Irrevocable

by Shay Savage

  “Where he lives is the last place he’ll be.” I look into Paulie’s face, debate filling it with a slug from his own gun, but resist. “You are staying with Rinaldo. I’m dealing with this lot.”

  “I’m in charge of security here,” Paulie says as he puffs out his chest.

  “Yeah,” I agree with a nod, “and you failed.”

  Paulie’s fingers tighten around his weapon, but he doesn’t draw it out. I rather wish he would so I’d have an excuse to put a hole in his head. No such luck.

  “I will take care of it,” he repeats slowly.

  “No, you fucking won’t.” I step up closer to him. I have to tilt my head to look into his face, but his size does not intimidate me. “You are going to do exactly as you are told and stay right by Rinaldo’s side like an obedient little puppy. Capisce?”

  His hands are trembling as we stare at each other. He bares his teeth slightly and seems as if he’s about to say something else, but we’re interrupted by Jonathan’s voice.

  “Got something! Come take a look!”

  Paulie breaks eye contact first and stares at the ground as I shove past him to take a look at the computer.

  Jonathan’s brought up various images and names, including security camera footage from their own hangouts and meeting places. He has a list of the places where they gather and when. It takes only minutes to know where I can find them later tonight.

  They’ve crossed a line—physically and metaphorically.

  They’re going to pay.

  *****

  Sometimes you just have to go with the direct approach.

  Marcello’s gang is known for its hangouts. They’ve put down roots in every establishment from Marquette Park all the way south to Ninety-fifth Street. They have worked hard to implant themselves on the streets of Auburn Grisham, and no one dares cross them in their own territory.

  Fuck that.

  I open up the Camaro and fly off the Dan Ryan Expressway to Seventy-first Street, nearly going airborne as I race over a slight hill. I slow down enough to make the turn and then barrel through two red lights. Focused on my goal—my targets—I don’t give a shit about traffic laws.

  There’s a crappy little bar where Marcello and his group all hang out on weekdays—the whole lot of them. They do their business there, terrorize the neighborhood in general, and usually end up killing at least one of their own every month.

  How they flourished so quickly in my absence is beyond me. I’m not sure I completely believe Beni’s assessment that they became so bold when they discovered I was no longer in Chicago. I’d been gone before. Something or someone has to be driving them up north.

  I’ll think about that later.

  Pulling into the alley next to the door of the small, run-down bar, I let the engine roar once more before I turn it off. I’m not going for stealth here. Reaching over to the floor of the passenger seat, I grab my assault rifle and step out onto the pavement. A bunch of graffiti defaces the side of the building, depicting various gang symbols and a bunch of names in stylized letters. Everything is orange and black as if Halloween never ended.

  Overconfidence should be a synonym for stupidity. They don’t even have anyone standing at the door. It wouldn’t have mattered, but I had at least expected it. This is too easy, and it puts me on guard.

  It’s a few minutes past nine in the evening when I silently open the door and step inside. There’s rap music playing, but it’s surprisingly subdued. There’s a woman cleaning up spilled beer on the countertop, and two more chicks in orange miniskirts are sitting at the bar, yakking away.

  Marcello and eight members of his group are at the far side of the room near the end of the bar. Marcello is divvying out cash, and everyone is focused on him. They don’t even look up as the door opens.

  Everyone in the place seems to be an associate of Marcello’s though it doesn’t really matter to me. I’m not here for a single kill. I’m here to send a fucking message.

  There’s only one guy on the other side of the room who makes eye contact with me. His eyes are bright in contrast to the black bandana tied around his head. I watch his mouth drop open as I swing the AR up to my shoulder.

  Shots ring out, and people start scrambling. I swing the weapon from side to side. Blood splatters across walls and tables, and screaming competes with the sound of the gunfire. Bodies fall. Those that don’t, I target. The two women who had been gossiping at the bar fall to the floor, arms flailing amidst a heap of chairs. A few more blasts and they are still.

  Turning to my left, I blast holes in the bottles across the back of the bar. The bartender must be hiding behind the counter because I don’t see her anymore. I blow holes in the wood until I hear another scream.

  The blasts leave me partially deaf, but I keep shooting. I walk up to the near end of the bar and back around, finishing off the bartender. There’s a guy who has managed to sneak back there with her, and I step over her body to get to him. He’s half buried by the bartender and has multiple wounds in his legs but nothing life-threatening.

  I decide to go the tactical route. It might save me a return trip later.

  “You know who I am?” I ask the guy on the floor. I recognize his face from Jonathan’s research, but I can’t remember his actual name, only that he goes by Harpy.

  “Fuck you!” he screams at me.

  I point the AR at his groin and pull back on the trigger. He writhes on the floor, screaming and cussing.

  “Let’s try this again,” I say. “Do you know who I am?”

  “Yeah.” Harpy’s voice is just a little mouse-squeak.

  “Say my name.”

  “Ar-ar-Arden,” he says. “Evan Arden.”

  “You ever going to forget it?”

  “N-n-no!”

  “There was a deal made a long time ago. You were probably still trying to figure out what your dick was for at the time, but you might remember something about it.”

  He’s starting to convulse a little, and I figure he’ll be going into shock before long. He might not make it after all.

  “It is actually quite simple,” I say. “Forty-seventh Street is where your activity stops and mine begins. You crossed that line. In fact, you didn’t just cross it, but you thought it was a good idea to fuck with my business. I’m just here to let you know how unwise a move that was.”

  I kick at his leg, and Harpy cringes. He squeezes his eyes shut for a moment, but a tear escapes anyway.

  I smile.

  “You going to tell your friends my name?” I stare downward and focus the tip of the AR in his face. I nod my head up and down a few times until he gets what I mean.

  “Yes?”

  “Say that with a little more confidence.”

  “Yeah! Yeah, I will!”

  “And you’re going to let them all know what happens when they leave this shithole and try to step into my territory, aren’t you?”

  “I’ll tell ‘em! I swear! I’ll tell ‘em all!”

  I nod slowly and then kneel down beside him. I look down at his leg before shoving my finger into one of the bullet holes. He screams and tries to twist away from me, but he’s stuck under the body of his comrade. I twist my finger a little before pulling it out and wiping the blood on his shirt.

  “Make sure they know it was only me here,” I tell him. “Remind them that this is what I can do on my own. If I ever decide to bring the rest of my boys down here, there won’t be anyone left to remember what happened, capisce?”

  “Yeah, I’ll tell ‘em.” He nods as he tries to get his breathing under control.

  “You’re a lucky man, aren’t you?”

  He stares up and me and swallows audibly as I stand.

  “You get to crawl out of here.”

  After quickly surveying the place for any additional survivors and finding none, I leave him surrounded in bodies and bullet casings. Bloody footprints mark my departure.

  The Camaro is still warm inside when I ease into the seat, che
ck my reflection in the rearview mirror, and calmly drive away.

  I have the feeling I won’t need to return.

  Chapter 5—Complicated Companions

  The only sound is the Camaro’s engine. I hope Alina isn’t going to request a drug store stop because I want to get to my apartment soon. I haven’t been there in several days. Rinaldo thought it would be best for me to lie low until the gangbangers down south relaxed a bit, so I’d been staying at a hotel up north.

  This afternoon, Duane “Junko” Keevers came by Rinaldo’s office. He referred to himself as Marcello’s cousin and offered his apologies. The gangs would stay south of Forty-seventh Street as they had in the past.

  Rinaldo accepted the apology along with the stolen guns on the condition that he receive ten percent of the gang’s heroin sales for the next year. Junko would have been stupid not to accept the offer, and apparently he has some brains.

  I’d been spending my time alternating between staring out the hotel window and staring at the hotel ceiling. When I got the all-clear notification, I headed south immediately, looking for Alina.

  The first time I pass by the corner where I had seen her before, she is nowhere to be found. My head is swimming, and it’s hard to focus on the road. I stop at a gas station nearby and debate getting caffeine. I’m really hoping to get some sleep tonight, so I decide against it. The last thing I need is a can of Coke keeping me awake. I get myself a bottle of water and a pack of cigarettes instead. I smoke two as I lean against the hood of the Camaro and then make my way back to the street corner.

  Alina is there this time, and I flag her over.

  “Got a free night?” I give her a half-smile and cock my head a little.

  “Not free,” she responds, “but I’m available.”

  “Close enough.”

  She climbs in, and I start to head towards Wacker Drive. My head feels heavy, and I slow down a bit more. It’s nearly midnight, and there’s thankfully little traffic. I think I might be swerving a bit.

  “Are you all right?” Alina asks.

  “I’m good.”

  I change lanes and prepare to turn left. Just as I start my turn, someone walks out right in front of me. I slam on the brakes and the Camaro skids sideways before coming to a stop.

  “What the fuck!” I yell. I look back over my shoulder to see if I can locate the pedestrian.

  Ralph stands in the middle of the street, staring at me blankly.

  “Shit,” I mumble as I place my head in my hands for a moment. I glance at Alina. She’s gripping the door handle tightly as she stares straight ahead with her mouth hanging open. “Sorry about that.”

  I consider blaming my actions on a jaywalking hallucination, but that’s probably not a good idea. I reach down and grab the gearshift and then pull the car to the side of the street to get my bearings.

  “Would you like me to drive?” Alina asks as she composes herself. “I remember the way.”

  My immediate thought is to say no. No one else has driven this car since I got it, and I don’t think I want to change that. On the other hand, my head is practically spinning now, and Ralph is hanging out just in front of the hood of the car.

  Maybe it’s best to give up.

  “Can you drive a manual?”

  “I can.”

  I nod and open the driver’s side door. We switch places, and Alina gently eases the Camaro back onto the street. Ralph is smirking at me from the other side of the window.

  “Fucker,” I mutter.

  Alina glances over at me, and I just shake my head. She doesn’t ask, and I don’t give anything up. Some things are best left unsaid, and the extent of my insanity is probably one of them.

  It only takes a few minutes to get to the parking garage under my building, but by that time, I’m shaky on my feet, and Alina ends up helping me out of the car. I feel a little ridiculous, but I also know the only way to get any relief is to get into my bed with her beside me, so I let her lead me to the elevator and up to my apartment. She takes me straight to the side of the bed so I can sit down.

  She kneels in front of me, and my cock takes notice of the position. I’m only half awake as she starts removing my boots, but I’m still tempted to have her do a little work before going to sleep. Her hand brushes the inside of my thigh as she removes my socks, and I almost place my fingers over hers to move her hand up higher.

  I blink a couple of times—I think—and she’s back on her feet. My shoes, socks, and shirt have been removed, but I can’t recall exactly how that happened. I’m still in my jeans, but I manage to push those off myself.

  Alina picks them up off the floor and drops them in the hamper along with the rest of my dirty clothes. She opens the drawer where my T-shirts are stored and picks one out. She lays it on the bed beside me before she starts to get undressed.

  I’m looking at her more closely tonight as she removes her clothes. Her hair is down, and I like the way it flows around her back and shoulders as she pulls her tank top over her head. I consider helping her get the rest of her clothes off, but I can barely stand on my own.

  If I demand a blowjob, I will probably fall asleep in the middle of it.

  Alina steps across the hall to the bathroom, and I lie down on the bed. I don’t even open my eyes when she returns and climbs in beside me. My nose detects her, though—the scent of lavender is all around me. I tuck my face into the space between her neck and shoulder and breathe deeply.

  “Do you like it?” Alina asks.

  I open my eyes just enough to focus on her face.

  “The lavender? Yeah, I do.”

  “I hope it helps.”

  I can’t form words to respond to her. I’m trembling a bit though I don’t feel cold. She rubs the back of my shoulder with one hand and presses her cheek to the top of my head. With her other hand, she trails her fingertips over the tattoos on my arm.

  “When was the last time you slept?” Alina asks.

  “I slept last night.”

  “For how long?”

  “Maybe an hour.”

  “When was the last time you really slept?”

  “When you were here.” I’m not sure if my words are clear enough for her to understand, but I don’t have the energy to repeat them.

  There’s a pause before she speaks again.

  “That was nearly a week ago.”

  “Yeah.”

  “Jesus,” she whispers. She tightens her grip on me for a moment.

  I think she says something else, but I’m asleep before it can register.

  When I wake, I’m warm. Not too warm like I’ve been dreaming of the desert, just nicely warm. The lavender scent has faded, but it must have done the trick. I don’t remember waking up during the night at all. It’s late in the morning again. I feel the sunlight coming through the window before I open my eyes.

  Alina is beside me with one hand on my forearm and the other behind my head. It’s basically the same position we were in when I fell asleep, and I wonder if we’ve stayed that way all night. She’s already awake, and as I look at her, she begins to run her fingers in a tight circle on the back of my neck, right at the top of the tendons. My body reacts without any direction from my brain as my back arches with the touch. I press down with the balls of my feet and stretch. I think I even groan a little.

  Meeting her eyes, I’m a little embarrassed by my reaction. She smiles slightly, and her fingers continue to massage my neck. It feels fantastic, but as soon as my mind conjures up images of Lia giving me a backrub by the fire, I pull away from Alina.

  I clamber out of bed and head into the bathroom without a sound. Turning the water up as hot as I can tolerate it, I stand in the stream and let it pour over me. My mind is blank. Even as I try to determine how I’m feeling, I can’t seem to come up with any words.

  I’m unwilling to think about Lia. I don’t even want to remember her name.

  When I get out of the shower, I can detect the aroma of Alina’s cooking again, a
nd my stomach rumbles. I quickly pull on some clean clothes and join her in the kitchen.

  “Pancakes again?”

  She glances up as I smile at her.

  “You don’t exactly have a fully stocked kitchen,” she tells me. “I have to make do with what’s here.”

  “Be careful,” I say, “or I might just go shopping.”

  “I’ll make you a list.”

  I sit at the table with a cup of coffee and watch her. She seems completely comfortable in my presence, which is strange. All the others have been terrified of me come morning. Maybe I had managed another night without dreams.

  She brings over filled plates and sits down beside me. I dive straight in. The pancakes are perfectly cooked, and the bacon is nicely crisp. Alina watches me as she eats slowly. When I’m done, she picks up my plate and rinses it in the sink before sitting back down again.

  “How are you feeling?” she asks quietly.

  “I’m good.” I glance at her, wondering what she’s getting at.

  “I wasn’t sure how well you had slept.” She licks her lips and peeks at me through her lashes. Her hair falls over her shoulder as she turns toward me a little and places her hand over mine. “You have nightmares all the time, don’t you?”

  Well, that answers the dreaming question.

  Her bluntness has caught me slightly off guard, and I can’t respond right away. Instead, I just stare at her hand on top of mine.

  “Some of the time,” I finally admit.

  The look on her face says she doesn’t believe me, and I look away with a sigh.

  “Do you remember them?”

  “Usually.”

  “That must be very frightening.”

  I pull my hand away from hers, stand, and go to refill my coffee. Ralph sits on the counter next to the coffee pot with his arms crossed over his chest and a look of self-satisfaction.

  “Not real.”

  “Of course they aren’t,” Alina responds. “That doesn’t mean they don’t affect you.”

  I didn’t realize I’d spoken aloud.

  Alina moves behind me and runs her hand over my arm.

  “They aren’t just nightmares, are they? They’re memories.”