Killer

by Jessica Gadziala

  Lo's head jerked up. "Cat food?"

  "Yeah. I got a cat now."

  Lo's face scrunched up a little at that. "Dogs are at least useful pets."

  Cash just smiled. "Oh you know Shooter, gotta be surrounded by pussies."

  I snorted, looking at Lo. "Seriously, what are you doing with this chump?" I asked and she laughed.

  It was good to be home. Mostly. These were my people. We shared years of jokes and nights out and adventures. We knew one another's quirks. We knew which buttons we could press and which ones to stay away from. This was where I belonged.

  But even as I stayed for a few more rounds, my mind drifted back until I finally threw some money on the bar, said my goodbyes and headed out. It would do me no good to stay, drowning whatever I was feeling in booze. I knew better than that. That was how you turned into someone like my Pops. And I was damn sure not going to inherit that family tradition. So I went around the corner and I got all the cat stuff I would need, and went back to my apartment to get some fucking sleep, hoping that it would settle all the unfinished, uncomfortable feelings inside.

  The next day, I got up and went to see Paine, let him stab a needle into a bare few inches of skin on my leg for a while, a tattoo session always being like a therapy session to me.

  "Alright fuck man," he said, wiping the blood and ink away with some water and a towel. "Wanna talk about it?"

  "'Bout what?" I asked, half turning in my seat to look at my calf where a giant red X was tattooed, the symbol on the Alabama state flag.

  "Shoot, you've been here for an hour and a half and haven't had one smart-assed thing to say," Paine said, turning away from me to clean up his supplies.

  Paine was tall and built like a brick shithouse. He was mixed, light-skinned black with light eyes and covered in black ink up to his jaw. So far he and Repo were the only guys in my circle who were still single, still out there chasing skirts with me. Paine was popular with the women. Part of that was because he was a good lookin' dude, part of it was because he was charming as all fuck with them, and lastly, he had way too much damn respect for them to yank their chains. He never said he was gonna call if he wasn't. And, well, he usually wasn't. But he still managed to get as much tail as he wanted.

  "Just dealing with some shit," I shrugged. It was true enough.

  "Looks like you're here avoiding dealing with some shit," he countered, turning back, crossing his arms over his chest.

  "Oh, Master Obi-Wan teach me to see the errors of my way and point me in the direction of a true Jedi."

  Paine snorted. "That's better. Wanna talk about it?"

  "No."

  "Wanna drink about it?"

  "Fuck no."

  "Fight about it?" he went on and I felt my lips quirk up. "Only one option left to ease a man's mood and, love ya, Shoot, but I ain't offering to fuck ya."

  I chuckled at that, standing up and snatching a tube of the cream for my tattoo. "I'm fine, man. Just adjusting to the change of pace being back here. Give me another day or two and we will go out and give the ladies some attention. Sure they're missing us."

  Even I could hear the half-heartedness of my tone.

  Then, nothing the fuck to do with my day, I went back to my apartment and hung out with my cat. Like some old spinster.

  Alright, so the problem was, I was regretting the way I ended things with Amelia. True, it did have its own kind of poetic justice. But it was a dick move on my part. Amelia seemed like the kind of woman who would toss and turn and freak herself out about who the man I claimed an acquaintance with was. Especially since he seemed to have some kind of thing going on with her. I should have at least told her to keep a wide berth around him. He wasn't anywhere near the worst guy I knew. Hell, he probably didn't even make the top fifty. But he wasn't good news either. If I hadn't been choking on my own fuckin' pride and self-righteousness, I would have warned her.

  I'd never been one in the past, and I wasn't liking the feeling of being a dick.

  She didn't deserve that. It wasn't a huge leap for her to think I was fucking Alex. She was pretty; she was at the apartment I was staying at; I was a known whore. On top of that, she wasn't thinking clearly. She was grieving for a man she lost and dealing with the knowledge that that man had a not so pretty past that she had no idea about. She was completely and utterly alone in that town and she had turned to me for comfort. It wasn't like her to open herself up and let someone in. So when she did that with me, albeit briefly, it meant something to her. Seeing Alex and thinking that she was just some backup pussy, just another in a long line of women, utterly replaceable... yeah I got why that burned. And instead of applying some cool water, I scrubbed at the sore spots by leaving in such a dismissive way.

  I wasn't that guy. Sure, I went through a lot of women. But there was no lying or coercion, no promises of things I didn't plan to follow through on, and there sure as fuck was never any hard feelings afterward. I met women, we had our good times once, twice, five times, whatever it took for us both to get our fill, then we both moved on, neither with any wounds to lick.

  "Think I owe her some flowers," I told Millie who was perched on my chest, purring in a non-stop rhythm that settled through my insides, bringing with it calm. "What flowers say 'She was my best friend's woman who was making sure I was okay with my dad's death and also... I didn't mean to be a dick when I left and stay away from that Luis guy'?" Millie made some kind of meow/ yawn hybrid. "I don't know if chrysanthemums are in season, Mills..." I trailed off, laying my head on the back of the couch and laughing at the ceiling. Jesus Christ. I was talking to a fucking cat. "Just need to pick up knitting and a serious interest in The Weather Channel and I'd be an old fucking lady."

  It was at that point that I realized I was still talking to the cat, moved her off my chest, and put her onto the couch, interpreting the look she was giving me as indignation. "She's getting roses," I told her. "If I can find a florist who will leave them with the thorns on."

  With that, I went in search of my laptop and a florist somewhere near my bumfuck hometown who would deliver.

  Never been much of a flower-sender, but if there ever was a situation where I felt shitty enough to become one, this was it.

  There was a ring at my intercom a few hours later, someone down on the street. I didn't live in an apartment building. I had an apartment over an abandoned store where I stored my workout shit. Whole thing cost a mint and cost even more to fix up how I liked it, but it offered me the opportunity to be in the center of town without being on top of neighbors. "Yeah?" I asked, pushing the button.

  "Paine. Buzz me up," his voice called, an odd lightness in it that I didn't trust. Christ, knowing him, he was showing up with a bunch of strippers and booze to try to cheer me up. I thought about putting a shirt on, looking down at my basketball shorts slung low on my hips, but fuck it, if it was strippers, they wouldn't mind.

  I hit the button and waited, leaning against the kitchen counter, knowing he would let himself in.

  The door opened and he didn't just let himself in.

  He also didn't have strippers with him.

  No, instead, he had fucking Amelia with him.

  And she looked scared out of her ever-loving mind.

  What the hell was going on?

  "Look what showed up on my doorstep," Paine said, smiling at me from behind Amelia's shoulder.

  Eleven

  Amelia

  It was somewhere around Virginia when my common sense started trickling back in and I pulled off at a family-friendly looking rest stop and pulled out my phone. I had just left. I hadn't told anyone I was going. Granted, my office work would be fine left unattended for a while, but someone needed to take over at the meetings. Sometimes when I was sick, Father Sanders would step in or Dr. Mary, a retired psychologist, would cover for me in a pinch. I made a quick call to both of them, leaving a message saying I had to leave town suddenly for a family emergency and asking if
they could work out the meetings schedule between them until I got back.

  Then, eyes blurry from the road and several nights of little to no sleep, I climbed into the backseat, double checked to make sure the doors were locked, and passed out for a few hours.

  Sleep did nothing to settle my nerves. If anything, I felt more and more on edge as I drove. Part of it was the half a million dollars of illegal drugs in my wall and the worry about the man who put them there. The other part was, well, the whole... going to see Johnnie thing. Because that was just completely insane, right? Who in their right mind went to see a criminal about another criminal? Was there like some bad-guy code that I would be breaking? Even as I thought that, though, I was filled with a kind of weighted certainty that I had nothing to fear from Johnnie. Maybe he was a criminal, a killer, and I had seen how fast and steady he was with a gun, but I just sort of picked up on a vibe that he would never hurt me. So there was that. But still, it was probably super weird to go to him with my problem.

  Though I was more than halfway there so turning back was an equally unpalatable option. If things went bad with him, well then I would just point the car in another direction and land up wherever I landed up.

  That plan made me feel marginally better as I finally crossed the border into Jersey. Navasink Bank was a seemingly never ending town where mansions butted up against a slum which butted up against an industrial-looking area which gave way to a suburb. Deciding Johnnie didn't seem like a McMansion kind of person or a white-picket fence kinda guy, I parked on the main drag in the industrial part of town, getting out and stretching the muscles that screamed in objection to the movement after being cramped up for so long. I turned in a small circle, taking in my options for starting my search. There was a locksmith, a coffee shop, a closed bar. No one was on the street. I grabbed a coffee, asking the barista if she knew anyone by the name of Shooter and she shook her head. Same luck at the locksmith. The bar was obviously closed. I walked further down the street, losing more and more faith in my plan as I went.

  How stupid was I to think I could show up in a town as populated as this one obviously was and just... ask if anyone had seen a guy named Shooter? I knew better than that. I didn't grow up in small towns. I grew up where no one knew anyone. Hearing voices, my body tightened and my head jerked to the side, seeing that I was walking past some kind of gated building that had at one time been a mechanic shop. Several men in jeans and leather cuts were standing out front, talking. Bikers. Great. If there was one group a woman alone didn't want to cross paths with, it was bikers.

  "You lost, cupcake?" one of them called and, despite my better judgment, I turned to look. He was younger than the others but tall with dark hair and light eyes and a nasty looking scar that ran down the side of his face, cutting off at the sharp jut of his jaw.

  He moved a foot away from the others, head cocked to the side as he waited for me to answer. I clutched my phone in my hand and swallowed hard as I turned, lifting my chin to not look so freaked out at the prospect of talking to some random hot-guy biker. "I'm looking for someone," I said with a shrug.

  "Who you looking for, honey?" one of the others, a tall guy covered in tattoos, his blond hair long on one side and buzzed up the other, asked as he moved to stand next to the younger guy.

  "Oh um..." I heard the shakiness in my voice and the blond gave me a soft smile.

  "Relax, we won't bite."

  "Right," I said, swallowing hard. "I was wondering if any of you knew someone by the name of Shooter. Or even Breaker. Or Paine..." I trailed off as the two shared a look. "Weird names, I know," I went on, nervousness making me chatty. "I think Paine is a tattoo artist. If you could just point me to a tattoo shop or..."

  "I'll do you better than that," the blond said, moving forward. "I will walk you to Paine. He's right down the street."

  "Oh. That's not necessary. I'm sure I can find it myself."

  "Sure you can, sweetie," he said, moving to stand next to me and there was nothing in his green eyes that suggested he meant me any harm. "But I am going to walk you anyway." With that, he turned and started walking, leaving me to follow behind. After a brief hesitation, I did. "My name is Cash," he supplied, hands tucked innocently in his front pockets, giving him an almost boyish aura.

  "Amelia," I supplied.

  "How do you know Paine, Break and Shoot?"

  "I don't. I mean... I know Shooter. I, ah, met him recently."

  At that, Cash stopped dead and turned fully to look at me. He did a slow inspection, a smile spreading across his handsome face. "Of course you did," he said, oddly, then started walking again. "I'll take you to Paine. He will bring you to Shoot."

  "Thanks," I mumbled and we fell into a companionable silence until we walked up to a glass front building and he pulled the door open, gesturing me to walk through first.

  The inside was what you would expect from a tattoo shop: flash art in black frames on the white walls, large mirrors to view finished work, tattoo tables and chairs, and drawers where, I imagined, all the ink and antiseptic and razors were stored. It was rather sparse, but perfectly clean and I had an image of Johnnie flash into my mind, lying on one of those tables, getting some of his colorful work done. I licked my lips unconsciously as a voice called toward us from the back room.

  "Better not be another god damn tramp stamp," he said, but the words sounded more amused than anything. Then he walked into the doorway from the back and, well, I started to wonder if all hot guys decided to set up shop in Navasink Bank. Because, well, Johnnie was hot; his friend Breaker was not hard to look at either; both the biker guys were good looking; and then there was Paine. His already in-place smile spread across his handsome face, making me take a deep breath in genuine female appreciation. "Aw babygirl, tell me you want to get stabbed somewhere naughty," he said, his voice a low, deep sound that I was sure could melt panties of any woman in a two mile radius.

  Beside me, Cash laughed, unexpectedly wrapping an arm around my shoulders like we were old friends and not complete and utter strangers. "Amelia here is a friend of Shoot's. She was looking for him."

  Paine made a tisk-tisk sound. "He break your heart, babygirl? 'Cause lemme tell ya, I'm real good at fixin' things."

  I felt a small smile tug at my lips, charmed despite myself. "I just... I need to talk to him about something."

  Paine inspected my face for a minute and I swear it felt like he saw through me. "Fuck," he said, his voice getting rougher. "He knock you up?"

  "What? No!" I said, almost a little hysterically and Cash's arm squeezed me a little.

  "Try not to freak out the already freaked out chick, huh, Paine?" Cash asked and Paine's face softened again.

  "I just... have a situation and I want some advice. That's all."

  Oddly, Cash threw his head back and laughed. It wasn't just a small chuckle either, it was the kind of laugh that lit up his whole face and moved through his whole body. Finished, he shook his head at Paine. "Fuckin' seriously with these women..."

  Paine smiled back, knowingly, and they obviously weren't going to let me in on the inside joke, because Paine just turned to me and started talking, "Just let me grab my keys, babygirl, and we will head over to Shoot's place."

  Alone, Cash's arm fell from my shoulders. "See you're freaked out, honey," he said, running his finger between my brows where I knew I had tension lines formed. "But you're safe with Paine."

  "Says the scary biker dude." I heard the words. I heard my voice saying them. But there was no way I could have said that out loud to said scary biker dude. What was wrong with me?

  "Scary biker dude, huh?" he asked, gesturing toward himself. "I always thought I was more of a hot biker dude myself."

  Okay. Apparently they were all good looking and had some kind of superhuman charm too. The poor, poor women who lived in this town. They didn't stand a chance. "Alright," I said, giving him a small smile. "Hot biker dude."

  "That's better,"
he said, flashing me another smile as Paine walked back out. "I'll leave you to it. Amelia, honey, I'm sure I'll see you around," he said, holding the door open for us and we all stepped outside, Paine pausing to lock the door. "Do us all around here a favor," he said, turning to face us, walking backward. "Stay away from skin traders, crazy exes, and bombs, 'kay?"

  "Um... okay," I agreed, my brows furrowing.

  "Trust me, we get a pretty girl 'round these parts, crazy shit starts happening," he said with a smile then turned and walked away.

  Well. That was kind of eerie. I was, in my own way, involved with some 'crazy shit'. He also called me a pretty girl which, despite said 'crazy shit' going on, penetrated and felt kinda nice.

  "Just about a block this way," Paine said, touching my hip until I turned and fell into step with him. His hand fell and he gave me my space. "So you the reason he's been in a mood since he got back?"

  "Um. I don't think so. Maybe Millie decided she doesn't like him so much after all."

  "Millie?"

  "His cat."

  Paine stopped dead, making me turn and look at him, his brows scrunched together. "His cat?"

  "Ah... yeah. He kind of... inherited her. She's the devil in a fur coat."

  "Interesting," Paine said, moving again.

  We stopped a few minutes later out front of an abandoned store front, the windows blacked out. "Johnnie lives here?"

  That earned me another penetrating look from Paine and I did my best not to squirm under the inspection. "Johnnie?"

  Oh, shoot. That wasn't smart. What if these people didn't know about his past? Was he going to be ticked that I let that slip? True, Paine was supposed to be a friend, but maybe in the criminal underbelly, you weren't as honest as you were in normal relationships. If that was the case, I definitely just screwed things up for him. As if sensing my discomfort, he let it drop. "Don't judge it from the outside. That bastard spent a mint fixing the place up." Then he turned and hit the buzzer for the second floor.