The Blade Itself

He didn’t add that he only hoped that was true. Jesus Christ, bringing a gun. All those years in prison hadn’t taught Evan anything. Not anything worth learning, at least.

Da

To Evan, maybe.

When he was done, he straightened, thumbed the safety and tucked the stun gun in his pocket. The phone was on the ground, and he picked it up, walked to the kitchen and hung it up, swinging back through the mudroom to lock the deadbolt. When he returned to the TV room, he found Evan lifting the corner of a framed modern art print and peering behind it.

“You got to be kidding me.”

“What?” Evan asked.

“He’s a contractor. Even if he has a safe, you think it’s going to have bundles of hundreds?” Da

Evan gave him a contemptuous look, bent down and came up with Tommy in a fireman’s cradle. The kid probably didn’t weigh much over ninety pounds, but still, the absolute effortlessness was impressive. Like he weighed nothing at all.

Da

The garage was orderly, no tools or lawn equipment, just a couple of bicycles and space for two cars. Evan had parked the stolen Saab dead in the middle, the trunk gaping open. The inside was lined with thin carpet, and the former owner’s golf clubs took up half the space. They hadn’t thought to check the trunk. Da

Evan bent over and laid Tommy in the trunk, more gently than Da

Da

He turned and went back to the TV room. Half a dozen throw pillows of different colors and patterns rested on the couch. He grabbed three. Who really noticed their couch pillows? He walked back to the garage. The boy mumbled something and pulled unconsciously at his bindings.

“Shhh.” Da

Evan smirked and shook his head, but reached for the car door. Da

For once Evan didn’t argue.

“Greenleaf, Greenwood, Forest. These dumbfucks live in Chicago, but all their streets have tree names.” Evan’s voice had a playful tone, the same as when they’d taunted each other playing Pisser all those years ago.

Richard’s house was two blocks behind, and Da

A little.

Because nothing was over, he reminded himself, until Tommy was home. Until Da

That seemed about as real as a prison fantasy, a late-night conversation with a cellie about what you were going to do when you got out. The Italian beef with extra peppers, the redhead that seemed like she might wait. The promise that you’d never again do anything boneheaded enough to return you to jail. For a moment he imagined he were still in prison, that the last seven years had just been a particularly vivid dream.

Then he pulled his shit together. “Yeah, well. Lots of trees.”

Evan grunted, looking out the window to shaded lawns fronting million-dollar homes. “S’pose.”

“Okay. We head back to the trailer. Debbie meets us there. After we get Tommy inside, I’ll make an appearance at the restaurant construction site. You take the car and get it stolen. Then-”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah.” Evan yawned. “We been over this, man.”

“Then,” Da

“Then we get a pint and wait.”

Da

The sedan in his rearview had a blue siren on the dash. “Shit.”

“What?”

“Security.”

“Shit.” Evan straightened in the seat.

The car was a recent-model Ford, the windows tinted just enough that all Da

A block or two, though.

He braked at the sign, a full stop. The bumper of the Ford crept up in the rearview. Da

The blue light flashed on as he rounded the corner.

His sweating palms made the gloves sticky as he braked, gliding the car to a smooth stop. Put it in park but left the engine ru

“He alone?” Evan asked, not turning around.

The man stepped out of the car, a tall guy, thin, with a mustache. He wore a black uniform with a red patch on the chest. “Yeah.”

Evan nodded. The revolver appeared in one hand. He opened the cylinder, spun it, and flipped it back in place. Then he rocked his head to either side, fast. Da

This couldn’t be happening. History couldn’t be about to repeat itself, not while he just sat there and watched everything spin out of control.

It never was in control, Da