We look at each other and I twirl my finger around in the air. He heads off in one direction and me in another.
Two minutes later, other side of the park, and I approach the car. Both my guys are already in the car. My mask is down around my collar again and it looks like a scarf, my reversible jacket is now red, instead of blue.
I should be happy as the sirens I hear are still off in the distance and I see nothing around the car or street that says trouble. We’re home free, done deal and I got some big money waiting for me back at the hotel.
I get in and Patrik’s boys are grinning ear to ear. We drive off slow and careful, zigzagging our way down residential streets. We get farther and farther away from the park. Nothing behind us. Like I said, I should be happy. We fucking did it, did it perfect. All of them are dead. It was a clean hit. Almost.
Problem is, all I can see is that park district worker. What were the fucking chances he would be standing there? He saw me good, too. That big, ugly asshole with the long giraffe neck had made me.
Kos, yeah, that’s his name. The big bouncer that I had gotten into it with at Ambrozy’s. Made him look like a pussy, told him I was gonna hurt him. Made him run off like a little girl.
When he pointed at me and smiled, I had finally recognized him. I knew who he was.
I also knew I was fucked.
Seriously.
EIGHTEEN
Mick
The door swung open and I clocked him right on the point of the chin.
The force of the blow hurt my knuckles. From the stunned, cross-eyed look of surprise and pain on his face, I’d say it hurt Stevie boy more. He staggered back two steps, then his knees gave way. He fell like the bucket of shit he was.
I walked through the open doorway and snapped the door shut behind me. An electric thrill pulsed through my body and out through my limbs. This was different than when I was on the job. Different even than when the Czechs rolled into Eddie’s Diner a few days ago. This was raw.
Steve recovered from the punch. He clambered to his feet, raising his fists. But his face was full of questions.
Well, I had answers.
They teach you on the street that the best defense is a good offense. They must teach merchant marines the same thing. Steve threw a looping punch with his right hand. He wasn’t quite as big as Jerzy but he was close. He might have been a little quicker, too. It didn’t matter, though. I ducked under the punch, side-stepped and hooked one right into his solar plexus.
Steve grunted and hit his knees again.
I didn’t hesitate. I sent a left straight across his jaw. I stepped into it, all hips and shoulder and follow through. Steve toppled to the floor, his eyelids fluttering. If this had been a middleweight bout, the referee wouldn’t have even bothered with the count.
I squatted down next to his head and waited. I could hear the unmistakable squeak of shoes on the basketball court on the TV in the other room. The Bulls, I realized. They’d sneaked into the playoffs. I’d interrupted Steve’s little fan fest.
With a groan, he came to. He gave his head a short little shake to clear it, then looked up and saw me. I thought about jacking him in the face another one, but the expression he bore stopped me.
Steve was broken.
That easy.
“Who…who are you?” he croaked.
“I’m just the guy who’s been banging your woman while you’re away,” I said with a tight smile.
Anger flashed in his eyes, but not enough to overcome his caution. He said nothing.
“You probably knew that,” I said. “Or at least suspected. That’s why you punched on her, right?”
Steve didn’t reply.
I leaned forward slightly. My smile melted away and I gave him a hard look. “Right?”
“Yeah.” He had the look of defeat, of resignation.
“Well, she’s done with you,” I told him. “Leave her alone. You got me?”
He nodded.
“Or I come back,” I added.
“Yeah,” he said. “I got it.”
I rose to my feet. I was done here. Time to go tell Connie it was finished. And that she needed to get her own place, because she wasn’t staying with me. I might still-
Steve’s hand shot out and grabbed my ankle. Before I could react, he jerked it toward him. I lost my balance and hit the floor hard. Steve’s other hand clamped onto my upper leg. The son of a bitch was strong. His grip hurt.
He let go of my ankle. I tried to slide away, but he grabbed onto my belt with his free hand. The fucker was climbing up me like a ladder.
A moment later, he let go of my leg and blasted a punch into my chest. I felt it coming a second before it landed and tensed. The blow sent a shock wave through my upper body.
Steve pulled back for another punch.
I drove my knee upward. The point of my knee caught him on the hip. I doubted it hurt much, but it knocked him off balance enough to interrupt his punch.
He reloaded.
I twisted sideways.
The punch landed on my upper arm, sending another shock wave through me. This one was sharper and I let out an involuntary yelp. The punch bounced off my arm and clipped my cheek.
“You like that, motherfucker?” Steve growled with satisfaction, and pulled back for another punch.
I whipped my hand up, fanning out my fingers and raking them across his eyes.
Steve screamed. He let go of me and both of his hands flew to his face. He rolled off to the side and curled up in a ball, rocking slightly.
I stood up slowly.
“I’m blind!” he yelled, his voice full of panic. “I’m blind!”
I didn’t answer. Instead, I sent a hard kick into his side. He was rocking toward me when it landed, so it was even harder than I’d hoped. His cries of blindness were cut short by his own strangled groan.
I could’ve kicked him again.
I could have kicked him a lot of agains.
But if I started, I don’t think I’d have stopped.
Instead, I said, “Remember this, Stevie, next time you think about thumping on Connie. Or anyone else, you fucking pussy.”
It didn’t feel as good as kicking him again, but maybe it would stick with him longer.
I walked out the door.
A block from Steve’s apartment, my phone chirped. I figured it was Connie, but it was a number I didn’t recognize. I thought about letting it go to voicemail, but something made me answer it.
“Hello?”
“Mick?” It was a woman’s voice. Not Connie’s, but still somehow familiar.
“Yeah. Who’s this?”
“It’s Ania.”
I stopped walking. Someone behind me must have been surprised by my sudden halt, because a body barreled into me. I staggered a step forward and turned around, half-expecting Steve back for round two. Instead, it was a short, squat Asian lady with her black purse tucked under her arm protectively. She glared at me.
“Sorry,” I said.
She didn’t reply, but averted her eyes and trudged around me.
“Sorry for what?” Ania asked, her tones velvet.
I moved to the side of the building. “Nothing,” I said. “Someone just bumped into me.”
“Oh,” she said. Then she asked, “Shouldn’t they be apologizing to you?”
“Probably,” I told her.
There was a silence during which neither of us spoke. The busy sounds of the city surrounded me, but I swear I could hear her breath on the other end of the line.
After a while, she asked, “You still there?”
“I’m here.”
“Okay. Good.” She took a deep breath and let it out. “Look, I called because I need to talk to you.”
“Okay. Let’s talk.”
“No,” she said. “In person.”
I swallowed. I remembered that smoldering gaze she sent my way at Gar’s funeral. Talking to her at the bar afterward.
“Sure,” I said.
“I’ll call you tonight, after I get off work? Say around ten? Or earlier, if I can arrange it.”
“All right.”
“We’ll figure out where then.”