by Hamel, B. B.
“I can imagine,” she said, and gave me that look, and I knew what she wanted to ask, but for the first time in a long time, I didn’t mind. In fact, I wanted to talk about it, because I thought she might understand. “How did he react when you had your accident?”
I smiled a little. “Everyone keeps calling it that—my accident. I think of it that way too, but it wasn’t an accident, was it?”
“I guess not, no.” She shook her head a little. “I can’t imagine, you know.”
“I couldn’t either, at least until I got shot.” I clenched my jaw and leaned my head back. “He flipped when it happened. I heard he found the guys that did it and killed them or something. I never asked for the details, and I really don’t want to know. But he sent me away because he thought Chicago was too dangerous.”
“He has a point. You got shot four times.”
“Six times, actually.” I touched the spots on my body like a prayer. “Drive-by shooting. It was apparently meant for him, but I stepped out of the house at the wrong time, and boom. They decided to settle for his daughter instead.”
“That’s not supposed to happen,” Mona said, frowning. “We’re not supposed to be fair game.”
“It’s not a game to them though, to guys like that. Those assholes don’t care if we’re innocent or not. They’ll hurt us if it gets them what they want.”
“I’m sorry that happened to you.”
I waved it away and stared out over the yard. I didn’t remember much from the aftermath, but I remembered it happening vividly: the black truck that pulled up, the guns that appeared in the windows, the way I screamed, the pain as it flared, the weird, almost calm knowledge that I was going to die. Then black, then waking up in the hospital, in pain, very, very angry, and all the rehabilitation, the surgery, the bullshit. It took months to get me back to the way I am now, and when I finally thought my life could restart, my father sent me away.
I hated him. I think I still do.
“What do you think of Ren?” I asked, suddenly desperate to change the subject.
She frowned a little, but went with it. “I don’t really know him, honestly.”
“Really? I mean, he works for your husband.”
“He’s not one of the regulars. He’s not made.”
“That’s what he said, but I didn’t really believe him.”
She seemed to hesitate for a moment then shifted toward me. “I know him by reputation.”
“And what’s that?”
“Do you know the phrase, honor among thieves?”
I nodded. “Sure, always sounded like bullshit.”
“I think supposedly lived like that. He’s an honorable thief, or as much as that sort of thing can exist these days. He steals from the rich.”
“And gives to the poor?” I said, finishing the phrase.
She laughed. “Oh, god, no, I’m sure he keeps it all for himself.”
I laughed with her. “Still, that’s not the impression I get from him.”
“What’s your impression?”
“He seems… distant. Arrogant. I don’t know.”
“They’re all like that,” she said, shaking her head. “They have to be. It’s part of the trade. But I think if you got to know him, you’d start to see that other side.”
“What side’s that?”
“The honorable one.” She waved a hand at me and laughed. “But honestly, I don’t know if any of this is true, it’s just what I’ve heard about him.”
“What did Vincent say? I’m sure he told you something before letting the guy come live with you.”
“Vincent said I can trust him, and that he’ll protect you. That he’s the kind of man who does his job.”
I nodded and looked down at my hands. I thought of him stealing from that obnoxious guy at the bar the other night, and the way he smiled at me, seemingly so excited and happy about it—and how oddly impressed I was, how I wanted him to do it again, but was afraid.
It was a rush. I couldn’t pretend like I didn’t feel it. There was a rush in me when he stole that wallet, a rush of fear, a rush of excitement, and I wanted more of it. That scared me almost as much as everything else.
“I guess I’m still getting used to him,” I said, feeling stupid and lame. I knew she could see right through me, but I wasn’t sure if I cared. Mona seemed kind, and if anyone would understand, it was her.
She was a civilian. I didn’t know much about her, but she was a writer and a journalist, which was the strangest thing in the world. Mobsters didn’t normally marry women in the press, and yet Vincent had. I could see why: she was beautiful and charming and kind, and gave off an interesting vibe, but also had a touch of ambition to her. They were only brief impressions, but I had the feeling I was right, like I truly knew her or something.
“Well, I hope he doesn’t have to do a thing.”
“Me too.” She smiled at me. “I’m glad you’re here, you know. I was getting pretty lonely.”
“I’m sure I’m getting in your way. I mean, you have a book to write.”
She laughed. “I’ve been writing that book for years. I’m sure I’ll be writing it for a few more.”
“Why don’t you finish it?”
She thought about that for a moment. “I think I don’t want to,” she said. “I like having it to work on, like a project that’ll never end. So many things end, but it’s nice that doesn’t have to.”
“I think I understand that.”
“Do you work on anything? Write, dance, sing?”
“No,” I said, shaking my head. “No special talents.”
“Come on, that’s not true.”
“I can juggle.”
“That’s a talent.”
“Not well.”
She laughed and stretched her legs. “We’ll have to find you something to do while you’re here then. Have you ever painted before?”
I shook my head. “I can’t even make a stick figure.”
“Upstairs, in the attic. There’s a little art studio. I got into painting for a while, so there’s everything you’d need in there. I say you go up one afternoon and play around. Make some marks on the page. Maybe watch a Bob Ross video and follow along.”
“I’ll think about it.”
She smiled, tilting her head. “Or not. I don’t care either way. I bet it’d be a good way to escape from Ren though.”
“I don’t need to escape,” I said, and felt myself flush.
“I think you do though. I think you really do.” She laughed and stood up. “Well, you got me in the mood to write, so I think I’ll go do that.”
“Mind if I stay out here?”
She shook her head. “Stay as long as you want.” She walked back inside, and I watched her go. As she stepped inside, I spotted Ren in the living room, leaning up against the wall. He said something to Mona, then his eyes flashed to mine, and he held my gaze until I looked away and the door closed with a soft click.
The breeze made the tall flowers bend. I felt exposed, sitting out there alone, with Ren back inside, but I didn’t want to go in and talk to him. I didn’t know what I wanted—one second, I had the crazy urge to let go of everything, to put my past and all my pain behind, and to let that man do whatever he wanted to me, and the next I hated him with a blind and stupid passion. I couldn’t tell which it was, and I knew it was all mixed up with what happened to me, my fear of the men that did it to me, my anger toward the world that caused it to happen.
I was shot and nearly killed by a car full of men just like Ren.
It was hard to rectify those two things.
Though maybe what Mona said was right, and Ren wasn’t like the typical mobster asshole. Maybe he truly was an honorable thief.
Or maybe I was an idiot, and I’d fall deep into something I couldn’t crawl back out of.
I stayed on the porch for a while and watched the tall grass sway.
5
Ren
Days passed and Amber spent most
of her time upstairs in the attic.
At first, I didn’t know what the hell she was doing. I figured there was some crawlspace up there she wanted to hide inside of, maybe get some reading done, and whatever, it didn’t matter to me. So long as she was safe and keeping out of trouble, she could hide out anywhere she wanted.
But I’ll admit, I got curious. One afternoon, she came down for lunch, and I climbed up to take a look at what she was doing.
The light was surprisingly good. Scattered around on the half-finished floor, more or less roof joists covered in plywood, were paintbrushes and small paper plates covered in paint smudges. It wasn’t a beautiful space, but she had a whole damn art station up there, canvas and easel and everything. It was cramped and smelled like damp insultation, but it was warm and cozy and surprisingly comfortable.
I sat cross-legged and looked at her paintings. They weren’t amazing by any means, but I had to admit I was a little impressed. She had a few landscapes, some mountains, some trees growing by the side of a lake, and it looked surprisingly good. A little clumsy, but not bad at all. I was tempted to take one of the smaller ones, but the paint was still wet and I figured she’d notice that I had it.
I climbed down, feeling impressed, and nearly stomped on her head as I jumped off the ladder.
She stared at me and I stared at her. I knew I should’ve acted like I felt bad, but I didn’t care that she caught me. I wasn’t trying to be subtle.
“What were you doing up there?” she asked.
“Spying on you.”
She tensed up. “What the hell, Ren?”
“It’s my job, remember?”
“You don’t have to go up into my personal space.”
“That’s Mona’s personal space, actually.”
Wrong thing it say. She looked pissed. “This isn’t funny.”
“Your paintings are kind of good, you know that? Where’d you learn to paint?”
That disarmed her, a little bit at least. She glared at me and crossed her arms, but at least she wasn’t getting actively more pissed. “Bob Ross.”
“Who?”
She threw her hands up. “Bob Ross. The guy with the afro? Talks real calm, teaches you to paint? How do you not know who Bob Ross is?”
I grinned at her. “I know who Bob Ross is, I’m just messing with you.”
“Oh, you dick.”
“Honestly, you’re pretty good. I’ve seen a couple of those episodes on Netflix, they’re pretty boring, but I definitely wouldn’t be able to paint something halfway decent just watching him. So good for you.”
“Yeah, well, he makes it easy.” She shifted toward the ladder. “I want to go back up there.”
I stepped closer to her, partly blocking her way. “Paint me something.”
“No, thanks. Can you move?”
“If you paint me something.”
“Ren, I’m serious.”
I laughed and shook my head. “All right, fine. Come for a walk with me tonight.”
“Ren—”
“You’ve been in a shit mood for the last few days. All you do is hide your ass up there and pretend like nothing else exists. All I’m asking for is a half hour of your time for a little walk around the block.”
She flexed her jaw but nodded. “Fine. Half hour. No more.”
“Not a second longer, my princess.”
She nudged me to the side and I let her pass. I watched her climb up then disappear into the attic.
* * *
She met me downstairs just after dark wearing a paint-stained sweatshirt and a pair of dark jeans.
“You got dressed up for me,” I said.
“We’re going for a walk, not to some fancy ballroom.”
“And if we were going somewhere fancy, what would you wear?”
She gave me a look. “Come on, asshole, let’s get moving.”
I smiled and followed her down the outside steps and onto the sidewalk. She headed toward town and I walked alongside her, quiet at first. Truth was, I didn’t care what she wore, so long as she was around me. That realization was a little strange, and I can’t recall the last time I felt that way about a girl, like it didn’t matter what she looked like or what she wore, all I wanted was to be around it. I felt that way about Amber, and the girl hated my guts, which probably said something about myself that I didn’t want to examine too closely.
“What do you think of your stay at Chez Leone so far?” I asked.
She looked at the houses as we passed them, mostly old Tudors, some fairly large and renovated, but most of them still sporting their original stone fronts. Bird vetch grew in thick, sweet clumps in one front yard, little purple flowers blooming large. Common mallow sprouted in the cracks between the sidewalk slabs. I thought about an old book my father left behind one day, a book of plants and animals, and I used to spend hours reading it, obsessing about every little detail, trying to memorize all the plants I’d likely come across. I had a weirdly extensive knowledge of weeds because of that, which isn’t exactly useful in my line of work.
“Boring, so far,” she said. “Mona’s really nice though. I guess I should be grateful.”
“Grateful?”
“They’re keeping me safe.” She stared down at her feet as she walked, her hands swinging loosely by her side. “Most people in my position wouldn’t get something like that. I mean, Vincent’s the don.”
I snorted. “What, are you having a change of heart?”
She glared at me. “No, I’m not.”
“Then what do you care?”
“I’m just saying. I was so angry when I first got here, but then I had a good conversation with Mona, and I started painting, and maybe it’s mellowing me out.”
I watched her closely for a quiet minute. I could see it, now that I looked closely: she didn’t hold herself so tight, didn’t seem like she was on the verge of skittering away at any second like a scared rabbit. She wasn’t loose, not exactly, but she wasn’t holding herself together through sheer willpower at least. I had to admit, she was probably right.
“That’s good then. You probably wouldn’t mind if we stayed here a while longer then.”
She shot me a look. “Did you hear something?”
“No, I didn’t. But I have a feeling Vincent’s going to want us to stay as long as the war’s still on, and I assume that’s happening.”
“You had to have heard something.”
I shrugged and didn’t answer. I had heard some things, rumors mostly, from guys I knew back in the city. The war wasn’t going well, not at all. Vince’s guys were fighting all the time, and the bodies were starting to pile up. The city was on edge and everyone felt like it was finally time for the whole thing to come crumbling down. I wasn’t so sure about that, it never seemed like Vince would end up being weak or some shit, and I figured it would take a lot more to bring the Leone family to its knees, but still. Nothing good was happening.
She didn’t need to know that. As far as I could tell, so long as it stayed quiet out near us, we’d probably stay in that house for months.
If it weren’t for her, and for the absurd amount of money Vincent was willing to pay me to stick around, I would’ve cut and run a while ago.
“I haven’t heard much,” I said, which was a half-truth. “The war doesn’t look like it’s anywhere near done yet.”
She nodded, more to herself. “That’s not so bad.” Then she looked at me, head tilted. “Aren’t you getting sick of me yet?”
I frowned back at her, surprised. “Didn’t think you’d care.”
“I guess I’m curious. What do you do all day?”
“Not much,” I said. “I’m working on my novel. Me and Mona, we sit in her writing room and bat story ideas back and forth.”
She laughed and I smiled a little. I didn’t want to tell her that I spent most of the days bored, thinking about her, about how bad I wanted her.
“You’re some master thief, right? I bet you’re so sick of sitting ar
ound doing nothing.”
“I could always break into some houses if I get really tired of doing nothing.”
She gave me a panicked look. “You wouldn’t really—?”
I laughed, shaking my head. “Of course not. I’d need some time to case the place and get a feel for the lay of the land first.”
“That’s not saying you wouldn’t do it.”
“Oh, good point.” I grinned at her and tilted my head. “You want to hit a house with me? I bet we can find a good score.”
She frowned at me, then spoke very slowly. “If we did that, how would it go down?”
I grinned at her and draped an arm over her shoulders. She didn’t pull back, and I tugged her close against me as we made it into the downtown area.
“It’d be easy. First, we’d scope the neighborhood out, you know, watch the people, get a feel for how things go down. Then we’d find a target, maybe a house where everyone leaves during the day, or maybe a house where all the mail’s built up, multiple papers on the front driveway, that sort of shit.”
“Seems too simple.”
“Simple’s good.” I leaned my weight against her. “Then I’d pick a lock, probably the back door, or I’d get a window open. You’d be surprised how easy that is.”
“Really?” She chewed her lip. “So you could get in anywhere?”
I shrugged. “Not anywhere, but you know, most places.”
“And what would we do inside?” She had a strange excitement in her tone, and I looked down at her, curious, but kept going.
“We’d find something small but worthwhile. Watches, rings, jewelry, shit like that.”
“Why not like a TV?”
“Too big. You don’t want to leave a place with a goddamn TV under your arm. Some guys, they come with a van, and fill that up. But pawning a whole lot of stuff’s hard. You can get away with selling small items, sell them slow and over time, and usually it’s fine. But if you try to pawn a bunch of big electronics, you get a side-eye, and you don’t want that.”
“It’s scary how you have it down to a science.”
“Been my profession for years.”
