But that must’ve been the right thing to say, because Carla smiled weakly at him. “You’re sweet.”
“OK, so Ronnie fucked up?—”
“It gets worse,” said Carla, taking a swig of bourbon. “I-I yanked Brenda off of him by her hair, she hit me, I hit her, then I got Ronnie in the nads with my purse, and by that fucking point all the guys had swarmed us. And Rudy Romano put a gun in my fucking face, so I kicked him in the knee—don’t look at me like that, I know it was a stupid thing to do—and the gun went off and the bullet grazed my cheek and caught Brenda right between the eyes, and then it was just pandemonium, Jack! Pandemonium!” She slammed her hands on the desktop, stared him right in the face. Clumps of mascara stuck to lashes framing wild, frantic eyes.
Jack blinked. Then blinked again. “Brenda… died?”
“Well, I didn’t mean for it to happen?—”
“You weren’t holding the gun, were you?”
“No! Keep up. Rudy had the gun. Big, tall guy, shoulders like tank. You can’t miss him.”
Jack prayed he never met Rudy and nodded. “OK, so what happened after the gun went off?”
“Well, Ronnie was cussing me out and all the guys were yelling, and a coupla waitresses came running upstairs and everybody was screaming and then Ronnie told us to shut the fuck up, and Rudy dragged me down the hall and locked me in a fucking supply closet?—”
Jack was going to expire. This story was literally going to give him a heart attack.
“And then Enzo Costa pulled me out of the closet and asked me what the fuck I was doing. And it was creepy—real creepy—because he looked at me like he knew something was up. He said—he really said this, Jack—he said I was causing problems for him, and I needed to calm the fuck down and keep it together, or he was gonna have to do something about me. He said it like I wasn’t already causing problems. I think he meant… he meant something else.”
“Shit,” Jack muttered. What did Enzo know? How many other people knew about the time loop? How many of them sought to take advantage of it?
Maybe, if he were a little less empathetic, a little more selfish, he’d have found ways to utilize it. Sex without consequences.Violencewithout consequences. Maybe he’d have had a completely hedonistic day at a resort and refused to pay, knowing that the repercussions would never reach him.
(He would’ve slept with Boris for sure if he hadn’t been so worried about the ethical dilemma of banging someone who wouldn’t remember it the next day.)
“You think he knows?” Jack asked.
“I dunno,” said Carla, resting her chin in her hand. “I just… It didn’t feel right. I think… I think Enzo knows something.”
So did Boris, but this wasn’t the time to mention it. “Did anything else happen? You never called me.”
“Yeah.” Her expression darkened. “I had eight men yelling at me. Then they dragged me down into the basement and locked me inthereinstead.” She scowled. “It was fucking creepy. The lights didn’t work. I thought some lady was watching me, but it was just a mannequin.” She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear with a shaking hand. “Anyway, my girl Lana let me out, and she dropped me off at the train station. I-I wanted to call you, Jack, I swear, but she made me get on the fucking train.”
“It’s alright,” Jack said, as mellowly as he could. “I’m glad things didn’t get any worse.”
His words rang hollow. He was desperately glad that the bullet had only grazed Carla’s cheek, that she hadn’t died again. For all that he wanted to cradle her against him, if only to reassure himself that she was fine—messy, angry, but unharmed—he sensed that his touch might be unwelcome right now.
“Yeah,” Carla grumbled, swiping a tear from beneath her eye. “I don’t wanna know what they were gonna do with me.”
“I don’t either.” Jack hated to think of Carla alone in a basement, tensing at every sound, wondering what would happen to her.
“Do you know if Brenda came back?”
Carla gave a miserable shrug. “I called her number this morning. She answered.”
“Good. That’s, um, good. And interesting.”
“I guess so. I guess you can come back from a gunshot.” She shrugged. “Kind of comforting.”
The silence lingered between them. Jack took a sip of bourbon. “I wanted to call.”
“I’m glad you didn’t,” Carla said, shaking her head. “I don’t wanna know what would’ve happened if they’d realized who you were.”
“I wouldn’t have told them.”
“Still.” Carla pressed her palms into her eyes, groaned. “Brenda died. Brenda fucking died. And I knew she was fucking Ronnie behind my back, but I didn’t want her to die. I wanted to scratch her fucking eyes out, not kill her.”
