Stacia Kane - Wrong Ways Down

Which meant he could agree, and admit it, without feeling like shit. “Aye. Ain’t much for those. An ain’t wanting all the shit goes with it, anyroad. Havin pictures taken an all.”

“Yeah. I wouldn’t want to do that, either.” She tilted her head. Her hair fell over her shoulder. He wanted to reach out and brush it back, let it slip through his fingers. Her hair was really fucking soft. He remembered that, remembered it so hard sometimes—the way it had felt, the way she’d felt, her hands on him—he thought he were gonna pass out. Probably because when he remembered it all the blood left his head and went somewheres else. “No privacy at all.”

Aye, he knew that about her. Funny thing was, he doubted she realized, or thought on, the fact that she ain’t had much privacy anyway. Everybody knew she were Bump’s witch now. Everybody knew she were his friend. Everybody knew who she were , was the point. And Bump’s people watched to make certain she were safe, causen he told em to.

But he ain’t said that. “How you case going? The one you told me on last week, them in Northside?”

She rolled her eyes, but she smiled, too, and shifted position to face him better with her legs tucked up underneath her. It amazed him, like it always did, how she changed when she talked about her work. All that … all that fragility, all that loneliness, faded, and she were confident. Not just tough the way she usually were, but confident. “They’re such morons. They have a projector set up, you know, to show an image so they can claim it’s a ghost? It’s not a horrible projector, actually, it’s a pretty good one, but it generates a lot of heat. And they tried to hide it by sewing it into a teddy bear. Like a nanny cam or something.”

It felt good to be amused by something. “Caught fire?”

“Yep. Dumbasses. It’s a good thing I was still in the room—they had it set up to go off when a light beam was broken, and I went at night, you know—because if I hadn’t been there to put it out their house would have burned down.”

“Too bad they ain’t thought on that afore. Coulda just burned them house down for insurance, save the trouble.”

She gave a short, light laugh. “They never do that. They’re so sure their insurance company will catch them but they never think we will.”

“They ain’t know you ,” he said.

That flash of surprise on her face, just like every time he said shit like that, before her cheeks went pinkish. Looked so pretty it made his chest tight. He didn’t think he’d ever get tired of seeing it.

She took a drink of water from the bottle she always had on her. He bet she weren’t thirsty at all, just trying to cover like she heard how fucking amazing she was all the time, like it ain’t mattered.

Coursen, she probably did hear it all the time from dudes who wanted to fuck her. Wasn’t like he could say anything on that, neither, seeing as how he was one of em.

But he didn’t say it causen of that. He said it causen it was true. If he spent the next year doing nothing but thinking on it, he still wouldn’t be able to figure out why a dame like her wanted to hang out with him.

“Well,” she said. “I’ve got them, anyway, and this week I’ll file the paperwork.”

“Cool.” He finished his beer. He oughta go; were almost eight. And she were reading and all, she probably didn’t want to be bothered for too long.

He stood up. “Gotta get moving, aye? Still got shit needs doing.”

“Oh.” A flash of disappointment across her face. Aye, he felt the same way. “I thought—well, good luck finding the guy, anyway.”

He nodded and headed for the kitchen and the door, the desire to stay making him move slow. Not just wanting to stay, but something else, too. Something he needed to say, but had to be damn careful he didn’t say it wrong. “Hey, watch youself onna streets, dig? Know you careful an all, just sayin.”

For a second he thought she was going to be annoyed. He half expected her to be; he’d never known any dame who hated having people worry on her as much as Chess did.

But the second passed. She still ain’t looked happy, but he didn’t get the sense that came from bein mad or aught like that. “Good to know. Thanks for telling me.”

“Aye.”

“Hey … ” She followed him to the door. “I’ll probably be around all night. You know, if you wanted to come back later. I’ll be up.”

He wondered what she’d say if he told her how much he wanted to come back, how much he wished he didn’t have to leave at all. But then, he knew, didn’t he? She’d blush and stammer, maybe tell him a lie to try and spare his feelings like she had after that night, but that would be it. He could picture her shutting down, picture how uncomfortable she’d look, just like it were really happening.

Ain’t mattered. He’d be with Amy, and Amy’d expect to stay at his place or have him at hers, and he couldn’t very well dump her on her porch so he could come back and see Chess. Wouldn’t be right. Amy didn’t deserve that.

But Chess ain’t needed to know that, neither. “Aye. I come by, iffen I can.”

He walked into the hall, fast to remind himself he couldn’t kiss her goodbye, and heard the door close behind him.

HE FELT LIKE shit. And Amy’s cheeriness weren’t helping, especially since he couldn’t figure out why he felt so shitty. Just tense, he guessed, with all that were happening. Slick and Clapper Sue and the idea that Slobag’s men were on the move into Bump’s territory … Coursen, they always were, it seemed like, but still. Them tryna sell on the border streets were one thing. Them heading that far in and trying selling there, that were another. That seemed like part of some plan.

Could be part of the same plan. Could be Slobag’s men killed Slick. Could be Slobag’s men attacked Sue. He ain’t wanted to think that one, but it were possible.

Fuck, it’d been a long-ass day. He ought should have cancelled with Amy. He just weren’t up for hanging out with her and listening to her chatter on TV shows or them she worked with or whatany else. Usually it ain’t bothered him—he liked Amy, true thing, she were a cool dame—but tonight … no, just not up for it.

Had he lied to Chess, by not giving her a full answer to her question? Or, no, he ain’t lied , but … maybe he’d done the wrong thing, brushing over it all. Maybe he’d hurt her, not telling her. Maybe she’d thought it meant he didn’t trust her.

Fuck, he hated this shit.

“Terrible, is you listening to me?” Amy set her hand on his chest. “You ain’t sayin much, you ain’t.”

“Aye, sorry.” Shit, what had she been saying? “Just got a lot on, aye? Some shit happening, is all.”

Her bright pink mouth twisted down. “Oughta just cancel with me, aye, iffen you ain’t gonna pay attention. Wanting chatter with you.”

“Sorry,” he said again. “You was sayin on you work, aye? What happen?”

“Two dudes coming on, telling me be a ghost around. Say a ghost kill Bump’s man on the other night. Be true? It a ghost?”

Her brown eyes were wide; she looked scared, and he hated that his first thought was to be annoyed instead of wanting to make her feel better like he should. With effort he kept his voice casual. “Naw, ain’t true. Don’t know where them dumb fuckin rumors starting, but ain’t true. Ain’t a ghost.”

Amy worked at a secondhand store up Sixtieth, old furniture and appliances and whatany. Fuck. Now she got people just coming in offen the streets, chattering on ghosts?

“Then why they—”

He shrugged. “Somebody tryin stir shit up, is all.”