Tom Piccirilli - The Last Deep Breath

“I’m not going to pull the fucking blade out.”

“Any black discharge?”

“Not that I see.”

“Good. If he was seeping liver bile you could cross her off your Christmas card list.”

“Just get here,” Grey said and hung up.

He looked down and Ellie was grinning at him, a welled drop of blood on her lower lip. He wasn’t sure if she was hemorrhaging internally or if she’d taken a smack in the mouth. She was radiant and lovely and looked exactly like the little girl he’d known and nothing like her at all. They’d only been in foster care together for about twelve months, but it was an important time, a year that would never merge with the rest of the years, never fade, never soften. He considered her to be his sister and always would. He’d looked for her several times over the last decade, but she’d hit the streets at fourteen and he’d never so much as caught a hint of her after that.

She raised one hand, her fingertips speckled with dry blood, and brushed the hair from his eyes. “You look good,” she said. “I’ve missed you.”

“Don’t talk, Ellie.”

“I want to talk. It’s been long time since we’ve talked.”

A thousand questions boiled up in his throat, but he had to go with, “Who did this to you?”

“It wasn’t his fault.”

“Whose fault?”

“Johnny’s.”

“Somebody named Johnny stabbed you in the guts and it wasn’t his fault?”

Her gaze unfocused for an instant, then she centered on him again. She wet her lips. “Did you look for me?”

“Yes.”

“How hard?”

“You dropped out of the system when you were fourteen.”

“I thought maybe I could change,” she said, and for an instant her exquisite face fell and her bottom lip trembled, eyes suddenly wet. And then just as quickly the moment of weakness was gone and she was beautiful and hard again. “Do you know anything about what happened to Pax?”

“He lives outside of Fort Bragg, but right now he’s back in Iraq.”

“He’s a soldier?”

“Career.”

“And what are you?”

Even though his eyes didn’t brighten with tears, his own moment of weakness hit him. “A fuckup.”

“No you’re not. You just still need to find what you’re good at.”

He’d lost his family, been abused by foster parents, kicked out of school, booted out of the Army, had nothing of value except the car, couldn’t hold a steady job and worked temp manual labor wasting his days waiting for something to happen. He wondered if this was it.

“Where’ve you been?” he asked.

“For the last few years, L.A. mostly.”

“Doing what?”

“Being very stupid.”

It made her laugh, which led into a coughing fit that went on so long she nearly convulsed.

“How long have you been in New York?” he asked.

“Eight months.”

He swallowed thickly. A knot in his chest tightened even further. “And you knew where I was that whole time. Why did you wait so long to come by? Why did it have to be like this?”

“I’ve watched you,” she said. “I didn’t…I didn’t want to make things worse.”

“There is nothing worse.”

T.S. rushed in through the door with his medical kit, moved to Ellie’s side, looked her in the face and said, “Goddamn, woman, you’re gorgeous.”

“Thank you,” she said and started vomiting bile.

It was rough going for a while, and there was a lot of blood. Grey went for the phone twice but Ellie, who should’ve been unconscious through it all, was still awake and kept telling him not to call an ambulance. Finally, T.S. got the situation under control. After he was done he gave her a couple of shots that put her out at last.

As T.S. washed his red hands in the kitchen sink he said, “She’ll make it if peritonitis doesn’t set in. I think she’ll be all right. I’m leaving bandages and antibiotics. Change the dressing twice a day and follow the directions on the bottles.”

Grey checked the meds and saw they belonged to an Esther Freeman on the Upper East Side. “Esther make out okay?”

“Esther’s long dead. Don’t ask any questions.”

“Right.”

Grey started scrubbing at the blood that had splashed onto the wall.

“She really your sister?” T.S. asked.

No need to get into it. “Yes.”

“I know this girl.”

“What?”

“I know her.”

“You know her?” Grey turned, tossed his rag down. “How the hell would you know her?”

“Yeah, from the movies.”

Grey knew then exactly what kind of movies Ellie had been making, what had probably brought her low, and what had brought her to New York. If you bottom out in porn your next step is pro. She’d probably burned a lot of bridges out in L.A. and wanted to try fresh in New York.

“Sorry, man,” T.S. said.

“Don’t be.”

“Maybe I shouldn’t have told you.”

“It doesn’t matter.” The wall had dried but the paint was still marked with her blood. “She didn’t get knifed by being a soccer mom in Westchester.”

“Still, if it was my sister, I’d be a little steamed thinking my best buddy had watched her on DVD and, you know, well…”

“Shut the fuck up, Sherman.”

“Right.” T.S. picked up his bag, started for the door. “You know she’s an addict, right?”

Grey’s chin dropped to his chest. He shut his eyes and welcomed the darkness, felt it cool him, befriend him, then he opened his eyes again. “I do now.”

“Heroin. I don’t know how bad a habit, but if it’s bad enough you’ll know it soon.”

“Jesus.”

“Call me if you need anything else.”

“Thanks.”

Once the echoes of footsteps receded down the stairs, Grey went through her purse and found a knotted condom full of heroin, a hypodermic needle, and a business card that sounded upper class unless you knew what you were looking for: “Premium Friends – For All Your Attendant Needs.” He thought it was cute how they interchanged the word “attendant” for “escort.”

Listening to Ellie’s labored breathing, he dabbed her sweaty forehead with a wet towel. He remembered being a kid and doing this same thing after old man Wagner had been at her. Washing her wounds, cleaning up blood.

She was naked under a blanket, snoring softly. He drew the blanket away and inspected her body. Some scars he recognized. Many others had been collected along the way. A nicely done armband tattoo of thorns around her left bicep. Another around her right thigh. The signs of addiction could still be seen. A few bad bruises and blemishes that hadn’t fully healed. She’d shot mostly in her feet and a couple of veins had collapsed, proving she’d been hardcore for years but had still been smart enough not to ruin the rest of her body, the moneymaker.

He took her hand and put her palm to his mouth and spoke against her flesh. He wasn’t aware of his own words and he couldn’t stop himself. He didn’t recognize his own voice and was almost lulled by the rhythmic murmur of it, like a hymn or a prayer. It went on like that until it was dark and then he kissed her hand and laid it back across her belly.

Ellie was sleeping soundly when Grey called the number and set up an appointment for later on that night. He said he was a businessman visiting town and would like some company. They went through the whole spiel that they were a “friendship club” and that their ladies were not prostitutes and there was no intent to sell sexual favors. He said sure, he understood. He showered, shaved, got dressed in his one black suit, and pulled a wedge of cash from his stash at the bottom of the closet. He needed to find out if anyone at Premium Friends knew this Johnny.