SHANK (A Wilde Crime Series) (31 page)

She nodded. “And two?”

I grinned. “
Come closer and I’ll show you.”

She laughed. “
I think it’s because you’ll do anything to have me.”

“I will, huh?”

The tip of her tongue darted along the edge of her teeth. “You will.”

******

What was wrong with me? I’d spent the last four hours making love to the woman of my dreams, and now I lay in bed, her beautiful body covering mine, wondering about her motives. She blew hot and cold, and it made me crazy. One day, she wanted to be friends and the next she’s pissed at me for supposedly sleeping with another woman. To top it off, she almost ended up in prison for a murder I’d committed. 

I cared about her. I wanted her, but d
id I love her? I’m not sure I’d ever loved anyone. Don’t get me wrong. I’d said the words in a pinch. A naked, drunken pinch, but I’d never meant them. So why did the thought of losing her make me sick?

“Ian?” S
he touched my chest with a feather like caress. “It will be all right.”

“That’s my line.”
I grinned and kissed her fingertips.

“What are you worrying about?”

“What if it isn’t Morrissey? What if he’s dead?”

She kissed me. “You’ll win i
n the end. The hero always does. It’s why you wear a white hat, and get to sleep with the pretty girls.”

“Too bad this isn’t a movie. I’d have had you naked in the first ten minutes, and you’d spend the rest of your days waiting for me.”

“Hmmm…the naked part sounds interesting.” She trailed her hand along my thigh. “But I could do without the waiting. I’d prefer it if I sailed off into the sunset while you pined for me until your dying day. Mind you, that’s like ninety years of pining, so you better save your strength.”

“Sounds good, but too bad it won’t happen like that.”

“Why’s that?”

I rolled on top of her. “I’m not the pining type.”

“You could learn.”

“I just m
ight.” I kissed her hard, capturing her hands in mine.

“I didn’t sleep with Clair.” I stroked Frankie’s hair, running my fingers down the fiery red strands. Red suited her. Stubborn, beautiful red.

She glanced up, raising an eyebrow. “
I didn’t ask.”

“
Thought you should know just the same.” She lowered her gaze, but I nudged her chin up to look me in the eyes. “I admit to spending some time with her prior to our…association…”

“You
don’t need to explain.”

“Yeah, I do. I don’t want to hurt you
, but I’m not sure I can avoid it.”

“You won’t
hurt me. For a long time I’ve had this silly schoolgirl fantasy that one day you’d fall at my feet.” She picked at a thread on the thin sheet covering us.

“
Some fantasy.” I laughed.

“
Loving you isn’t like I planned. Sometimes I feel like I’m walking a tightrope and any minute I’ll come crashing down. With you, I have no safety net and that terrifies me.”

“I wish things could be different.”

“I don’t. I’m not a kid anymore, and loving you isn’t some sort of fairytale. If you can’t love me back, I’ll survive.” Her lips brushed my chin. “I plan to enjoy what we have, even if it’s a few hours or a couple of years.”

I looked into her vividly
blue eyes and called her bluff. “Liar.”

She shrugged, a small smile on her lips.
“We’ll see. Besides you aren’t exactly a prize.”

“Who wouldn’t want a piece of this?” M
y hand traveled along my scarred chest. A six-inch scar from a serrated knife crisscrossed my torso, and a two-inch bullet wound sat inches from my heart. Bruises lined my ribcage, and chemical burns peeled on my left flank. Yeah, I was a dream come true. 

“Sometimes
I wonder what I see in you.” Frankie laughed, and threw a leg over me, straddling my body. Her hair brushed my face as she leaned down to kiss me.

When we broke that kiss, I
stared into her beautiful face. “I ask myself the same thing every day.”

******

The next morning a gunshot sounded from the street below. I jumped from my bed, pulling my M1911 and ran for the stairs. “Stay down,” I yelled to Frankie as my foot hit the top stair.

“Ian, wait.” She rushed toward
me, a pair of pants in her hands. Fuck. I glanced down at my nakedness, and swept the jeans out of her hands. “Thanks.” I shoved the Levi’s on and ran shirtless and barefoot down the rest of the stairs. I caught sight of Andy at the bottom of the steps. He had decided to stay the night with Roxanne in the backroom. Her kid spent the night at Colin’s.

“Where’d it come from?” I headed for the window, sticking close to the wall to avoid any stray bullets.

Andy rushed the door. “Don’t know. I can’t see shit. Haven’
t you ever heard of Windex?” Gunfire, a regular occurrence in the neighborhood, was directed at me once too often this month for comfort. 

“What’s happening?” Frankie
stood on the stairs, gripping a shotgun.

“Drug hit, I think.
Keep down.” I opened the door and peeked out. Nothing out of the ordinary. No bodies on the avenue. No blood. I took another step outside, thinking this might be it. Mike was finally making his move.

A scream from the alley
pierced my heart. Joey-Dean. Before I reached the alley, Frankie ran past. “Oh, God, no. Call 9-1-1,” she screamed, kneeling next to the small boy covered in dark, red blood. 

Andy dialed t
he cops as I bent down to assess Joey-Dean’s injuries. I’d seen enough blood and death in the military to know his chance of survival depended on emergency triage. I shut my mind to the fact Joey-Dean lay dying in a garbage-filled alleyway, and went to work.

His face, pale with shock, lost more color as blood pooled around his young body
. I ripped open his shirt, revealing a hole the size of a quarter in his stomach. Maybe a .25. I gently turned him over. No exit wound. Fuck. No exit wound meant the bullet ricocheted off organs or bones. The possibility that he’d bleed out before our eyes was a real one.

“Joey…” I touched his cheek, praying for a lucid response.

“Ian, is that you?”

“Yeah, kid. Open your eyes.”
I applied pressure to the wound with the ragged ends of his t-shirt. “Help’s on the way. Just stay with me.”

Joey-Dean gave a weak cough, blood
spurting from his mouth. “I’m sorry…I…wanted to…help…”

“You’ve got nothing to b
e sorry for.” Frankie gripped his hand tightly, her eyes never wavering from his, as if she could will him to stay alive.

“Who did this, Joey?”
I asked, searching the alley for any indication. What kind of monster shot a kid?

“Was…that guy
…bad guy…couple of days ago…” His eyes rolled back into his head and his body jerked once before going slack. I frantically searched for a pulse. Frankie sobbed, nearly incoherently. I could hear Andy on the phone with 911, but time had run out. No pulse.

I pressed my lips to his, inf
lating his lungs. I counted off and switched positions to start chest compressions. As my hands pushed down on his chest I felt a faint quiver of blood pumping through the chambers of his heart. His eyelids fluttered. I pulled back, listening to the greatest sound in the world. Joey-Dean’s slow, abet shallow breathing.

A red and white ambulance pulled
into the alley, lights and sirens screaming. Two paramedics rushed to Joey’s side. Frankie, Andy, and I stood back, watching them stabilize Joey-Dean before rushing him onto a gurney and into the ambulance. “Are any of you his parent or guardian? We need someone to give consent,” one of the paramedics questioned, looking doubtful but determined.

Obvious
we weren’t, but Frankie nodded. “I am.” She jumped into the ambulance.

“Keep me posted,” I yelled before they slammed the doors and
sped off. I wanted to follow, but I had to find Joey-Dean’s brother and the bastard that shot him. A name flashed in my head. Roberto. A couple of days ago he’d been at the bar with Frankie. Joey-Dean had seen him that day. I past Joey on the street, and he was upset.

“Are you gonna let her go?” he asked with anger.

I shrugged. I wasn’t happy about the situation. As a matter of fact, it made me sick, but Frankie made her own choices. “She’s an adult. If she wants to be with him, so be it.”

“That’s bullshit. He’s a bad
guy, and she’s gonna get hurt.”

Bad guy.

Why
the fuck would Roberto shoot a kid? I needed answers and I needed them fast.

“He’s in surgery now. The doctor thinks it will be awhile.” Frankie’s voice cracked as she gave me the news over the phone a few hours later. “Any luck finding his brother or mom?”

“No, but Mickey and Andy
are out looking.” I glanced around the bar. Roxanne sat in the coroner reading a magazine while I paced like a caged rat. The stuffy room smelled of stale beer and cigarette smoke with a trace of Frankie’s perfume. The scent comforted me, and that freaked me out. If I didn’t watch it, I’d sprout poetry and make homemade potpourri.

After a second or two of silence, she asked, “What are you up to?”

I ignored her question
, and instead asked one of my own. “Tell me about Roberto.”

“Now isn’t the time.”

“I think it’s the perfect time. If I’m right, he’s the guy that shot Joey,” I paused, letting my words sink it, “and the guy we’ve been looking for all this time.” Even as I said it, I wasn’t completely convinced. What did Roberto have against the crew? Hell, until a few days ago, he didn’t know any of us.

“Ian, i
t’s not like that—”

The cell phone cut out.
I tapped it in frustration. Perfect fucking timing.

“He
has a deal with—”

The line faded out once again.
“Hello? Frankie? Fuck.” The call dropped. I threw the phone on the bar, and a second later, it rang again. “What deal?” I yelled into it.

“Ian? Is that you?
What’s going on? I got a call that there was a shooting at the bar. Someone said Frankie went to the hospital?” Drew sounded scared, out of breath, and high.

“Frankie’s okay. Som
eone shot Joey-Dean.”

“
Is that the kid who always hangs around? The one with the gangster brother?”

“Yeah, we found him
in the alley behind the bar. Frankie went to the hospital with him.” My mind flashed to the blood. So much blood. I glanced down at my hands, still feeling the sticky residue on my skin. I put the phone between my shoulder and ear and shoved my hands into the bleach-filled sink.

“Man, I’m sorry. I hope he’s okay.”

“Me too. It didn’t look good that’s for sure.”

“The kid
ID the shooter?”

“Kind of,” I said. “
I’m thinking it was your friend, Roberto.”

Drew
paused. “Why would he plug a kid?”

“That’s
the question I’d like him to answer.” I smiled with grim determination. “Any idea where I might find him?”

“Guess we were wrong about Morrissey.”
He sighed. “Let me make some calls to track down Roberto.”

******

Roxanne glared at me. “Sit down.”

I frowned, but continued to pace.
Things clicked into place, giving new meaning to the danger we faced. I hadn’t heard back from Frankie. I dialed her cell phone again, but it went straight to voicemail.

“You’re freaking me out,
” Roxanne said, jumping from her barstool.

“Sorry.”
I stopped, taking a seat at the bar. My fingers traced the six names etched into the wood. The crew. Mickey, Drew, Andy, Neil, Colin, and me. Ten years ago, home on leave, I’d scratched out names into the wood after a barroom brawl with a group of bikers. I didn’t remember the fight, but I did remember ending up with two black eyes, a chipped tooth, and Becky Miller.

“They mean a lot to you, huh?” Roxanne
stood over my shoulder.

I nodded. “We’ve been through a lot together. I’d die for
any one of them.”

“I know wh
at you mean. Mike was like that.” She placed her small hand on my arm. “Andy reminds me a lot of him.”

“He’ll look out for you.”

“Maybe it’s time I looked out for myself,” she said, her voice strong and clear. “Even better, how about I watch his back?”

I laughed, but stopped when a look of hurt crossed her face. “Good idea.
Andy needs a protector.”

“What about you? When are you gonna let Frankie save your ass?”