The Lost Night

by Megan Maguire

  I rub the nape of my neck. Ed’s presence is suppressing the Vicodin. “It’s your job to do this without us paying you.”

  “Hey, if it’s not me, somebody else will step in. This is the way it is. Be happy I’m on your side.”

  I throw my head back and laugh. “On my side? If that’s the case, tell me what Heather said.”

  “Don’t start that shit again.” He wipes his fingers on his sweatpants, licks his lips with his fat tongue. “That note you’ve been pining away for needs to be set on fire.”

  His comment steals my breath. I push back from the desk and spring out of my chair, slamming my fist down in front of him. “Maybe you need to be set on fire!”

  “See.” He points a finger at me. “That anger is what I’m talking about. You’re better off not knowing.”

  I bare my teeth. “Better off? Having to guess what happened to her and making up stories in my head is better off?” I pace next to my desk. “Being gutted like a fish and my heart ripped out is better off? How so?” I run a hand through my hair. “Come on, Ed. Tell me how that’s so.”

  “Did you ever think about who died that night?”

  “What?”

  “Who died first?”

  “Wait. That’s not what you just said.” My brows draw together. “What did you say?”

  “Was Twig dead first? Or was it Heather?”

  “Hold on.” I rub my forehead. “Twig? How do you know Jake’s nickname? Heather called him that.” I step closer, my heart racing. “Was it in her note? What’d she say about him?”

  He looks back at the closed door and then at my dad’s desk as if someone’s listening. “This is why you’re better off never reading it. Look at you. I mention one thing and you’re a mess.” He motions a hand up and down my body. “You’re trembling from head to foot. It’s not good for you.”

  I take another step closer, raising my voice. “What did Heather say about Jake?”

  “Why’d you snap and kill Trevor in the alley? Did you do the same that night to your little brother?”

  “You think I killed Jake?” My body turns numb. “Is that what you’re saying?”

  “You said it, not me.”

  I told myself I’d never punch a cop. I said I’d never strike my dad’s best friend. I said it. I did. But I’m on him in under a second. He manages to duck from my swing, but my second punch clips his chin. I grumble and swear while swinging at his face until our wrestling match ends when his nails dig into my stitches. I wither from the pain, which gives him time to grab my arm and secure it behind my back. My face meets the wall. My legs are kicked apart.

  “Get a hold of yourself.” He huffs.

  “How could you ask me something like that?”

  “The question is, why, Dylan. Why did I ask it?”

  “I didn’t kill Jake. I’d never hurt him!”

  A knock at the door saves me from Ed. I’m released, and he steps back.

  “Dylan?” It’s Tim. “It’s five. Customers are here. Everything okay in there?”

  I steady my breathing before opening the door, whispering to Tim that it’s just a misunderstanding and that I’ll be out soon, that everything’s cool.

  “I’m not buying it,” Tim says, looking at Ed.

  “No, we’re cool.” I sit at my desk and bring my box of wings back in front of me, acting as normal as I can. “Go back to work. It’s just a minor argument.”

  “All right. Holler if you need anything.” He gives Ed the finger before he heads out, something he’d never do if Ed were facing him.

  I straighten my shirt and cap, questioning what Heather wrote. Her nickname for Jake was out of love. When she met him, he was in a growth spurt. No muscle, just skin and bones, tall and lanky, a younger stick-like version of me. A twig.

  “You can’t start saying stuff about Jake without telling me more.” I lower my voice so no one outside the office can hear me. “Tell me that part of the note. What did Heather say about him?”

  Ed sits down and takes out his cell. He shoots a photo of my face, taps a note, and sends a message. “We’re not talking about her note anymore.” He puts his cell away.

  “Who’d you just send that to?”

  “No one.”

  “And yeah, we are talking about Heather’s note.”

  “Dylan, enough. I didn’t come here for that. I came to talk about Autumn.” He raises a finger, stopping my response. “Don’t. Don’t you dare cut me off. Don’t open your mouth. You just attacked me like a wild boar. You have no control. None.” He touches his jaw where I swiped him. “You know how close you are to getting killed? A body showed up in our district this morning, dumped by Rick’s guys. We got word that the kid was the one they picked up from Autumn’s place. The kid you got in a fight with.”

  “Yeah, and how many times have you asked me to do the same for you? Isn’t that the game? Put the body in another district, let them deal with it.”

  “This isn’t a fucking game! Whatever you’ve started with Autumn is over. The guy you killed in the alley and what happened last night puts you at the top of somebody’s hit list. I guarantee it.”

  I suck in a bitter breath. “Both of the guys came after me. It was self-defense. And who is this Trevor guy anyway? I got pummeled last night because of him. Just tell me what’s going on for once instead of keeping secrets stuffed up your ass.”

  He lunges forward, but I seize his hand before he has a chance to hit me.

  “And you talk about my rage?” I whisper. “Who is he?”

  He jerks his hand free and pats my cheek, then gives me a stinging slap. “Little twit.” He takes his money and walks to the door, stopping when my cell rings. “Oh, I almost forgot.” He turns around. “Go ’head and pick up, Dylan. Someone wants to talk to you.”

  I look at my cell. “Shit.”

  I answer the call while staring at Ed. He smirks as my dad rants and raves about the photo that was just sent to him.

  “Yeah, I was in a fight. What do you think it’s from?” Ed crosses his arms and leans against the doorjamb, ecstatic that I’m getting grilled. “Uh-huh. No. I didn’t start it … No. I didn’t know him … No. I didn’t hurt him … No. The cops weren’t involved … No. It’s not that bad … Dad, I can work … No. You don’t have to come here … I said, NO.”

  I drop my cell on the desk and whip my baseball cap at Ed. He doesn’t even blink when it bounces off his chest and falls to the floor.

  “Get out.” I point past the doorway. “All the way out. Get out of the bar.”

  “Is Pete coming in?”

  “Leave!” My fist hits the desk.

  “Figured so.” He laughs. “I think I’ll stay and have a beer with him. He’ll need a drink after he sees you. How many times is this now? Fifty fights? More? Think you might listen to him for once?”

  I rest my head in my hands. Heather, the note, Jake’s nickname, paying Ed, Trevor, the guy from last night, everything is exploding inside my mind. Plus my headache’s back. I can’t stand it. I’m pissed at myself and pissed off at being pissed.

  “Oh, and Dylan. One last thing, buddy.”

  “No last things. Just go away.”

  “I pray you didn’t fuck Autumn.”

  I sit up and hook my feet around the chair legs so that I don’t come after him. “Why?”

  “Because she belongs to the mayor.” He grins. “She’s his whore.”

  17

  Sean stamps snow off his boots in the entryway to the bar. He waves when he sees me across the room, and I point at the empty table under the front window. He gives me the thumbs up, claiming the spot.

  I pour a pitcher and grab two beer mugs from Tim, then head over to the table to meet him.

  “You look terrible,” he says, knocking his boots together, sending mini snowballs onto the floor.

  “Thanks. Stop getting snow all over the place.” I place the pitcher and two mugs down,
sitting across from him.

  He takes off his trapper hat and unzips his coat. “The weather’s shitty. Your mom called the house and said a lake-effect storm is moving in.” He sets the coat and hat on the empty chair between us.

  “Look at me.” I wave a hand over my face. “This is more important than the snow. I almost got killed last night.”

  He studies my face. “You said you were going to Autumn’s for the night.”

  “I got jumped, Sean.”

  He narrows his eyes for a second but then gives me a curious look as if he’s confused. “I’m just going to venture a guess and say you lied about going to see Autumn and went over to the Andersons’ instead. Bet Lona busted your face with the butt end of a shotgun.”

  “After what Ed said to me earlier, I’m considering going over there and doing that to her. But that’s not what—”

  “How can you go there when you don’t have a key?”

  “I’ll kick in their front door, put a gun to Lona’s head, and make her give me Heather’s note.”

  “Dylan.” He rubs his cheeks. “Stop doing this.”

  “Seriously, Sean. I don’t care if I’m arrested. I’m fine with it.”

  He fills the beer mugs, looking at me like I’ve lost my mind. “Tell me what happened.”

  “Get this.” I lean in. “Ed knew the nickname Heather had for Jake.”

  He stops pouring. “Twig?”

  “Yeah.” I nod nervously. “She must’ve mentioned him in her note. How else would Ed know about it?” My speech is rapid like I’m on speed instead of Vicodin. “On top of that, the guy I killed in the alley stole the mayor’s wife’s car. He was after Autumn because she got it back for them. And one of his friends nearly killed me last night, trying to even the score.” I throw my hands in the air. “Now he’s dead, too.”

  “Who?”

  “The guy from last night who tried to kill me. He’s dead. The cops took him away, and he ended up dumped in Ed’s district.”

  He gestures to slow down. “Wait, what are you talking about?”

  “And Ed said Autumn’s the mayor’s whore.”

  “Whoa.”

  “Yeah, whoa.” I chug the beer down and slam the empty mug on the table. “I’m going to the Andersons’ tonight to end this. I’ll get the note and live peacefully in prison.”

  “Peacefully? Being someone’s bitch isn’t stress-free living.” He takes a sip a beer, giving that time to sink in.

  “Okay, you’re right. But—”

  “And what if you go to the Andersons’ and don’t get the note? Then you end up in prison without knowing what it said. Bad idea, man.”

  “I said, you’re right.”

  “Well, I’m glad you called me to come out. It means you want someone to stop you from doing something stupid.”

  “No, Sean. It means I need your help. Do you have your gun?”

  His eyes widen. He touches his hip, and I see a bulge under his sweater where he keeps it. “You’re not … we’re not going to the Andersons’. You just said I was right. Let’s hang out here and drink and talk this out. Why do you think Heather mentioned Jake?”

  I run a finger around the rim of the mug. “No clue.”

  “Are you sure you can’t think of anything?”

  “Nothing. I don’t get it.” I spy Ed standing at the bar. As always, he’s loading up on free beers.

  “Why is Ed here on your dad’s night off?” Sean asks, drumming his fingers on the table. “And why aren’t you working?”

  I wave a hand across my bruised face and hold up my bandaged hand. “Why do you think?”

  He laughs. “You got fired for getting in another fight?”

  “Yep. I’m just glad my dad doesn’t know I got stabbed in the back.”

  “Stabbed? How are you even sitting here?”

  “It’s not deep. Four stitches. The guy was trying to scare me into telling him where I put the body.” I take a swig of beer, watching Ed head toward the office. “My dad said I should take some time to think about my life. I can come back when I’m ready to act like an adult.” I twist my mouth, mulling over the fact that he thinks I enjoy getting into fights. “The guy last night attacked me. It’s not like I go out looking for trouble.”

  “Well …”

  “Well, what?” I take out my cell and tap Autumn’s number.

  “Who you calling?” He looks at the screen.

  I pull away from him. “Autumn.”

  “And you’re not looking for trouble? I told you last week that girl ain’t right.”

  “I need to ask her.”

  “If she’s the mayor’s whore?”

  “Yeah … Pick up, Autumn. Pick up.”

  He grabs the cell and ends the call. “Dummy.” He smacks my forehead.

  “What?”

  “You don’t need the mayor’s slut.” He scans the room. “There’re at least five women in here you can hook up with, two staring straight at us.” He raises his beer at one.

  “I don’t even know if what Ed said is true. Besides … I’m not interested in anyone else.”

  “You’re not married or in love with this chick. I don’t see a ring on your finger.”

  “I’m good. I got some today.”

  He smiles. “You got some? From Autumn?”

  “No, a hooker. Who do you think? And even if I hadn’t, I don’t need anyone else.”

  He looks down at his beer, wiping the condensation off the mug. “I thought it would help.” He takes a few drinks, quieting down. The expression on his face pained.

  “I know you wanna help, Sean. I appreciate it.”

  “It’s not just that. You can’t cross this line with Autumn and the mayor.” His mouth sets in a hard line, the way it does when he’s troubled. “You get involved with her, and you’ll end up with a bullet in your head.”

  “You sound like Ed.”

  “Maybe Eddie’s right this time. Think about it for a while. And pull out from that invite to the mayor’s party Friday night. You’re a poor man from the West Side. You don’t fit in with those people.” He tips his chair back and folds his arms.

  “I’m going. I’m walking into that mansion holding Autumn’s hand.”

  The chair legs hit the floor in a hard thud. “Screw you. I didn’t sleep the first month after Heather and Jake died. Can’t you step back this one time so you don’t get hurt? You can’t go through that again.”

  What he’s saying is, he can’t go through that again. He doesn’t want Autumn to mess me up any more than I already am, and he can’t go through it on his own if she does. He’s also not exaggerating about not sleeping after Jake and Heather died. He lived outside my bedroom, his ear pressed to the door, listening to make sure I was still breathing. He didn’t think I was going to survive the loss. Everyone was worried, but Sean was the one who was with me. He sat with me every second I wept, each time I vomited, and the long nights when I tried to drink myself dead. He kept me alive and grieved right alongside me.

  During the second and third months, I was a walking zombie, going to work and home to bed. Nowhere else. Bar and bed. Bar and bed. By the fourth month, he was bringing home women, two at a time, one for him, one for me.

  “You need to feel something other than pain,” he’d say. “Sex will help with that.”

  Then it became the norm. I’d screw whoever approached me at the bar, sex more numbing than beer. My mind went blank after I came, no thoughts of Jake or Heather. But with Autumn it happens when I see her. When we talk, or when I think of her. It’s her as a whole. Not sex. Just her.

  “I don’t think about Jake and Heather when I’m with Autumn,” I whisper, unsure I want him to know that. “She’s good for me,” I say, louder this time. “And she’s cool because she’s not a doormat.”

  He sighs. “I suppose it’s a bonus that she’s gorgeous.”

  “And she can shoot a gun better than us.”<
br />
  Deep creases form in his forehead. “That’s bull.”

  “Okay, better than me.”

  He relaxes a little. “So what is this then? Are you two a couple?”

  “Maybe. I walked in on her taking a bubble bath today. She … she’s amazing.” I blush. “She went down on me, and I didn’t even have to ask.”

  “Hmm.” He puts his arm over the back of the chair and looks up at the television, gesturing that the hockey game’s about to start. “You’re right.” He takes a slug of beer.

  “About what?”

  “Autumn’s on your mind instead of Heather mentioning Twig. That is different.”

  A muscle in my jaw twitches when he says that. I check my cell for new messages before flipping to Heather’s photo. Her blue eyes are accentuated with thick eyeliner. Her blonde hair is tucked behind her little ears. I take multiple swigs of beer leaving the photo open, watching the start of the game before I respond to his remark.

  “That’s not entirely true. Jake and Heather fade from my mind when I’m around Autumn on a normal day. This isn’t one of those days. The stuff about Twig is new, so even if Autumn were sitting next to me right now, I’d still be thinking about Heather.”

  He points at a girl in a burgundy coat walking past the front window. “We’ll see if that’s true.”

  Autumn takes hulking steps through the front door, miffed about something. She throws her head forward, shaking the snowflakes out of her hair, then tosses her head back, hair puffed out, cheeks rosy red.

  “What are you doing here?” I ask.

  She sniffs and wrinkles her nose from the cold while unbuttoning her coat. I notice when she drapes it over the chair next to me that she stitched the gunshot hole in the pocket.

  She leans in for a kiss. Her tongue slides alongside mine, ending with a punctuated lip smack.

  “Hot,” Sean says.

  “I called Dorazio.” Her warm breath fans my lips. “He told me he was here.”

  “He’s in the back office.” I point toward the hallway.

  She looks back that way. “Can I go back there? I promise to leave my gun with you. It’s in my coat.”