Wrong Ways Down (17 page)

And she were still there. Still happy to talk to him, to come over his place, to sit next to him and spend time. Made him so fucking lucky.

“Hey,” he said, “you hungry? Or wanting see a movie or whatany? Could put on some music, if you’re wanting. Ain’t gotta sit here in silence.”

They ended up watching an old detective movie he had, and chattering on it while they watched. She took off her shoes and curled up there on the couch, and when the movie ended he realized she were asleep.

Shit. Should he—should he wake her up, take her home? He probably ought, aye. She wouldn’t wanna spend the night there. Probably had work to get sheself to in the morning, too.

He reached out to touch her shoulder. Just touching her … they never did that. He made sure not to. Her skin was warm through her shirt; the edges of her bones were sharp through her skin. Touching her made him heat up inside. “Chess. Hey, Chess.”

She didn’t move.

He tried again. “Chessie. Oughta get you home, aye? C’mon, oughta—”

Her eyelids fluttered. She sorta looked at him, through dazed, sleepy eyes. Then she leaned over and flopped onto the couch, curled up with her head on his thigh.

Her head was on his thigh.
Her head rested on it, and her hand wrapped around it so her fingers were on the inside of his leg.

He couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t think, neither, causen all the blood he had left his head and rushed down. Thought he were gonna burst right through the buttons on his jeans. Chess’s head was in his lap, on his thigh, her breath soft and even.

And it weren’t just where it was. It were … she’d fell asleep, and she’d fell asleep on him. Like she trusted him that much she could just sleep, she were that comfortable. She weren’t freaking out touching him or blushing or looking all embarrassed or rushing to get away, though he knew she might when she woke up. But for that moment she were just sleeping there, next to him. Like she was his.

He still oughta take her home. Oughta at least carry her to his bed; she ain’t weighed shit, and she’d be more comfortable there.

But it seemed like … like presuming something, putting her in his bed. And he ain’t changed his sheets yet since the last night Amy slept over. If he put her in his bed, too, she might wake up on the morn thinking something happened, and he ain’t wanted that. 

Most of all, iffen he put her in his bed she wouldn’t be there next to him no more, wouldn’t be touching him. Because no fucking way could he put her in his bed and get in beside her, no way. Even if she ain’t minded, he couldn’t do it. Hard enough being this close to her upright, on the couch. 

He managed to keep himself under control when she was with him. He managed to keep from grabbing her, from just … just fucking
taking
her, possessing her, making her his the only way he knew how. He managed to stop himself doing it by keeping, always, right up front in his head the memory of her walking away from him that night at Trickster’s, the memory of her face the next morning as she lied to him. He managed to stop himself doing it by not getting real close to her, not touching her, trying not to meet her eyes for too long when he looked at her. By not letting his body take over, fighting with it.

He just … shit, he just wanted her so fucking bad. Wanted her naked under him. Wanted to bury his head between her legs until she begged him for mercy, wanted to fuck her until she screamed and then do it again, and again. It was all he could think about sometimes; seemed like every time he were alone his thoughts went back there, to picturing what she’d look like without clothes on, to imagining her body arched under him, throbbing around him.

The way his was throbbing now, fuck.

This was bullshit. No matter how much he wanted to pretend it weren’t so, no matter how he half-wished it ain’t happened, he oughta quit fucking lying to himself and admit he was in love with Chess. That’s what it was. He’d never felt it real before but he sure as fuck did now. Weren’t just that he liked her, weren’t just that he wanted her in his bed. Shit, he’d gotten a text a few hours past asking if he wanted to head over and have some fun with Sela, and he ain’t even thought for a second on leaving Chess, because he was in love with her so hard he couldn’t even breathe.

A lock of her hair—her lighter blondish roots had started showing, and he wondered, like he had before, if all her hair was that color—had fallen over her jaw; he thought about brushing it back but decided not to. It might wake her. He wanted to rest his hand on her, but that might wake her. He wanted to touch her but couldn’t, and he couldn’t move, and there they were.

He let his head fall back and stared at the ceiling. Shit, he was in trouble. 

H
IS PHONE WOKE
him up. Took him a second to catch where he were and what happened, why he neck were so stiff. Then he remembered. Were causen he’d finally fell asleep on the couch himself.

Chess was gone. Where—oh. Water running in the bathroom. So she’d got up afore he did. Would she find—shit. Phone. Right.

Berta calling. His blood froze. Oh, fuck, no. Not another.

Aye, another. And he needed to get over to hers fast, and that were it. Nobody’d called saying Archie were back, but he were finished fucking playing. He’d head to Berta’s, then break into Archie’s, and he wasn’t going to bed that night until this shit were done.

He stood up—his muscles ached from sleeping on a sit like that, but it were totally worth it—and headed back toward the bathroom door, but before he got there it opened.

Her hair were pulled back in a ponytail, her face all clean and fresh. She carried a travel toothbrush and a little tube of toothpaste, a plastic bag with soap and lotions and whatany other shit dames used in it. Aye, made sense; she ain’t always slept at home, and he could just see her packing a little bag like that to keep on her, being prepared like that. So fucking cute.

“Hey,” she said. Her cheeks flushed; embarrassed, he guessed, seeing as how she wouldn’t quite look at him. “I’m sorry. I didn’t—I’m sure you didn’t invite me here so I could pass out and flop all over you.”

Funny, having her flop all over him were pretty much his idea of a perfect night. Especially if she weren’t wearing anything.

Of course he ain’t said that. In fact, given how nervous she looked, he thought of something else to say, something might make her feel better. “Ain’t so certain you were sleeping afore me, aye? Oughta be me giving you the sorry.”

She ain’t looked like she believed it. But she looked like she thought maybe he believed it, and that were what mattered. She relaxed. “Well, thanks, anyway, for letting me crash here. I appreciate it.”

He nodded. Now the hard part. He had to go. He had to get over to Berta’s, and he ain’t could think of a way to say it without making her feel like he didn’t want her there, like he wanted her to leave.

He’d fallen asleep with her. She’d spent the night at his place; they’d slept together. Not the way he wanted, no, but still. She’d spent the whole night there, with him.

And he was so fucking gone on her that he were trying to make that mean something. “Guessing my couch ain’t so comfortable for sleeping, though.”

“Actually, I slept really well.” Her gaze cut to the couch, back to him. That color on her cheeks deepened. 

He didn’t know how to reply to that. Didn’t know what to say, but he had to say something. “Hey … I gotta get moving. Been—”

“Oh. Oh, of course.” She almost jumped past him, sat down to start putting her shoes on. “I’m sorry, you’ve probably got—I can just walk home—”

“Naw, naw.” Shit. “Been another robbery, dig, I gotta head over. But you can stay here, aye? Ain’t needing to leave iffen you ain’t wanting, no worryin on it.”

“I’ve got to get to Church anyway. Thanks, though.”

Damn. He guessed it were dumb of him to think she might be wanting to hang out at his when he weren’t even there; what was she supposed to do? But a tiny spark of disappointment still lit in his chest. Knowing she were waiting for him at his place … that woulda been pretty fucking cool. 

Nothing more to say. “Gimme a few, aye? Berta’s wanting me fast, only got a minute for getting ready. Can take you on home, though.”

She blinked. “Oh, yeah, duh, you probably … um, should I wait outside?”

While he got dressed, he figured she meant. Shit, he hadn’t even thought of that. “Naw, just gimme the wait here.”

He grabbed some clothes and took them into the bathroom, where he brushed his teeth and shaved and all that shit. Wished he had time to shower up, but he didn’t, not with Berta waiting. Another five minutes and she’d start calling him again, he knew, asking why weren’t he there yet. He gave himself a quick soap-up anyway, and hoped that made a difference.

Chess was waiting when he came out, flipping through the copy of
Cannery Row
she’d loaned him. He’d never read it before; shit, he’d figured he wouldn’t be able to understand it, until Chess told him one day she thought he’d dig it so he figured it were worth giving the try. She waved it at him. “What do you think?”

“Pretty cool, aye.” He did dig it, a lot, though it were taking him longer to read it than he wanted to admit. It weren’t that it was hard to read; actually, that was the problem. It
wasn’t
hard to read, which made him figure he must be missing something, not understanding something, because the writing on the back cover mentioned how the dude who wrote it won all kinds of prizes and shit, which should have made it way beyond him. 

So he was going slow, and really thinking on it, to try and work on what he were missing. He figured she’d ask, and she’d be wanting to talk on it with him, and he ain’t wanted to look stupid. First time a dame ever gave him a book to read. Definitely the first time a dame ever cared what he thought on a book. He wanted to get it right, especially since it was Chess asking.

She smiled. “I thought you’d like it. Where are you in it?”

He told her in the car, and they talked about it as he drove her home. He’d been right there; she wanted to know what he thought, about the characters and the setting and all, and if he’d thought the female characters were kinda stereotypes the way she had but it were still a good book. And she ain’t acted like she thought his answers were dumb or any like that, neither, and by the time he pulled up outside hers he’d forgot to be worried on it. He was just talking on it with her, like any other conversation.

“Well,” she said, grabbing the strap of her bag. “Thanks again. I hope you get everything worked out today.”

He nodded. And there probably weren’t much point asking, since he didn’t know how late he’d be busy, but he couldn’t stop the words from slipping out anyway. “You around later? Got plans?”

“Yeah. I mean, yeah, I’ll be around, no, I don’t have plans. Give me call, if you want.”

“Aye. Ain’t sure how late, dig.”

“I’ll be up.” Another smile from her, like the sun just rose right inside his car, and she was gone, slipping out onto the street in a swirl of freezing air. He watched her climb the steps outside her building, waited until she got inside.

Then he headed off to Berta’s.

Blue Bill and Rat were still outside Archie’s place when Terrible got there an hour and a half later. The good mood he’d been in while talking to Chess in the car had evaporated; it had evaporated almost as soon’s he drove away and the real world came back, but now it was replaced with fury. Drina, this time. Weren’t even supposed to be working that night, but was causen she had a son with a birthday coming up.

That was it. That was fucking
it
. He was done.

Rat took a step back when he got close, raised his hands in one a them “Don’t hurt me” type gestures Terrible saw a lot of and usually ignored. “He ain’t been back here, he ain’t, aye? We been watching, ain’t even left yon door unwatched even for a second, swearing it, we ain’t.”

“Place got another entry?”

Blue Bill pointed. “Side door there. Only one I were seeing. Been watching it, too.”

“How many coming in an out since you here?”

Blue Bill thought for a second. “Only a few. Maybe five.”

“Were four,” Rat said. “Counted, I done, see? Kept me a count.”

“Any you knowing?”

“No.”

“What they were? Dames? What?”

“Three men. One female.”

Shit. That gave him nothing at all. He kept thinking there must be some other ask he could give em, something that’d tell him whatany it were he needed, but he weren’t certain what he were looking for and so didn’t know what asks he should have.

Instead he nodded. “Stay here, aye? Any going in, give me a ring-up. And Rat, you walk you around that building again, have you another check-out, dig? See iffen there’s any windows or whatany he maybe could broke out through.”

He headed across the street, mentally checking over what he had, making sure he had what all he might need. Had he knife, and the thick chain he sometimes used, along with he brass knuckles. In his bag were the usual shit: ropes, duct tape, pliers. He ain’t usually had the need for lotsa tools or whatany, though. Hands were enough, leastaways enough for anybody not afraid to use em. Like him.