I decide what happens in my life, damnit.Not all of these…feelings.
I catch my reflection in the mirror over the dresser, wild-eyed and just this side of feral. “I decide,” I tell the woman in the mirror. “Not you.”
She scowls back, a familiar stranger. I turn away from her, setting my mouth in a determined line, and begin gathering up my clothes.
I decide.
* * *
I’m no calmer by the time I step into Murray’s shop to pick up Lucille.
The man himself points me toward a cramped office while he finishes up a phone call. The place smells like diesel and hot metal and old pride. Faded pictures of NASCAR racers peel away from tape and tacks, and a vinyl chair crackles with complaint when I sit.
Murray leaves the door open, and the low hum of hydraulics fades beneath the snarl of a pneumatic wrench. My knee bounces. I settle the surge of nerves with another snap of the rubber bands.
I’ve got to get to Noir. Get a new lead on Deacon, maybefinallyhire someone who might be able to take care of him for me. Do something other than sit here and watch a drooping ceiling fan make halfhearted circles in air so thick it feels like it’s choking me.
It’s barely eight in the morning, and the atmosphere is hot, moist, crushing. How do people survive this in the summertime, if it’s like this in November?
“Didja hear bout the girl they found out on the highway…?” Murray’s voice cuts through the garage, rising then falling in volume.
I go still.
He isn’t just outside the office anymore. His voice carries from somewhere out in the bay.
A pause. Then another voice—gruffer, slower—answers. “I don’t know if I wanna know?—”
Murray chuckles. “This one? Yeah. ’Nother body…dumped on the side of the road like trash. Ain’t safe to be out there anymore.”
My skin prickles.
“Ain’t old men like you got anythin’ to worry about.” The second voice spits. “You think he’s gonna come afteryou? You ain’t young or pretty. I think that one was Midnight, if you ask me.”
My blood goes cold in a way the heat can’t touch. If I’d been eavesdropping with half an ear before, I’m using both now.
“If you know what’s good for you, you’ll take his name out your mouth,” Murray warns. “Midnight doesn’t do shit like that. He ain’t…common like that.”
Someone spits. A sharp ping hits metal. The wrench screams again and chews up the next part of the conversation.
Murray’s voice rises over it. “—always sniffin’ around. Nothin’ new there. You’re jumpin’ at shadows, Bobby.”
My fingers curl around the rubber bands until my wrist aches. The anger that had nowhere to go in that motel room finally finds a target. My teeth grind down to sand by the time Murray returns and tosses my keys at me.
I catch them automatically and squeeze. The ridges bite my palm.
“You’re all good to go, darlin’. Bill’s already taken care of.” His smile stretches his cheeks.
My skin goes hot, then cold. “What do you mean, my bill’s been taken care of?”
He waves a hand. “Nothing to fret over. No strings or anything; just paid up.”
“But I?—”
“Done’s done, miss. Now…” he smiles to take the sting out of the words, but it’s clear the conversation’s over. “Hope you don’t have too much further to go…she’s definitely on her last pins.”
I just barely manage to restrain myself from stomping my foot and huff a breath through my nostrils, then stand and roll my shoulders. “Only a little bit to go. I’m looking for a job in New Orleans.” The lie arrives on instinct. Smooth. Practiced. “Fresh start kind of thing.”
Something that doesn’t smell like revenge.
