Herring

Should've Stayed With Aldy

The walk to Falk Street was a parade of stupid thoughts with a pinch of rain.

Not Falk. Not exactly. I wasn't a complete i***t. Falk Street at midnight was a death wish wrapped in bad memories, and I'd already used up my quota of almost-dying for the month. Maybe the year. Maybe the whole goddamned decade. But Anders said you'll know where, and Falk was the gravitational center of every godforsaken thing that had happened to me since the fish. So somewhere near Falk. Somewhere close enough to smell it but not close enough to get stabbed on it.

I ran through the mental map. The alley where I'd painted the wall—no, too obvious, too dangerous. The construction site—hell no, I'd almost broken my goddamn ankle there. The street one block over from Falk. Quiet. Residential on one side, abandoned print shop on the other. Wide enough to see trouble coming. Secluded enough for a discreet pickup. No cameras. No streetlights that worked.

That's the one. That's where I'd stage a criminal pickup if I were a criminal. Which I apparently am now. Fan-f*****g-tastic. Add it to the résumé. Deia Nira: fish girl, bridge girl, amateur criminal, professional train wreck.

I walked. The rain did its miserable thing. My ribs did their creaky bullshit. My brain did its spiraling nonsense—second-guessing, then shutting the hell up because thinking was a luxury I couldn't afford.

Why am I so calm though? Normal people would be shitting themselves at the thought of going anywhere near Falk Street. Normal people would have moved to a different city. A different state. A different f*****g planet. But here I am. Walking toward the epicenter of my trauma like it's a coffee run. What in the actual f**k is wrong with me?

The ring was warm on my finger. Warmer than my skin. Warmer than the rain. Warmer than anything had a right to be.

Meh. Not gonna think about it too much.

I reached the street. Stood under the broken streetlight. Waited.

———

The car pulled up after maybe fifteen minutes. Not a truck this time. A sedan. Black. Unremarkable. The kind of car you forget the moment you look away. Perfect for crimes. Perfect for disappearing.

The window rolled down. Leo's face appeared, grinning like a golden retriever who'd just been told he was going to the park.

Leo: "Holy s**t. Boss said you'd figure it out. Said you'd come. I owe that bastard a hundred bucks now."

Deia: "You bet against me?"

Leo: "I bet on you taking the safe option and staying home. Like a sane person. I forgot you're not sane."

Deia: "Screw you too, Leo."

Leo: "Get in, you magnificent lunatic." He said with a smile.

I got in. The back seat. Leo was driving. Another guy in the passenger seat—young, maybe Leo's age, with the kind of face that had never been punched and was deeply curious about the experience. He turned to look at me. His eyes went wide.

New Guy: "Whoa. What the hell happened to your face?"

Deia: "I fell."

New Guy: "Down a cliff? Into a woodchipper?"

Leo: "Manny. Shut it."

Manny. Another name. Another face. Another criminal with the emotional intelligence of a brick. Freaking great.

Leo glanced at me in the rearview mirror. His grin faded into something almost genuine. Almost human.

Leo: "Seriously though. You look like crap. You okay?"

Deia: "I'll decide whether to talk about it or not."

Leo: "Fair enough. Offer stands. You want to talk, I'll listen. You want to sit there and brood, I'll provide ambient brooding music. I'm versatile like that."

Manny: "He's not. He only knows one song."

Leo: "It's a good song."

Manny: "It's the Pirates of the Caribbean theme."

Leo: "It's a GOOD SONG."

I almost smiled. Almost. These two were going to be a problem. The funny kind. The kind that makes you forget, for five lousy seconds, that you're driving toward a felony.

———

The car hummed through the Seattle dark. Rain streaked the windows. The city blurred past—grey on grey on everlasting grey. Leo drove with one hand on the wheel, the other gesturing expansively as he talked. Manny stared out the window like he was looking for something to worry about.

Deia: "So what's the plan?"

Leo: "Simple. We drive out to a remote location—warehouse district, real scenic, you'll love it. Meet up with the rest of the crew. Inspect the goods. Load them into a different vehicle. Drive back. Drop off at a designated location. Get paid. Go home. Easy."

Deia: "That's a lot of steps for 'easy.'"

Leo: "Easy is relative. Easy for us is like... nine steps instead of forty. Most jobs have forty steps. This one's practically a vacation."

Manny: "Last vacation I took, I got food poisoning and missed the whole thing."

Leo: "That's because you ate gas station sushi, you absolute animal."

Manny: "It was discounted."

Leo: "IT WAS DISCOUNTED BECAUSE IT WAS POISON."

I watched them bicker. It was like watching two golden retrievers argue over a stick. No real heat. Just noise. Just the comfortable rhythm of people who'd known each other long enough to fight about nothing.

This is a crime family. These are hardened criminals. They argue about gas station sushi.

I think I like them. Dammit.

———

The warehouse district was exactly as scenic as Leo had promised. Which is to say: not at all. Concrete. Rust. The smell of old oil and older regrets. A single floodlight illuminated a loading bay where two other vehicles were already parked. Tubby—the broad, bearded refrigerator from the bunker—stood with his arms crossed, looking like he'd been born frowning and never saw a reason to stop. I'm gonna name him Tubby cause I'm too lazy to ask his name.

Leo parked. We got out. The rain had lightened to a mist, the kind that doesn't feel like rain until you're soaked through and wondering how the hell it happened.

Tubby: "You came."

Deia: "I came."

Tubby: "Boss said you would. Said you'd figure out the street."

Deia: "He was vague as s**t, by the way. A little specificity wouldn't kill him."

Tubby almost smiled. Almost. The corner of his mouth twitched like it was considering the possibility and then decided against it.

Tubby: "He's like that. You get used to it. Or you don't. Doesn't matter to him."

He turned to Leo and Manny.

Tubby: "We're heading in. You two stay here with the newborn. Keep the engine running. Don't make a sound. Don't do anything stupid. Don't be yourselves, basically."

Leo: "Harsh. But fair."

Manny: "I'm deeply offended."

Tubby: "I don't care."

He walked toward the warehouse. Two other figures I didn't recognize followed. The door opened. Closed. We were alone with the rain and the silence and the distant hum of a city that didn't know we existed.

———

We sat in the car. Leo in the driver's seat, turned sideways so he could see both me and Manny. Manny in the passenger seat, picking at a thread on his sleeve like it owed him money. Me in the back, trying to find a position that didn't make my ribs scream. Failing.

Leo: "So. You and the boss. What's the deal there."

Deia: "There's no deal."

Leo: "Uh huh. Sure. He pulls you out of an alley, brings you to the bunker, you a job, personally vouches for you to the crew. That's not nothing."

Deia: "He feels sorry for me. I was pathetic. Rent increase. Medical bills. The offers whole sob story. He took pity."

Manny snorted.

Manny: "Anders doesn't do pity. Anders doesn't do feelings. Anders does math and guns and occasionally throwing coffee cups at people's heads."

Leo: "He threw a coffee cup at someone once. For asking if he had feelings."

Manny: "Classic."

Deia: "So what's his deal then. Why'd he help me."

Leo shrugged. A big, expressive shrug that involved his whole upper body.

Leo: "Who knows. Maybe he sees something in you. Maybe he was bored. Maybe you reminded him of someone. Anders is a mystery wrapped in three coats and an AR-15. I've worked with him for two years and I still don't know his favorite color."

Manny: "It's green."

Leo: "How the heck do you know that."

Manny: "I asked him once. When we were waiting for a drop. He said green. Like forest green. Not lime. Specific."

Leo: "Huh. Green. Wouldn't have guessed."

Deia: "This is the most wholesome criminal conversation I've ever been part of."

Leo: "We're a wholesome crew. We commit felonies and we care about each other's emotional well-being. It's called balance."

Manny: "Last week Leo cried because a dog looked at him."

Leo: "It was a VERY SAD DOG."

I laughed. Actually laughed. It hurt my ribs. I didn't care. These two were idiots. Beautiful, ridiculous, criminally-inclined idiots. And for five minutes in a car outside a warehouse, waiting for men to return with illegal goods, I felt almost normal.

———

The warehouse door opened. Tubby emerged, followed by the others, carrying boxes. Not barrels. Boxes. Small. Wooden. Unmarked. They loaded them into the trunk of a different sedan—the one we'd be taking back, apparently.

Tubby walked over to our car. Knocked on the window. Leo rolled it down.

Tubby: "Alright. Goods are in the other vehicle. Newborn, you're on inspection. Boss wants you to check everything's in good condition before we move."

Deia: "I'm not a specialist. I don't know what I'm looking at."

Tubby: "Boss said you'd say that. He said to tell you: just look. You'll know if something's wrong."

Cryptic bastard.

I got out. Limped to the other car. The trunk was open. Boxes stacked neatly. I opened the first one.

Not oil.

Diamonds. Rough. Uncut. Glittering in the faint light like captured stars. I opened another. More diamonds. A third. Disks. Small, black, unlabeled. The kind of disks that held information people would kill to protect. Or kill to destroy.

Deia: "This isn't oil."

Tubby, from behind me: "What?"

Deia: "This. Isn't. Freaking. Oil."

He looked. His face went through several expressions—confusion, realization, anger, fear—before settling on a cold, professional blankness.

Tubby: "Oh crap. Yeah. The oil job was yesterday."

Deia: "THE OIL JOB WAS YESTERDAY?!"

Tubby: "We had two jobs. Oil and stones. Someone mixed up the dates. Doesn't matter. Goods are goods. Let's move."

Deia: "Where the hell are we?"

Tubby: "Doesn't matter. Get in the—"

Shouting. From the far end of the lot. Figures emerging from the dark. Running. Fast. The kind of running that means we are here to ruin your entire goddamn evening.

Tubby: "HEY!"

Leo, from the car: "YEAH WE GOTTA GO! GET IN!"

Deia: "Oh crap."

Leo: "GET IN GET IN GET IN—"

I dove into the back seat. Manny was already in the passenger seat, eyes wide, mouth open. Leo floored the accelerator before the door was even closed. The car lurched. My ribs screamed. The boxes in the trunk shifted with a sound like broken glass and bad decisions.

Oh hell. Another stupid idea. Another catastrophe. Oh god f**k me.

Leo: "EVERYONE HOLD ONTO SOMETHING!"

The car swerved. Gunshots. Far away, then closer. The windshield spiderwebbed. Manny yelped. I grabbed the seat and held on and thought, very clearly, very calmly:

I should've stayed home. I should've stayed home with Aldy and the crack in the ceiling and the bean water. This is what I get. This is what I get for trying.

Shit.