by Jodi Thomas
In the blink of an eye, Sailor June could slip her fingers into someone’s raincoat pocket and back out again. “Having any luck?” Blaine asked in a low voice meant only for June.
“A few bus tokens.” The angelic face wrinkled. “And hundreds of dirty tissues. I hate cold season.” She wiped her hand on her pants. “Wish folks wouldn’t carry the dirty ones around in their pockets. What the blazes you think they’re keeping them for? Posterity?”
Blaine laughed. Over the past week she had learned about these people. They weren’t like mainstream society by any means, but they had their own set of rules. June, for example, never took more than change, or a few dollars people dropped into their pockets. In truth, most of her benefactors probably didn’t even miss the money that slipped from their coats.
Vanilla Anna pulled her head from the bag and twisted around to stare at Blaine. Her curly gray hair was fuzzy with rain.
“’Evening.” Blaine barely recognized the low tone in her own voice. She decided days ago that the bombing had permanently damaged her vocal cords.
Anna was in no mind to hear today.
Chocolate Anna looked up as her friend dived back inside her sack. “’Evening, Mary. Don’t mind her. She’s got something on her mind, squashing all else out right now. We should all be thankful for the silence. When she gets in her mothering mood, there ain’t no peace to be had.”
Blaine nodded, then pulled the loaf of bread from her gym bag. “I picked up this at the free-bread line today, but I’ve still got half a loaf left from yesterday. Would you like some? It’s raisin cinnamon.”
Anna raised her eyebrow, waiting for the terms of the trade.
“You would be doing me a favor. I’m tired of carrying it.”
“Oh, all right. If it will help you out.” She squeezed to test the freshness of the loaf. “I usually only eat the whole wheat. It’s better for you, you know. But I could take this off your hands this one time.”
Another unwritten rule, Blaine thought. Never be beholden.
The other Anna pulled up from her latest dive into the trash bag. “Hi, Mary, my child,” she said as if she’d just noticed Blaine. “Did you forget your lessons? You know how you have to keep practicing if you want to play in the band.”
“I didn’t forget,” Blaine answered, touching the old woman’s shoulder. “I promise, I’ll practice.” The game was getting easier, she thought. Blaine no longer felt the need to try to pull the old woman into reality. It was easier just to step into her world. And in her world Anna was the mother to all that passed her way.
“Good.” Anna went back to searching.
“What are you looking for?” Blaine asked.
“I had a Lego I found in the park. I thought it might be yours and I know how you are about keeping all your things together.”
Blaine watched the crowd as Anna searched the bag. The press of people closed around them as the mass grew in anticipation of the next bus. Most of the people ignored the two homeless ladies, but Blaine had the feeling she was being watched.
Standing, she walked to the edge of the crowd and studied the front of the Driskill Hotel. No one waited at the hotel’s entrance. She thought of going back over to the huge gold doors of the hotel, but was afraid if she stood there one of the sleepy hotel guards might notice her. It made more sense to wait here in the crowd at the bus stop and keep watching for Mark.
Blaine moved back to the bench. She could almost feel someone just beyond the light watching her. Staring. Waiting for her to make a move.
She huddled closer to Vanilla Anna.
The rain poured with a vengeance, straight down with waterfall force as though determined to drive all inside. Blaine wanted to leave, seek shelter elsewhere. Even wet, she could probably run into the gym, but she’d told Mark she’d be waiting.
Her best bet was to stay put.
A bus arrived, splashing its way against the curb. Several in the crowd huddled together and made a mad dash for the opening doors as if they’d spotted the way out of hell.
Though fewer people populated the stop, Blaine still huddled into a space on the bench next to the Annas and tried to be invisible. She pulled the hood of her sweat jacket over most of her face. With the clouds, it was impossible to tell how close to sunset it was, but she shouldn’t have to wait much longer for Mark.
Blaine couldn’t shake the feeling of someone watching her from the shadows just beyond the curtain of rain. Slowly, she positioned her gym bag between her feet, protecting her only belongings.
People came and went with the buses. A few had umbrellas and stood outside the huddle, but most pressed as close as they could, hoping to be shielded from the downpour.
Blaine slowly turned her head, watching the people. Most were students with backpacks, or workers with black lunch boxes. A few businessmen stood with a paper tented over their heads. Three of the thugs she’d seen harassing people at the shelter lurked a few feet away beneath the short storefront overhang. They mumbled among themselves. Their heads were out of the rain, but water splashed around their feet.
Another bus arrived. The rain continued. Occasionally, she heard a slice of conversation. Two men mentioned the baseball scores. A woman asking if the Windsor Point bus had already come. A mother scolded a child who outweighed her by thirty pounds but obviously hadn’t achieved independence.
Blaine shivered. It wasn’t that cold, but the wind whipped around the buses just enough to blow across her wet clothes. She closed her eyes and tried to think about going home.
In the storm she lost track of time. What if Mark didn’t get her message?
Two of the thugs jumped from against the building to the small area covered by the bus-stop awning. They splashed water on already wet people as they stomped in step almost like a small army.
Blaine glanced around. Lost in her thoughts, she hadn’t noticed that their numbers had grown.
A tall, thin boy a year or two away from adulthood and his stockier friend tried to start a conversation with a young girl toting a full backpack. The chorus of their buddies still leaned along the building’s wall cheering them on as if watching a fight.
“What’s your name?” The short one slicked back wet hair from his pimply face.
When the girl turned away, the other thug moved behind her and repeated the question. He stood taller than her by almost a head. A few years older than the other, he had a hardness about his face.
Blaine watched as the boys tried to get the girl to talk.
“Come on, baby,” the shorter one begged. “Tell us your name.” He glanced at his friend. “She’s so hot she could make this rain sizzle.”
“She could make me sizzle.” The tall thug opened his hand within an inch of her breast. “Just my size.”
The girl did her best to ignore them, but while one talked the other tried to get into her backpack. Each time she twisted away from one, the other moved a little closer until she couldn’t twist without bumping into one of them. They acted as if they were only teasing, but terror showed on the girl’s face.
“What you reading?” The tall one tried to pull out a book. “Something interesting?”
The stout one laughed. “Not as interesting as what I got to show you, baby. Now, come on, tell us your name.”
Blaine clenched her fingers into fists and prepared to fight if they pressed the girl any harder. She felt the tension in the crowd. Several obviously wanted to help but feared getting involved. The two boys were not alone. Several shadows moved outside the shelter and no telling how many of them were thugs waiting to step in if anyone tried to stop the game their friends played with the girl.
Vanilla Anna looked up from her bag, suddenly aware of her surroundings and the boys so near. “Stop teasing her!” she yelled, drawing everyone’s attention. “Or I’ll paddle you both.”
For a moment the boys stopped, then they laughed. The shorter thug pointed his finger at Anna and acted as if he was pulling a trigger, then he blew
imaginary smoke from his imaginary weapon.
“We’re not teasing her. She loves it,” one said, grabbing the girl’s arm. “Don’t you?”
“Let go!” The girl dropped her pack and fought to pull away.
The other boy gripped her free arm. “Why don’t we go somewhere and talk about this? We got lots to talk about and you can catch a later bus.”
Blaine had had enough. Just as she stood, a man in a raincoat stepped in front of her, knocking her back in place beside Anna.
“That’s enough.” The man’s cold, even voice echoed in the tiny space surrounded by walls of rain. “Leave her alone, gentlemen, or I’ll do more than paddle your worthless behinds.”
Both thugs turned, swelling for a fight.
Blaine watched the stranger’s raincoat part and saw a badge clipped beside a gun on his belt. The boys saw it too, for they didn’t make a move as a bus splashed to a stop a few feet behind them.
The girl grabbed the straps of her backpack and ran for the open door without glancing back.
“You boys want to know my name?” the officer added. “It’s Randell. Lieutenant Randell. I’ll be happy to talk to you. How about we go somewhere and do that? I know just the place.”
The thugs’ bravado melted like sugar armor in the rain. “We weren’t doing nothing. Just having a little fun. We weren’t hurting nobody.” The boy’s defenses mumbled together.
Randell looked more bothered than angry. “How old are you two juvenile delinquents? Not old enough to be on the streets, I’ll wager.”
“We’re not on the street,” the tall one said. “We were waiting for the bus to take us home from school.”
“Yeah,” the other one added. “We was just going home from school, minding our own business. We just asked the girl her name, ain’t no crime in that, Detective.”
Randell didn’t appear to be listening. “Let me see some ID.” When they hesitated, he added, “All I want is your name. You’ve got nothing to worry about unless you’re wanted for something.”
The boys looked at one another. Neither reached for any identification. Again it was the taller of the two who spoke first. “Why are you picking on us? We ain’t doing nothing. We was just talking to a girl.”
“Turn around and assume the position. My guess is you know the drill.” Randell shoved the taller thug into the rain and toward the building. “Next time you say you’re coming from school, you might think about what day of the week it is.”
At once, Blaine felt as if they were all in a blender and someone had turned on the machine. She wanted to run to Randell and tell him who she was and ask for his protection. But what if he was the “one friend in the force” that Winslow had mentioned that first morning to Jimmy. That would explain why he kept asking questions. Blaine waited and watched.
The tall youth suddenly decided to fight, struggling against the detective who outweighed him by almost double. He swore as Randell tried to cuff him, jerking like a snake dancing on fire.
Randell fought both the boy and the wind flapping his raincoat.
In an instant, the boy was free, darting away.
Shadows of the thugs who watched from the sidelines jumped out of Randell’s reach as the detective tried to grab his prey. They played a game of tag with the cop as the tall boy slipped from view.
Blaine rose, seeing her chance to melt into the rain. She had to get as far away from Randell as quickly as possible and do it without him noticing her. He might have no idea how close the woman he was asking questions about was to him, but thanks to Chipper, Blaine knew who he was. If he was Winslow’s friend, she wanted nothing to do with him.
The stout thug, who’d been forgotten, crossed in front of her to get to Vanilla Anna, knocking Blaine back against the bench.
“This is all your fault, you old bag,” he whispered, his gaze darting to make sure Randell couldn’t hear. “If you hadn’t yelled, no one would have noticed us.” Rage won out over reason as he advanced.
Before Blaine could react, the kid pulled a knife and swung toward Anna, who still studied her bag unaware the boy was even talking to her. People scrambled in every direction.
Blaine opened her mouth to warn Anna as the blade swung wide. Someone shoved her hard from behind, knocking her into danger.
The steel dug into Blaine’s side before she could move, cutting through her jacket and into her flesh.
She looked through tears of pain at the kid, seeing surprise and horror in his eyes. He pocketed the knife and stumbled backward into the traffic. A car clipped his right thigh, but he kept on running like a wounded animal until the rain swallowed him from view.
Blaine fought a scream and doubled forward, hiding her injury. Randell ran toward the boy, dodging cars in an effort to catch at least one of the troublemakers.
This was her chance, maybe her only chance. He’d been the one watching her, she was sure of it. If the boy’s antics hadn’t distracted him, she might be in Randell’s grip, and if he was Winslow’s friend, she might be dead before the rain stopped. She pressed her hand across the wound and willed herself to stand.
Vanilla Anna looked up at her with questioning eyes. “Leaving so soon, Mary? I was hoping you’d stay for pie.”
Blaine nodded. “Watch my bag for me, will you?” She couldn’t hold her hand over the wound and lug the gym bag.
She made it to the phone booth a half block away and searched for her last few coins. Frantically, she dialed Mark’s cell. She’d tried home and the office before. This number had to work. It had to.
It was picked up on the first ring. “Hello.”
Blaine froze. It wasn’t Mark.
“Hello! Is there someone on the line?”
She recognized Harry Winslow. Opening her mouth, she tried to get the words out to ask for Mark but couldn’t manage a sound. If Winslow had the cell phone, he knew she was waiting.
“Who is this?” Harry said low as if he could somehow see through the phone line. “Blaine, is that you? Tell me where you are. I’ll send someone for you.”
Blaine glanced back toward the bus stop and thought she saw a thin man blink into sight with the lightning, then disappear once more into the blackness. He could have been standing just behind her. He could have pushed her toward the knife.
She hung up the phone, not knowing who to trust. She had no idea why they wanted her dead, but deep down she knew they did and she’d walked right into their hands.
But who to trust? She couldn’t get to Mark, somehow Winslow had cut him off from her. Randell might be a good cop, but she couldn’t be sure. After all, he gave Chipper liquor and that didn’t seem right.
Miller.
She wasn’t sure she had enough strength left to make it to Shakespeare’s corner, but if she could, he’d know where to find Miller.
Blaine walked in the opposite direction from where Randell and the boy had gone. Light-headed, she felt the wound in her side sting against her hand, as though the blade had been molten hot when it pressed into her.
Rain washed her face as she stumbled forward, making no effort to move below the overhangs. The rain no longer mattered. She had to get away.
“Keep moving,” she whispered. “Keep moving.” Not only her life, but Mark’s, depended on it.
Glancing over her shoulder, Blaine thought she saw a lean shadow following her. She bit back the pain and tried to run. Her feet stumbled through low spots where water splashed over her shoes, but she didn’t slow. Her body was hot and cold at the same time. Thick blood oozed its way through the fingers covering her side.
Run! she told herself. Run!
When she finally reached the corner with the boarded-up coffee shop, she turned and took a breath, listening for the sound of someone still following.
The rain and her heart pounding muffled all else. Blaine shoved away from the wall and moved toward Shakespeare’s doorway.
She gathered the strength to look back. The outline of a man kept coming, closing the dis
tance between them.
She waited for the blackness after the lightning. When it came, she vanished down the dark passageway to the shop’s entrance where she knew Shakespeare slept.
Twenty
Leaving the office, Mark pulled off his coat and tie before he reached his car. Stuffing the clothes in the back seat with what seemed like half of his wardrobe, he headed toward Subway. Since the night he’d gone with Lilly, Mark frequented the fast-food diner on a nightly basis. Not because he particularly liked it, but more because if he drove to the same place every night, that was one less decision he had to make.
He’d ordered straight down the menu. It didn’t matter. He always said extra lettuce and olives more out of habit than any hunger or care.
Once home, he flipped on the TV, slid the old take-out wrappers off the coffee table into the pile of other leftovers and dropped onto the couch. Opening his sandwich, he noticed the cushions were starting to sag on the sofa. The one piece of furniture had become his pod. He sat there. Slept there. Ate there. At this rate he could sublet the other fifteen hundred square feet and just live on the couch. Rooms that had once been cool and stylish now only seemed cold and gray.
As he always did, he offered to share his supper with Blaine’s finicky cat who jumped on the table within inches of the sandwich. Mark didn’t know, or care, if it was close to the cat’s lunchtime, or dinnertime, but he figured the cat didn’t either. He passed a serving on a napkin.
To his surprise, Tres ate a small piece of roast beef and waited for more.
He tried an olive.
She waited.
Next came lettuce. Then bread.
She meowed in what he was sure was a swear word if he could only understand her language.
He offered another piece of beef.
She smelled it the way a connoisseur of wine smells the cork, then ate.
Mark tore off a few inches of his sandwich and passed it down the coffee table. “I should have guessed you’d never go for one of the ones under six grams of fat.”
