The Lost Night

by Megan Maguire

  As usual, I can’t tell if she’s serious or not. Listening to her is like climbing out of a dark hole into the light, only to duck underground and back out again. In and out.

  “I have no shape,” she says.

  “What type of shape?” I look down at myself. “I’m kinda rectangular.”

  “No, Dylan. You asked what I do. I’m answering you by telling you what I don’t do. I wasn’t created to fit inside a box. That’s what my dad doesn’t get. He’s trying to mold me into something I’m not.”

  “Have you told him that?”

  “Never. Get in the tub.”

  Her command is so unexpected that it doesn’t register at first.

  “There’s lots of room. Sit on the opposite side and face me.” She blows smoke upward, spreads her legs wide for me to get in.

  I drop my boxers. She checks me out but keeps a poker face. I wish she’d smile or say something. Anything. I’m not stiff, but I have a sizeable chub. Come on. A straight face, Autumn? No expression at all, Autumn?

  “Superb,” she finally whispers, passing the cigarette as I slip into the water.

  “Thanks. What do you want from your dad?”

  “Same thing everyone else wants—to be recognized. Most days I’m stuck behind a desk, filling out paperwork and filing reports. I want credit for what I’m doing.” She holds the incense burner up for me to ash the cigarette. “I’m not interested in tagging along in the same way he does. People manipulate him. It’s pathetic, just plain sad.” She puts the burner on the floor. “I’m strong and able on my own. I’ve proved that to some people. But still, my dad taints my life. What I want is for him to understand that I’m not inspired by what I’ve seen and experienced, but fired up by what I haven’t seen and who I’m not. I have no desire to use the family name, his name, to get ahead.”

  I’m not following any of this with her foot on my erection. I think I’m in the middle of a footjob. With the onset of the Vicodin, this is the best high I could ask for.

  “He doesn’t dream like me,” she adds. “My dad doesn’t dream about anything. But he’ll see the light when I prove him wrong. It’s time to take it down.”

  “You’re going to take your d-dad down?” Her touch is incredible, powerful enough to make me stutter.

  “No, not him. It. This city,” she says. Her knee crests the water and her other foot joins the play. “You like that?”

  Paradise. I’m in total paradise, forgetting everything she just said.

  “Dylan?”

  “Yeah. It’s terrific.”

  She takes the cigarette from my hand and snuffs it out in the burner. “Would you like more?”

  “Please.”

  “How polite.”

  I meet her halfway for a kiss. Her fingers tiptoe up and down my legs while our tongues dance.

  “You’re so sexy.” I glide my lips along her jawline, smiling when her hand sneaks between my thighs.

  “You’re big for me,” she whispers.

  “It’ll get even bigger.”

  “Show me.” She moves closer, slipping her tongue past my lips.

  I brush the underside of her breast and then take a nipple between my fingers, getting drunk on her kisses.

  “Be careful,” she whispers, placing my bandaged hand on the edge of the tub.

  “I will.”

  “Dylan?”

  “Mm?”

  “I want you inside me when you’re feeling better.” Her voice is so soft I can barely hear it, more sensual than a whisper. “For now we can play. Sit on the edge of the tub and I’ll make you feel sensational.”

  I do what she asks, spreading my legs to give her room to wedge between them. I run my fingers through her wet hair as she looks up with a mischievous gleam in her eyes.

  “Beautiful.” I drag my thumb across her freckled cheek and down her small nose, losing my breath when she opens her mouth wide and moves in. “Uh … my God.” My feet strike the facing wall of the tub. “Autumn.” I breathe, gripping the ledge.

  She tries not to smile when a wave of lustful sounds crawls up the walls of my throat. The more she indulges with her playful tongue, the deeper I sink inside her. It’s not long before I offer a warning. “I’m almost there. Pull back.” But her lips lock harder. “I can’t stop it, Autumn.” My legs shake and arms brace.

  She changes positions and nestles me in her cleavage, shielding my tip with the washcloth. Lost in an instant rush of euphoria, I release between her warm breasts, nearly falling off the tub. She clenches the back of my hair and pulls me into a quick-tongued kiss, so hot and giving.

  “Wow.” I suck in a lungful of air to slow my charging heart.

  “That was fun,” she says, tossing the washcloth and releasing the rubber drain stopper.

  “Jesus.” I puff and pant.

  “Sounds like you agree.”

  “Uh.”

  She laughs and hands me a towel, then steps out and puts on a short robe.

  “Wait, what about you?” I grab her leg and pull her back. “I can return the favor. Actually, I’d love to return the favor.”

  “I just satisfied myself before you came in.”

  I feel my whole face light up. “Really?”

  “No.” She pats my cheek.

  “Oh.”

  “I’m fine, Dylan. I wanted you to have some fun, something to hold you over until our romantic date. Besides, you probably have to get to work soon.”

  “Nah, I’ve got all day. I don’t need to be there until four-thirty.”

  She picks up her cell and taps the screen. “It’s quarter after four.”

  “What?” I stand and dry off in a rush. “It’s four-fifteen? I’ve been asleep all day?”

  “It was a strong sedative. I was going to try to wake you earlier, but you looked so comfy, I just couldn’t.”

  “Ugh, I’m opening tonight.” I set the towel on a hook and pull her close for a goodbye kiss, one that will make her hunger for me all week. “Not to be rude after such great play, but I need to run.” I pick up my boxers and head toward the kitchen to get the rest of my clothes.

  “Dylan?”

  “Huh?”

  “Thanks for confiding in me last night.”

  “About what?”

  “Jake.”

  My heart stops. I turn around, taking a step closer, but then I have to brace myself against the wall. “Jake?”

  “I’m sorry you’re dealing with such a painful loss.”

  I’m overwhelmed with an intense surge of anxiety. “Autumn.” My voice cracks. “What did I tell you? What did I say about Jake?”

  16

  I don’t remember talking to Autumn about Jake’s death, but apparently I did. She knows he fell through the ice and was swept away by the current. But what else I said is a mystery. I could’ve told her about Heather and the suicide note. I could’ve brought up the fight at the party last year, and the guy who had me on my knees at gunpoint. I could’ve told her about Jake tapping his hockey stick on the ice, and the guilt I’ve carried for a year over what happened next.

  I could’ve.

  But she didn’t mention any of it.

  “You guys were at a party next to the river. Jake, he went out on the ice to shoot a puck around while you were drinking. He fell through and the current pulled him under, away from the hole. You couldn’t find him. You reached in but he wasn’t there.”

  That’s not what I officially told other people. I’d better keep my story straight.

  “Holy Mary-Mother … Dylan, what the heck happened to your face?” Our bartender, Tim, stares at the beet color across the bridge of my nose. I unlock the front door to the bar and let him inside, turning the overhead lights on, and the neon signs in the front windows.

  “Just a fight,” I say.

  “Guess you lost.”

  “No, he did. Sorry I’m late.”

  “Whatever. I was just f
reezing my balls off for twenty minutes while you were out getting snacks to stuff your face.” He nods at the take-out box loaded with chicken wings that I’m carrying. “You look like shit. What was the fight over?”

  “The usual.” I follow him behind the bar.

  “Hope she was worth it.” He elbows me.

  “Definitely worth it.” I fill a glass of water and head toward the back hallway. “I’ll be in the office for a few hours. I have to place some orders. Gina will be in at six to serve.”

  The warm swirl of Vicodin has left me without a smidgeon of pain. It’s a great high, easy to understand why people get hooked on the stuff. My addictive urges are already pining for more.

  I set the take-out box on my cluttered desk and put on my black baseball cap, lowering it over my eyes as I sit down, settling in before I send Autumn a text. One final contact before I lose myself in work for the rest of the night.

  Can’t wait 2CU Friday.

  I lock my ankles under the chair, jiggling my feet in anticipation. Her text back makes me chuckle: a set of emoji lips and an eggplant.

  Cute, Autumn.

  The nervous wave has returned. The one that takes over my stomach when a girl has me whipped. Months spent taking home one-night stands from the bar was nothing but upsetting. Autumn’s different. She silences my thoughts of Heather and Jake better than alcohol, or ASMR videos, or having a quickie with a random girl. She’s the start of something good.

  I feel a twinge.

  A beat.

  Hope.

  I look up at a shadow growing in the hallway, not at all surprised when my smile for Autumn dies at the sight of Eddie.

  “Ed, we don’t open until five.”

  He walks in and closes the door, one eye surveying my dad’s empty chair, the other on me.

  “You alone?” he asks.

  I look back. “Yeah, you idiot. My dad’s always off on Mondays. You know that.”

  I glance at his outfit. White sweatshirt and black sweatpants that have a hole in the knee and grease stains on the thighs where he wipes his hands after eating. He dresses like a slob when he’s not in uniform. The guy doesn’t care about a damn thing.

  “What do you want?” I ask.

  He sits in the wooden chair across from me and folds his arms, a sneering grin on his face, his legs swinging open and closed. He must be in a cheerful mood because of my busted face.

  “Dylan, Dylan, Dylan.” He clucks his tongue. “Word on the street is that you got your ass kicked last night.”

  “So?” I pull my box of wings closer.

  “What were you doing at Autumn’s loft? I told you to stay away from her.” His sleeves are rolled up over his elbows, and I notice the tense muscles in his forearms. “You not understand English? Non capisco? Je ne comprends pas? Nie rozumiem? Any of that make sense? Italian, French, Polish? What language will make it stick?”

  I stare at the desk, avoiding eye contact.

  “You better listen to me about this one.” He raps the desk to get my attention, then leans back and crosses his arms again. “You may not like me or wanna take my advice. Why, I don’t know. We used to be best buds, but this—”

  “Yeah, I liked you until you started beating Sean and me with your baton for stupid shit.” I glare at him. “And do I have to repeat it? What about Heather’s note? You’ve kept her dying words from me for a year, and now you’re gonna tell me who I can hang with? What the hell’s wrong with you?”

  His chunky legs stop swinging. “Don’t raise your voice at me.”

  “Hey, every time I see you it’s a fight for Heather’s note. You’re a trigger. Either tell me or get the hell out.”

  “Stop acting like such a putz and tell me why you were you at Autumn’s place.”

  My lips form a thin line. “You don’t own my dick, Ed. It’s none of your business what I was doing over there.”

  “It is my business.”

  I fling open my box of wings and pry the lid off the blue cheese dressing. “I know who she is. I can handle it.”

  “Tell me then, who do you think she is?”

  “Farren Black’s daughter. Big whoop.”

  He laughs and goes back to swinging his legs.

  “And”—I pick up a wing and point it at him—“I know she works for Rick in his department, just like Sean and I are stuck working for you. She’s an informant, like us.”

  “Snoops,” he says.

  “Rats,” I say.

  “Moles.” He reaches across the desk and flips my cap off my head, pushing his index finger into the bridge of my nose. “Tell me what else, know-it-all.”

  “What do you mean, what else?” I swat his poking finger away.

  “That’s what I thought and why I’m here. I’m not against you, Dylan. I don’t spend my days planning ways to make you miserable.”

  “You sure about that?”

  His palm smacks the desk, and I jump back. “You little prick, I’ve known you since you were in the womb. I went to your football games when you were a kid. I made you and Sean a fortune when you were teens. I’m the reason you had a down payment for your house, and you’ve never even said thanks. Not once. Not for anything.”

  I shove my chair back and plod over to my dad’s desk, pulling out a metal box from the bottom drawer. I bring it over to him and drop it on my desk, counting out the amount of cash my dad said we owed.

  “Thanks, Ed. Thanks for all your frickin’ help.” I slam the wad down in front of him. “Yep. You’ve done a lot for our family.” I put my cap back on and sit down, pulling my chair tight to the desk. “Goddamn bully.”

  He counts it out and pushes four hundred of it forward. “That’s your pay from Friday night.”

  I push it back. “I’ve been telling you for a year I don’t want these jobs. I went to that last house party only because you said I owed you, payback for stepping in at the Andersons’. Remember?”

  “Take it.”

  “No. That’s bullshit.” I tap the pile of cash. “We give you this money, and then my dad wants to give you a bonus for saving me from being arrested. You get paid twice. Then you want to give it to me for helping you out with a drug bust that turned sour, a bust that you clubbed me over. Screw that. I’m not taking my dad’s money from the bar for snitch jobs. You can keep it.”

  “Give it to Sean.”

  “He doesn’t want it either.” I wave a hand from side to side. “We’re done. Finished.”

  He counts the money a second time like he doesn’t trust me. “If some of the guys in my department need a favor, they’re gonna turn to you, not some new guy they don’t know.” He flaps the money at me. “You can’t back out, buddy. Not with the evidence stacked against you. Not with the men you’ve ‘mistakenly’ killed because you have the temperament of a rabid dog.”

  “I was a kid when I stepped into this!” Heat fires up the back of my neck.

  He smiles and smells the bills. “You were a greedy SOB who wanted to buy video games and other useless teenage junk.”

  “I’m far from greedy.”

  “Yeah? What about Autumn? Hope you didn’t fuck her.” He sets the money down and looks me in the eye. “You’ll be dead if you did.”

  My nostrils flare, feet jiggling under my chair. “Why, because you want her? Is that the problem here?”

  “Not quite.”

  “Then what?”

  He strains to lift his foot onto his knee, but it slips to the floor. “Dylan, let me be frank with you.” He pulls his ankle back up by the cuff of his sweats and holds it on his opposite leg with one hand, downright uncomfortable, losing any semblance of authority. “You listening to me?” he asks.

  “I am.” But I’m not. I’m scrolling through my cell phone texts to Autumn from Sunday night.

  He knocks my cell away. “This”—he puts his hand on the cash—“isn’t anything new. Men have been paying cops for a hundred years. Be thank
ful your dad and I are friends and it’s not some peckerhead coming in here once a month to screw him over.”

  “How are you not screwing him over? Us. Screwing us over?”

  He looks at my dad’s desk. “You’re just like your old man.”

  “Good.”

  “It’s not good. Marzleys talk a lot of shit and can’t stay out of trouble. Your battered face and temper are proof of that. Stuff gets under your skin too easily.”

  “And?”

  “And, it’ll never happen that two people are equal. Someone always has to be on top.” He leans forward and gets in my face. His black hair is greasy as if he hasn’t showered in days. “That person can’t always be you. Learn to keep your mouth shut and behave.”

  “Is this going anywhere?” I dip a wing in blue cheese dressing and take a bite.

  “Yeah, don’t kill guys in the alley, especially ones you don’t know. He could’ve been a bigwig on the streets. And like I said, someone has to be on top. That’d be me in this case.” He steals one of my wings and dunks it in the blue cheese, spilling the dressing over the sides of the container. “Every dark corner, every turn in life, there’ll always be someone against you. Could even be your family, or the woman you’re with. You need to stay cool and keep an eye out for yourself.”

  “Is that what you do? Fend for yourself?”

  “Always.”

  I shake my head. He doesn’t care that he sickens me.

  “This isn’t the safest neighborhood to have a business.” He picks chicken wing sauce out of his fingernails. “Anything can happen. Look at the sub shop two blocks down that was broken into last month, and the place next to the pool hall that burned to the ground.”

  “You couldn’t have stopped any of that from happening.”

  “You sure?” He raises a brow. “The break-in was by an East Side gang. They won’t touch a business paying a salary to a cop. We get the word out fast when a place is under our watch, which the sub shop wasn’t. But you, your dad, and the bar are safe under me.”