The Comfort of Black (17 page)

Black rose from his stool and reached out with his fingers,
grabbing the bottom of her shirt. He pulled up, lifting the shirt over her arms, then let it fall to the floor. He then reached behind and unhooked her bra, and Hannah felt the excitement at baring herself in front of this man. Before Dallin, there had been four other men, the first when she was seventeen, the last one two months before she met her husband. Then eight years of Dallin. Hannah never imagined herself with any other man, but a lot of things had happened she hadn't ever imagined. Despite her sudden lust for Black, Hannah knew this was a defense mechanism. As crude and mechanical as it sounded, she needed to fuck Black to maintain composure. To keep control.

Black sat back in his stool and bent forward to her bare breasts, his tongue finding one of her nipples. Her body stiffened in pleasure as he tasted her, and it seemed every nerve ending abandoned its location to the exact spot where his tongue touched her. His mouth left a burning trace across her skin as he explored her.

He paused, and when he did, she removed his shirt and ran her hands along his shoulders, around his back, his neck. She kissed him again, letting her tongue touch his for a moment. She again tasted bourbon and wanted some for herself.

But not now
.

Hannah reached for the top of her jeans and unbuttoned them. She pulled the zipper down and slid the denim over the tops of her thighs. The jeans fell to the ground, and she stepped out of them, keeping her mouth on his neck as she did. Then Black slid a hand around the small of her back and the pressure of his fingers aroused her even more than the kissing. He pulled her into him.

Hannah climbed on top of him. The stool swiveled, but he kept her tight against him, his arms wrapped around her, her legs around him.

She felt him grow hard through his pants as she rocked her hips against him. They remained that way, her mouth exploring his, the heat from his skin building a sweat she felt through her entire body, until he finally stood, lifting her with ease, and carried her into his bedroom. He put her on the bed, not
throwing her down, but not gently either. He climbed up over her, supporting his weight on hands placed on either side of her shoulders. He leaned in and drew his tongue along the base of her throat, moving from one side to another.

She squeezed the back of his neck and brought her nails down the length of his back. Then she wrapped her legs around his waist and pushed him to the side, rolling him over on his back. He looked up at her as she straddled him, his eyes registering something that bordered on surprise.

“Tonight,” she said, “I'm the one in charge.”

“Everything you do leaves a trace.” Black reached over the table and poured her more wine. As sparse as his belongings were, Hannah noticed there was no lack of alcohol, and their first bottle of Malbec was nearing the dregs. “So, erasing your identity is nearly impossible. All you can do is cover your steps the best you can, and, more importantly, create false leads for those who are chasing you to follow. Did you ever see
The Shining
?”

“I read the book,” she said. It was one of the few horror books Hannah read as a teenager. She had little use for literary horror when she had enough real fear just sitting through dinner each night.

“It's like the end when Jack is chasing Danny through the snow. The boy gets just enough ahead and then retraces his steps backwards in the snow before jumping off the path. He left a false trail, and he got away. His father ended up freezing to death in the snow.”

“That must have been the movie version,” Hannah said. “In the book, Jack bashes his own face in with a croquet mallet, and then the hotel's boiler explodes and kills him. Plus, the boy had supernatural abilities, which helped him escape.”

Black moved another slice of pizza onto his plate. He had made good in his promise to cook for her, though it consisted of nothing more than taking a frozen DiGiorno pizza out of its cardboard box and sliding it into the oven. “Well, I guess I'll stop using that analogy with my clients,” he said. “My point is, if you really want to disappear, you have to abandon any path you were taking before. You have to avoid everything you once knew.”

Black spoke casually as he chewed his food, as if they hadn't
just been naked and wrapped around each other thirty minutes earlier. But Hannah knew better. She had been distant to him as soon as their clothes were back on, and he must have sensed this. Sensed her need for space. She didn't regret what had happened, but she hadn't fully processed it either.

“But I don't want to disappear forever,” she said. “I don't want to just leave everything.”

“Most of my potential clients say the same thing. They think they'll be fine. They end up going back to their regular lives.”

“What happens to them?”

Black shrugged and reached for his wine glass. “If they're not my client, I don't have any need to keep track of them.”

“So maybe they're fine,” she said.

“Doubtful.” He wiped his mouth. “I know a few who died. Saw it in the news. But most of the people who come to me aren't as high profile, so if they end up getting killed I really wouldn't have cause to know about it.” He pushed the pizza toward her and she grabbed a slice. “But you're naive to think your husband would just decide to give up on what he started. In my opinion, the only way that happens is if he dies or goes to jail. And even jail doesn't stop a lot of people.”

“Maybe I can lay low for a few days, maybe a week.”

“No matter how long you want to remain hidden, you need to prepare as if you're leaving forever. It's the only way.”

“But I need money. How do I do anything without money?”

“I have some I can loan you for now. Ideally, we can get you access to your accounts, though I'm sure your husband has been able to block your access to your money by now. But there are a few different things we can try. I assume you have decent liquidity. The more we can access, the easier all of this will be.”

A chill ghosted her arms. She had been looking at the table most of the meal, but now she brought her gaze up directly to his face.

“If we can get access, how much do you suggest I take out?” she asked.

He stopped chewing. “How much do you have?”

“A lot.” She sipped her wine. “What I'm asking is how much is your fee? I assume you're not doing this
pro bono
.”

He hesitated. “Depends on how long you need to disappear for. But fifty thousand is a typical starting fee.”

“What if I don't agree?”

He nodded at the front door. “I'm not holding you here, Hannah. You're free to leave, and I can take you somewhere where you can call a cab. I'm not trying to take advantage of you,” he said. “I truly believe this is the best course of action, but I do charge for my services. It's a lot of work. And risk. If I'm helping you that means my trace becomes easier to pick up. That risk comes for a fee, and my fees start at fifty thousand.”

“Even after nine years…or however long you've been hiding? You're still worried about being found? What did you do?”

Black didn't answer.

“Tell me your real name,” she said.

“No.”

“Then tell me why you needed to disappear.”

“I don't tell people details about my life. If you want to be off the grid, you don't talk about your past.”

“So you get to know everything about me but I don't get to know anything about you?”

“That's pretty much it.”

“Bullshit,” Hannah said. “If you want me to trust you, you have to tell me something…
anything
about the real you.”

“Like I said, Hannah, you're free to go at any time.”

“It's a Mexican standoff. I'll know something about you, you know everything about me. We'll be forced to trust each other, if no other reason than for fear of exposure.”

“Hannah, just listen—”

She reached out and grabbed his wrist. “Black, will you please understand? I just need something that's the truth. That's real. Hell, you can even lie as long as you do a good job. Just tell me something I can
believe
. Tell me why you needed to disappear.”

He searched her eyes for several seconds, assessing, and Hannah pictured his mind whirling with calculations of risk versus return. Finally, he put down a pizza crust on his plate, lining it up with two others, and pushed the plate a few inches away from him.

“Nine years ago I broke out of prison,” he said. “And I've remained hidden, which is an exceptionally difficult thing to do.”

“I thought you were a cop.”

“I was.”

Hannah felt herself straighten in her chair, both elbows resting on the tabletop. “What did you do?”

Black now stopped moving and looked directly at her.

“I killed someone.”

She pushed back in her chair, but she knew it was more out of reflex than any kind of flight response.
If he wanted you dead, Hannah, you'd be long gone by now
.

“Who?”

“The guy who smashed his car head-on into my wife's. He was drunk, and he killed her.” His voice was level as he spoke, but Hannah saw his right hand quivering. He seemed to notice this and moved his hand under the table. “I was on duty that night. I wasn't the one who responded to the call, but I got called in to the hospital. They took both of them there. My wife and…and the other driver.”

He paused and Hannah said nothing. She wanted to say
It's okay, you don't have to tell me
. But that was bullshit. She wanted to know everything.

“I lost my mind,” he said. “I was in the room when she died. She never woke up. I didn't even see the EKG machine go flat. There was a beeping from one of the monitors, and the doctor looked up at me and told me she was gone. It was the day after our fourth anniversary, and suddenly she was just…gone. The doctor…Jesus, he couldn't have been over thirty. I remember how young he looked. Looked like he couldn't grow facial hair with a month to do it, you know? Anyway, the doctor asks me if I
wanted to see a grief counselor. I told him no. Then I walked out of the hospital room and found my partner there. Kyle. Kyle and I had been on the force together four years, and he knew me better than anyone except my wife. So I saw Kyle there, and he looks at me, and he just knows. Knows she's gone. And I can see in his eyes the fear. The loss. The look of,
holy shit, what if it had been my wife?”

Black poured more wine even though his glass wasn't empty. “I see that on his face, and I realize at that moment he would do anything for me. He was my brother. And I asked him what happened to the other driver. He tells me he's in a room three doors down. I ask if he's okay. Kyle doesn't know. I ask him to show me the room. Kyle looks at me and hesitates just for a moment. The kind of moment where, in the movies, he wouldn't have told me. He would have taken me home, and stayed with me all night. Done anything to prevent me from going into that other hospital room. But this wasn't a movie, this was real life, and Kyle was my brother. So he looks at me a few more seconds and then nods behind me. ‘Two seventeen,' he whispers. Either he was crazy as I was, or he didn't really think I would do it. Maybe he thought that, being a cop, I would somehow keep it together, grieve some other way. Get counseling.”

Another pause. Another gulp of wine. Hannah remained silent as Black set his glass down. “So I walk into room two seventeen,” he continued. “There's a doctor and two nurses there, which tells me this fucker is still alive. Hell, my wife only had one doctor in the room because they knew she didn't have a chance. But this guy, this guy has all the attention in the world on him. He's got blood on his face, and I can see a laceration on his forehead, stitched up and swollen. And he's awake, rolling his head back and forth, sputtering some babble I couldn't at first understand, but then a few seconds pass and I hear him asking for a drink. He wants a fucking drink. And he's not in pain, the guy is laughing. A drunk's laugh. Happy delirium.”

Hannah felt her fingers squeeze her wine glass, and she
momentarily looked over at the half-empty bottle of bourbon on the counter.

Black continued. “The doctor looks up at me. Now, it's not too unusual for a uniformed cop to enter a room like that. Maybe I want to talk to a suspect, get some information. So this doctor doesn't tell me to get out, he just looks at me for a moment and tells me the guy can't talk now because they need to take him to surgery.
Surgery
. They're going to spend tens of thousands of dollars to make sure he lives.”

Black pushed back in his chair and stood. He walked to the back of the kitchen and grabbed the bottle of Maker's Mark, seeming to know, like Hannah, the moment when something stronger was necessary. He grabbed his dirty glass from earlier, filled it, and took a swallow.

He came back to the table with the bottle and the glass, then poured more and pushed the glass toward her. “I feel better when I don't drink alone, which is almost never.”

Hannah picked up the glass and swallowed, then slid it back toward him. He refilled it and kept it for himself.

“I said nothing to the doctor,” he said. “I just stood there and looked at the guy in the bed, rolling his head and smiling. The doctor tells me again I can't talk to the guy. I walk in the room a little further, and I sense someone enter the room behind me. Found out later it was Kyle. Then one of the nurses gives me the widest eyes I've ever seen and she rushes over and whispers something in the doctor's ear. See, she knows who I am at this point. She saw me with my wife, and now she sees me here in the room of the guy who killed her. She
knows
this isn't a good scene. So she tells the doctor, who looks a little freaked after the nurse tells him who I am. Then he comes over to me and says, ‘You can't be here.' I look at him for a moment. He was just a distraction, a fly on a horse's ear. He was a large guy. Tall. Looked like he could throw down if he had to. Confidence, you know? But I didn't care. I didn't care about anything at this point. I'm in the blackness now.