The Lost Night

by Megan Maguire

  He sweeps snow off the deck railing, uncovering the spot where Jake and I carved our names into the wood. “I can’t lose you.” He touches Jake’s name. “Don’t break my heart by getting arrested and thrown in jail.”

  “I won’t.”

  “Stay with your mom and me. Don’t destroy your life over a note. Just call us next time you want to break into the Andersons’. One of us will help you get through the pain.”

  I offer another nod.

  “I’ll take your mind off it. We can do something absurd, like go bowling.”

  “Or play pool.” I smile.

  “Right.” He pats my shoulder. “And another thing...” He hesitates. “Don’t be so hard on Ed. He’ll be at the bar on Tuesday. Make sure you apologize when you see him.”

  My smile dies. “Apologize?”

  “Yes. Apologize for being a pest, and thank him for everything he does for us, and for the bar.”

  “What?”

  He looks back at the house, seeing if my mom is upstairs before sneaking a drag of my smoke. He’s been trying to quit for years, not carrying any on him, but never passing one up when offered.

  “What about the bar?”

  He gives the cigarette back and puts his hands on the railing, outlining each letter of Jake’s name with his finger. “Did I ever tell you about the time my dad got arrested?”

  “No. For what?”

  “He got in a fight with a guy who broke the front windows of the bar.”

  “Yeah? Did the guy get booted for not paying, or what?”

  “No, my dad was the one who wasn’t paying.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “I’m talking about property damage and other ways gangs in the neighborhood intimidate business owners. You buy up, and your business stays intact.”

  “Protection money. I’ve heard of it, but I didn’t know he went through that.”

  He tilts his head back and exhales toward the night sky. “We all do.”

  The wind steals my ash and swirls it through the yard. I lower my shoulders. “Are you saying we pay off gangs so they don’t damage the bar?”

  “No. I pay the cops for protection from the gangs.”

  “Wait, what?”

  “I pay the cops to check the business when it’s closed, to turn the other cheek when I take matters into my own hands. And if I don’t, they know it means I’m paying the gangs instead. Then they turn a blind eye when something happens, like broken windows. It’s one or the other. Pay the gangs or the cops. The cost of doing business.”

  “Cops have a job to protect us, whether we pay them or not.”

  “No, not just any cop. Ed has a job to watch over us, and I’m grateful it’s him.”

  “That’s total bullshit! I thought he was your best friend?” I flick my cigarette into the yard and run my hands down my face. “He has hold of everyone, doesn’t he?”

  My dad grabs my hoodie sleeve and pulls me closer, putting both hands on my shoulders. “If you want more responsibility in this business, then thank him on Tuesday as I asked. Thank him for showing up at the Andersons’ house. Then you can give him the money we owe for this month, along with a bonus for not taking you down to the station. This is your next step in running the bar.”

  “Ed’s not getting a dime.” I turn around, hearing the back door slide open.

  “Everything all right?” my mom asks. “You’re missing the game.”

  “Just having a man to man about staying out of trouble,” my dad says.

  “Well … the weather channel showed sun this coming Thursday. Isn’t that great? Something to look forward to.” She flashes a smile.

  “That’s great, Mom. We’ll be right in.”

  She slides the door shut and waits for us in the kitchen, holding up a box of sponge candy to tempt us back inside.

  “Does Mom know?” I ask.

  “We don’t keep secrets from each other.”

  “Just from me. Right?”

  “Dylan, you’ve only been with me at the bar for a year. I didn’t think you were ready.”

  “You can at least admit that it’s wrong.”

  “It’s life. Get used to it.”

  “No, not if it’s Ed.”

  He crosses his arms and looks out over the yard. “Are you still with me in this business, or not?”

  I press my lips together and breathe through my nose, not answering him right away. Ed’s menacing shadow closing in on my family is humiliating. I’d have no guilt throwing a punch at him now.

  My cell vibrates as I take this all in. I check the screen and see a text from Autumn, her message covering Heather’s photo, pushing the past out of sight.

  Hey, babe. Thinking about you.

  “Is something more important than this conversation?” My dad waves his hand in front of my face.

  “No.” I put my cell away. “I’m not happy about this, about any of it, but I’m always with you, Dad. Always. That will never change.”

  “Good. Good to hear.” He lifts me into a bear hug and pats my back. “I love you so much, Dylan.”

  “Love you, too, even though you have a dipshit friend.”

  He sets me down and pivots to go inside. “My dipshit friend risked his job for my dipshit son.”

  “Nope.” I start to follow. “Your dipshit friend saved your dipshit son so the dad of the dipshit son would continue paying the dipshit.”

  He laughs and playfully pushes me inside. “All right, you win that one. Let’s finish watching the game. I’ll give you more details later on.”

  “I’ll be down in a couple of minutes. I need to talk to someone first. Make sure Sean doesn’t eat all the sponge candy.”

  “You snooze, you lose.” He takes a piece from the box and kisses my mom on the cheek. “Did you say sun on Thursday, darling?”

  I wait for them to head into the basement before pulling out my phone.

  I could send Autumn a weak response and tell her I’m also thinking about her, or give up the sweet guy persona and tell her a few places I’d like to put my tongue. I think she needs some tongue. Definitely, she deserves a tongue response. I’ve been thinking about her nipple pasties and our kiss for days.

  I smile at her text and respond like a horny teen.

  14

  I untie the sash of Autumn’s knee-length robe and drop it over her slender shoulders, admiring the size of her breasts. “Don’t speak,” I request, moving in like I’m about to dish out a kiss, only to dip low and breathe down her neck in a sensuous tease. She moans as I continue across her chest, her hands on my hips, head tilting to expose her slim neck for more play.

  “Please,” she begs for a kiss.

  I look into her eyes, keeping my breathing steady. “Tell me again you can wait until Friday.”

  She shakes her head and leans in, but I cover her mouth to block her lips from meeting mine. “Can you? Can you wait until Friday for it?” I glide her hand over the swell in my jeans. “Feel this?” I whisper, brushing my thumb on her cheek. “That’s what you do to me, Autumn. That’s all because of you.”

  • • •

  I’d like to believe I’m not a manwhore. Except I’d still be sitting in my truck outside Autumn’s loft, fantasizing about making out with her, if my vibrating cell hadn’t pulled me back to reality.

  It’s her. Without a doubt, she wants to know why I’m late.

  “Hey,” I answer, looking up at the warm glow radiating from her second-story windows, coating the parking lot in pale yellow and orange color.

  “Babe, what are you doing? I can see you sitting in your truck.” She moves closer to the window and waves. “Are you afraid to come inside?”

  “Of course not.” I wave back.

  “Oh. Did you forget the butter?”

  “Nope.” I step out of my Silverado, raising the stick in the air.

  “So what are you doing? You parked like, ten minu
tes ago.”

  “Thinking.”

  “Good grief. Stop doing that. Thinking’s bad for your brain.”

  My laughter quickly breaks into a naughty snicker. “Maybe if you hadn’t stripped in my bed, I wouldn’t be ‘thinking.’ ” I throw “finger quotes” at her.

  “I doubt that.”

  “True. But you know, getting lost in a daydream about you isn’t bad for my brain.”

  She scans the parking lot, pulling her loose hanging nightshirt up over her shoulder. “Are you positive you can control yourself tonight? I’m not ready to go all the way just yet. Like, the other night I was only fooling around. I knew you’d play nice, but now…”

  I look up with an innocent smile, crossing my heart with the stick of butter. “Promise. No sex tonight.”

  “Cross your heart and hope to die?” she asks.

  “No. Cross my heart. No dying.”

  She nods. “Come to the front door. I’ll buzz you in.” The glow in the parking lot disappears when she lowers her blinds.

  I lock my truck and head to the front of her building. It’s an old brick warehouse converted into lofts, smack dab in the thick of the city, with the courthouse, sheriff’s department, and FBI offices a block away, and the police commissioner’s office across the street inside city hall. A definite step up from the run-down house I bought for sixty grand, my house payment less than a rental.

  I stride up to her front door, hold the handle, and wait for her to buzz me in. I listen for a minute, rolling the butter in my pocket, hearing snow crunching along the sidewalk behind me. The crisp footfalls move up the walk to the building. The pace picks up. Before I can turn around, a knife slides against the front of my neck. Then someone grips and twists my hair.

  “Not a word, or I’ll shove a hose down your throat and watch water leak outta your eyes.” The harsh voice causes my lips to quiver. Autumn buzzes me in, but I’m not about to move, or even breathe.

  The guy pats me down and pitches my knife into the bushes. He pushes me to the side parking lot and shoves me facedown in the back seat of a car.

  “You the guy who killed Trevor?” His massive thighs straddle my hips, smothering my escape.

  “Get off!” I swing my arm back, missing him completely. “Get off me!”

  He grips the back of my neck and bashes my face into the seat. I try to flip over but can’t shift or reach him to stop the attack.

  “First strike,” he says.

  He stabs me in the back just below Jake’s tat, the blade setting the spot on fire. My muscles tense as I brace for a second jab, but the knife tips to the side as if it’s being held in place by my thick down jacket, not my flesh.

  “You got the wrong guy!” My face collides with the seat. The second blow crushes my nose, sending blood trickling down my lips and chin. Dizziness follows when he lifts my head.

  “Trevor didn’t come home which means he’s dead. Where’d you put his body?”

  He uses brute-force, driving my head downward, determined to keep my face pressed to the seat until he gets an answer. “Tell me where he is.”

  I reach for the knife, but he gets it first.

  “Not a chance.” He grabs my wrist and sets the blade against my palm.

  “Don’t,” I beg. A hot pain flares as he cuts my hand from side to side. “Stop!” I kick my feet, swear, and jerk, until he slams the rock-hard knife handle against my spine, beating me with it repeatedly.

  “You blacking out on me?” He sinks the knife into the seat next to my head. “Blacking out?” He shakes me. “Blacking out?”

  My vision distorts. Images vibrate. I’m somewhat delusional, sure that the last hit was the blade going straight through my head. I can’t speak, can’t shout, can’t remember how to fight back.

  He punches my head until my words are dead. Blood. Pain. Darkness. The night smothered in black. I try to sit up, but my battered head and blood-smeared cheek stay glued to the seat. He stops clobbering me at some point, his voice along with the hum of the city replaced by numbing silence. I’m about to die, barely breathing. The knife is suspended over me; I can feel it there, piloting my moment of death. But garbled sounds split the silence, and his weight shifts back.

  I’m able to turn, meeting frantic eyes. He struggles to loosen a cord around his neck, his face crimson red, mouth open and choked for air.

  “Autumn.” I breathe a sigh of relief.

  The cord drops when a cop knocks her out of the way. The guy inhales quick raspy breaths as he’s hauled away to a patrol car. Words outside the vehicle are disjointed. My head pulsates, and my heart pounds in my ears. I tell Autumn that I can’t see, that I don’t want to open my eyes.

  “It’s okay, babe. My cops are here.”

  My cops, she says. Cops who’ll likely make this guy disappear. The ones she calls for help, the guys who know the situation and won’t take statements or ask questions. Like Ed and his partner Kevin, and the rest of their crew.

  “He’s bleeding,” Autumn says. “Check his nose and his hand.”

  My hand is examined, then the damage to my face. I lie on my side to keep pressure off my back, flinching when someone palms the stab wound.

  “Help me get him upstairs before anyone pulls in, and do something about the surveillance cameras on the streets and in this lot,” Autumn bosses. “Get Nick involved if you have to.”

  “Screw you,” a cop says. “You take care of that. We need to move this guy and his car.”

  “Who is he?” I sit up, only to fall right back down again, conquered by dizziness. I close my eyes and spin in the dark.

  “Dylan? Don’t fall asleep. Let’s get you inside.” She takes my hand and pulls me upright, helping me out. “Send someone to my place. He needs help.” Her voice breaks.

  “Give us twenty minutes.”

  I steady myself against the car until I manage to focus and can begin to walk. Her bare feet are red from the cold and the snow. I stare at them, my head hanging low as she helps me over to the side door of her building.

  “Autumn, you’re in way over your head,” a cop says.

  “No, you are,” she snaps back. “What if I tell Nick you didn’t know this guy was staking out my place? Get him out of here.”

  She holds the door open. I stumble inside, struggling to climb the stairs. She soaks up the blood streaming from my nose with her nightshirt sleeve. I keep my hand in my coat pocket so the cut doesn’t drip. Each step is labored, every breath excruciating.

  “We can’t take the elevator,” she whispers, glancing over her shoulder, checking if I’ve left a trail of blood. “You’re going to be just fine.” Her hand on my lower back drives me forward. “A few more steps. Please, don’t pass out on me. Please.”

  I’m not going to pass out, but I don’t feel like talking. My head aches like it’s been cracked open. The coward clocked me from behind, just like Ed always does.

  Cowards both.

  I collapse face-first on her living room floor, eyes glued to her pale legs sprinting through the room.

  “Shit, shit,” she says. A drawer opens. Water runs in the kitchen. “Dylan, someone will be here soon. He’ll fix you up.” A glass of water and a wet washcloth are set on the floor next to me. She kneels and reaches under my body to unzip my coat, removing it one sleeve at a time, careful not to aggravate my wounds. “I need to take off your shirt, okay? Can you roll on your side for me?” I turn and she unbuttons the front of my flannel shirt. “Okay. Let me help you up so you can take this pill.” She sets it in my hand.

  “What is it?”

  “Vicodin.”

  I drink it down before slowly turning over to laze on my stomach. “Who was he?” I mumble.

  “Trevor’s roommate.”

  “Trevor who?”

  “The guy from the alley.”

  I turn my head and look at her. “Are there more of them?”

  “No. It’s just one guy seeki
ng revenge. He must’ve been watching my place and took a guess.” She tosses my bloody shirt to the side and lifts my undershirt to examine my back. “I’m sure he saw me wave at you, and since I don’t get many visitors, he must’ve thought you were involved.” She wipes my back with the washcloth in gentle circles. “No visitors ever, actually. No one ever comes here.” With a furrowed brow, she looks at the blood on her hand. “Trevor and his crew are total cokeheads. The cops will either arrest that guy or set him straight.”

  “That means he’ll end up dead.”

  “Possibly. But that’s not up to me,” she says in a nonchalant way. “Trevor must’ve told him where he was the night he followed me into the bar. That was the last anyone heard from him.”

  I want to close my eyes, but the room spins faster when I do. I rub my forehead with my thumb and forefinger, praying the Vicodin kicks in quick. “So how come his roommate didn’t come after you?”

  She gives me a curious look as though I forgot. “I’m Farren Black’s daughter. Addicts steer clear of my dad and the cops. That guy wouldn’t dare lay a finger on me.”

  I’m queasy from the taste of blood in my mouth. And I’m tired, hellishly exhausted by everything and everyone.

  “Don’t close your eyes, babe. Keep talking until someone gets here.” I open my eyes and Autumn smiles. “The stab wound doesn’t look all that deep. It’s not bleeding too much. You’re lucky he just wanted info. If he’d come to kill you, you’d be dead.”

  “He chickened out. Guys who punch men in the back are cowards.”

  “Yes. Well, I think whoever comes to help will just disinfect the wound and stitch you up.”

  “Stitches?” I lift my head.

  “Do you want to go to the hospital?”

  “I hate hospitals.”

  “Then you’ll have to get stitched here.”

  I hold my wrist, checking out the gash on my hand. “Tell me more about Trevor. I need to think about something other than the pain.”

  She exhales heavily, doing her best to stay calm with all the blood and my barrage of questions. “Trevor’s a thief who stole the mayor’s car.”

  “Fuck.” I lower my head, closing my eyes.