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He keeps my hand in his as he leads me through the mass of bodies and out of the school. The looks. The buzz in the air. I doubt he hadn’t noticed, but he keeps his eyes forward and his chin up, like he doesn’t have a care in the world.
We stop at a fast car I haven’t seen before. It’s black with dark rims and tinted windows. He opens the door for me. That’s when I notice his hand. The word DARK is tattooed across his first four knuckles. A letter for each finger. I take in his other hand. LIGHT is inked in the same way.
“You and me,” he says.
I nod, because words fail me, and take my seat. It smells like him. Leather. Something alcoholic. Something sweet. Maybe a cigar? Two or three comic books are on the back seat. So is an old wooden bat. Lilo slides in on the driver’s side. He tells me to roll down my windows, and he does the same. The car rumbles to life, he puts it in gear, and we take off. We’re not moving fast, though. We’re coasting past a group that’s hovering around something.
He stops and the crowd breaks. The lunch lady who slapped me is crying into her hands, standing next to a car. All the tires are gone, and underneath the empty spaces are comic books weighed down by cement blocks. That’s the least of the damage. The windows are shattered and the glass glistens in the sunlight. The entire car is dented.
The lunch lady takes a shaky breath and removes her hands. Her eyes meet mine and narrow. But they look away when I feel a presence next to my face. Lilo has leaned over and is staring at her.
“This time, the joke’s on you,” he says. “Next time, it won’t be a joke.”
The comic books in the back seat. Joke’s on you. The damage to her car. Next time, it won’t be a joke.
My head hits the seat when he revs the engine and takes off. The last image I see is Ken Nolan in the rearview, standing with his arms crossed, shaking his head.
Besides the growling engine, the car is quiet. It’s not an uncomfortable silence. I sink into the warm solitude like a second skin. The sun spills through the windows, wind whips inside the interior, and I can breathe.
Lilo squeezes my hand, and I turn to look at him. He kisses the spot she slapped, and I smile at him. He responds by kissing the spot even harder. His hold is tight, but I don’t complain. I like it.
He keeps our hands linked until we pull up to—
“Coney Island,” I say, narrowing my eyes against the glare.
It’s a beautiful late spring day. So, even though it’s still fairly early, people are crowding the boardwalk and the beach.
“You been?”
“No,” I say. “But—”
He finds a parking spot, turns the car off, and looks at me.
“But what?”
“I’ve been to Little Odessa.”
Little Odessa is also known as Brighton Beach. Or vice versa. It’s known for its large Russian and Eastern European communities.
“Yeah?” he says, and I don’t like the tone of his voice. He’s curious, but cautious. Like if I tell him something he doesn’t like, he’s going to burn the world down. “Little Odessa.”
“Ava,” I say, waving a hand. “She has a thing for dangerous men.”
“She’s younger than you.”
“She is, but she doesn’t look it.”
He nods, like he agrees.
“You know my sister?”
“Met her. Not long ago. In the principal’s office. She was dating a Russian guy?”
“I’m not sure if dating is the right term. She was digging for information. She’s obsessed with the Fausti family. She thinks all dangerous roads will one day lead to them. The guy was or is connected.” I sigh. “She called me one night. She was hiding. He wanted to bring her back to Russia with him. I rushed there and we left together.”
He turns his face forward and a vacant look comes into his eyes. It’s scary, but it doesn’t scare me.
“Have you been?” I say, to change the subject. “Here?”
