Charlie Huston - Every Last Drop

I start trotting, making for Union Square. I should be able to score a cab. Worst case, I can jump the L train to Eighth Avenue.

Border of no-man s-land.

All I need is a little shard of luck and I can cross back over the border and onto turf where no one goes, before Predos tails pick me back up.

Unfortunately, God has no luck to spare tonight.

So when the limo pulls to the curb in the middle of the block and the back door swings open, I don't wait for anyone to point a gun at me before I climb

— Was I unclear about both the urgency of this assignment and the need for utter discretion? Did I in some way fail to communicate to you that your only

option was to go directly to the Horde girl? Did I leave any room for confusion as to what the consequences would be if you failed to execute precisely as I told you?

— No, you were actually very fucking clear about all of that. Did I do something that suggests otherwise?

Predo makes a gesture taking in the downtown streets were leaving behind. -Does this detour not suggest otherwise?

I lean forward from the rear-facing seat.

— No. What it suggests to me is that I'm doing my fucking job. And, for the record, almost getting throttled in the fucking process.

My shaking hand spills more cigarettes into my lap than even I can smoke at once. -Fuck.

I shove them back in the pack, breaking several. -Fuck.

Predo observes. -Nerves, Pitt?

I get an intact cigarette in my mouth and light it.

— Nerves? Hell yes. You ever had Hurleys paws around your neck? — I cannot say that I have.

I spew smoke. -Well count yourself well fucking blessed.

He leans forward, touches a slightly depressed square of leather on the bar to my right, it eases open, revealing a gleaming and perfectly unblemished ashtray. -Perhaps you should explain.

I blemish the ashtray.

— Ill explain. Ill explain that Horde is as nutty as her father. Ill explain that as nutty as she is, she knows to listen to Sela. III explain that only a fucking moron would see me on their doorstep and not have some questions about my loyalties.

He looks out the window, watches as we glide past snarled taxis and buses, the limo apparently obeying some other set of traffic and physical laws. -Did you tell them about my mole?

— How do I do that? How do I walk in the door and expose a mole in the first hour? How do I know something like that unless I'm around for a while to

poke? No. What I did was tell them to put me to the test.

— And?

— And.

I lean back. -And Amanda Horde told me to go downtown and talk to Terry Bird.

Night outside.

His face is doubled by the dark glass.

Does he know the nervous beat of my heart is telling a story different from the one my mouth is? — And?

I rub my forehead.

— She's looking for an alliance. She's looking for one of the Clans to acknowledge her. She's looking for legitimacy. So where's the first place she's gonna look?

It's possible that we turn a corner, but It's impossible to say for sure from within the infinite smoothness of the car.

Predo's hands are folded in his lap, he unfolds them, looks at his manicure. -And you saw him?

— Yes.

— And he let you go?

I wave a hand at all the expensive leather and wood. -Well here I am, right? — Yes.

His eyes flick to my face and away. -Here you are.

He touches the glass, leaving a fingerprint on his reflection, where a good Catholic would receive a smear of ash before Easter. -Tell me what you told Bird. -I told him the truth.

His mouth opens as if to laugh, and closes without making a sound.

I shrug.

— Yeah, funny. But its what I did. I told him Horde wants a sit-down. -What else? — That's it.

He studies the reflected set of his own blue eyes.

— He wasn't curious as to how you effected your escape from the Bronx?

— He didn't ask. And why should he? Far as he knows, I'm with Horde now.

She's got the cash to get anyone out of anywhere.

A slight nod allows this point. -And so.

He blinks slowly. -What is it he wants?

He looks away from his own reflection. -Hurley had his hands on your throat.

He indicates the fading marks on my neck.

— I can see that much is true. But what was it that compelled Bird to release you? I know him well enough to know he would not seriously consider formally acknowledging the girls organization. So what offer did you make to secure your freedom? Why are you not dead, Pitt? You did not, by any chance, sell me out?

He tilts his head. -Did you?

I stub out my smoke.

— He wants money.

I light a new one. -Your enemy is in the red, Predo.

He makes a sound, could be amusement. -And you are to get it from Horde.

— Yeah, funny how everybody's needs always seem to dovetail. -Funny.

He watches me smoke. -Very well. Things shall proceed. Only.

I let him watch me smoke, not trying to hide the sweat or the slight tremble in my hand, knowing I have ample reasons to fear. Not knowing which reasons he may be able to read, but incapable of hiding any of them. -I am curious.

He leans forward. -What are you after, Pitt?

We both watch smoke tremble from the end of my cigarette.

He squints.

— Something. A return to the Island, certainly.

He leans back into his seat. -But why so desperate?

Returns his gaze to the brightly lit night outside the dark glass. -I should like to know that. But, of course.

He smiles at his face in the glass. -Of course I will know.

He closes his eyes. -Before this is over.

Dropped into the masses in Times Square, where my appearance is least likely to be noticed, I feel gravity's pull, again from downtown.

Turning north, I strain away from it.

Too many forces in play now. Too many tiny uncharted objects flying on random trajectories. An obscure path is best. Travel by the course others have plotted.

Look for the chance to veer back to your own.

My return is hardly unexpected. -Back so soon?

I go to the liquor cabinet and get a glass and the bottle I'd started emptying during our last chat. -Looks like I'm a little more persona non grata than I thought I was.

Amanda joins me at the bar. -That come as some kind of surprise?

I raise my chin, display the almost faded bruises on my neck. -Didn't expect the fatted calf to be slaughtered. But I also wasn't figuring on having to face down Hurley my first hour back on the turf.

Sela juts her jaw. -How's he look?

I pour myself a drink.

— Hurley? You know, looks like a guy you should have shot in the head when you had the chance.

I raise my glass in her direction. -Seeing how happy he was to see me, I'd say you're best staying off his

beat.

She puts her hands on her hips. -Hurley never scared me. -Then, lady, you re a better man than me.

I take a drink.

Amanda scoops some ice into a glass of her own and pours vodka over it.

Sela frowns. -You shouldn't be drinking. You're worn to the bone.

Amanda clinks her glass against mine. -Joe's come home. I have to drink to that.

She drinks to that.

I drink, but not to anything at all.

She crosses to Sela and gives her hand a squeeze. -Just chill a little bit, baby.

Sela keeps a grip on the girls hand. -I'm trying to look out for you.

Amada touches her cheek.

— And you're doing a great job. But right now I need a drink. And I need you to be my girlfriend for a few minutes and not my fucking nanny.

Sela takes a step back, removing her face from the girls touch. -It doesn't switch on and off. I do not work like that. I don't go from one to the other. Being your lover, that's not separate from being your bodyguard. And I can only keep you safe and healthy if you listen to me.