Wrong Ways Down

  But this night … this night he were in a bad mood already, and that bad mood made his body feel tight and anxious. This night, instead of being bored or half-amused, heat started building in his chest the second he turned around, the kind of heat that turned into anger. The kind of heat that wanted to get out, like something living inside him, like an itch everywhere he could only scratch by hitting somebody.

  The kid—he were a kid, maybe twenty or twenty-one, and big enough that he probably thought he were real hard causen he’d never tried to fight anybody his size, though he were still smaller than Terrible—gave him a smirk, lifting his chin the way dumbasses did before they got smart enough to know they were offering a target to somebody and making oncoming punches harder to see.

  Terrible grinned back. The kid wanted to get beaten on? Fine with him. Better than fine; just what he were looking for. He could feel how ugly his grin was, saw it reflected in the way the kid dropped his and tried to take a step back.

  Too late. His hand was on the back of the kid’s neck before the kid had a chance to get away, and the feel of the kid’s head slamming into the bar, the way all the bottles on the bar jumped, made his grin widen.

  The kid made some sound; Terrible ain’t paid attention. He just grabbed the kid’s hair, yanked it to lift his head—weren’t really necessary since it bounced—and slammed it into the bar again. Then a third time for good measure.

  The kid’s friends took off. Some fucking friends. Terrible let go and watched the kid slide to the floor. Then he grabbed the beers from the now-bloody bar and turned back to Amy. A few people were staring; they looked away fast when he met their eyes. The others just went on with whatany they were already doing. Weren’t like him beating on people were a surprise.

  What was a surprise was seeing Roley sitting in the booth with Amy. Shit. The tension that had just left him started coming back. Aye, could be Roley just happened to be there and thought he’d say hey—Amy ain’t met him before, what Terrible could recall, but he’d probably have seen her and would know who she was. Iffen he wanted to talk to Terrible it’d make sense he’d go sit with her.

  Or maybe he ain’t knew who she was and were tryna pick her up. Terrible ain’t could blame him. Amy were real cute, she were, with that blonde hair all curled and them big brown eyes. Not as pretty as Chess, but nobody were pretty like Chess. He ain’t could blame Roley, leastaways, much as he probably oughta be pissed.

  Amy ain’t looked happy he were next to her, though, and the way she jumped up when he got close, the way she grabbed him … Roley were bugging her.

  He slipped his arm around her and gave Roley a short half-nod. The kind let Roley know seeing him there weren’t a thrill. “Hey,” he said, and waited for a response.

  Roley ain’t looked guilty or aught like that, so guessing he knew who Amy were after all. He nodded toward the bar. “Dude making trouble?”

  Terrible shrugged. Weren’t something he wanted to explain, or talk about. He ain’t felt bad about it—the kid asked for it, and he couldn’t let people get away with that shit if he wanted to keep doing his job right—but he did feel … sort of exposed, like everybody knew the kid were just an excuse.

  He looked back at Roley. Waiting, and letting Roley see he were waiting, until Roley finally spoke. “Hoping for a quick chatter, you got a minute?”

  Funny. He ain’t really realized it til just then, but he didn’t think he liked Roley much. Something about him were just … he ain’t knew a word for it. Smug, maybe. Like he figured everybody owed him everything, everybody loved him, everybody’d do what he wanted.

  Problem was it were sorta true. Bump dug Roley’s cousin Lacey; she’d been around longer than a lot of his women, though not as long as a few. But Bump wanted to keep her happy. And Roley’s other cousin Vole had worked with Bump seven years gone, were a good solid man to have around. Vole had proved heself more’n once. Meant Roley had some trust, some name, right up front.

  Shit like that might go to a lot of dudes’s heads. Or Roley maybe were just one a them awkward people always seemed like he were being a dick when he weren’t.

  None of that mattered iffen Roley had knowledge for him, which were the only reason Terrible could think on why he’d need to talk right then. So he gave Roley a nod, jerked his head toward the back of the room so Roley knew to follow. Roley maybe could have something good for him. Roley knew a lot of people, seemed like.

  Or Roley were just a dickhead after all, because as soon as they got to the back, he said, “Were wondering on New Year’s, aye? Supposed to be workin, I am, but got asked to spend time with this dame I’m tryna fuck. Were thinking maybe you let me off, dig? Been tryna fuck she for weeks, see, thinking this might be my shot.”

  That were what he had to talk on just then? That were what was so fucking important? Getting inside some dame? He stood there staring probably longer than he ought, because what the fuck he were supposed to say?

  Cepting for “No,” which he said as soon’s he found his tongue again.

  Roley’s brows drew together. Suddenly he face didn’t look so open and friendly no more; he looked … weaselly. Ratlike. “C’mon, Terrible, gimme a fuckin break here. Tryna fuck this dame, figuring maybe be my fuckin chance. Gots other dudes you can put onna street that night, can—”

  “Other dudes been workin longer. You ain’t—”

  “Other dudes ain’t near family with Bump,” Roley said. Interrupted him to say. Roley fucking interrupted him. Shitty little asshole.

  But shitty little asshole who were true thing closer to Bump than most new ones, or leastaways, were close to somebody Bump wanted kept happy. Were Terrible to do what he wanted to do—which was knock Roley to the floor—it might make Lacey unhappy, which would be an unfairness to Bump. Bump would understand once he heard why, but still. And Bump had he a bigger tolerance for assholes than Terrible did, specially when he were getting laid from it.

  So instead of planting his fist in Roley’s face he narrowed his eyes. “You working the night. Can fuck her some other time.”

  “Ain’t will be able to get she so drunk some other time, aye?” Roley smiled when he said it, like it were a joke, but his eyes had the look of a junkie whose stash had just been stolen.

  Then he voice changed. Turned all soft and confidential, like he were Terrible’s fucking friend or some shit. “C’mon, Terrible. Been wanting this dame ages now. You knowing what that one’s like, aye? Ain’t you ever had a dame you wanted? How bout that Churchwitch? Were she alla sudden saying she wanted you, ain’t you would wanna skip working?”

  Terrible stopped himself. Barely. Just barely stopped himself reaching out and introducing Roley to a whole new world of pain. And good thing, too, causen doing that would be admitting Roley were right—would be letting Roley know he were right. Which he was. If Chess said she wanted him … he couldn’t think of a thing he wouldn’t skip for that. Not a single fucking thing.

  Weren’t Roley’s business, though. “Ain’t knowing what the fuck you talkin on. Or why. You work the night.”

  “Guessing I gotta ask Bump.”

  Fuck, how he wanted to punch Roley. Wanted it so bad he could hardly think, that dull mist creeping through his head.

  He forced himself to shrug, to keep looking Roley right in the eye and keep his face and voice calm. “Aye, you go ahead then. Whatany you want.”

  Just like he’d thought, Roley ain’t looked happy with that. Dumbshit thought talking to Bump were a threat?

  He oughta enjoy it while it were lasting, causen Bump might still want Lacey around, but Terrible guessed she had maybe a couple months left on the outside. And when she were gone, so would Roley be. Terrible would make real fucking certain on that one.

  Roley’s gaze fell. “Hey, just askin, is all, aye? Ain’t no need to be lookin so hard at me. Only saying. Sucks to work the night, were thinking maybe you could do me a benefit. Ain’t meant nothin by it. Just … ain’t so good with people alla time, I
ain’t, guessing.” He shrugged with his hands in his pockets. “Try to be, but I just ain’t. People ain’t seeming to like me much.”

  And instead of guessing on why they ain’t liked him and trying not to be an asshole, Roley were just gonna fucking whine on it. “Sometimes best to be keeping yon mouth shut, dig, you knowing people take you wrong ways. You an me ain’t friends.”

  Roley nodded. His head were down so Terrible couldn’t see his eyes, but he had the feeling iffen he could they’d be pissed more than sorry.

  “Got any else you needing?”

  Roley shook his head.

  “See you on the later, then.” He left Roley there and headed for the door, grabbing Amy along the way. The cold blast of air helped his temper some but ain’t done much else.

  Amy sucked in a breath next to him and hugged herself. “Ain’t like he, I ain’t.”

  “Aye?” He put his arm back around her shoulders, pulled her tighter to help her keep warm. “Why come?”

  She shrugged. “Come sit down, an askin on you, but ain’t look in my face. Starin down my dress, he were, and kept putting he hand on my leg. Pervy, dig? Like he thinking I just a dame an be he right touchin me.”

  That heat again, hotter and stronger in he chest. He stopped walking. Touching Amy like that, looking at her like that? No. He started to turn back toward the bar. Oughta at least say more to Roley, he ought, let him know how just like Chess weren’t he business, so Amy weren’t—

  Amy grabbed him. “Nay, let’s go. Cold, me. Wanna get home, aye? Ain’t so big a deal, Terrible, he just an asshole. Ain’t like he the first tried touchin me or getting he a peek in.”

  Terrible hesitated. Ain’t wanted to make Amy cold, but …

  She tugged his arm, teetering a little on her big platform shoes as she tried to pull him down the sidewalk. “C’mon. You wanna get you upset some other dude tried lookin at me, take me home show me how much. Aye? Let’s us go on.”

  The doorway were only ten feet or so behind. Wouldn’t take he a minute to get back in there.

  But Amy were smiling at him, like she’d forgotten all about how she’d been unhappy earlier. He sure weren’t gonna fuck that up by explaining it weren’t about being jealous or some shit—he weren’t—just that by doing that to her Roley had been challenging him. Just like he saying on Chess, just like he saying he were gonna chatter with Bump. All Roley trying him.

  Not to mention he ain’t liked men pulling that kinda shit with any dames.

  But dealing with Roley weren’t something he had to do that minute, neither. Weren’t like Roley wouldn’t be around the next day or the day after. No emergency or aught like that.

  And he couldn’t deny that taking Amy home sounded good. Two ways he’d found to calm heself down: hitting were one, and the other was what she was clearly inviting him to do.

  So he pushed thoughts of Roley, Slick, the whores, and especially Chess outta he mind, and headed for the Chevelle.

  CHAPTER SIX

  SHARP-EYE BEN WEREN'T answering he door, but Terrible knew he were inside; he’d been watching for over an hour, and he’d seen Ben go in not two minutes afore. Couldn’t wait longer than that, causen Ben probably scored while he were out, and iffen Terrible gave him long enough to shoot up he’d be too juiced to be any use at all.

  He gave one more knock, banging the door hard. No answer. Right, then. Ben’s own fucking fault. He stepped back and kicked the door, hard, so it bulged and splintered at the frame. “Ben! Open the fuck up.”

  No answer. He kicked the door again. This time a couple shards of wood broke off; the door cracked down the middle but ain’t split. “Last chance, Ben. I gotta break you door, I ain’t be happy, dig?”

  After a second Ben’s voice came thin through the destroyed wood. “Aye, just a—just gimme one, aye, just a hold-on one minute.”

  Was Ben tryna climb out a window, or get that spike in his arm before he had to talk? Fuck that. Terrible gave the door a final kick; it broke down and across, the parts with hinges falling open and the bottom falling to the floor.

  Ben shrieked. Tryna get the needle in, he were; already had heself tied off. Terrible crossed the floor in three steps, used his open right hand to smack Ben’s face while yanking the needle away with his left. He held it over his head. “Where the money?”

  Ben held his cheek. Fucking drama queen; Terrible barely hit him. “Got it. I got it. Swearing I do. Got me some knowledge too, got it, asked like you said. Gimme my spike, aye? Just gimme it, I give you—”

  “Lashers an knowledge,” Terrible said, shaking his head. “Then you get yon spike back. Dig? Not before. Give it over.”

  He tried not to look at Ben’s arm, the ugly tracks up and down the inside of it. Made him sad, iffen he were honest. The needle … the needle were the last place, the place where they admitted they weren’t even trying no more. And as always when he saw those, on anybody, he thought of Chess, hoped she never got there. Wondered what he’d do iffen she did.

  Nothing, probably, causen it weren’t his fucking business, and he oughta stop thinking like it were. She weren’t his woman. Just his friend, and he had no right telling her what she oughta do or not do. Hell, even were she his woman he wouldn’t have that right. Specially when it weren’t like he were perfect, and specially when he knew—he’d come to know—that she had some serious shit to forget, and who the fuck was he to say she took the wrong way on forgetting it? Some might say he were just as bad, beating on people to forget whatany bothered him.

  Some might say he were worse. They’d be right.

  Ben’s head dipped. “Lemme get it, aye? Inna kitchen, see? Onna counter. See it?”

  The money were on the counter, a fold of crisp new lashers layin there. Looked like all of Ben’s owes. Guess that new dame he said he had really were gone on him, iffen he ain’t been lying on where it came from.

  Were Ben’s apartment too quiet? Like somebody waiting for him to turn he back? Or were he just jumpy, or maybe just itchy causen of the thoughts on Chess and needles, causen how fucking depressing Ben’s place were?

  He jerked his head, took a step back so he were angled to keep a better eye on the broken door and the entrance to the hallway. Just in case. “Go get it, then.”

  Ben did, brought it back. Terrible relaxed a little. He flipped through the bills with he thumb, making sure it weren’t bills wrapped around paper or aught like that; when it weren’t he nodded and put the fold in his pocket. “What knowledge, then?”

  Ben’s reddish eyes kept jumping from Terrible’s face to the needle, from the needle to Terrible’s face. He licked his lips. “I tell you, you gimme back my spike?”

  “Just said so, aye?”

  “An maybe I gets me a credit? You tell Bump I’m all paid up on, an I gave you some knowledge helped, aye?”

  “Getting fuckin bored here.”

  Needle, face, needle, face. Terrible ain’t could figure on how Ben weren’t dizzy yet. “Aye, right. Right. Know a dude knows a dude, plays the duff up Northside. Dig?”

  Terrible nodded. Somebody passing fake jewelry, maybe running cons with it. Northside were the place for that kinda shit, aye, where them had money. Nobody were cheap like rich people.

  “Dude livin heself inna squat here, roundabout Forty-eighth an Grant.” Ben’s gaze skittered to the needle again; he licked his chapped lips again. “Say he gots a partner there got kicked some lashers for to be a lookout for a robbery. On the other night, dig? Thinking you got knowing what I’m meaning.”

  Aye, he knew. Somebody got paid to be a lookout while somebody attacked Sue. Meant it weren’t an accident, somebody pulling it just on the moment. Meant somebody planned it, got ready.

  Made it a fuck of a lot more likely whoever done it also killed Slick.

  But iffen they’d killed Slick, why they ain’t needed a lookout for that? Or maybe them just figured be easy finding somebody willing to be a lookout for robbery but not so easy finding somebody willing to hel
p with murder. Especially not murdering one of Bump’s men.

  “Terrible?” Ben rubbed his hands together. He whole body were jerky, actually, like he wanted to get up and grab the needle but knew there weren’t a point to trying. Which there weren’t.

  Terrible looked down at him, slow. Letting Ben see he had all day. “Any else?”

  “Nay, nay, ‘sall.”

  “You certain? Ain’t be too happy you call me up next time you got owes an say you forgetting to tell me aught today, dig? Better you get it all out on the now. I finding out you holding back, ain’t good for you.”

  Ben twitched again. “Be all. Swearing it to you, be all. C’n I getting my spike now? Please, gave you all of it, all what knowledge I’m getting.”

  “Got a name?”

  “Aye.” Ben bobbed he head, too fast for a nod. Looked like some kinda spasm. “Aye, got me a name. Forgetting there, on the second. Got me a name. Gav, be what I hear. Gav be he name.”

  For fuck’s sake. “Which one be Gav? The lookout or the dude knowing the lookout?”

  “The lookout. Be Gav. Lives inna squat, he do, living there, you find he there. Gav, you look for he.”

  Gav. Gav inna squat at Forty-eighth and Grant. Terrible thought he knew the place; year or so past a couple fuckheads decided to start cutting and selling their own Dream a few doors down, and he’d gone there to find em. They’d promised to stop and hadn’t, so nobody ever found em again after that, cepting them at the burnhouse.

  He checked his watch. Just past four. No point hunting around there now; anybody working cons like that woulda just gone up Northside, probably stay there til their marks finished drinking in whatany shitty overpriced bars they avoided going home in. Better targets when they was drunk.

  So not much point looking for Gav til late, and Terrible ain’t wanted to give him any tip-off by checking the place out ahead of time. Iffen he knew what he’d been look-out for he’d be extra scared of seeing Terrible around.