by David Hosp
“I know,” Finn said. “But I’ve got to try. Maybe with a little time on the outside, Devon can figure out someplace for her to be. Someplace better than where she would otherwise end up.”
“There are lots of kids in the system who do just fine,” Lissa said. “Sally’s tough. She may be fine.”
He nodded. “Maybe. But maybe not.” He tried to step past her, but she moved to block him.
“You wanna tell me what this is really about?”
“What do you mean?”
“Don’t bullshit me.”
He put his head down and took a deep breath. “There are moments in life you’d like to have back. Times you wish you could go back and change the things you did—change the things you didn’t do.” He looked up. “The system’s overwhelmed. It’ll put kids anyplace they’re out of the way. The last foster home I was in, I was fifteen. No one in their right mind takes in a fifteen-year-old. But this family ran sort of a group home. They got fifty bucks a week from the state for each kid they took in, so they’d take in anybody. They had about eleven of us when I was there. They had a bunkhouse out in the back where we all slept; one side for the boys and one side for the girls.”
“Sounds cozy.”
“Not the word I would have chosen. There wasn’t a lot of love in the place. And the kids…well, let’s just say the kids had their issues. Three of the older boys, in particular. They were into drugs. Into the gang scene.”
“So were you, right?”
“Fair enough,” Finn said. “But these three were different. Vicious. There was this one little girl, probably around thirteen, who was like a lost soul. See, most of us had been in the system our whole lives. We were used to it. We knew what to expect. But this one girl had grown up with a family. I’m not sure what happened to them; the girl didn’t talk about it. Something bad enough for her to end up in this god-awful place.
“Anyway, she kept to herself mostly. She had a diary and she spent a lot of time writing in that. Like her own form of therapy. One day one of the three boys stole it. He brought it into the boys’ bunkroom and started reading from it. It was sad and pathetic and everyone started laughing. Then this girl walked in and realized what was happening. She went berserk. She attacked the kid who had the book, kicking and screaming at him. He and the two others got a hold of her and just started whaling on her. Beat the hell out of her. She kept fighting, though, as long as she could. Finally, when the fight was gone from her, the three of them picked her up and carried her into the girls’ bunkroom. They kicked everyone out; threatened to kill anyone who ran to the main house—not that I think anyone there would have cared. They locked the door. I can still hear the girl crying.”
Lissa pursed her lips. “That’s not your fault,” she said. “You were a kid, and there were three of them. There was nothing you could have done.”
“Maybe not. But I didn’t even bother trying. You know what I did? I pulled out a bag and threw my shit in it and left. Never went back. Figured I was better off on the street. Still, I like to think that if I had it to do over, I’d do it differently.”
“And this is your chance to prove that?”
Finn shrugged. “I don’t know. Maybe.”
Lissa shook her head. “It won’t change what happened. It won’t do anything for that little girl in the bunkhouse, and I’m guessing in the end it won’t do anything for your conscience either.”
“Probably not,” Finn admitted. “Worth a shot, though.”
“If you say so.” Lissa walked over to her desk and picked up her keys. “I’m going to pick Sally up.”
Chapter Twenty-Four
Sally was waiting outside the school. It was nearing two o’clock and the place was deserted. It wasn’t the sort of place where students hung around after the bell sounded. She wondered whether anyone was actually coming to pick her up. They’d probably forgotten. Who could blame them? She wasn’t their kid.
She moved around to the side of the building, to the alley by the church, and pulled out a cigarette. She could see the street from where she was if someone pulled up. Lighting the cigarette, she let her bag hang to the ground. If no one came within a few minutes, she’d start walking. Charlestown wasn’t close, but she wouldn’t have any problem covering the distance in an hour or so. If that was what it took, it was fine. She could take care of herself.
She was taking her third drag when she heard them. They were coming from behind the school, walking up the same route they’d followed the day before. All she heard was the laughing, but she knew instantly it was them. That was just the way her life went.
They saw her as soon as she turned. The older boy’s eyes narrowed, like those of a hunter picking up the quarry. They stopped for just a moment. He raised his bandaged hand and pointed to her. “It’s that bitch!” he yelled. Then they were running toward her.
She was on the move even before he yelled. Her adrenaline was pumping as she took off toward Dorchester Avenue, footsteps behind her pounding in her ears. She had a head start of twenty-five yards or so, and she was fast, but she knew they would catch up to her eventually. Her mind worked methodically. She first thought of heading back into the school, but the doors were locked and bolted after classes ended. The church was just to her right, but there was no guarantee that there would be anyone inside, and her encounter with the priest the other day had been less than cordial. Served her right, in some ways, she thought. She should learn to control her mouth better.
She hit Dorchester Avenue in full stride and headed back toward the city. There was a gas station and convenience store a couple of blocks up, and with luck she could make it to that area before she was caught. It wouldn’t guarantee her safety—this was the sort of neighborhood where people minded their own business, and there was every possibility that people would merely watch as she was dragged away, but getting to a well-populated area was her best chance. She might take a beating, but being out in the open in front of people would possibly limit its duration.
She was halfway there when the van pulled in front of her.
It was a nondescript delivery van, and it screeched to a stop, its front wheels hopping the low curb, cutting off her path. At first she was relieved. She hoped it might be a cop, or maybe some Good Samaritan witnessing her plight and coming to assist her. The man who got out of the driver’s side wasn’t wearing a uniform, though, and he didn’t move like a cop. Cops moved slowly, with a confidence born from the knowledge that, in most situations, no one was willing to question their authority. The man from the van moved with confidence as well, but it was a different brand of confidence. It was the confidence of someone who lived on the other side of the law. Someone accustomed to danger; accustomed to moving quickly and deliberately; accustomed to dealing with problems with split-second decisiveness. He was of average height and build, but he was wiry. He had jet-black hair and dark eyes that were focused on her.
He came around the front of the van and stepped in front of Sally as she tried to squeeze past the hood. She tried to duck him, but he was too fast, and he swung his arm out and grabbed her around the neck. She struggled, but he tightened the muscles in his arm, closing her neck in the crook of his elbow, cutting off her air.
She tried to scream, but nothing came out, and she started to panic, thrashing her body from side to side.
“Stop,” he said simply.
She craned her head around to look at him. He wasn’t even breathing hard.
Just then she heard the pounding of the boys’ footsteps slowing down behind her. “Fuck you doin’!” the boy with the bandage yelled.
“Back away,” the man said. She could hear the Irish in his voice. He still had her tucked off balance, but he was holding her with only one hand. She wondered whether she might be able to break free with one strong twist. His hold on her seemed like an iron vise.
“Fuck you!” the boy shot back. His voice sounded angry but indecisive. “She fucked with me, now I’m gonna fuck with her!” He and his posse
weren’t moving forward, but they weren’t retreating, either; they were milling around within a few yards of them, their feet shuffling back and forth on the pavement.
“Back away,” the man said again. This time he put his free hand into his jacket and withdrew a gun to punctuate his imperative. He pointed it at the boy, his arm extended fully, his eye looking expertly down the barrel of the pistol. “Now.”
The boys stumbled back a few steps, their hands raised. Then they turned and sprinted back in the direction from which they’d come. If they’d had tails, they’d have been tucked between their hind legs, Sally thought. She wouldn’t miss them, but she wasn’t thrilled to trade for the guy with the gun.
He pressed the pistol to her forehead, right between her eyes. As the gun came toward her, she could see straight down into the round hole of the barrel, into the abyss. “You’re getting in the car,” he said. “Any trouble and you’ll be dead.”
“Why?” she asked. It came out without thought. He pressed the gun harder into her face, and Sally felt the metal digging painfully into her skin. “Okay,” she said. “I’ll get in the car.”
If there were people around, Sally couldn’t see them. In all likelihood there were people looking out their windows, watching. Maybe someone had even called the police, but they wouldn’t arrive in time. And when they went from door to door, asking for information, no one would tell them anything. That was the code. Lie or die. Talking to the police was a sure way to get killed; everybody understood.
The man with the gun eased the pressure on Sally’s neck and pulled her up so she could regain her balance. He kept enough of a grip on her, though, that she couldn’t break free. Even if she could have, she had little doubt that he wouldn’t hesitate to shoot her. Something in the man’s eyes made that clear; he was for real.
He led her around to the driver’s seat and pushed her in, making her crawl across the front seat. As she was getting in, another car pulled up. It was the sleek BMW sedan Lissa Krantz drove. The lawyer pulled up behind the van and got out. “Sally?” she called. Her voice was full of strain. “I was afraid I missed you.”
She was walking around the front of her car, toward them. Sally was still only halfway into the front seat, the man standing over her. She looked up at Lissa, and flashed a pleading look. Just at that moment, the man turned toward Lissa and pointed his gun at her. “Get back in your car,” he said.
Sally could see Lissa stop, shocked by the gun. “What the fuck is going on?” she asked. She wasn’t moving back to her car.
“Get back in your car, now!” the man yelled. It was the first time he had raised his voice or showed any emotion. At that volume, he sounded like pure evil, and Sally was sure that Lissa would back away and get into her car. She was wrong.
Lissa reacted without hesitation. She rushed the man with the gun, ducking her head low and leading with her shoulder. She looked like a mini-linebacker taking a run at a quarterback. She must have surprised him, because he failed to react in time. One shot rang out, but it was after Lissa had driven her shoulder into his chest and it went high and wide. He was thrown back into the door, which rocked unsteadily on its hinges. Lissa continued her attack, throwing her small fists into the man with determination, though little effect. “Run, Sally!” she yelled.
Sally hesitated for just a moment, and then struggled to get past the man. It was no use, though. He had regained his balance, and he pushed her down, wedging her in the door. Then he turned to Lissa. His first blow struck her on the side of the head, and it stunned her. She didn’t fall, but the expression in her eyes changed, glassing over as she stood up straighter. He hit her again, this time in the stomach, doubling her over as she cried out. The third blow was to the top of her head, with the butt of the gun, and it put her down. She crumpled to the curb, lifeless.
Sally screamed, “No!” and reached out to her, but he grabbed her arm and hoisted her up. He was remarkably strong, and she thought for a moment he’d broken her arm. If he had any such thought, it gave him no concern, and he shoved her into the van.
His gun was pointed at her; his finger was on the trigger. “Over,” he ordered her. “Now.” His voice had regained its equanimity, and he slid into the front seat, almost on top of her. She slid over and sat in the passenger seat. The car was still running and he dropped the transmission into reverse, hit the gas, and backed into the street. Sally gasped as they bounced over the curb, thinking that they might have run over Lissa’s unconscious body lying next to the car. As he put the van in drive and pulled away, though, she could see her lying there, apparently still in one piece.
He pulled out and sped up, his gun still pointed at her head. He drove fast, and turned down two side streets with confidence before slowing to a pace that wouldn’t attract attention.
Twice she glanced back behind them, hoping to see someone following them. There was no one there, though, and as they pulled farther and farther away from the neighborhood, the adrenaline began to wear off.
Only then did she begin to fathom how much trouble she was in.
Chapter Twenty-Five
“Where’s Lissa?”
Kozlowski was standing in the doorway to the back office where he spent most of his time holed up. He was leaning against the doorjamb, his polyester slacks straining against the muscles in his leg, his secondhand-store jacket flapped open, revealing his shoulder holster and gun. A caricature of himself.
“She went to pick up the girl,” Finn said. “Why?”
Kozlowski shook his head. “No reason.”
“You guys got a date to register for china patterns this afternoon or something?”
Kozlowski looked confused. “What?”
“China patterns. That’s what people do when they decide to get married, right?” Finn said. “They go out and they pick out china patterns? Silverware, too. New towels, sheets, crockery, the whole shootin’ match.”
“Fuck you.”
“How about hot plates? Either of you guys got a hot plate?” Finn waved his hand, dismissing the concern. “Don’t worry, I’m sure you’ll get three or four once you register.”
“We’re not doing that,” Kozlowski said. He sounded definitive.
“You have to. A marriage isn’t legal without a china pattern.” Finn shook his head. “I didn’t see it coming.”
“Really? Someone with your sensitive feminine instincts? I’d have thought you knew before we did.”
“That’s good; I like that.” He looked at the older man; Kozlowski shifted uncomfortably. “Marriage,” Finn said.
“Marriage,” Kozlowski repeated. He shrugged. “We’ve been together for over a year,” he said.
“I know, that’s what I don’t get. Seemed like you guys had it all figured out; like you guys had what everybody else is looking for. You really want to risk screwing it up?”
“I love her,” Kozlowski said.
“Of course you do. So why do you want to risk losing her?”
“I risk losing her by marrying her?”
Finn nodded. “Lissa? Yeah, you risk losing her by marrying her. She’s not the marrying type. Neither are you. You might’ve been once, when you were younger. If you’d gone a different way, you could’ve settled down with some strong, silent Polish girl and had a dozen kids. Not now, though.”
“Maybe you don’t know us as well as you think you do.”
Finn laughed. “I know you better than that. I know you both better than you know yourselves.”
“This gonna be a problem?”
“Not for me. Not unless you guys screw it up. I need both of you here. I don’t want either of you thinking you can get out of your commitments to me by getting married to each other.”
Kozlowski shook his head. “We won’t screw it up.”
“No?”
“No.”
“Promise?”
“Fuck you.”
Finn smiled. “I suppose that’s the best I’m gonna get, huh?”
“More than you deserve.”
“You’re gonna tell me what I deserve?”
“I said I love her, not that I deserve her,” Kozlowski said. “I’ll take it.”
“Fair enough,” Finn said. “Just don’t screw it up.”
“You said that already.”
The phone rang, and Finn leaned over to pick it up. “This is Finn,” he said. He could hear the noises in the background, and he sat up straight. They were unmistakable sounds: children crying in the background; adults hollering, their voices full of stress; a public announcement in an automaton’s voice echoing off a linoleum floor; sirens in the distance. They were hospital sounds.
“Is this a law office?” the woman’s voice said.
“It is,” Finn replied. “Who is this?”
“This is City Hospital. Does a woman named Lissa Krantz work there?”
“Yes. Why, is there something wrong?” Finn glanced up at Kozlowski, who was returning his look, an edge of concern reflecting Finn’s own tension.
“She’s okay,” the woman said. “At least she should be. She was involved in an altercation.”
“What kind of an altercation?” Finn asked. “What are you talking about?” He looked at Kozlowski and shook his head in an attempt to look reassuring. From the look on Kozlowski’s face, it was clearly not working.
“I don’t really know, sir. That’s all the information I have. Is she married?”
“Sort of.”
“The doctor told me that we should get her husband here if possible, for when she wakes up.”
“Wakes up? She’s unconscious? What’s going on?”
“I’m sorry, I only have the notes they gave me. The doctor’s in with another patient, and it’s a little crazy around here. You’ll have to come down to the hospital to get the full information.”
“Okay, we’ll be right down,” Finn said. He was about to hang up the phone, but he paused. “Wait,” he said. “What about the girl?”
There was a pause on the other end of the line before the woman spoke. “What girl?” she asked.
