Stacia Kane - Wrong Ways Down

Damn. He guessed it were dumb of him to think she might be wanting to hang out at his when he weren’t even there; what was she supposed to do? But a tiny spark of disappointment still lit in his chest. Knowing she were waiting for him at his place … that woulda been pretty fucking cool.

Nothing more to say. “Gimme a few, aye? Berta’s wanting me fast, only got a minute for getting ready. Can take you on home, though.”

She blinked. “Oh, yeah, duh, you probably … um, should I wait outside?”

While he got dressed, he figured she meant. Shit, he hadn’t even thought of that. “Naw, just gimme the wait here.”

He grabbed some clothes and took them into the bathroom, where he brushed his teeth and shaved and all that shit. Wished he had time to shower up, but he didn’t, not with Berta waiting. Another five minutes and she’d start calling him again, he knew, asking why weren’t he there yet. He gave himself a quick soap-up anyway, and hoped that made a difference.

Chess was waiting when he came out, flipping through the copy of Cannery Row she’d loaned him. He’d never read it before; shit, he’d figured he wouldn’t be able to understand it, until Chess told him one day she thought he’d dig it so he figured it were worth giving the try. She waved it at him. “What do you think?”

“Pretty cool, aye.” He did dig it, a lot, though it were taking him longer to read it than he wanted to admit. It weren’t that it was hard to read; actually, that was the problem. It wasn’t hard to read, which made him figure he must be missing something, not understanding something, because the writing on the back cover mentioned how the dude who wrote it won all kinds of prizes and shit, which should have made it way beyond him.

So he was going slow, and really thinking on it, to try and work on what he were missing. He figured she’d ask, and she’d be wanting to talk on it with him, and he ain’t wanted to look stupid. First time a dame ever gave him a book to read. Definitely the first time a dame ever cared what he thought on a book. He wanted to get it right, especially since it was Chess asking.

She smiled. “I thought you’d like it. Where are you in it?”

He told her in the car, and they talked about it as he drove her home. He’d been right there; she wanted to know what he thought, about the characters and the setting and all, and if he’d thought the female characters were kinda stereotypes the way she had but it were still a good book. And she ain’t acted like she thought his answers were dumb or any like that, neither, and by the time he pulled up outside hers he’d forgot to be worried on it. He was just talking on it with her, like any other conversation.

“Well,” she said, grabbing the strap of her bag. “Thanks again. I hope you get everything worked out today.”

He nodded. And there probably weren’t much point asking, since he didn’t know how late he’d be busy, but he couldn’t stop the words from slipping out anyway. “You around later? Got plans?”

“Yeah. I mean, yeah, I’ll be around, no, I don’t have plans. Give me call, if you want.”

“Aye. Ain’t sure how late, dig.”

“I’ll be up.” Another smile from her, like the sun just rose right inside his car, and she was gone, slipping out onto the street in a swirl of freezing air. He watched her climb the steps outside her building, waited until she got inside.

Then he headed off to Berta’s.

Blue Bill and Rat were still outside Archie’s place when Terrible got there an hour and a half later. The good mood he’d been in while talking to Chess in the car had evaporated; it had evaporated almost as soon’s he drove away and the real world came back, but now it was replaced with fury. Drina, this time. Weren’t even supposed to be working that night, but was causen she had a son with a birthday coming up.

That was it. That was fucking it . He was done.

Rat took a step back when he got close, raised his hands in one a them “Don’t hurt me” type gestures Terrible saw a lot of and usually ignored. “He ain’t been back here, he ain’t, aye? We been watching, ain’t even left yon door unwatched even for a second, swearing it, we ain’t.”

“Place got another entry?”

Blue Bill pointed. “Side door there. Only one I were seeing. Been watching it, too.”

“How many coming in an out since you here?”

Blue Bill thought for a second. “Only a few. Maybe five.”

“Were four,” Rat said. “Counted, I done, see? Kept me a count.”

“Any you knowing?”

“No.”

“What they were? Dames? What?”

“Three men. One female.”

Shit. That gave him nothing at all. He kept thinking there must be some other ask he could give em, something that’d tell him whatany it were he needed, but he weren’t certain what he were looking for and so didn’t know what asks he should have.

Instead he nodded. “Stay here, aye? Any going in, give me a ring-up. And Rat, you walk you around that building again, have you another check-out, dig? See iffen there’s any windows or whatany he maybe could broke out through.”

He headed across the street, mentally checking over what he had, making sure he had what all he might need. Had he knife, and the thick chain he sometimes used, along with he brass knuckles. In his bag were the usual shit: ropes, duct tape, pliers. He ain’t usually had the need for lotsa tools or whatany, though. Hands were enough, leastaways enough for anybody not afraid to use em. Like him.

The hallways were quiet. Dirty, and stinking of rotting food and sweat and like people used em for bathrooms, but quiet. Terrible weren’t fooled. Anybody could be—likely was—watching him through peepholes. They’d seen him outside, he knew it. So anybody could jump out at him, could be waiting til he passed by to jump out.

Ain’t scared him. But he was ready, in case.

Up the stairs to Archie’s place. The back of his neck tingled. Shit. Please don’t let that smell, that almost … invisible, though he knew that weren’t the right word, smell be what he thought it was, don’t let it mean what he thought it meant.

He knew it was, and it did, though. Knew he’d found the reason why nobody’d seen Archie in a few days. Fuck.

He pushed at the door, finding the spot where it gave the most, then stepped back and gave it a good hard kick. The cheap wood shattered under his foot.

Archie’s place looked just like it had when he was there before. All shiny, all tidied up like somebody was gonna take fucking pictures or some shit. But that smell was stronger, and no way now could he pretend it weren’t there or that it were anything else.

Past the kitchen, all the expensive machines shining on the countertop. Too quiet in there, in that apartment. He followed the hall down to the half-open door at the end. Not a lot of light came from it; heavy curtains blocked the window, gave everything a sort of blue-ish cast.

But the body on the floor ain’t looked blue. It looked red. Dried blood all over it, soaked into the carpet around it, spattered on the bed and the walls. Dried blood everywhere. A man, naked, shot to shit. Heavy-guage shotgun, from the looks of it; whatever it were, it’d been loaded with fucking buckshot or them shells had chains and whatany inside em, so his face were just a crater. Like he head were a volcano, exploded and sprayed blood all over the place.

Terrible knelt beside the body. Archie’s body? Seemed like it ought should be Archie’s body; his place, nobody’d seen him in days. Seemed like the right height, the right build, the right stupid hair.

But … was it the right build, the right height? Hard to tell on a body lying down like that, specially with most of the head gone, but somehow it ain’t looked quite right. Close, but not quite right. Terrible was real good at sizing people up; he’d spent his whole life doing it, and he had a good fucking memory for that shit, too. Were the corpse’s shoulders too broad, or the chest too narrow?