“What?”
Johnny held the scissors up, stared at them. “We need to talk.”
The shock wasn’t thick enough to block the sudden fear. Had he slipped up? “What? Cut me free.”
“In a minute.” His boss glanced sideways, then reached over to push the door closed. “We don’t have a lot of time, so listen up.”
Alex moaned, and Johnny leaned forward and tapped his cheek. It felt like a blow from the wrong end of a claw hammer. “Jesus!”
“I said listen. You’ll be OK. It doesn’t look that bad. But in a minute there are going to be a bunch of cops here, and I’m gonna need you to stand up.”
“Stand up?”
“Kid, you’re loyal, but you ain’t too bright. We’re going to get you taken care of. I’ll cover the medical bill. But you need to do something. The cops are going to ask a lot of questions. I don’t know what happened out there, but right this second, it doesn’t matter. What matters is that we tell the same story.”
“Johnny, my head really hurts.” He tried to speak calmly, but his body was slicked with sweat, and his voice came out hoarse. He had to get free, had to find out what was going on. Were his friends OK? Had one of them…
“Here’s what you tell the cops-exactly what happened, that two guys came in with guns and robbed us. But don’t mention the meeting or the duffel bag. Other than that, tell them anything they want to know. They ask if you wear pantyhose, you tell the truth. But not about those two things. You got it?”
Alex took a deep breath. The world was wobbling and pulsing. “You want me to lie to the cops.”
“You do this, I’ll get you taken care of, cover the bills, and pay you for the trouble. A lot more than a couple hundred.”
He could hear sirens now, rising and falling. “I-”
“You tell them anything else, then I’ll be forced to say you were in on it. That daughter of yours? Next time you see her, you’ll be wearing a jumpsuit. Get me?”
Everything seemed to be moving at a weird speed, jerky fast, awkward slow, like a projector eating a filmstrip. Someone had been shot outside, maybe more than one person. One of his friends could be hurt, dying. Johnny leaned in, the scissors in his hand, inches from Alex’s good eye. He could see light play off the edge of them.
“I understand.” He forced himself to stay calm. Raised his hands. “Cut me out.”
Johnny nodded. “That’s good.” He worked the edge of the blade beneath the tape.
Footsteps, loud, and then Chip was pushing open the door. “The police are on their way. Are you two OK?”
“We’re fine,” Johnny said. “Alex needs an ambulance, though.”
“What happened?”
“We got robbed.”
“By who?”
“Fuck if I know, kid. But I’m going to find out. You can bet on that.”
The world was narrowing to a pinhole. Alex decided to let it.
FROZEN IN THE DOORWAY, ears ringing from the crack of gunfire, Mitch stared. Trying to put the pieces together.
They had left the office. Gone out the back. A second car had been there, a man standing near it. He had pulled a pistol. Ian had aimed at the guy, his intentions glowing like a billboard. Mitch had yelled for him to stop. The drug dealer had drawn a bead, fast. There had been a blast of light and sound from over by the cars.
Ian must be hit.
Mitch looked down. His friend seemed fine. He wasn’t screaming or clutching his chest. He was just aiming his pistol and tugging the trigger. Nothing was happening. The safety still on. The shot hadn’t come from him, and hadn’t hit him. So who-
Mitch turned to the alley. The man was on the ground, one hand clapped to his shoulder, face twisted in pain. Jenn stared like a zombie, the revolver she’d used to shoot him still in her shaking hand.
No. Oh, no. He slipped the duffel bag and launched himself forward, ran a handful of paces. The man on the ground was moving. Mitch got to him, kicked at a dark metal object on the ground, the man’s pistol, knocked it skittering across the broken concrete.
The guy gasped, one hand flopped up at a weird angle, the other pressed to his shoulder. Blood pulsed through his clenched fingers. His teeth were tight, and breath whistled through them.
“I”-Jenn’s eyes were sick porcelain-“I didn’t. He’s-”
“Hey,” Mitch said. He moved over to Jenn, put hands on her shoulders. “Hey.”
She stared at him. “I didn’t know what to do. He was going to-”
“It’s fine,” he lied. “Everything is fine. Come on. Let me have this.” Gently, he eased the revolver from her hand.
“I-oh God.” She stood over the man she had shot. Ian came up beside her, the three of them staring down. Like kids on a play-ground, Mitch thought, only it’s not a twisted ankle or a skinned knee, and no one can yell time-out. This game keeps going, like it or not.
“What do we do?” Ian’s voice was thin.
“We have to take him to a hospital,” she said. “It’s just his shoulder. He’ll be OK. Right?”
So if this is a game, what are the rules? Mitch stared, let his friends talk around him. There has to be more than what you’re thinking. There has to be.
“And tell them what?”
“We don’t have to tell them anything. Just drop him outside.”
He barely heard the others. Don’t lie to yourself. It’s too late to lie. Lies won’t save you.
“He’ll tell them about us.”
“He doesn’t know anything.”
This is the way it is. You know what you have to do. There’s only one option.
Ian said, “He saw your face.”
“But so what? I’ve never been arrested-”
“It’s not just the cops.”
“So what do we do?”
“I don’t know.” Ian’s voice hysterical. “Christ, I don’t know.”
“Why didn’t you put your gun down?”
“This is my fault? I didn’t shoot him.”
“I had to!”
This is the game. These are the stakes.
Do it.
The man was staring at them, his pupils wide but alert. Staring at the two men in masks, and at the woman standing between. Staring like he was memorizing her face.
Or like he already had.
Mitch raised the revolver, looked down the barrel, and pulled the trigger.
CHAPTER 13
A SMALL SPACE, VIBRATING, BRIGHT. On his back. Sirens. Movement around him. Cool pressure on his eye. Words. “Male, approximately thirty, blunt trauma to the head and eye, probable concussion…”
“Am I… where?”
“You’re in an ambulance. Lay still.” The figure touching his cheek, his nose, sliding something into his nostrils. “What’s your name?”
“Alex.”
“Alex what?”
“Alex Kern.”
“Do you know what year it is, Alex?”
“Ummm.” For a moment he wasn’t sure. “2008?”
“Good. And who’s the president?”
“Fucking George Bush.”
The technician snorted. “I’m going to put an IV in. It may pinch for a second.” There was a brief sting in his right elbow.
“Am I-”
“You’re going to be all right. The blow tore your skin, but your eye looks OK.”
“What about-who got shot?”
“I don’t know about that. Lay still and try to be calm.”
Calm, Alex thought. Right. Calm. He took a deep breath, held it, then let it out slow, wondering what the fuck had happened.
“WHAT THE FUCK HAPPENED?” Jenn sounded like she’d been awake for a week. Mitch didn’t answer. He just leaned back into her couch. His hand tingled, felt very… present. Like the kick of the gun had left an imprint.
“Mitch. Are you-”
“Yeah,” he said. He felt at once powerful and weak, strong and shaky. “Yeah.”
It was his first time in her apartment, and it looked different than he’d imagined. He’d pictured frilly things and too many pillows. Clay-colored walls. The standard midtwenties Pottery Barn space. Instead it was tastefully minimal, with less furniture than he had expected. The walls were painted airy colors, and the windows had soft, sheer curtains that flowed with the breeze.