Marcus Sakey - The Blade Itself

Nor could he go to the cops, confess everything, and take his chances. At this point, all they had on Evan was maybe a parole violation. A weapons charge if Danny got lucky. Whereas Evan could place Danny at the pawnshop, where a man had been shot and crippled, a woman beaten half to death. His new life would disappear like smoke.

If he did the job, he protected Karen. Hell, he protected Tommy and Richard, too, by controlling the situation, making sure no one got hurt. And at the end of it, he could go back to a regular life.

It was a lousy option, but it was the smart play.

A door opened down the hall, and he heard the hardwood squeak as Karen walked toward the kitchen. He’d been hoping to leave while she was in the shower. He scooped up his keys, turned as she walked in.

“You going?”

“Work.” The lie stung him. There had been too many lately, but what choice was there?

“It’s Sunday. You’re working too hard, baby.” She smiled at him, one hand going up to adjust a bra strap. Seven years they’d been together, but every time she did that, he lost his concentration. And odds-on she knew it.

He turned around, fumbled in the cabinet, wanting a moment to get his story straight. “Yeah, you know. The winter and all.” He grabbed a glass from the second shelf, held it under the faucet.

“Danny,” her voice serious, “what’s wrong?”

“Huh?” He flashed a forced smile over his shoulder. “What do you mean?”

“Something’s bugging you. Something big.”

He’d read somewhere about mental patients that were basically catatonic because they’d suffered damage to the fragile connections between the brain’s hemispheres. The result was that the two halves of their brain were essentially at war.

Lately he knew how that felt.

He wanted badly to tell her the truth, all of it, from Evan’s reappearance in his – in their – lives right up until this morning. But the calculating half of him warned to keep his damn mouth shut and talk her down. The woman who’d sworn she would bolt if he so much as shoplifted – she was going to accept him going back to work? Even if he was doing it for her, for them? Best to play it smart. “What do you mean, baby? Nothing’s bugging me.”

She gave him a quizzical look. “If you tell me what’s wrong, maybe I can help.”

“Nothing’s wrong.” He took a sip of water, set the glass down.

“Danny.” She did that bra strap thing again, and it drew his eyes to her body, clothed in one of his sweaters and a pair of black leggings.

“I…” He paused. “I don’t know what you mean.”

Something changed in her eyes, and the warmth vanished entirely. “Okay.” She turned to open a drawer and started rummaging through it, her back to him.

“Karen.”

She ignored him.

“Karen, Christ, it’s nothing. Just… just busy at work. The winter, all these things to handle before the snow, you know.” It sounded lame. He was normally a good liar – just not to her. Never to her.

She nodded, her back still turned. “Sure.” She gave up digging through the drawer and slammed it shut. “See you when you get back.” She put on a very thin smile and left, the sound of her shoes all business.

He turned to the sink and poured out his water. “Shit.”

The girl with Evan looked familiar. Blond, pretty, though kind of a stripper vibe. Too much makeup, and the clothes – a ruffled skirt like a cheerleader and two T-shirts – a little out of date. He’d seen her somewhere.

“This is Danny Carter.” Evan nodded toward him, hands in his pockets. “Danny-boy, Debbie.”

“Debbie?” he asked, looking up, wondering what thirty-year-old woman would choose that over Deborah or Deb.

“Like Debbie Harry,” she said, sounding friendly, though Danny couldn’t help but be aware that she knew his last name and he didn’t know hers. He gestured at the other side of the table. Debbie threw her purse in before sliding herself, flashing a little smile and a lot of cleavage. Evan dropped his keys on the table, his jacket on the booth seat. “I’m gonna take a shit. Order me some eggs, they come by.”

Danny sighed and shook his head. Across the table, Debbie took one of the menus from the stand on the table, flipped it open, and started turning pages without paying much attention. He kept his eye on her, sizing her up. Unimpressed. Pretty face, but starting to get that worn look, like she’d spent a lot of time drinking cheap beer in smoky bars. Her blond hair had darker roots. He’d definitely seen her somewhere.

“So.” She looked up, the menu framing her face. “Evan tells me you’re a thief.”

Danny leaned back, the Naugahyde seat cool through his shirt. “I’m in construction.”

“Yeah? He said you were his partner.”

“Long time ago.”

“This must feel like déjà vu, huh?” She smiled at him, no hint of the game face he was used to in this kind of discussion. “So is this like a one-time thing, like the movies?”

“Yes, it’s a one-time thing. No, it’s nothing like the movies.”

She nodded, looked back down at the menu. Flipped another page, then her face lit up like a little kid’s. “That’s what I’m talking about. Chocolate chip pancakes with strawberries.”

He shook his head, took another sip of coffee. This was the woman Evan thought they should bring in on a federal job? Danny would have to call Patrick again. Much as he disliked involving him in this, they needed someone capable. Not some bimbo Evan happened to be fucking.

He realized Debbie was looking at him from across the table, and made an effort to smile.

“Lemme see your hand.” Her gum popped.

“What?”

“I’ll read your palm.”

He shrugged, set the mug down and leaned forward. Her touch was cool. She held his hand lightly, turned it over, her fingers under his wrist. When she leaned in over the table he caught drugstore perfume, something candy-sweet.

“Hmmmm.” She peered closer. “Interesting.”

He ignored the bait, kept silent.

“I see a couple of things.” She traced a line across his palm.

“Yeah?” He stifled a yawn.

She nodded. “I see you think I’m a moron.”

He was surprised, the yawn turning to a smile. “That’s in my palm?”

“That’s in your eyes.” She said it matter-of-factly, still looking at his hand. “In your palm I can see that you’re in management.”

“How?”

“You said you’re in construction. While back, I dated an ironworker. His hands were like baseball mitts. Yours are soft.”

He laughed. “What else?”

“You’re not wearing a wedding ring. But you didn’t check me out.” She brushed a lock of blond hair behind her ear. “Most guys do. So I bet you have a serious girlfriend, somebody you really love.”

He thought of Karen adjusting her bra strap that morning, how even in the middle of fighting with her, lying to her, it had sent a little shiver through him. “Right again. What else does my palm tell you?”

“It tells me I should read a book on palm reading.” She released his hand, smiled up at him. They held the gaze for a long moment, and then he started laughing, a sincere laugh that started low in his gut. It felt good.

“What?” Evan stood at the edge of the table.

Debbie looked at Danny innocently and popped her gum. He laughed again.

“I think we’ll get along fine.”

It was one of those days, the sky throbbing blue, fall light golden across the hood of the Explorer. This October had been shaping up colder than usual, today in the forties, but the sun was so bright it didn’t feel bad, especially with Dylan on the radio, singing about helping her out of a jam but using a little too much force.