“So you back for some tail?”
“Nah, he’s back for good, fellas! It’s hard to go from king of the boyasch to just another gajo.”
“He’s not back!” one old raisin says. He tips up the flask, swipes at his lips with the back of his spotted hand. “Got himself a good confidence game going up-city, so’s I hear.” They all laugh. Pax laughs with them. But there’s a tinge to this laughter that says they’ve been burnt by Pax’s antics before.
And is that what Stella is to him? Julia’s Bureau? A long con? I cannot get a good read on his intentions. I did not know him in life, so I suppose I do not know him in death. The Others here, on This Side, assure me his heart is good, if not pure.
“Why are you back?” the suspenders fella asks after a particularly long pull on the flask. There is jealousy in the question, like maybe this fella enjoys more light in Pax’s absence.
Pax looks down at his knuckles. “I need a few things. And quickly.”
A deep silence falls over the crowd.
“There it is.”
“This again.”
“Why should we help you?”
Pax looks contrite, downright pained. “It’s for Julia.”
The crowd’s eyes shift to one another. Their attitudes shift, too.
“For Julia?”
“Anything.”
“You can count on us.”
Pax smiles sadly, like he knew this. I don’t understand why that makes him sad. “I need a uniform for Bellissimo Cibo Catering.”
“I think Bertha’s boy works for them, don’t he?”
“Can’t be too hard to come by.”
“What else, Pax?”
I promised Stella…, he thinks.No secrets.
But he shrugs this off. The air around him thickens, darkens. Icy revenge pulses through him like his own heartbeat. The smells of this neighborhood—frying meat, body odor, garbage—suddenly smell too thick, too greasy.
No backup plan, I feel him consider.None needed.
The darkness pulls him. Pullsme. And oh, this temptation is as juicy and raw as a salty thick steak. I know his next request, his next regret, before he even says it:
“I need a gun.”
PART TWOTHE EXECUTION
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
Candlelight confuses me. It is ethereal. It dances. When a room is washed in candlelight, I can’t tell if the sights I’m seeing, the voices I’m hearing, are of the here and now or in an altogether different plane of existence. I cannot trust myself.
Max Blanck’s party is cloaked in candlelight, and I am befuddled. Is this soiree reality or a vision? We are finally here.
I glance at the slender wristwatch I wear thanks to Miss Willamina, the watchmaker next to our Bureau. A thrill shoots through me as I think of this timepiece, synchronized with Pax’s pocket watch. That pocket watch of his is why I first took notice of him back in that ratty old boardinghouse, and now, this tiny pulse of mine matches his. It feels both small and greatly significant, our seconds in harmony.
It’s 5 p.m., and Clarice, Kiyoko, and I have arrived for setup. I haven’t yet seen the others—Nirav performing his tasks, Pax completing his.
