Across the road, the silhouettes of the young couple circled each other from behind the curtains of the large picture window. What they argued about didn’t matter. This week the husband would leave, and his wife would be alone.
They could eventually patch things up, but Marcel didn’t think so.
Whether the wife was aware or not, her husband was already sleeping with another woman. The way he walked from his car when he worked late, the way he checked himself in the rearview before he left.
The overnight bag he kept in the trunk.
The wife might not have known what exactly altered their relationship, but like most women, her intuition would warn her it was something detrimental.
It’s why for every man who earned the right to wield the dagger, there were three women.
They didn’t possess the physical strength, but their instincts, their drive, made them the superior killers.
As well as superior Justices.
Without the porchlight, the darkness coiled tighter in the shadows next to Marcel’s house.
No sound told him Madeline approached. There was only the change her very existence had on the space around her.
She climbed the steps, and even the loose board on the second one failed to creak.
“The nights here are so different than home.” Marcel took one last drag.
“Do you miss it?” Madeline stopped by the railing. Her scent carried a hint of honey soap and nothing else.
“I do not know. It is just different.” He pinched out the end of his cigarette. ”Your flight, it was adequate?”
“Of course.”
“Good. Jetlag is worse than cheap vodka.”
She chuckled, then for a very long time there was only the sound of their breathing. “The Justices found in your favor.”
“Of course they did.” Marcel huffed. “If they had not, you would have cut my throat instead of coming to stand beside me.” And exactly why Marcel hadn’t called Jacob until tonight. Until he’d been back several days, and there’d been time for a verdict to be given.
“The details have been taken care of.”
“I hope it was not too much of an inconvenience.”
“Five dead men is not exactly a simple cleanup. But it is what it is.”
As were many things in this life.
“Your companions?” She leaned against the post. The fabric of her blouse whispered. A perfectly normal sound, yet so out of place when she made no other.
“Jacob is fine.”
“And the other?”
“Better.”
She stared into the dark at the simple sedan parked a block and a half down, next to the curb under the canopy of an oak tree out-growing the front yard. “How long have her men been out there?”
“Each night. Different times. Sometimes before dawn, sometimes after.”
“She has been made aware.”
Marcel nodded. “Yes. But Yvette has never had a fondness of Rules.” Especially when they didn’t bend at the sight of her coffers. But that was her family, as it was with much of the world who worshipped slips of paper, metals, and stones.
“She knows what will happen?” Chips of light from the streetlamps reflected in Madeline’s eyes.
“She does.” Marcel lifted a shoulder. “But it does not mean she cares.” Her brother had been the same way. He did not care until Marcel slid the knife across his throat and stared into the man’s eyes as he bled out. And for a moment, when the blood flowed over the blade, he refused to believe he would die.
A second. Maybe two. But it was there. And while all people had that moment as the life drained from them, few had the arrogance to believe they could win against it.
Ivan had. Otherwise, he would have never killed Alexander.
Now his sister walked in her brother’s shoes. And she’d forged her hate for fifteen years.
Something that hardened was not easy to break. Even under the threat of death.
But Marcel did not give threats. He simply took what he was gifted to him.
“You can’t. Not yet.”
It didn’t surprise Marcel she knew. They had climbed the same mountains, suffered in the same cold, bled, gone hungry, and been stripped of all the things that made a man weak.
Greed.
Envy.
Hate.
Revenge.
Pride.
“She was inevitable. This was inevitable.” It was why Marcel chose this place and never traveled. One day things would come full circle, and now they had. “It is time for me to end it.”
“And no one would argue against you. However, if you strike first, you will owe her family your life.”
Marcel quirked his mouth. “Yes, but I choose who in the family to gift it to.”
Next door, Sam and Roshan exited his house, followed by his mother carrying the youngest, and fourth child, Katie, dressed in a pale blue dress and clutching a wilting paper wand.
“Give her time,” the woman said. “She is too impatient not to strike first.”
“True. But is not me she will strike out against.”
The woman tilted her head. “Yet, she watches you.”
There was enough light from the porch to reveal the smile Sam wore. The same one he carried when he walked home or to school. One that grew soft when he met the other boy’s gaze.
They climbed into his mother’s station wagon and backed out of the driveway.
“It is not me she watches.”
Sam held Roshan’s hand.
Spotlights broke the darkness inside the gym where streamers cluttered the ceiling, and tinsel curtains did a poor job of concealing the folded bleachers. Music from a band older than Sam scratched its way out of the speakers meant for announcements and not sound balance.
Students filled the center of the basketball court, some slow dancing, others gathered at the edge of the dancefloor with friends. Off to the side, out range from wandering puddles of light, tables offered a place for those who’d come alone.
A few students glanced in Sam’s direction but quickly returned to their awkward swaying.
“Well, so far, so good.” Sam smiled at Roshan.
Roshan watched the ocean of teenage bodies with wariness.
A cluster of girls pushed past them on a wave of giggles.
Sam tugged on Roshan’s hand. “C’mon, before we get run over.” He led Roshan off to the side.
Two of Sam’s classmates from chemistry waved, and he gave a halfhearted wave in return before they were swallowed by the shifting crowd. More students drifted past; couples, singles, packs of boys.
One of them stopped and raked a look over Roshan then Sam. He met the other boy’s gaze and dared him with a look to say anything. One of his friends bumped his shoulder, and he fell into the shadows, disappearing behind two girls wearing matching glittery dresses.
“Um…” Roshan smoothed out invisible wrinkles on the front of his tunic. “Do you…” He shut his eyes for a moment. “Want to do anything?”
There were empty chairs at the tables, but Sam was pretty sure that’s not what Roshan meant.
The song changed out, and the predominantly blue spotlights turned yellow and orange, slowing in their movements to match the tempo of the song.
Just the kind a person would slow dance to.
“I don’t really know how to dance.” And here Sam was at a dance.
Roshan gave a one-shoulder shrug. “I can teach you.”
“I thought you said you couldn’t dance?” Okay, that sounded rude. “I mean…did you take lessons?”
“No, I watched some YouTube videos.”
Sam laughed. “YouTube?”
“Yeah—” Roshan laughed too. “I practiced with my uncle. I’m not that great, but I can show you what I learned.”
“Compared to me, you’re probably Fred Astaire.”
“Who’s that?”
Sam waved off the question. “No one important.”
Roshan led Sa
m over to the edge of the dance zone. At least if things went south, Sam could make a break for the tables.
Roshan faced him. “Give me your other hand.”
Sam did.
Roshan put it on his hip and placed his on Sam’s.
“Now just follow how I move my feet.”
“You sure that’s safe?” Sam had on shoes where Roshan wore slippers with no protection.
Roshan followed his gaze. “I’ll take small steps.”
“I’m not sure it’s the size of the step that’s the problem.”
Roshan dropped his shoulders.
Sam stood straighter. “But as long as you aren’t afraid I’ll break something, I’m game.”
“You sure?” Roshan smiled tentatively.
“Yeah. Live dangerously, right?”
Roshan shook his head. “Not sure this qualifies as dangerous.”
“Hold that thought.”
Roshan showed Sam where to place his feet, which way to step, and Sam followed. It was all start and stop, but at least he didn’t step on Roshan’s toes.
“This isn’t as hard as I thought it would be.” Sam stuttered in his movements.
“As long as neither of us plans on entering a dance comp—”
Someone behind Sam cleared their throat.
The smile on Roshan’s face fell.
Joe stood with his hands in the pockets of his slacks, looking everywhere but at Sam. “Can I cut in?”
Sam’s mouth fell open. “Excuse me?”
Despite the low light, Joe’s face burned red.
“Can I…” He clenched his eyes shut with a real look of agony. When he opened them, Sam was sure there were tears, but more than that, the silent plea for Sam to not make him ask again.
“It’s okay.” Roshan squeezed Sam’s hand. “Go ahead.” There was no worry or sadness in his voice.
“You sure?”
“Yeah, he needs to talk to you.” Roshan inclined his head in the direction of the tables. “I’ll wait over there.”
Less than twenty feet away, but with so many people, it could be miles.
“Okay.” Maybe it was some visceral need to make sure Roshan knew his place in Sam’s heart wasn’t threatened or to show Joe he wasn’t afraid, but he kissed Roshan on the cheek.
He squeezed Sam’s hand again before walking away.
Joe watched Roshan a moment before jerking his gaze back to the general direction of the top of his shoes.
Sam held out his hand.
Joe blinked a few times. It shouldn’t have been possible, but the blush in his cheeks went darker. He glanced around before taking Sam’s hand and Sam positioned himself like he had with Roshan but left considerably more space between them.
Sam rocked a little and so did Joe.
The song overhead shifted to an upbeat tempo, but Joe didn’t seem to notice. Joe swallowed, he winced, he moved his lips as if talking to himself.
When the song changed again, whatever held Joe back broke. “You were right, I was scared. I didn’t know what to think or do
and…” Joe met Sam’s gaze.
This time a tear escaped.
Joe wiped his cheek on the shoulder of his suit jacket. “I’m sorry, Sam, I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have said those things. I was stupid.” He inhaled a watery breath.
Sam shrugged a little. “Like you said, you were scared. And I can’t blame you.”
A kid dancing with his girlfriend snickered at them.
Joe narrowed his eyes at him, giving Sam a glimpse of the old Joe. The other kid went back to fawning over his date.
After another long moment, Joe said, “I just want my best friend back. And I don’t know how to do that.” Joe dropped his shoulders. A spotlight swept over Joe, darkening the circles under his eyes.
Sam had a feeling the lack of sleep probably had nothing to do with staying up late playing video games.
“Well, you apologized, so that’s a pretty good start.”
Joe nodded, then shrugged. “But I’m not gay.”
“Okay.”
“How are we going to be friends?”
“What makes you think it’s a requirement?”
Joe stopped moving.
Sam stopped too.
Real confusion twisted up Joe’s eyebrows. “Won’t that be weird?”
“Why?”
Joe glanced around, then stuffed his hands back in his pockets. “Because you like guys, and I don’t.”
“You like anchovies on your pizza, and I don’t. Which, by the way, is disgusting.”
Joe huffed. “You eat pineapple on your pizza.”
“So?”
“It’s a fruit. You don’t put fruit on pizza.”
“We’ve had this discussion. Tomatoes are a fruit, and that’s what the sauce is made of.”
“Not the same.”
“Then what about peppers and olives.”
“Yeah, and anchovies are meat.”
“Anchovies come out of the water. Everything else you put on a pizza is turf not surf.”
They grinned at each other, then Joe’s smile shriveled up. “You really don’t hate me?”
“No.”
“And it’s okay, I’m not gay?”
“You don’t seem to have a problem being friends with girls and not dating them.”
Joe dropped his gaze again. “Lisa said the same thing.”
“You told your sister about—” About what happened. Sam knew Joe and Lisa were close, but considering how badly Joe reacted, Sam had a hard time imagining Joe would willingly share how he’d treated Sam since they’d been glued to the hip since kids.
No, she would have to have found out.
Joe’s expression said it was worse. Or at least far more embarrassing.
He leaned closer.
“I had to check.”
Sam tilted his head. “Check?”
“You know…” Joe glanced around.
“Uh, no…”
Joe whispered against Sam’s ear. “I had to check and make sure I wasn’t gay.”
With the loud music, it took Sam a moment to decipher what Joe said. Then, of course, there was the question of how did a person check to see if they were gay? Sam could only come up with one answer.
As if he’d read Sam’s mind, Joe nodded. “She walked in on me, I didn’t have the door locked, and it was right there on the laptop…”
Sam snorted.
“Yeah, yeah, go ahead and laugh.”
“I’m not laughing.”
Joe rolled his eyes.
“So, she caught you…” Sam cleared his throat. “And you told her?”
“I kind of had to. I was sitting there with my junk in my hand and nothing happening and…” Joe scrubbed a hand through his hair. “She knew I wasn’t hanging out with you anymore, and she threatened to ask you herself unless I fessed up.” Joe stepped back. “We talked. A lot. And she said the same thing about being friends with girls. She said I should talk to you, but I was stupid. I couldn’t. Then when you wound up in the hospital…” He sighed. “I had to tell you I’m sorry, no matter how much you hated me.”
“I don’t hate you.” Sam didn’t. In spite of everything, there was a part of him who’d never let go of their friendship and probably never would.
“You should.”
“Nah, takes too many brain cells.”
“You really mean that? I mean the you don’t hate me part.”
“Yes.” Sam chuckled.
Joe’s smile returned, but this time it was gentle and relaxed. “Thank you.”
“It’s no big deal.”
“Yeah, it is.”
Maybe. Probably. Sam wasn’t sure it really mattered if it was. There were far more important things to occupy his mind with.
Joe glanced over at Roshan. “He’s really lucky to have you.”
“I think that goes both ways.”
“Yeah.” Joe jabbed a thumb over his shoulder. “So, I guess, I’ll… I�
�ll go so you can…”
“Would you like to meet him?”
Joe seemed caught off guard for a moment. “Yeah.” He cleared his throat. “Sure.”
Sam led Joe over to where Roshan sat. He stood.
“Roshan, this is Joe.”
Roshan extended his hand. “Nice to meet you.”
Joe took Roshan’s hand, and they shook. “Yeah, nice to meet you too.”
“How long have you and Sam been friends?”
Joe scuffed his feet. “I think I was eight, and he was six.”
“His dog stole my remote-control car,” Sam said.
Joe huffed. “It was my grandmother’s dog, not mine.”
“And Joe didn’t want to give it back.”
He shrugged. “It was a cool car.”
Sam grinned. “Yeah, it was a cool car.”
“I didn’t know you liked RCs?” Roshan said.
“He doesn’t just like them, he builds them.” Joe nudged Sam in the shoulder.
“Wow. Do you build cars too?” Roshan said to Joe.
Sam laughed. “No, he just sets them on fire.”
“Shut up.”
“On fire?” Roshan raised his eyebrows.
Sam didn’t know what was worse, Roshan’s genuine curiosity or Joe’s indigent expression.
“He’s exaggerating,” Joe said.
“No, I’m not. You—"
The speakers crackled, and the music died down. A voice spoke out overhead. “Sam Waters, please report to the lobby. Sam Waters, please report to the lobby.” The voice cut off with a screech of feedback.
Music reclaimed the dead air.
“Must be important,” Joe said.
“Do you think something’s wrong?” Roshan worried his bottom lip.
“No. I mean, what would be wrong?” But now Roshan mentioned it, Sam’s mind coughed up a dozen worst-case scenarios. “I guess I better go find out the answer.”
“I’ll come with you.”
“No, no, just stay here. You two can talk.” Sam looked at Joe. “I mean, if that’s not too much to ask?”
“Nah.” Joe pulled out a chair. “I promise not to tell him all your worst secrets.”
To Roshan, Sam said, “I’ll be right back. I’m sure it’s nothing.” He started to turn. “Oh, and don’t believe a word he says.”
Roshan laughed and sat at the table.
Sam wove back through the students to the front of the gym, where two teachers stood guard over the doorway leading out into the foyer.
SICARII: Part III Page 16
