“Lay off.” I rub the back of my head.
“She stole my car and I want it back.”
“If she stole your car, why’d she take off on foot?”
He wipes the blood trickling from his nose with his jacket sleeve, then examines his wrist, twisting it in front of me like he wants an apology.
Nice try.
“Dylan?” Riley’s shrill voice shakes the alley. “Dylan. Where are you?”
“Riley, get outta here!”
I’m not about to back down just because of her. This fight isn’t playtime, and she knows what to expect in these situations. A gutsy girl from a crime-ridden neighborhood, she can hold her own. I’ve seen her smack a guy for reaching under her skirt, twist his arm and knee his groin, all while wearing high heels and serving drinks.
But her desensitization to violence doesn’t mean she approves of it.
“Dylan Marzley, put that knife away right this minute.” She takes baby steps in her knee-high boots. “I’m so flipping tired of you and Sean acting like you’re in a gang. How many fights you getting into tonight? I heard you just beat someone up. Now what? Who’s this?”
“This one looks like she’ll put out.” The guy eyes Riley from head to toe, nothing but a piece of meat to him.
My nails claw at the wall. “Don’t even think about it … Riley, get back inside!”
I’m about to snap from the guy’s lighter flicking to the beat of each of Riley’s steps.
He takes a drag of his cigarette and licks his lips. “She’s asking for it coming back here.”
I grab his shoulder and hold my blade to his chest. “You’re the one who’s asking for it.”
“Trevor.” A voice echoes from the end of the alley.
He hunts the darkness with an uneasy look in his eyes, caught off guard when the girl appears from the darkness, pushing him into my blade. It pierces his leather jacket and slides into his gut. Holding the blade steady, I look down at the blood on my hand.
Did I do that? Or did she?
His head rests on my shoulder.
Did she push? Or did I thrust?
His legs shake and his cigarette drops. When I pull out, a gasp is released and he collapses at my feet.
“Jesus, Dylan.” Riley spins on her heels and scurries away, her curly black hair swaying with her hips. “You’re always getting into fights. But this? Not in front of me, okay? Just once, I’d like to have a boring Friday night with you and Sean.” She walks faster. “I didn’t see that. I did NOT see that. I’m telling Sean. I’m getting him. He’s gonna be seething mad you killed that girl.”
“What girl?” I look down.
The burgundy coat catches my eye first, spread out like a picnic blanket, black gloves on either side suggestive of monstrous ants. A harsh wind snakes through the alley and flaps her hair over blood spots in the snow.
“Shit,” I whisper.
I fall into the wall when she turns over and picks the cigarette off the ground, holding it up to me.
“Don’t worry,” she says. “You’re not dead.”
I shut my eyes, hands tearing at the bricks in fright. I inhale mammoth breaths and open one eye, then the other, seeing the leather jacket at my feet. I shut my eyes tight and open them again. It’s the guy, not the girl. Just the guy.
The pounding in my head stops. I scan the alley but see no trace of her.
No footprints.
Nothing.
4
I haven’t dealt with a body since the night I lost Jake and Heather, the night Ed gave Sean and me a job that went terribly wrong, the same night Jake witnessed everything.
The shock of seeing a body has long passed for me, but Jake was a wreck. As a city kid, he’d eventually repress such graphic sights, like Riley, Sean, and me. We’ve seen it too often, especially being trapped in Eddie’s world.
I was a good kid on the right track until Ed took me under his wing and promised he’d make me rich. Sean wanted in, and our first job was ratting out a guy who was dealing blow in our neighborhood. We made fifty bucks apiece for tracking the dealer to his supplier’s house. We told Ed where it was, he got credit for the bust, and no one knew who snitched. Only we got greedy for more cash and fell in over our heads, finding out real quick that there’re more bad cops than good in our neighborhood. Things escalated, and when we were old enough to drive, we started dumping bodies in the river for some of the dirty cops. Bodies they didn’t want anyone to know about, deeds kept out of the public eye. “Just cleaning up the city,” is what they said. “Do your job and don’t ask questions.”
So we did. At that point, saying no wasn’t an option. Cops would put the word out that we were narcs, and we’d be dead in a week.
But this guy at my feet … he’s not one of the wolves Eddie’s been hunting. Not any dealer or degenerate I know about, just some random guy I’ve never seen before.
I pick up his smoke before the snow snuffs it out, curious how that girl lying dead fooled my vision. I know she pushed him into my blade—that was real—I’m sure of it.
My hands shake now that it’s over, a good sign that I’m human. I wipe my knife on the guy’s leg and pocket it. Then I drag the deadweight out of the light, leaving him face down in the darkness next to the dumpster. Best to ditch him somewhere outside of this neighborhood, far away from the bar.
I kick snow over the trail of blood while puffing on the cigarette, flicking it at his head as I exhale. There’s time to figure this out. In the darkness, passing cars and pedestrians can’t see this far in from the street. And it’s rare for anyone to come back here at night, only Ed, my dad, and the guys working at Big Daddy’s Pizzeria. With the fresh footprints leading from Big Daddy’s door to the dumpster and back, I’d say I’m in the clear.
“I don’t see him.” Riley’s voice echoes through the alley. “Sean, he was by the door under the light, but I don’t see him now. What if he’s dead?”
“He’s not dead,” Sean says.
“I’m not dead,” I say.
“See. Where you at?” Sean asks.
I can tell Sean’s on my left, his stride longer than Riley’s. She’s a good six inches shorter than him, five four or so.
“Him?” Sean stops next to me and kicks the guy’s boot. “He’s dead, huh?”
“Yeah, dummy, he’s dead. Help me get him to Ed’s SUV.”
“You’re kidding. We’re not putting him in there.”
I lift his arms and wait for Sean to take his legs.
“Okay, you’re not kidding.”
We carry him to the Tahoe and drop him on the ground below the bumper. I work on the back window, trying to get the liftgate open.
“Sean, make sure we didn’t leave a blood trail, check where we picked him up and cover any spots you come across. Riley, go inside.”
“I can help,” she says.
“You can help by getting our coats, not by standing there gawking.”
“Eddie knows where you live. He’ll break your face for doing this.”
“Doubt it.”
“Where we gonna go?”
I love it that she doesn’t ask what the guy did, only what our plans are for the rest of the night.
I move to the front door on the driver’s side, straining to open the window while I think. “We’ll get a case of beer and head over to my house for the night. Just forget what you saw. Sean and I will take care of it.”
“Is this what Jake saw?”
I turn around, surprised by her question. Jake and Heather weren’t in Ed’s circle. Heather knew about a handful of jobs I’d done, but neither of them knew that I’d killed anyone.
She avoids eye contact, ashamed.
“What Jake saw is none of your damn business.” I take out my knife. “I don’t want to talk about my brother after dealing with this lowlife. Go get our coats.”
She takes a step back then races inside.
I continue toiling with the window, getting enough space to jam my blade between it and the door. If I had a long piece of wire or a coat hanger, I could shimmy it down to press the lock or grab the handle.
“Sean, we need a piece of wire.” I hear his boots coming up from behind. “Check the dumpster for—” I turn, coming face to face with Ed.
“Fuck,” I whisper.
“Fucker,” he snarls.
He grabs the back of my neck and forces me behind his Tahoe, torpedoing his baton into my gut. A sharp pain shoots from my groin to my throat, sending me to my knees.
“You’d make a great cop, you crooked little twit.” He yanks my knife out of the window and flings it at my feet. “Do you know this guy?” Ed searches the clod on the ground, finding his wallet, lighter, and a pack of cigarettes in his leather jacket.
A group of women walk past, college-aged, wasted, belting out the lyrics to some pop song about a broken-hearted girl. One of them points at the guy under the back of the SUV, breaking into snorting laughter. “At least we’re not that drunk.” She slips and falls on her ass, laughs harder while raising her hand for help.
I cradle my stomach and stand, spying Ed pocketing the guy’s stuff before waving the women on. “Have a good night, ladies. Stay safe. On you go.” He swings his baton, a habit when he’s impatient. “Go find some nice fellas to keep you warm.”
They file into the pizzeria, too drunk to figure out the guy under the back of the Tahoe is dead, and too drunk to notice Sean picking my knife off the ground. I dread the moment they’re out of sight because Ed’s bogus smile is about to drop.
“Dylan, some days I want to cut off your head for acting like such a dumb kid.” He pushes the baton against my neck, our boots toe to toe, his jacket and breath smelling of greasy fish fry. “I seem to recall I’m the one who decides who lives and who dies on these streets. Not you.” A morsel of fish that was stuck between his teeth lands on the side of my face. I turn away, seeing Riley with our coats. Ed catches my chin, irritated that I’m not paying attention. “This is a major problem. Your problem, not mine. Figure it out. I’ve got enough on my plate tonight without having to clean up your shit.”
He sends the baton farther into my neck, putting deep pressure on my windpipe. “Riley, get my truck.” I toss her my keys and point at the black Silverado parked across the street, an older model with an extended cab we can lay the body.
“We got this, Eddie,” Sean says, watching Riley. He crosses his arms to warm his hands under his armpits, marching two steps forward and two steps back, a bundle of nerves again.
“We got this,” Ed rags Sean in a high-pitched voice. “Screw you both. Get the body out of my district. Find a way through the ice and put him in the river, let the water gobble him up. You know it’s the perfect grave.”
My chest tightens with a sharp intake of breath. That comment was a massive slip-up on his part, in poor taste after Jake. “Tell me, Ed, do you care at all about my family? Show a little respect and watch what you say.”
He chuckles. “A little respect?” He looks down at the body. “Hmph.” He rubs the dark stubble shadowing his jaw. “Respect?”
“You know what?” I narrow my eyes at him. “Do me a favor and take this guy somewhere. You owe me.”
“Your problem, your job.” He hocks a loogie onto my boot.
Now I’m furious. “Sean, you better keep my knife. I don’t want to get arrested for killing a cop tonight.”
Sean steps in and rams Ed’s baton away, then pulls me aside before Ed has a chance to send me to the ground again. “Don’t listen to Eddie. Pick up the body and let’s get a move on before your dad walks outside.”
Riley backs my truck into the alley and puts it in park.
“All right.” I rub my forehead, my voice strained. “Get his feet.”
Ed settles into the driver’s seat of his Tahoe and speaks into his shoulder mic. He gives us a headshake as we cram the body into the back seat. Once the guy’s inside, I throw on my coat and huddle deep below the wool collar, wishing I could disappear.
Ed opens his window. “Hey, Dylan.” He tilts the driver’s-side mirror in my direction. “Dylan,” he starts again, “you twisted my words to be about Jake. You did that.” He points at my reflection in the mirror. “Don’t get unhinged and misconstrue what I say. I’d never mock Jake’s death.”
“Then don’t talk about water gobbling men up or the river making a good grave.” I glare back at him in the mirror.
Ed mourned alongside my family when Jake died. He’s being straight up about this, merely telling me to put the guy where he won’t surface for a long time. But he could’ve chosen his words better.
“You’re rusty.” His hand slips inside the window. “Toughen up so you don’t get arrested or killed. There’s no need to make such juvenile mistakes. Got it?”
“Yeah, I got it.” I press my lips tight as his SUV crawls onto the street. “Let’s go.” I open my door and slump in the driver’s seat. Riley sits on Sean’s lap on the passenger side, neither one of them wanting to be in the back with the body. “He’s dead. He’s not gonna bite.”
“Not true,” Riley says, staring into the back. “My brother said severed heads of snakes can bite.”
“He’s not a snake.” Sean looks at the body. “Not really.”
I turn to Riley. “Hey, why’d you say it was a girl?”
“Say who was a girl?” she asks.
“When you saw him dead in the alley, you said I killed a girl.”
“No, I didn’t.”
I run my hands through my hair and rub the spot where the guy knocked my head into the wall. “Never mind. I must be hearing things.”
“Where are we taking him?” she asks.
“I don’t know yet. South of here for now.”
This is more complicated than one of Ed’s dump jobs. The cops are already searching for those men, generally dealers; it’s no surprise when they turn up dead, shrugged off as the downside of distributing. This guy has the “dealer” look, but he could just as easily be a college professor or a lawyer.
Riley’s neighborhood is an option. Cops are less likely to question a homicide in the worst part of the city. She must know of an abandoned house with a basement we can leave him in, a place where he won’t be found for months, giving the body time to decompose.
“Dylan, look out!” Riley palms the dash.
Sean’s legs extend for a brake pedal that isn’t there. I’m not going fast, but even in four-wheel drive, my Silverado takes a long slide. We stop a few feet from a woman standing in the middle of the icy street: tall and thin with a heart-shaped face, freckles on her cheeks, and bi-colored eyes. Her burgundy coat and the highlights in her hair emit subtle light that’s not coming from my headlights.
She lifts a gloved hand with purpose, higher and higher until a handgun is aimed at my head.
“Dylan,” Sean whispers, forcing Riley down.
“Mystery girl,” I whisper.
She lifts her chin, spying over the front seat.
“What’s she doing?” Riley peeps over the dash. “Does she know the dead guy’s in here?”
I roll down my window, waving the car behind me to drive on by, surprised when the girl keeps the gun up, not deterred in any way by the passing car.
“She’s just gonna stand there?” Riley asks.
“Looks like it.” I place my hands at the top of the wheel and spread my fingers, showing her that I’m unarmed. She points the handgun at Sean and Riley, waving it to the side as a signal for them to get out of the truck. “You guys need to take off.”
“I’m not leaving you alone with a gun pointed at your head,” Sean says.
“It’s pointed at our heads,” Riley says.
“Don’t argue, just go. I’ll be all right.”
“But—”
“Stop.” I hold up a hand, cutting Sean off. “Take Riley and wait for me at the b
ar.”
“But—”
“Sean, go!”
5
If someone had told me I’d be driving aimlessly through the streets of Northland with a body in the back seat, my knife with Sean back at the bar, and a mysterious girl in my passenger seat—one who has a handgun aimed at my chest—I would’ve said they were flat-out nuts. I’m used to drama-filled nights: fistfights, protecting Sean, drunken conversations about my past, arguing with Eddie, Riley asking far too many questions. But being held at gunpoint by a girl with a pink-handled Walther is a first.
“Is this guy your boyfriend?” I ask for the third time, still not getting an answer.
She unbuttons my coat and waves the gun to take it off. I set it between us, letting her check me for weapons, on full alert when her cold hand spends a little too much time below my belt. She smiles and leans back.
The gun’s black slide has a fierce look, the pink handle sweet—a dark and dainty pistol that fits her outward appearance to a T.
“So, I’m just gonna keep driving and talking.” I glance at her then back at the road. “Maybe you can tell me what you want, or something about him, or if you’re gonna kill me.”
Guarding me with almond-shaped eyes, she removes her leather gloves and sets them on my coat. The gun doesn’t waver. I glance at it, waiting for the perfect moment to snatch it from her hand.
“He was rough when he pulled you out of the bar. My friend Sean and I just wanted to make sure you were all right. I don’t know what you saw after that, but … so anyway, what did you see? I mean, you were there, right? You pushed him into my blade?” I take a long breath and wait. Still. No response. “I saw you. It happened fast, but it was you.”
Not a word. What the hell is going on here?
“Look, either start talking or get the hell out of my truck so I can deal with the problem in the back seat.”
She lowers the Walther to her belly and grasps the slide with her left hand, driving the gun forward with her right. The quick rack of the slide is precise, about technique, not strength. It’s unsettling that she has it down pat.
The Lost Night Page 3
