it’s okay. That’s fair.” He gave a wry little smile, but it didn’t completely hide the flicker of pain in his eyes.
I put my hands out towards him as if trying to calm a wounded animal. “Look, I know plants. I can do that part of it. But you’re right, I don’t know anything about being a criminal.”
He shook his head. “You are so far from being a criminal this would be funny, if you weren’t going to wind up dead in a ditch.”
“Then help me! We can be partners! I’ll cut you in. I swear to God, it’ll be the best damn crop of weed you’ve ever seen. I’ll grow it; you sell it and protect me.”
He dropped his gaze to the floor and it stayed there while he thought. He crossed his arms, biceps bulging, and I barely dared to breathe while he debated it. Then he finally lifted his head, looked me in the eye, and said, “No.”
“No? Why? I’m not asking you to do this out of charity! I’ll pay you!”
He shook his head. “It’s not about the money.”
“Then what? You’ll happily take cash to smash things up, but not to help someone? What’s the matter with you?”
His big hand landed on my shoulder and then I was being pushed towards the door. “More than you want to know,” he muttered. And pushed me out into the hallway. The door slammed behind me.
I stood there gaping. Up on the roof, he’d been almost warm. Now he was back to being the Sean everyone talked about in hushed tones: brutal and cold. The Irish, a lot of people called him. The Irish smashed up some place last night.
And now I felt like he’d done the same to me. I’d peeled back my armor to reveal my one, fragile hope and he’d shattered it, told me that I was on my own and that I was nuts for even trying.
Well, fuck him.
If he wouldn’t help me, I’d just have to do it myself.
Sean
That night, I had a job. Perfect, because I needed to take my frustration out on something other than myself. The whole way there, I could feel the anger building up inside, bubbling out of the raw slash of pain. The shell I’ve built around myself, the muscles and the tattoos and the attitude, that can stand up to anything. I’ll take a baseball bat to my kidney and fight on. I’ll take a punch to my jaw, spit out a tooth and smile. But when the pain comes from inside...that’s harder to handle. I can’t deflect it away because it’s already inside me, folding back on itself, and growing stronger and stronger while the thoughts play on endless loop in my mind.
I didn’t help her.
I didn’t help her because I can’t. Because I’m no good for anything.
Because everything I touch, I break.
The only thing I’m good for is smashing shit up.
I stopped the car half a block away because I needed to get my head together. The big V8 rumble died away and the street was silent except for the cicada and a few kids playing on their bikes.
I went around to the trunk and got out my hammer. And the kids fled.
As I hefted the hammer onto my shoulder, blinds were slamming down all along the street. A woman grabbed her cat from the front porch and raced inside her house, her eyes huge with fear.
It’s not the worst thing in the world, having everyone afraid of you. It can even be kind of fun. But you can’t control it. Reputation billows out from you like smoke, impossible to corral. It bothered me that the woman thought I’d hurt her cat, or hurt her. But that was the price of what I did and I’d always accepted it before, even welcomed it. Scared people keep their distance.
Louise, though...she was scared of me but she’d been brave enough to approach me. She’d knocked on my damn door.
And I’d pushed her away.
The anger swelled, filling my heart and lungs.
I knew I was doing the right thing. The only thing. I couldn’t support her crazy scheme. The idea of her locked up in a federal prison, or shot—or worse—by a gang didn’t bear thinking about. But that meant she was going to have to watch her sister die. I’d seen the blonde-haired little thing plenty of times around the block and my stomach knotted at the thought of that bundle of energy lying in a hospital bed. I was going to have to see Louise’s face as the months passed, watch her change as a piece of her was slowly, agonizingly torn out.
And I was going to have to watch it all from a distance. Hell, she’d hate me. She’d blame me because I didn’t help her.
I set my jaw and picked up the pace, stalking along the street towards the target house. The rage was crashing around inside me like a living thing, now.
It needed to be let out.
I reached the house, lifted the sledgehammer from my shoulder, and gripped the shaft in both hands, knuckles white.
This was going to feel good.
The door was steel with a good, solid lock. But I’d done this many times and tonight I was driven by more than just my usual anger. I swung and landed the head of the hammer right at the lock. The steel caved inward like cardboard and the door flew open, bouncing on its hinges. Bright white light streamed out of the doorway and the sidewalk lit up with the shadows of hundreds of swaying marijuana plants. Then two tall, bulky figures were crowding into the doorway.
“Shit,” I heard. “It’s The Irish.”
The one who’d spoken darted back inside, probably to grab a weapon. The other one tried to come out to meet me, which was a mistake. I stepped forward and drove the head of the hammer into his stomach, knocking the air out of him. He staggered back inside and knocked over a table of plants. I followed, moving slowly.
Inside, it was like every grow house I’d ever seen: tables crammed with plants and powerful lights hanging down from the ceiling. The windows were covered in newspaper but they hadn’t done much else to hide the fact they were growing there.
I swung the hammer in a whistling arc that sent it through one of the overhead lights, through the plants, through the table and into the floor below. Sparks spat across the room and dirt showered my chest and arms. That section of the room plunged into darkness. The destruction felt good. I was making my mark.
The guy I’d hit was still holding his stomach and groaning. The other one was backing away from me, his face deathly pale. I started to advance towards him, table by table.
“You’re right in the middle of Malone’s territory,” I told them. Then I swung the hammer again splitting the next table in two and sending a light shade skittering away across the room. “That was very fuckin’ stupid.”
The guy put his hand out towards me, still backing away. “Look,” he said quickly. “We can make a deal.” I pegged his accent as Central Europe. Serbian or Croatian or something like that—it didn’t really matter.
I swung the hammer again, this time going sideways and demolishing the legs of three tables at once. The table tops and plants crashed down and the floor became a carpet of dirt and leaves. I could feel the plants scrunch under my boots as I walked towards him. Everyone I crushed helped me vent a little more of my anger, but it did more than that: it savagely silenced the voices that had been taunting me from inside. The only thing I’m good at is smashing shit up? Fine. Then watch how good I am.
“Tell Malone we’ll pay!” said the one I’d hit. His voice was a labored croak.
“We’ll pay!” agreed the other one. He was still trying to back away, but then he ran out of room, his back against a dresser. I knew he probably had a weapon in there, a knife or a gun. They always do. And they always think they can buy me off. But once someone’s hired me, I’m loyal.
The guy next to the dresser finally managed to get a knife out of its hiding place. A big ugly thing wi
th a six inch blade. He held it up in front of him defiantly.
I advanced on him again, the hammer resting casually on my shoulder. “Put it down,” I told him.
Instead, he shoved it towards me, slicing at the air. “I’ll fucking cut you!” he shrieked, his voice cracking in fear.
I took another step towards him. He pressed back against the dresser, his face deathly pale, swiping the knife in vicious little arcs to keep me away.
I gripped the hammer and started to swing it back....
The knife fell from his fingers. His legs wilted and he slumped to the floor on his ass, his hands up in front of his face. “Please!” he begged.
He’d come to rest with his legs splayed. I swung back the hammer and I saw his mouth drop open in horror as he realized what I was about to do. His scream filled the air as the hammer whistled down right between his legs.
There was a crunch of wood and the head buried itself in the cheap floorboards between his thighs. I’d aimed it so perfectly, the top of the head was just brushing his balls. He stared at the hammer, speechless with relief.
I smash things. Sometimes I have to hurt people. But I’m not a sadist.
My voice was calm, the anger gone. “You ever grow in this neighborhood again,” I told him, “and next time it’ll be an inch higher.”
I waited for him to nod. Then I grabbed him by the collar and hauled him out into the street. When I’d dragged his friend out as well, I took the little bottle of gasoline from my pocket and emptied it over the debris, then lit a match and threw it in. By the time I was halfway back to my car, the whole house was burning.
I should have felt good. I should have felt like hitting a bar—that was my normal routine, after finishing a job. But I didn’t. All I could think about was Louise. I’d vented the anger but the anger, it turned out, was the easy part. Now it had blown away, I could see where it had come from: that throbbing wound inside me that had been left when I let her down.
I couldn’t remember the last time I’d given a shit about anyone. But I was really starting to care about this girl.
Sean
I didn’t see her again for a few days. Then, one evening, I came down the stairs to find her in the lobby, struggling towards the elevator.
She had two huge white plastic sacks in her arms, gathered to her chest like twin babies, and she was teetering under the weight. Every few steps, the sacks would threaten to slip out of her grasp and she’d have to grab for them again. She was far too preoccupied to notice me.
She just barely managed to make it to the elevator and hit the button. I winced.
“It’s broken,” I muttered.
She snapped her head around, startled, and dropped one of the sacks. It went whump on the floor, narrowly missing her foot. Then, struggling to pick it up, she dropped the other one.
“Let me give you a hand,” I said.
She ignored me, crouched, and tried to pick up the first sack. That meant that, as I approached, I was looking down on her and fuck me…she was wearing a scoop-neck top and the view I had of her pale cleavage was amazing. Smooth white skin and her breasts were the most perfect shape, just waiting for a hard hand to slide down the front of her top and cup them….
For all my good intentions, I still wanted to bang the hell out of this girl.
She hefted both sacks and stood, her knees trembling a little under the strain. Then she headed towards the stairs.
“Ah, come on,” I said disbelievingly. “It’s ten floors.”
She ignored me and put her foot on the first step. I silently shook my head at her stubbornness...but I had to admire her determination.
She stepped up to the second step. I started up the stairs behind her.
“Please stop following me,” she said tightly.
“I’m just walking up the same stairs. It’s a free country.”
“Weren’t you on your way out?”
“I forgot something.”
I saw her grit her teeth and then she started a steady march up the stairs, with me one step behind her. At the top of the first flight, she stumbled and nearly dropped both sacks, but recovered. She straightened up and tossed her hair back as if to say, see? I’m fine!
She was only a little thing but God, she had spirit.
She marched up the second flight of stairs. Each step was a little slower than the last. By the time she reached the top, she was barely moving.
“I’m going up to nine anyway,” I said. “I might as well take one of them.”
She was panting but trying not to show it. “What are you now, neighbor of the year?”
I just held out my hands for a sack.
She looked up at the stairwell above her...and with a despondent sigh she pushed a sack towards me. I took it, trying not to make it look too easy.
As I’d thought, the label said it was some sort of chemical fertilizer. I really hoped it was for her house plants.
We moved on, making faster progress now that she could heave her sack in both hands. She managed another four floors before she ran out of steam. I stopped beside her. She was red-faced, now, and her legs were shaky, but she was still doing her best to hide it. She gave me a glare, as if daring me to doubt her. But I could tell she was wiped out.
“When we get to your place, you’re going to need your hands to open the door,” I said carefully. I wasn’t used to this diplomatic shit, but I was doing my best. “Why don’t I take the other one?”
She just looked at me with hate-filled eyes...but then her exhaustion overcame her anger and her shoulders slumped. She didn’t offer the sack, but she didn’t resist when I scooped it out of her arms, either. My forearm accidentally brushed across the soft swell of her breast and I felt my cock go rock hard in my jeans. Jesus, this girl did it to me every single time. Just looking at her now, with all that shining red hair cascading down her back and those big, green eyes—I didn’t care if she hated me. I was imagining pushing her back against the stairwell wall, kissing her hard as I unfastened the belt of her jeans, hooked her panties down, and pressed her thighs apart—
“What?” she asked, bemused.
I realized I was staring at her. I hefted a sack onto each shoulder and set off up the stairs. “Nothing.”
When we reached her apartment, she opened the door and then turned around, blocking the doorway. “Just put them down here,” she said. “Thank you.”
I didn’t put them down. I had to know what was going on—was she growing somewhere? “Let me carry them inside.”
“I’ll be fine. Thank you.”
That’s when I caught a faint scent wafting from her apartment. “Ah, no,” I groaned, my stomach tightening. “You couldn’t be that fuckin’ daft....”
Before she could protest, I pushed past her. Since she was trying to block the doorway, that meant muscling her out of the way. I tried not to think about how good she smelled, or how soft her skin was as it brushed against mine.
Inside, everything was long drapes and too many cushions—you could tell women lived there. And I’ve never seen so many things growing: plants in pots, plants on shelves, even plants on the window ledges. But the normal plants weren’t what were making the smell.
Right in the middle of the room, arranged in neat rows, were about thirty marijuana plants.
“Are you kidding me?” I said to myself. I dumped the fertilizer sacks on the floor and spun to face her. “Are you fuckin’ kidding me?! You can’t grow here!”
She quickly shut the door. “I don’t have anywhere else!” She crossed her arms defensively.
“So you do it in your apartment? You’re going to just haul everything up here: fertilizer, lights, the plants...oh, Jesus, you carried those up here! How many people saw you?”
“None! I brought them up one at a time, in boxes.”
“And you’re going to do that for the other—how many do you need, to make half a million?”
She shifted from foot to foot and looked at the floor. “A
few hundred.”
I looked around. “There’s no space! And what about the smell? I could smell these out in the hallway and that’s thirty plants, at the start of the season. When it’s two hundred, fully grown, you’ll be smelling it a block away!” She stared at the floor. “And what happens when the super comes around to fix a leak? What happens when your sister comes home?”
She finally snapped her head up and glared at me. “If I don’t do this, she’s not coming home!”
We stood there glaring at each other. Those big green eyes were blazing at me, her chest was heaving and her lower lip was stuck out in an angry, sullen pout.
I’d never wanted to kiss a girl so much.
“You can’t grow here,” I said again. The anger was ebbing away, to be replaced by a sense of impending doom. I wasn’t going to be able to talk her out of this. I could see that now. She was going to grow, no matter what I said. She was going to wind up dead or in jail...unless I helped her.
I let out a long sigh and tapped the nearest pot with my foot. “Can you really grow this shit? Do you know what you’re doing?”
She tilted her chin to look up at me and her eyes narrowed. Hopeful, but cautious: I’d disappointed her once already. “Yeah,” she said at last. “Yeah, I know what I’m doing.”
I looked around at the plants and ran a hand through my hair. Then I let out an enormous sigh.
It was the only way.
“Okay,” I grunted. “I’ll help you.”
She bit her lip and nodded quickly, thanking me. I wasn’t ready for how that made me feel: like a hot bomb going off in my chest.
“But on one condition,” I told her, as gruffly as I could. “We do it my way. You do the growing but when it comes to the other stuff, you do exactly what I tell you.”
She swallowed. “I’ll do exactly what you tell me,” she repeated. In her voice, it sounded like the most erotic thing imaginable.
I had to keep my distance from her. The deeper she got involved with me, the more chance there was I’d destroy her life the way I destroyed everything else. This had to be a temporary alliance, a business relationship. Nothing more.
Growing and Kissing Page 6
