They hold Papa’s head so he cannot turn away. His eyes implore me for forgiveness. He suffers with me as obsidian dread takes over.
Papa’s eyes are the last things I see. The intruders’ laughter is the last thing I hear before giving way to the only escape my broken body can provide me. I thrust myself into a realm of unconsciousness, separating mind from body. I cocoon myself so I am not there when they do what they do to me.
15
AFTER
Cortland Baxter was still on Nena’s mind the next day when she stood three doors down from her house, at the end of Keigel’s walkway, until two of his men moved aside to let her pass. Waiting for entry was common courtesy, and it was better to keep up pretenses that their number one had her respect. Plus, as far as friends went, their boss was the closest thing she had to one.
“When are you gonna sell me that bike of yours?” was his greeting. One she knew was not serious but had become their routine. “Saw you riding it earlier today.”
Her metallic thunder-gray Hayabusa sport bike, one of three modes of transportation that she indulged herself with, but by far her favorite. When on her bike, Nena felt nothing could touch her.
“When you learn how to ride it,” she answered easily, approaching where he sat on a cheap plastic chair on his porch.
He cracked a smile. “Word on the street,” he began, “is that a couple of Royal Flushes got clipped on Fifth and Mercy, by a female.”
“A female what? Elephant?” She hated when he—when any man—referred to women as females. She’d keep correcting him for as long as he kept speaking ignorantly.
He rolled his eyes, throwing a hand in the air. “A wo-man, okay.”
“You know, male, female, those are the sexual distinctions of animals. Shall we discuss sexual classification? There are more than just male and female now—for people, I mean.”
He waved her off.
“But the story would be much more interesting if it really was a female elephant,” she deadpanned. Nena normally had two facial expressions, serious and very serious. Hers was currently the former.
Keigel released a slow, exasperated breath, ignoring the nearby snickers of the gang members lucky enough to overhear Nena’s once-in-a-lifetime joke. They had business to square away. The streets were probably abuzz after her late-night diner save. He snapped his fingers, and within seconds the immediate area around the porch cleared, leaving them alone.
“Real talk, you nearly caused a war, Nena, a war I can’t have right now. I’m trying to get this money up, not lose lives.”
She took a seat next to him, choosing the chair with its back to the wall. She preferred to minimize her blind spots.
“You already have plenty of money.”
He snorted. “Could always use more.”
She analyzed him. “You could give up selling the drugs and guns. There are other ways to become wealthy. Better ways.”
Keigel scratched his perfectly groomed beard. “Maybe when I grow up.” He cracked a wry smile.
The corners of her mouth held a whisper of amusement, and she relaxed just a degree, waiting patiently for what she knew was coming next.
He leaned in, placing his elbows on his knees, matching Nena’s look of seriousness. “Real talk, what happened last night?”
She pursed her lips. Nothing much. Nena swallowed. Just met an interesting girl and her father. Turns out I’m supposed to kill him.
“What are you thinking about, kid?” he asked, narrowing his eyes. “Your face just got all dreamy.”
Nena blinked, ignoring him even though she was older than his twenty-five years by six. “The night might have taken some unexpected turns.”
She cleared her throat and her mind of all things Baxter.
“Talk to the Flushes. They encroached on your territory, which means two things. First, they disrespected you by starting trouble on your turf. Second, they would have left a body, and a young one at that. That’s police attention.” She shrugged. “Sounds like whatever woman clipped them—that was the word you used, yes?—did you a favor.”
Keigel’s look was begrudging. “Well, dude she let live says otherwise.”
“Of course.” She hadn’t let him live. He’d already been running away by the time she’d killed the second one, but that was inconsequential.
What else would the Flush say? That one woman had taken out all three with no backup? Her lips curved into a tiny smirk. Actually, she wished he would say it.
“They want retaliation.” Keigel looked at her firmly. “And the one dude who survived describes a woman who looks a lot like you.”