by Marcus Sakey
Monsters Would Be Waiting
All his wavering vanished. Using his left hand on the door frame for leverage, Danny threw himself into the room, raising the rectangle of plastic he’d taken from the duffel bag. Tommy was already turning, the excitement on his face melting at the sight of Evan with a pistol. The phone dropped from his hand, and there was a frozen moment as it fell. Then it struck the wood floor with a loud clatter, and Danny lunged past Evan, thumbing the button on the stun gun and pressing it firmly to Tommy’s shoulder.
There was an electric crackling sound, and the boy went rigid and then slumped. Danny caught him before his head hit the floor and set him down gently.
He turned, anger surging quick now. Evan stood casually six feet away, the gun at his hip, the arm moving loosely, like the revolver was tugging at it.
“I told you not to bring a gun.” Danny had to fight to keep from yelling.
“Yeah,” Evan’s voice was slow, almost a drawl. “I remember you saying that.”
Right then, if he’d a piece of his own, Danny couldn’t have sworn he wouldn’t have pulled it. He straightened, stepped away from Tommy. The stun gun was still in his hand, and that old anger throbbed through his veins. He stared at Evan, the part of his mind that calculated odds screaming at him to stop, to cool out, telling him that a thirty-dollar stun gun was no match for a thirty-eight-caliber pistol. Evan stared back, a hard smile on his face. Ready to play.
“Hello?” The tinny voice came from the floor, from the phone Tommy had dropped. “Hello? Are you guys okay?”
Debbie’s voice broke the spell. He blew air through his nose, turned away. Picked up the phone. “Yeah.”
Her voice sounded thin, a little scared. “I heard noises.”
“It’s nothing.” He dropped back down to a crouch, checking Tommy’s pulse. It was strong. He turned to look at Evan over his shoulder. “Get the bag.” Danny peeled up Tommy’s eyelids. The pupils looked a little dilated, but okay. To Debbie, he said, “We’re going to wrap up here. You’re at a pay phone like I told you?”
“Uh-huh. A bodega on Western.”
“Good. Wipe down the phone and go ahead to the trailer. We’ll meet you there.” He hung up.
There was a thump as the bag dropped down beside him. He could see Evan’s battered boots just beyond. Danny reached for the duffel, unzipped it, not glancing up. “The garage is at the end of the hall. Go open the door and pull the car in. Close it behind you.”
“He okay?”
“Yeah.”
There was a laugh. “Electrocuting don’t count as hurting him?”
Danny looked up. The gun was tucked in the front of Evan’s pants. “I needed a way to knock him unconscious without doing him any harm. This is the weakest stun gun on the market. But yeah, when I tried it, it hurt.”
Evan broke into a mocking smile. “You tried it on yourself?”
“Before using it on a kid? Of course.” He reached in the duffel bag, took out another mask, the eyeholes on this one taped over. “It hurts, but the pain doesn’t last, and there’s zero permanent damage. Which makes it a whole lot better than pistol-whipping him the way you planned to.”
“How long will he be out?”
“I don’t know. A grown man probably wouldn’t even lose consciousness. So call it fifteen minutes. You going to go get the car, or do you want to wait till he wakes up?” He turned back to the bag, pulling out Ace bandages and consciously ignoring Evan, who stood still for five seconds, ten, enough to prove his independence. Then he turned and went down the hall, his boots loud with every step.
Danny let his breath out.
Tommy gave a little moan, and one arm jerked slightly. It stabbed Danny’s heart to see it. “I’m sorry, kiddo.” He put one hand on the unconscious boy’s cheek. The skin felt soft and warm, like he was just sleeping, and a bitter wave washed through Danny. “I wish none of this was happening.”
Through the floor he felt the faint vibration of the garage door opening. Self-loathing would have to wait. He put the mask on Tommy’s face. “But you don’t know this guy. Believe me, he’d be doing this with or without me. And as long as I’m here, you’ll be safe.”
He didn’t add that he only hoped that was true. Jesus Christ, bringing a gun. All those years in prison hadn’t taught Evan anything. Not anything worth learning, at least.
Danny worked swiftly but gently, wrapping the boy in bandages. He was afraid tying his wrists would cut off circulation, so he just looped the fabric firmly around Tommy’s whole chest, binding his arms to his sides in a wide cocoon. He repeated the process with the boy’s legs. It wouldn’t hold against serious effort, but it would serve their needs. Duct tape would have been more secure, but Danny couldn’t do that to a twelve-year-old.
To Evan, maybe.
When he was done, he straightened, thumbed the safety and tucked the stun gun in his pocket. The phone was on the ground, and he picked it up, walked to the kitchen and hung it up, swinging back through the mudroom to lock the deadbolt. When he returned to the TV room, he found Evan lifting the corner of a framed modern art print and peering behind it.
“You got to be kidding me.”
“What?” Evan asked.
“He’s a contractor. Even if he has a safe, you think it’s going to have bundles of hundreds?” Danny sighed. “Grab his feet, I’ll get the hands.”
Evan gave him a contemptuous look, bent down and came up with Tommy in a fireman’s cradle. The kid probably didn’t weigh much over ninety pounds, but still, the absolute effortlessness was impressive. Like he weighed nothing at all.
Danny stabbed the TV power, silencing a rap star tricking out his third Lamborghini with gold rims, and took one last look around. Everything seemed clean. “Let’s go.” He shouldered the bag and walked out.
The garage was orderly, no tools or lawn equipment, just a couple of bicycles and space for two cars. Evan had parked the stolen Saab dead in the middle, the trunk gaping open. The inside was lined with thin carpet, and the former owner’s golf clubs took up half the space. They hadn’t thought to check the trunk. Danny shoved the clubs to one side, frustration beginning to infect his cool. It was always the little things that got you caught. If he was going to get Tommy out of this, get himself out of it, he couldn’t afford not to think of everything.
Evan bent over and laid Tommy in the trunk, more gently than Danny expected. “Okay,” he said, brushing his hands off. “We done?”
Danny nodded, started to shut the trunk lid, and stopped himself. They didn’t have far to go, but still. “One second.”
He turned and went back to the TV room. Half a dozen throw pillows of different colors and patterns rested on the couch. He grabbed three. Who really noticed their couch pillows? He walked back to the garage. The boy mumbled something and pulled unconsciously at his bindings.
“Shhh.” Danny ducked down and braced Tommy with pillows. He put one under his head, and the others on either side. Hardly the Ritz, but it would keep him from rolling into the golf clubs or the wheel well. Good enough. He closed the trunk. “Let’s roll.”
Evan smirked and shook his head, but reached for the car door. Danny caught the frame. “I’m driving.”
For once Evan didn’t argue.
“Greenleaf, Greenwood, Forest. These dumbfucks live in Chicago, but all their streets have tree names.” Evan’s voice had a playful tone, the same as when they’d taunted each other playing Pisser all those years ago.
Richard’s house was two blocks behind, and Danny wondered if they had closed the garage door. He knew they had; the worry was just part of the jangling of his nerves as he came down. Same with the urge to giggle, as though they were only shoplifting Playboys from a Loop liquor mart. He willed himself cool. They were away, but the job wasn’t over yet. They had to get Tommy to the construction trailer. Then he could let himself relax.
A little.
Because nothing was over, he reminded himself, until Tommy was home.
Until Danny could go back to his old life. Paperwork. Project management. Renting movies for couch-lounging Sunday afternoons after Karen slept off her night shifts.
That seemed about as real as a prison fantasy, a late-night conversation with a cellie about what you were going to do when you got out. The Italian beef with extra peppers, the redhead that seemed like she might wait. The promise that you’d never again do anything boneheaded enough to return you to jail. For a moment he imagined he were still in prison, that the last seven years had just been a particularly vivid dream.
Then he pulled his shit together. “Yeah, well. Lots of trees.”
Evan grunted, looking out the window to shaded lawns fronting million-dollar homes. “S’pose.”
“Okay. We head back to the trailer. Debbie meets us there. After we get Tommy inside, I’ll make an appearance at the restaurant construction site. You take the car and get it stolen. Then-”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah.” Evan yawned. “We been over this, man.”
“Then,” Danny continued, “we meet up and make the call. We’ll go over what you’ll say beforehand, but it’ll be short and simple. Then-”
“Then we get a pint and wait.”
Danny nodded, keeping to himself that he didn’t plan to play buddies. The man wanted a drink, fine. He wasn’t a freshman thief likely to start bragging on his fourth whiskey. But Danny was going home. He flipped the turn signal, his gloves against the wheel suggestive of the coming winter. They’d wind south to Lakeshore – there’d be traffic, but anonymity, too. The stop sign at the corner had a sticker that said RAPE pasted just below the STOP part. He checked his mirror as he slowed.
The sedan in his rearview had a blue siren on the dash. “Shit.”
“What?”
“Security.”
“Shit.” Evan straightened in the seat.
The car was a recent-model Ford, the windows tinted just enough that all Danny could make out was the driver’s silhouette. His heart banged against his ribs like an animal throwing itself at the bars of its cage. How long had the car been there? He’d been too distracted with his thoughts to know for sure.
A block or two, though.
He braked at the sign, a full stop. The bumper of the Ford crept up in the rearview. Danny touched the gas and turned, just another civilian going about his business in a nice car.
The blue light flashed on as he rounded the corner.
His sweating palms made the gloves sticky as he braked, gliding the car to a smooth stop. Put it in park but left the engine running. The Ford pulled up behind them, the light still going. Soundless, though. No siren.
“He alone?” Evan asked, not turning around.
The man stepped out of the car, a tall guy, thin, with a mustache. He wore a black uniform with a red patch on the chest. “Yeah.”
Evan nodded. The revolver appeared in one hand. He opened the cylinder, spun it, and flipped it back in place. Then he rocked his head to either side, fast. Danny could hear his neck pop. Evan winked and transferred the pistol to his right hand as he reached for the door handle with his left.
This couldn’t be happening. History couldn’t be about to repeat itself, not while he just sat there and watched everything spin out of control.
It never was in control, Danny-boy.
You were just kidding yourself.
A thought gut-punched him: If the situation could be saved, it would be because he saved it. He flung open his door and stepped out before Evan could react.
The security guard jumped, one hand straying to his belt. His fingers cupped over something, it looked like pepper spray.
“Hi there.” Danny made himself smile, a resident talking to an employee. Out of the corner of his eye he could see that Evan had his door open an inch or two, but he hadn’t gotten out. Danny took another step toward the guard, putting his body in Evan’s line of fire.
“Sir.” The guard didn’t smile, but his hands loosened on the pepper spray. He pointed to the trunk of the car. “Can you step over here please?”
Every part of him tingled. The trunk of the car. Adrenaline tasted bitter in his mouth. He took one step, then another, thinking maybe he could sucker-punch the guard. He wouldn’t let Evan do things his way, but that didn’t mean he had to let a rent-a-cop bend and cuff him. Maintaining his smile through sheer force of will, he stepped over to face the man, hands at his sides, fingers dying to clench into fists.
“What’s the problem, Officer?” Laying it on, like he didn’t realize the guy wasn’t police.
The man’s expression didn’t change as he pointed at the back of the car. “That.”
Had Tommy somehow woken up and figured a way to open the trunk? Danny took another step, rounding the side of the car, his gaze following the man’s finger, ready to jump the guy. Expecting to see the trunk partway open, Tommy’s hands poking out. Certain that at any moment Evan would throw open his door and start shooting, the blasts loud enough to shatter the world.
On the right-hand side, the Saab’s taillight was broken.
“Sir, that’s very dangerous. You shouldn’t drive with only one. I wanted to warn you before the police stopped you.”
Something inside Danny broke into manic laughter, wet-cheeked and fearsome, like a little boy who turned on a light to realize the monster in the corner of his room was only a stack of clothes on the dresser.
And as he went through the motions with the pseudo cop, clucking and acting concerned, wondering aloud when it had happened, the whole time he was thinking how this sanctimonious jerk had almost gotten his head blown off. Thinking that if he hadn’t moved just when he did, Evan would have come out shooting over a busted taillight.
Thinking that the problem with the relief the little boy in his bedroom felt was that at some point, he had to turn the lights back off.
And when he did, the monsters would be waiting.
23
Dead Leaves to Dance
The stolen Saab had been pure pussy to drive, more responsive and muscular than Evan expected. He’d taken a couple of long blocks around Cabrini as a victory lap, the accelerator to the floor so the crumbling world outside blurred: a chain-linked high school, a row of burned-out tract houses, a liquor store barricaded like a World War Two bunker. Half the buildings he passed were tagged with gang symbols, and at one point he’d sent a group of teenaged bangers jumping for the curb, their shouts after him making him laugh. Call it payback for the crews he’d had to deal with in Stateville. He wasn’t racist or anything, but it was always the blacks in gangs, them and the Hispanics. He’d hated dumping the Saab in their turf, leaving it with the windows open and the keys inside. A shame to leave such a nice piece of machinery to perpetual losers.
Back in his own car, he munched on chips while he waited for Danny. He was parked in back of a gas station beside a wrecked Ford compact that looked like it had run into a semi, the front end crunched in, the windshield shattered, fragments of greenish safety glass scattered across the seat. The gun bit into his belly, and he took it out and tossed it on the passenger seat. Danny’s face when he’d seen it had been almost as funny as those of the gangbangers diving for the curb. A beautiful moment, like watching a building collapse. Such surprise. Evan couldn’t believe it – the guy had actually managed to convince himself that he was in charge, that everybody was going to follow orders like good little soldiers.
By the time this job was done, Evan had a hunch Danny’s smug look of superiority would be nothing but a fading memory.
He’d finished his pack of cigarettes and been playing with the idea of going in for another, knowing he was smoking too much lately, not much caring, when Danny pulled in. Evan climbed out of the Mustang, the wind hitting with physical force, way too cold for this time of year. Soon as this job was over, he was taking his money and heading south. Find a place with bars that opened to the beach. Bikinis that would call him Daddy.
To the right of the gas station sat a freezer with bags of ice. D
anny made a three-point turn to park his truck next to it, then climbed out the passenger side, using the truck to block off the phone. Such a Danny move, overthinking things – like anybody was going to spy on two guys talking in a parking lot. Especially in this weather.
The first words out of Danny’s mouth were, “Did you ditch the Saab?”
Evan decided to ignore him. “What, you carry a change of clothes in the car?” Danny was back in faggoty khakis and a dress shirt, every bit the young professional.
“I went to a job site. Had to look the part.” Danny dug a hand into his pants pocket, came out with a couple of quarters, started tossing them hand to hand.
“Dorito?” Evan offered the bag.
Danny suddenly looked at him, hard. “You went inside?”
“Checked it out. It’s good. Clerk can’t see us.”
Instead of being happy to hear it, Danny just clenched. “The point was to stay out of sight.”
“I bought chips,” Evan said. “I didn’t rob the place.”
Danny shook his head. “All right. You know what to say?”
“Yeah. I tell him I’m a friend of Danny Carter’s, and that I’ve got his kid in my basement. What’s the number?”
For a second he thought the guy was going to make an issue of it, and wondered how much longer he was going to have to deal with this shit. A couple of days at least, until things were solidly in motion. He might need Danny’s knowledge of the boss man. Still, if Danny kept treating him like some punk pulling his first counter job, they were going to mix it up.
Danny handed him the quarters. “The number’s 847-866-0300. That’s his mobile. He always answers it.”
He nodded, reaching for the phone. Danny caught his wrist.
“Wear your gloves.”
He snorted. “Your asshole must be puckered so tight you need a shoehorn to take a shit.”
“Just put on the gloves.”
Evan shrugged, took them from his pocket and pulled them on. “Happy?” Picked up the receiver and slotted the change, his energy up. Not as strong, as pure, as when they broke into the house, but still, that edge of power surging through him. He pitied the regular citizens that went their whole drab little lives without ever feeling this way.
