Overkill by Dylan Rust

Author:Dylan Rust [Rust, Dylan]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2019-07-22T22:00:00+00:00

36

Claire liked jazz.

Old jazz.

She prided herself in her collection. Front and center were the classics: Miles Davis’s ‘Kind of Blue, John Coltran’s ‘A love supreme,’ and Oscar Peterson’s ‘The sound of the Trio.’

She liked their early stuff, before the drugs took hold and diminished their talent, before their art was appropriated by cheap artists trying to make a buck creating soundtracks for elevators in shopping malls and dentist offices.

Her collection of records was on top of her dead father’s liquor cabinet.

She inherited the cabinet a long time ago. It was the only personal beloning she’d been able to keep. The bank repossessed almost everything.

He was a gambler. He had a lot of debt.

Claire wasn’t like her father.

The only thing she’d ever gambled on was Jack.

And he’d just saved her life.

Still, she wasn’t sure it was a good bet.

She was hesitant around him. She watched his every movement and kept a distance.

Her apartment was on the eighth floor and had a view of the Empire State Building. Although, to see it you had to bend your body out the window awkwardly.

It had four rooms; a living room, kitchen, bedroom, and bathroom.

It was small, sparse. Practical. It was the typical Manhattan apartment for a single professional who was never home.

There were empty boxes of Chinese takeout stacked on her kitchen counter and clothes on the floor. Jack counted fifteen of them.

She liked her hot and sour soup.

He walked up to the liquor cabinet.

He needed a drink. His shoulder was swelling and his chest was red. His ribs were either fractured or broken.

“Do you have any bourbon?”

“No.”

He examined the record collection. He pulled out ‘Kind of Blue.’

“You like this crap?”

“It’s not crap,” she said. “Davis was an innovator. He changed music.”

“Sure he did,” Jack said.

“I have vodka,” she said. “ It’s on top of the fridge.”

She went to the kitchen and poured him a drink. She watched him from the corner of her eye. She poured Jack a big glass. Not because she felt he needed it, but because she wasn’t paying attention.

She walked back into her living room and handed it to him.

He handed her ‘Kind of Blue.’

She put it back in its place. The records were alphabetically organized.

He sat down on her sofa. The booze felt nice. He closed his eyes.

He’d been dodging cops since the morning. He’d been dodging everyone else in the city since the media released an image of his mugshot in the early afternoon. He wanted to sleep, but that would have to wait.

“Was that one of Igor’s men?” she said.

“What do you think?”

“Christ,” she said. “How did you know they were following me?”

“I didn’t. I was following you. I saw him just in the nick of time.”

“And why were you following me?”

“Because I wanted to talk to you.”

“Why me?”

“Because you got me into this mess. I’d figure you’d help get me out of it.”

Claire rubbed her temple. “How can I trust you?”

“You trusted me before,” he said. “What’s changed? A story in the papers about how I killed a cop? Do you believe that shit?”

“No.

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