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“Home. I think we’ve both had enough, and Josh is never going to let me hear the end of it if I come home blackout drunk.”
“Boring,” I tease. She’s right; any more alcohol and I’ll go from dizzy joy to stumbling in the street. The air outside is crisp, a welcome change from the humidity inside Tsar’s.
Audrey gives me a firm hug as we balance in our heels on the curb. “Thanks for coming out, Galina.”
“No, no, no, thank you. You’re a great friend, Audrey. We need to do this more.”
She holds me at arm’s length. Her lipstick is smeared from rubbing her mouth on too many martinis. Even while slightly drunk, the concern swimming in her pretty blue eyes is legit. “If you need help, let me know. Got it?”
“I’ll figure it out. Really.” Hugging her one final time, I point at the taxi pulling up behind her. “Get some sleep. Tell Josh I said hi and that I’m sorry I got you this drunk.”
“You better be calling an Uber. You can’t drive right now.”
“I won’t,” I promise, hand to my heart. “My car is down that way. I just want to get my jacket from it, and then I’ll call a car.”
Screwing her face up, she silently warns me not to lie before she turns, half-stumbling into the back seat of her taxi. I wait a moment, watching the red taillights fade into the quiet night. It’s starting to feel pretty dead out here. This area gets almost no foot traffic after midnight.
Mom is going to lecture me for hours if she finds out. Shaking my head, I walk on stiff legs toward my car. I’m not as drunk as Audrey, yet walking on the uneven concrete is a challenge.
Popping open my trunk, I fish around until I find the jean jacket that I tossed in there some months ago. I packed it in anticipation of the coming fall weather, but summer unexpectedly pressed on, taunting the city with its wretched scorch even as September bled into October.
When I stick my arms through the sleeves, adjusting the front, I feel a lump in the right-side pocket. Slipping out the wrinkled yellow Post-it note, I read the scribbled writing.
William, Margret, Rose, Brandon.
It takes me a second to make sense of it. Then I remember, and it’s like being punched by a wrecking ball.
My fist shakes as I crumple the paper, throwing it into my trunk, slamming it closed. Breathing heavily, I turn away, walking without purpose as tears sting my eyes. I can’t escape it. Why won’t the world let me move on?
Heated by my tangle of emotions, I don’t notice I’ve wandered toward the docks until the whiff of salt and dead fish hits my nose. Lifting my eyes, I scan the warehouses, getting my bearings. Time to call an Uber and get home. Maybe sleep will make me feel better. I know it won’t. It hasn’t yet. Reaching for my phone, I freeze when a sound to my right catches my attention.
At first, I think it’s a dog whimpering. On instinct, I head toward the noise. My heels click on the hard, splintered boardwalk around the side of a brick building not far from Tsar’s. Just before I turn the corner, I hear the sound again.
“Please, no, you can’t!”
Pulling up short, I lean against the damp wall beside me. That’s no dog. Craning my neck, I carefully peer at the scene on the other side. There are two men there. One is massive, like a tombstone rising from the earth in human form. He’s solid all around, hard edges draped in a dark suit. I can’t see his face, but I can see the face of the other man in front of him. That man is pale as old milk, trembling visibly on his knees as he cranes his neck to stare up at his friend.
No, I realize with budding horror. They’re not friends. Something is wrong. The fear slips through my blood in wriggling waves. A shudder passes through me, and not from the chilly air.
“Please,” the man on his knees sobs. He runs his large, bony hands over his jaw. A shaky smile crosses his face, so wide I can see his gums. “Just think it through. We can work this out, can’t we?”
The mountain of a man doesn’t budge. He lifts his chin slightly, letting me see the square line of his jaw. Even in this dim light, I can tell that he is wickedly handsome. In a smooth motion I nearly miss, he drops his right hand deep into his suit pocket. On his wrist is a circle of glossy, tiny objects. Prayer beads, I realize curiously.
“No,” he says, his voice pure baritone. “We can’t.”
The gun shines in the single nearby streetlight. The barrel is short, as thick as the massive man’s finger. There’s no time for the pleading man on the ground to react. He’s still wearing his nervous smile when the gun goes off. The smile doesn’t fade when he topples sideways, blood leaking from the hole in the front of his shirt.
A startled gasp escapes me. The killer shifts, starting to turn in my direction. I clasp my hands over my mouth, not waiting to see if he noticed me as I sprint down the dock at a speed that would snap my ankle if I made a single misstep.
It’s a miracle I don’t fall. Adrenaline keeps me moving, but it’s the terror that drives me hardest.
He killed him!
He killed that man!
Panting, my throat on fire, I run past my car, past Tsar’s, and I don’t stop until I’m at least another five blocks away. Sweat saturates my chest. Tears blind me, some from the pressure of the wind from my run, some from agony. What I witnessed was a literal nightmare.
I always knew terrible things happened in this city; I’m not naive.
