Marcus Sakey - The Blade Itself

Evan had broken the nose of the first asshole who’d tried his luck, and stuck to jerking off.

Two blocks up, the car still creeping, he spotted Danny kicking back at a bus stop, his arms up on the bench’s back. He had the newspaper in his lap, but wasn’t reading it, keeping his eyes up and moving, scanning the traffic. Danny Carter, always too smart for his own good. He’d spotted Evan, but waited until the Mustang pulled in front of the bench before standing up slow and walking to the car. Evan leaned over to flip the lock. “Hey, partner.”

Danny shot him a cold look as he climbed in. “Drive, asshole. Take Lakeshore north.”

Evan chuckled, turned off Halsted onto a residential street, cut through an alley, and wound back toward the lake. Decided to ignore Danny’s expression now that it looked like he might be doing the right thing. The guy had reached out to him, after all, calling Murphy’s and leaving a message with the bartender. That made it his move. What would it be? Play the hard case, tell him if he ever laid a hand on Karen again, blah blah blah? It didn’t seem his style, but as he kept being reminded, this wasn’t the guy he’d grown up with.

They merged onto Lakeshore, the Mustang purring as it muscled past a CTA bus with an ad for some computer thing on the side. They were two miles up, Evan thinking about turning on the radio, when Danny spoke.

“Get off here.”

Evan squinted at him, decided to go along, and exited at Montrose. Danny gestured to the east, toward the lake, and Evan pulled into a parking lot. Maybe thirty cars, most of them pretty hot, Beemers and Benzes.

“Kill it. Let’s take a walk.”

The lakefront was crowded with people biking and Rollerblading, a few jogging. A couple of old white dudes messed around on their sailboats in the marina, playing Jimmy Buffet, pretending they were in Margaritaville in June instead of Chicago a week before Halloween. In the summer the bike path was mobbed with chicks in bikinis, but now everybody wore a sweatshirt. Danny walked ahead, steering them past the marina, out to a point that jutted into the lake. It was a quiet spot, thin grass tapering to rocks at the water’s edge. Danny stepped up on a boulder and stared out to the horizon like he was looking for answers. The air was still, the water calm.

Evan took out his smokes, tapped one free. Flicked the wheel on the silver Zippo, lit the cigarette, and held the flame a moment longer than necessary, looking at the lake through the flame, like he was setting it on fire. “So we’re here. Now what? You want to cuddle, watch the sunset?”

Danny didn’t turn. “Let’s talk about the rules.”

“Rules?”

“The rules of the job.”

Look at that. Been trying to make a point to the man for two weeks, and he’d finally gotten through. Apparently Karen was the lever to move Danny’s world. Worth remembering. “So you’re in.”

“Not much choice, right? I got your point.”

“Good.” He kept his tone light, with just a hint of steel in it.

“You want my help, though, there are three rules.”

“Yeah?” Just like Danny, to be talking rules instead of thinking about how much they stood to score. More worry than joy.

“First off, nobody gets hurt. Not a scratch, you hear? Especially not Tommy.”

“Who the fuck is Tommy?”

Danny sighed, glanced over his shoulder. “Tommy’s the boy, Evan. The one you want to kidnap. What, were you going to call his father and say, ‘I’ve got that kid that hangs out in your house”?

Evan made quick fists to pop his knuckles, then forced a smile. As long as Danny played along, he’d handle him gently.

“Next,” Danny continued, his eyes once again on the rolling gray of the lake, “is that you listen to me. You want my help? Fine. My way. No messing about on the job. All right?”

He nodded, thinking, Now how you going to control that, Danny-boy ? But all he said was, “The third?”

“The third rule is that this squares us. We do this, I never see you again. If I do, even once, I say to hell with the consequences and call the cops, and we go down together. You and I,” his tone still even, no anger in it, “we’re done.”

Evan kept his mouth shut. His hopes of brotherhood had died just before Patrick did. The guy with him now was only an angle to be played.

“All right.” Evan raised the smoke to his lips, stared at the horizon himself, wondering what Danny saw out there that was so damn fascinating.

“One more thing.”

The tone should have warned him, but he’d already dropped his guard. Danny swung around faster than Evan could get his arm up. The fist caught him square on the chin, snapping the cigarette, the world did that quick bounce-and-settle thing, and then, shit, his foot slipped on the wet grass. He fell, arms flailing. Hitting the ground smacked the wind out of him, and he felt the rage taking hold, all you had sometimes, the animal readiness to kill or be killed.

But Danny didn’t press the attack. He stepped back to the boulder’s edge, shaking out his hand. “That’s for Karen, motherfucker.”

Even before he’d gotten his breath back, Evan had his hand on the pistol tucked in his waistband. He started to draw. And then remembered where they were. Lincoln Park. Probably two hundred witnesses, and nowhere to hide.

Evan let go of the gun, took a breath. Now he knew why they’d come here. Propping himself up on an elbow, he laughed. He’d been outplayed. Old school, the way the Danny he used to know might have done it.

Forget it. This time.

Danny stepped forward, holding out one hand, and Evan took it to pull himself up.

“Let’s go to work.” Danny’s tone all business.

“Now?”

“Now.”

As they pulled into Evanston the gloomy humidity had finally given way to one of those noiseless October rains that soaked the hell out of everything. Rotting leaves tattooed the asphalt orange and brown. The bossman’s house – Richard, it turned out his name was – looked cheery, porch lights glowing on either side of the carved oak door.

“Don’t turn off the engine.” Danny stared out the window. Some of the confidence was gone from his voice, like seeing the actual house had taken something out of him.

“Why not?”

“We’re not staying. This neighborhood pays for a security service to patrol, and we don’t want them stopping by.”

Evan nodded. Rich cunts never failed. The more money they had, the higher the walls, the brighter the lights. Like hanging a target around their neck – just made it easier to spot a score. He rubbed at his chin. It was a little sore, but not likely to show a bruise. “So what are we doing?”

“Looking at the house. Where do you want to go in?”

“Right now?” He was surprised, but game.

“Of course not.” Danny looked over at him. “We don’t even know who’s inside.”

Evan pretended he’d been testing Danny. “That’s what I thought. So how about knocking on the front door sometime when we know the kid is alone? Grab him when he answers it?”

“Walk up with masks on? We look a little old for trick-or-treaters.” Danny sat silent for a moment, then said, “We’ll go in the back, break in.”

“House like this, there’s got to be an alarm system.”

“There is, but Maria – Richard’s maid – kept setting it off. They only use it at night now.”

Evan nodded. “When?”

“Next week. We’ll do it one day after school.”

“Do we need to worry about the maid?”

“I know when she comes.” Danny turned from the window. “Let’s go, before a friendly neighbor notices us.”

Evan put the car in drive and rolled forward, tires whisking on the pavement. He cracked the window to listen to the rain. “Most alarms have a panic button, right?”