“I’ll call you when I get down there,” Morgan said. “Let you know what’s going on, what the deal is.”
“I’ll send the twins down, you think you need them.”
Morgan shook his head.
“Okay then,” Mikey said. He put a hand out. Morgan touched knuckles with him. Dante started the engine as Mikey pulled the door shut.
C-Love got in the rear, closed the door. As the Suburban backed out of the spot, Mikey nodded at him through the tinted window. Morgan watched them drive away.
Cassandra moved naked across the room, lit the short, thick candles on the bureau top. Morgan watched her. He lay with a pillow behind his head, the sheet thrown aside. His skin felt warm, almost feverish.
When the four candles were burning, their incense filling the small room, she set the plastic lighter beside them. Soft light flickered on the wall, glinted off framed photos on the bureau.
“That okay, baby?” she said.
He nodded, and she slipped back into bed, curled against him, one hand on his chest, the wiry gray hairs there.
“I can feel your heart,” she said.
He looked past her, through the open door into the other bedroom, could see the crib there, the night-light over it.
She traced his scars with her fingertips, lingered over the fresh one from his appendectomy.
“When are you coming back?” she said.
“Soon. I just have to take care of some things.”
“You’ve been spoiling me. Sending me that money, and Aaron love those toys. But it feels like you haven’t been by in a long time.”
“Been busy.”
He hadn’t told her about being sick, wouldn’t. He’d known her for three years now. She’d been nineteen when they met. Her boyfriend worked for Mikey, had been killed in a police chase after making a delivery. The first time Morgan met her, he was bringing money from Mikey-five hundred dollars. It was all he would give her.
Morgan had added five hundred of his own, then come by to see her a week later with two hundred more, and then again the week after. That night she’d let him stay, and when he’d woken in the middle of the night, she was crying softly beside him. He hadn’t known what to do, so he’d done nothing. After a while the tremors stopped and she slipped back into sleep. He’d come by once or twice a month ever since. Mikey didn’t know about it. No one did.
He watched shadows play on the ceiling, then closed his eyes, felt her warmth against him, her softness. Wind rattled the room’s single window.
He felt safe here, the only place now. Her breathing was slow and deep, and he found himself falling into rhythm with it, drifting into warm darkness.
He woke all at once, his eyes snapping open, muscles rigid. A draft from somewhere made the candles flutter. She murmured something against him but didn’t wake. After a while, he disentangled from her, went to the window. He looked down on the empty street. A plastic bag scudded into the light from a streetlamp, then blew higher and out of sight.
He dressed without waking her. When he was done, he took two thousand dollars from his jacket, folded the bills, and slipped them under the jewelry box on the bureau. Then he leaned over and softly blew the candles out one by one.
He let himself out of the apartment, used his key to lock the door behind him.
He was on the road by noon. He took Route 78 to the Turnpike, headed south. He’d bought a map at a gas station, knew it was a straight run to Florida. I-95 all the way to Jacksonville, then west on 301.
He’d disassembled the Beretta and Walther, wrapped them in oiled rags, and stored them in the spaces below the rocker panels, along with the boxes of shells, the bag of marijuana, and the pills. He couldn’t take a chance having them in the car if he were stopped.
The Monte Carlo’s tank was full, the fluids topped off, and it was running smooth and strong, the heater on low, the Impressions coming through the speakers, “People Get Ready.” It calmed him as he drove.
TWELVE
It was ten thirty when she heard the knock at the door. She was stretched out on the couch in sweats and sneakers, reading a Jude Deveraux paperback, her hair tied up. The knock came again, soft.
She put down the book, went to the front window, and inched the blinds aside. Billy was on the steps, holding a pizza box in one hand, a plastic bag in the other.
She undid the chain and dead bolt, opened the door, looked at him through the screen.
“Hi,” he said. “Hope I didn’t wake you.”
She brushed a loose strand of hair from her eyes. “What are you doing here?”
He raised the box. “Thought you might be hungry.”
“Have you been drinking?”
“Not at all. Just wanted to come by, see you. That’s all. Figured I’d bring a peace offering.”
“I never eat this late. You know that.”
“Then do you mind if I have a slice? I haven’t had dinner yet.”
She unlocked the screen door, pushed it open.
“Thanks,” he said. She held the door for him as he came in.
“Danny’s sleeping,” she said.
“I’ll be quiet. I tried not to knock too loud, but I was worried you wouldn’t hear.”
She closed the door behind him.
“Long time since I’ve been here,” he said.
She took the pizza from him, went into the kitchen. He followed her. She put the box on the table.
“Paper plates on top of the refrigerator,” she said.
He set the plastic bag on the floor, got two plates down, napkins and a salt shaker, set them on the table.
“I’m not eating,” she said.
“In case you change your mind.”
A piece of Danny’s artwork was on the front of the refrigerator, held there by magnets. A colored pencil drawing on construction paper of a blocky police car, a figure with a smiling face behind the wheel. Next to it he’d written in oversized letters MOM.
Billy looked at it, smiled. “He’s getting pretty good,” he said.
“He’s growing up.”
“Are you going to let him trick-or-treat this year?”
“I don’t think so.”
“You should. I mean, what’s the harm?”
“Well, that would be for me to decide, wouldn’t it?”
“You’re right.” He sat, opened the box, the smell of the pizza wafting up. He dragged a slice onto a plate.
“This is the only house on the block with no decorations,” he said. “Couldn’t help but notice.”
“I didn’t want to make him feel worse. Remind him of what he was missing, that he couldn’t go out with the other kids.”
“Makes sense, I guess. If you say so.”
She sat across from him. “How’d you know I didn’t have company?”
“Just a feeling. I’ll leave if you want.”
“Eat your pizza first.”
He slid another slice onto a plate, edged it toward her. She ignored it.
“You have anything to drink?” he said.
“Some Bass in the refrigerator. Ice water, soda.”
“I’ll take a Bass, if that’s okay. Want one?”
“Sure.”
He got up, took two bottles from the refrigerator, opened them.
“You want a glass?” he said.
She shook her head. He set the bottles on the table, sat down again. She could smell his cologne.
“Where’d you park?”
“On the street. Didn’t want to leave my truck in the driveway, get your neighbors talking. I got sausage. Hope that’s okay.”
“You trying to make me fat?”
“No. You’re in great shape.”
“For my age?”
“You know what I mean.” He salted a slice, folded it, and began to eat.
She’d felt irritation when she answered the door but found it fading now. It was good to have him back here, in the closeness of the kitchen, sitting across from her. It reminded her of a better time, back when she was naive enough to think they would someday be a family.