Until It's You (5 page)

He got up, his hair still slightly wet from the dye job, leaned over the sink toward the mirror to get a good look. His thinned brows shot up as he got a look at himself.

“Well,” he said, after several seconds. “It’s different.”

She let out a hard breath. "Hardly the best compliment I've gotten, but that's okay."

"I didn't mean—"

"I said it was okay," she said, fighting back a smile. "I bought some clippers at the store if we need to trim your hair, but now that I’m looking at it I think we’ll hold off in case we need to change looks again.”

He studied her face a moment longer before moving on. “Makes sense. So now what?”

She cocked her head. “For now, you’re done. I have to get to work on myself. Once I do that, we’ll go buy a car.”

He bit his lip and stared off for a moment, his dark eyes boring a hole into a spot to her left. Finally, he shook his head. “I’ll take care of the car while you work on whatever it is you need to do,” he said.

She took a deep breath and studied his face. It was like something had flipped in him. A moment ago he had been relatively calm, but now he looked like a caged animal.

“Okay,” she said. “Where do you plan on going?”

“Lot of used car lots over on Western," he said, his voice distant. "I’ll try there first. Shouldn’t take too long.”

She gave him a smile, trying to defuse the tension that was suddenly pouring out of him. “You sure?"

He gave her a hard look. “I’ll be fine. Shouldn’t be more than an hour.”

She put her hands in her pockets and nodded. What the hell had gotten into him? “I’ll be waiting,” she said, her expression neutral. “Good luck.”

With a short nod, he left. She watched him go, frozen in place and wondering what was wrong until she heard the front door to the building open and close. Then, her mind still spinning, she got to work on her own disguise.

Roy sat on the bench and looked out at the crocodiles as they floated in a pond at the Lincoln Park Zoo. A stiff breeze blew in from the direction of the lake, cooling the sweat on his brow. It felt good, but he couldn't enjoy it. His life in Chicago was probably over unless he wanted to risk ending the whole thing.

The job to get Tom Andersen out of his office had failed. Guy must have gotten tipped off. Or maybe Ol' Roy had just gotten sloppy. He didn’t even know at this point, and it didn’t matter. Even if he killed himself thinking about it for a few days and figured it out, it wouldn't matter.

None of it mattered. He was fucked unless he brought Andersen in for the boss to question and he had no idea where to find him. By this time, the boss might have hired someone to kill his ass. If it hadn't happened yet, it would eventually. He had ditched his comm in a recycler already, so the next thing to do was disappear into the city. Picked up a new one, just for practicality. Never knew when he might need it.

The biggest crocodile—had to be fifteen feet long at least—splashed into the pond and submerged itself after laying on a sunny rock for a long time. Roy smiled. He couldn't read a crocodile's facial expressions, but just from watching he could feel the relief.

The zoo was his favorite place to come and calm down when he was on edge because they modulated the aero-pharms in the air so wildly he felt like he didn’t even have to take responsibility for his own emotions. Feeling upbeat? Maybe it was the pharms. Feeling too calm? Maybe it was the pharms. The mystery of it lent him some comfort. More responsible than the bar if it was daytime and he still had shit to do. Which he did, if he could figure out what that was.

Where to now? He had over a hundred grand in cash. Not enough to be out of work for too long, but he could get out of the city and figure out life somewhere else. Maybe head south to a smaller city where the boss was unlikely to have contacts. That was the first option. Hope the boss didn’t hold a grudge for too long. It would be a life on the run but that wasn’t so different really.

He could try and kill the boss. Not likely, but it solved the problem of someone wanting to kill him pretty quick. Still have to lay low in case of retribution, but after that he should be clear. Sounded like a good way to get burned alive in a warehouse if he got caught, though. Big risk. Had to either kill or be killed. Really rather not get tortured to death.

The third option was to complete the job. The trail had gone cold, but it wouldn’t necessarily stay that way. The boss had gotten pretty desperate, so any good news might get him back in good graces. More business than ego, in a situation like this.

He just needed to think about where the hell that geeky bastard would have run to. Probably the same place his sister had run. Off the grid, outside the net society used to keep track of most people. But unless they got out of the city both of them would surface eventually. No way they had cash reserves to last too long. If nothing else, the feds would get to them. Maybe the boss could see to that.

But he couldn’t exactly follow the feds around until they led him to the Andersens. He could try to find the other brother—Kevin—but his research said that guy was a bad motherfucker. Even if he thought he could tail a special forces guy like that, there was no way he could do it while that special forces guy was meeting up in person with his siblings. No way in hell. Too careful. A man had to know his limits.

That left the workplace. He’d already called earlier about Tom, and he hadn’t shown up to work. He wouldn't be in the rest of the day. Maybe tomorrow? He could check, just in case. Drop a line in.

And the investigator? After that chase, no way she was walking back into work anytime soon unless he was dead or in prison along with the boss and plenty of other people.

He took a deep breath and looked out at the crocodiles lazing around the murky pond. A new, slightly smaller croc had taken up the sunny spot on the rock. It opened its huge jaws wide, the way they did when they were waiting for something to crawl in. Seconds passed.

Then it closed its mouth lazily, as if it just couldn’t be bothered. Its eyes closed.

Roy looked around for the aero dispenser, found it atop a pole at the water's edge. He laughed to himself and looked back at the croc. Maybe the pharms had changed. You never could know . . .

A car. He needed a car to operate either way here. An orphan so he couldn't be traced. Only way he could have a reasonable chance of surviving if the boss came after him. When the boss came after him. Give him somewhere to operate from, get him around.

Licking his lips, he took his comm out of his pocket. After a quick search, he punched in the ID of an old friend who had a dealership over on Western. Mark should be able to help.

***

The warm, thick summer air filled every square inch of Landon's lungs as he walked down Foster. Relief poured through him. It was good to get out of the apartment.

Something had happened to him once his makeover was complete. Next steps. Kristina was already in it, and he needed that too. He wasn't one to wait around. Not in a moment like this. He had to get moving.

Had to. 

He was headed for a stretch on Western, down on the border between Roscoe Village and Avondale. There was a collection of used car lots in the area, with sellers likely to take cash and not ask too many questions. It had been that way for ages, so much so that even someone like him knew it.

Someone like him. On the straight side of things, more or less. Less street sense than someone like Kristina's brother Kevin. And, by proxy, probably less than Kristina, if he was being honest. The worst thing in the world to do to yourself was lie. 

It felt strange to be at a disadvantage with a woman he was interested in. But here he was. He needed to swallow his pride for now. Get through it.

Traffic washed silently by like waves on the shore. He began looking to hail a cab. They were a bit of a rarity these days, but more common in working class areas. Places where people still tended to deal in cash. Old-school, like you'd see in those ancient movies from last century. The world was grimier, then.

It took a few waves of cars, but eventually a white cab pulled over. He stepped in.

The driver was as throwback as they came. His gray beard hung down past the steering wheel, and his gold-rimmed, round glasses looked like they were from last century. Could easily be a costume, the whole getup was so strange. He said nothing as Landon stepped in. Just continued staring straight ahead.

Landon sat very still for a moment, and didn’t shut the door.

Was this a setup?

He took stock of the scene again. The car smelled like stale chicken shawarma covered by pinecone car freshener. If they’d planted this, they had really committed. But it was definitely possible.

He could also be crazy.

Had to chance it. He closed the door. “I’m going to Western and Belmont,” he said. The cabbie waved the meter on and they were off. Everything looked normal so far. He checked his watch, then looked out the window.

The city blurred by as they drove. The mole Kristina had placed on his cheek clung awkwardly to his skin, but after some quick checks he found it was securely fastened. She was a strange girl, having skills like she had, but something about her put him off in a way he hadn’t experienced before. He couldn’t turn away from the image of her in his mind.

They came to a stop at his destination. He checked his watch. Eleven minutes had passed.

He reached for his wallet—he was also carrying an envelope with cash in it, for the car—and pulled out two crisp twenty dollar bills to pay for the thirty-two dollar ride. He extended them to the driver. 

It took the driver a few seconds to look over his shoulder. When he did, one brow was cocked in a quizzical expression.

“You need change?” he asked gruffly. They were the first words he’d said the whole ride. His accent sounded vaguely Balkan.

“I’m all set,” Landon said.

He nodded. “You come to buy a car?”

Landon cocked his head to the side. “How’d you guess?”

“The cash." He cackled. "Right place for it, anyway. You might try Moonlight. It is all crooks here, but the mechanics at Moonlight are mostly honest. Good cars. My brother bought one there last year.”

“Thanks,” Landon said. “I’ll do that.”

With that, he stepped out onto the sidewalk and closed the door. The cab sped off. He watched it disappear, then took a look around at his surroundings. To his right, a large, brown-brick courthouse loomed in the way government buildings tended to. To its right was a drab, glass and concrete shopping center.

Cars whizzed by silently down busy Western Avenue, the only sound coming from the crunching of their wheels. When the light turned he crossed the street, under the freeway and toward the string of used car lots on the other side.

There on the corner was the lot the cabbie had mentioned. Moonlight Auto. A blue convertible turned under a smiling yellow moon on the dealer's sign. One lot, maybe three-dozen cars parked there with a tiny office building that just about had room for a desk, a tablet, and a bathroom. Not exactly luxury, but everything was clean enough that they looked like they were surviving.

He stepped onto the gravel lot and scanned the offerings for a suitable vehicle. Something mid-range and unremarkable, but with a decent engine in case he had to run. And definitely nothing that would get stopped by the police.

He shook his head. This was probably the same damn thing half the people who came to this lot were looking for.

His eyes had settled on a dark blue Buick when he heard the crunch of another person walking on the gravel. That would be the salesman. Steeling himself, Landon turned to face him.

He was a pudgy man with thinning dark hair and tan, oily skin. His large, black comm was still in his hand, a call apparently recently ended. Landon drew himself up to his full height.

“Beautiful, isn’t it?” the salesman said, coming to a stop a few feet from where Landon stood and putting the comm in his pocket. “Just got it in last week.”

Landon cocked a brow up, conscious of the mole on his face. Should he be trying for an accent? No, right? He would make a terrible actor.

“How many miles?” he asked.

The salesman shoved his hands in his pockets. “Ninety-seven k. Couple in the suburbs sold it when they moved into the city. Decided they only needed one car. Pretty sure it was just the wife driving it because the suspension is still tip-top.”

Landon had to stop himself from scoffing. Nothing like casual sexism. “Is that right?” he said.

A smarmy, gap-toothed smile flashed on the salesman’s face. “Wanna take it for a spin?”

Landon made a show of considering. What he wanted was to be out of this guy’s presence as fast as possible. “Why not?” he said.

“I’ll get the keys.” The salesman stuck out his hand. “Name’s Mark, by the way.”

Landon shook it. His palms were warm and soft. He might sell these cars, but he didn’t work on them. “Eddie,” Landon said.

Mark the Salesman held Landon’s gaze for a moment. "Eddie, huh? I knew an Eddie once."

Landon swallowed. "Oh yeah? What happened to him?"

Mark finally let go of Landon's hand, holding his gaze. "You know, I don't remember." Another laugh. "Be back with the keys."

Landon watched him go. That was strange. Weird for a guy to try a power play like that as a salesman.

Mark was back a moment later, and they got into the test drive without incident. Soon, they were on the road. 

It was a short spin: down the street, then onto the highway, then back on surface streets again to the lot. The suspension felt good, but the gearbox slipped a little going into third. Still, the car was fine. It would run and it had enough pickup on the highway that a moped wouldn’t catch it in a race. That was just about all Landon needed.

He pulled the car into the lot, and Mark turned to him. It occurred to Landon that the salesman had actually said very little during the drive. Maybe he'd realized he was pouring it on a little thick.

“Was I right about the suspension?” he asked, once they’d come to a stop.

Landon nodded, waved the car off and tossed the key to Mark. “You were. I’ll take it.”

Mark gave Landon a big clap on the back. “Perfect. I’ll have you out of here in a flash.”

Landon found himself sitting in the cramped office of the auto dealer a few minutes later while Mark the salesman punched some numbers into an old-fashioned standalone calculator and filled out a worksheet by hand.

It was a dour office. Bare beige walls with black vertical blinds on either side of the windows, ready to be drawn. A ceiling that felt a foot too short. Not so much that he had to crouch, but enough that the gap between the doorframe and the bland ceiling tile looked awkwardly tight. The light was an off-white that had probably been sold as offering more intimacy than the sterility of truly white light, but truth be told it made the place look dirty.

Maybe it was dirty. In any case, Landon wanted to get out of there. It was, more than anything, the space of someone who didn't give a shit. He hated that.