“What about it?”
“It’s just” – he stared at her – “you know you’re in bad shape if you’d rather be in Detroit.”
Anna felt a smile burst out of her. Then a laugh. Then peals of it. It was freeing, a deep and cleansing silliness, and they kept at it, one triggering the other, the laughter far outstripping the joke.
When they finally stopped, Tom said, “Well, that’s about as good as I’m likely to feel. Maybe we better…”
She nodded. Took him to the bathroom, ran the water until it was lukewarm, then held his hand under it. He gasped at the contact, but didn’t fight her. She washed her own hands thoroughly, then, gently, washed each of his fingers. As the dried blood came off, she got a look at the damage. The knuckles were scraped and torn, and there was a nasty rip in the meat of his index finger. All of them were red and throbbing, sausage-thick and hot to the touch. His little finger was clearly broken, angled too far to one side.
She dried his hand and arm on a thick towel, then smeared antiseptic cream all over. “This is going to hurt.”
He nodded, sat down on the toilet, his face pale. “Pass that washcloth.” He spun it into a rope, then bit down. Huffed breath through his nose, one, two, three, then looked at her and nodded.
She steeled herself. Better to do it fast and only once. Anna took hold of his little finger and twisted hard. He yelled through clenched teeth and cotton.
“I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry,” she said, hating hurting him, feeling her own face contract. She bent over his hand. Worked the finger gently to make sure it was in position, terrified she would have to do it again. But it seemed reasonably well aligned. She fixed the splint to it, then taped it tight. “There. That should work.” She began to bandage his other fingers. “I think you’ll be okay. The others aren’t broken. The little one probably isn’t perfectly in line, though. We should get you to a doctor soon.”
He spat out the cloth, let out a deep breath. “Promise me something.” His voice throaty.
“Anything.”
“No more lies. Okay? Never again.”
She looked up at him, this man she’d known forever. “And no more trying to protect me. We get through this together.”
His smile broke slow and sweet as a spring sunrise. “Partners in crime.”
“Partners in crime.” She leaned across his bandaged hand to kiss him, his rough lips and gentle tongue. Not a passionate kiss, not meant to lead to the bedroom. Just truer than words.
THE BOURBON WAS A FUZZY GLOW THROUGH HIM, sanding the edges off the pain and loosening his body. Tom lay on top of the bed, his left hand up on a pillow, his right enfolding Anna. Out the window, the Ferris wheel turned and turned and turned.
Tomorrow would be bad. But right now, this second, it seemed a million miles away. Maybe he was in shock. Maybe it was the liquor. But for now, mercifully, he felt warm and sheltered, a boat that had made it to safe harbor.
On the desk, his cell phone rang.
“Let it go,” Anna whispered into his armpit.
“Can’t,” he said. Sat up slowly, untwining his arm from around her shoulder. Looked at the display, didn’t recognize the number. “It’s probably Halden. If we’re going to turn ourselves in tomorrow, I should talk to him now.”
“Are you going to tell him?”
“Not if I can help it.” He stood, cracked his neck. “I’d rather do it in person. Besides, I want tonight. Things won’t be calm again for a long time.”
She smiled at him. “I love you.”
“Back at you.” He opened the phone and said, “Tom Reed.”
“Hi, Tom. How’s the W?” Jack Witkowski’s voice was clear and cold. “They have those little bottles of booze in the room?”
15
HE NEARLY DROPPED THE PHONE. “How did you-”
“How did I find you?” Jack snorted. “This is what I do. You really think I wouldn’t find you, douchebag?”
Tom’s knees felt weak, and he sat on the edge of the table. Locked eyes with Anna, who had registered the tone of his voice and sat up alarmed.
“So, you haven’t answered my question. The W. Nice place?”
“Yeah.” He struggled for his cool. “Great view.”
“I bet. What’s it run, three hunny a night?”
Maybe it was the distance. Maybe it was shock or booze or exhaustion, but Tom just didn’t feel like being cowed. “So what? On your money, we can stay here three years.”
There was a pause, and then a short laugh. “I keep writing you off as a pussy, and you keep proving me wrong. That move with the knife was pretty good. Didn’t work, but it was gutsy. And your wife too. Setting off the panic code anybody could do, but stalling, talking about the money in the heating vent? Pretty clever.”
“Guess so.”
“And now you’re feeling safe in a luxury hotel room. Big windows, that romantic view you mentioned. Maybe got a couple of drinks under your belt. Am I right? You have a few?”
“Yeah.”
“What’s a guy like you drink?”
“Bourbon.”
“Soda, rocks?”
“Neat.”
“Huh. If I’d’ve known that, I’d’ve handled things differently at your house. Wouldn’t have left you alone.”
“I guess that wasn’t in our mail. That’s how you got my cell number too, right?”
“Sure.” Jack paused. “By the way, what’s the matter with your dick? There was a letter from a fertility clinic. You and Anna need a little help? I’d be happy to spot you some baby juice.”
“Fuck you, you fucking psycho.” The words came hard and fast, accompanied by a rush of blood to his face. After all they’d been through, he was surprised that Jack still had the power to violate them, to spread poison on something precious.
“Fuck me?” Jack laughed. “Maybe that’s the problem. Not going to be any babies, you run around trying to cornhole middle-aged Polacks. That it, Tom? You queer?”
He stood, went to the window. Looked out at the Drive, headlights running in one direction, taillights in the other. The past here, the future there, and just a moment, a flickering blur, really, that marked the present. “We told the police everything.”
“Now, I give you credit for balls. But it’s your wife with the brains. I know you didn’t tell the cops.”
Tom had a sinking feeling, said nothing.
“That’s right, tough guy. I was watching. I got balls too. I sat on your block and watched those two uniforms stroll in, then stroll back out maybe five minutes later. You didn’t tell them shit. You’re not going to, either. Because they’ll make you give up the score. And if you do, I’ll kill you and Anna both.”
“Even if we haven’t got the money.”
“Quite a predicament, huh?” Jack’s voice was merry. “You figured it was pennies from heaven, turns out you got bad men on your tail. Life’s a bitch.”
Tom opened his mouth, closed it. In the dark window he could see the reflection of the room, Anna ghostly behind him. Finally he said, “Why did you call? Just to say that?”
“I called to tell you it’s your lucky day. I’ve got a way out for you.”
“How?”
“Just give me my money, Tom. That’s all.”
“How do I know you-”
“Won’t kill you? We’ll do it in public, like on TV. See, I figure, you can’t go to the cops without getting yourself in trouble, and besides, you don’t really know anything that could hurt me. So just bring what’s mine and get on with your lives.”
Tom stood silent.
“I’m not going away. You won’t go to sleep and find me gone in the morning. That money cost me a lot. So we can do this civilized, or I can show up again when you don’t expect it. But if I do… well, I won’t stop with your hand. Or hers.”
Tom’s fingers throbbed, hot against the tight tape.
“Which’ll it be? Gonna bring me my money?”
“Yes,” Tom said.
“Good boy. You know where Century Mall is?”
“Clark and Diversey.”
“Be there tomorrow morning. Ten o’clock. Okay?”