Calumet City by Charlie Newton

Author:Charlie Newton [Newton, Charlie]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Published: 2011-10-14T04:54:38+00:00

SATURDAY

Chapter 15

SATURDAY, DAY 6: 1:00 A.M.

We’re past the witching hour. I’m naked under a borrowed bathrobe, and exhausted. The hair dryer trembling in my hand is Tracy’s.

She led me here, skirting the lake and worsening weather to her town house in Lincoln Park, testimony to Tracy’s nerve after she met the real me in Calumet City. I left both men alive but it was an accident not a decision…John’s mother is not okay.

Tracy’s ten-speed Style Pro requires Stella’s beauty school education, so I give up. Driving here I had the same success reaching the Arizona PI, Delmont Chukut. My hand’s bruised from smashing the phone into the dash.

The three calls produced nothing but voice mail. The last two were easier than the first; I wasn’t prepared to hear Roland’s voice next to my ear again and luckily didn’t have to. The voice mail recording wasn’t Roland, so now it’s possible that Roland isn’t the PI; not likely, but possible. And if Roland isn’t masquerading as Delmont Chukut, then this PI is a stupid man with very serious problems if he’s unarmed when I find him. I haven’t yet figured out how to do that, but will shortly.

Tracy’s testing the space between us. "I called Julie while you were in the shower," seeing which Patti Black is in her house. "Julie thinks BASH will be postponed till tomorrow."

Lightning cracks. Rain sheets against the windows behind Tracy. Her windows are separated by a fireplace mantle lined with rugby trophies. Tracy’s talking about rugby. That means today is Saturday and tomorrow is Sunday—son of a bitch—Ms. Meery at Le Bassinet knew it was Friday when I was there. She also knew they’d be closed until Monday, two facts I missed while living on no sleep and less food. Plenty of time to get me arrested before I hurt any of her coworkers. I lurch toward the door and stumble.

Tracy yells, "Hey."

The knob won’t turn; the lock won’t work.

"You’ll need a hat. Pants, you know, shoes and stuff."

I see bare feet beneath my two hands struggling with the knob. The weight of my options—all the mistakes and lies and—My knees go weak. Suddenly I’m sitting, tears on my cheeks, the rage and fear defeated into exhausted mush. I lean into the door, stare at nothing, and one shoulder rolls slow to the floor. The doormat feels good. I curl up as small as I can, like I used to after the basement, and disappear.

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