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I look over the pieces, bits of rusty car parts welded into clocks, mirrors, animals, robots, or whatever my father was into at the time. Even after all these years, I think they still look pretty cool, and I’m banking on the fact that the public will too. My father had a dream of quitting his job at the steel factory and doing this full-time. That was before the days of online everything, but now it’s more feasible, and I think I’m going to take a solid crack at it. Right now, I just can’t imagine myself doing anything else.
After I’ve loaded up my car, I take one last look at the little house I used to call home. But it was never really home, and I realize that when I think about what’s waiting for me back in New York. But before I get back to my real home, I just have one last stop to make. I plug the address into my GPS, and twenty minutes later, I’m driving through one of the most decrepit neighborhoods in Philly.
As I consider that, I think maybe I’m not even the worst thing that will ever darken the doorstep of the woman I’m looking for. Maybe the fact that she lost everything and had to move here in the first place was a fitting twist of fate. But I don’t believe in karma. I never have. A man like me doesn’t leave anything up to fate. I make my own revenge, and I don’t regret it.
My GPS chimes, alerting me that the house is just up the block on the right. This doesn’t look like the type of area where anybody would call the cops to help their neighbor, but just in case, I park my car next to an abandoned grocery store. Studying the shadows on the street, I listen for any signs of life. It’s after midnight, and the only thing I can hear is the sound of a distant siren and a couple of alley cats establishing their territory as they skitter past me.
I move quietly, counting the houses and checking the mailboxes before I find the small, one-bedroom hole with a shoddy chain-link fence around it. There’s no security. Not even a dog. It makes my job easier, and when I slip around back, there isn’t even a goddamn deadbolt on the door. This woman is either very stupid or very naïve.
It takes me all of a minute to jimmy the lock. And once I’m inside, the smell of decay burns my nostrils. The house is full of trash with dishes rotting in the sink and cigarette trays overflowing with ashes. It’s enough to make me want to puke, and I can’t even imagine Kat ever living in conditions like this. I can only hope that this happened after she lost her husband and her entire life imploded, which would be the only logical conclusion, given Kat’s previous descriptions of her. It’s only fitting that her entire life has gone to shit, and I hope she regrets every second of every day that she pretends to be a woman of faith. But either way, she’s about to atone for her every sin.
When I step into the hallway, the floorboard creaks, and at the same time, the bathroom door swings open. The shadowed figure in her nightgown opens her mouth to scream as she registers me standing there, the devil at her door. I slap my hand over her mouth, slamming her against the wall, and shining my flashlight into her eyes as I study her face for confirmation.
She looks fucking terrified, but almost resigned, like she somehow knew this day would come. A reckoning, the likes of which she’s never seen. A snarl curls my lips, and I move the light away, allowing her to glimpse the monster before her as I drag the picture of Kat from my pocket.
“Hello, Mrs. George.” I hold the photo up in front of her face. “You don’t know me, but I know you. And this woman? She’s very important to me, so I think it’s about time we have a little chat about her.”
28
Kat
I’m sick with worry for the next day and a half. Gleb knows where Lev is. At least he knows something. I’m learning Gleb’s tells. The way his eyes shift just a little to the left of you when he’s omitting something, even if he’s not outright lying.
The times I’ve asked him directly, he’s told me it’s not a woman’s place to know “these dealings” in this man’s world, which is bullshit.
I vacillate between anger and paralyzing fear. Anger at Gleb and Lev for their secrecy, fear that he’s gone to do another job. But what if there’s one more after this one and another after that? I can’t live this life. I can’t let Josh live it.
