Knocked Up by the Killer

We didn’t say a word for one long moment.

“You could’ve called,” he said at last.

“Wasn’t sure you’d answer.”

“I’m not stupid enough to ignore you.”

“I thought this would make my point.”

Dante grunted, didn’t move his gun. “What do you want, Tanner?”

“I want to talk.”

“Hard to talk with a gun in my face.”

“Lower yours,” I said. “And I’ll lower mine.”

“You broke into my house. My wife and kid are up there.”

“I know,” I said. “I wanted to make a point.”

“Which is what?”

“I know where you sleep.” I tilted my head. “And next time, I won’t make any noise when I come in.”

He lowered his gun with a disgusted noise. I lowered mine but didn’t put it away. He came down the steps, walked past me, and headed into the kitchen. I thought it was pretty brave that he turned his back to me.

He put his gun down on the table, opened a little closet, and brought out a broom. He began to sweet up the glass.

I lingered in the kitchen doorway before putting my gun back into my waistband and crossing my arms.

“Kid’s starting to walk,” he said. “Can’t have glass around.”

“That’s cute,” I said.

He just grunted. “What do you want?”

“We need to talk about Elise.”

“Not much to say, there,” he said. “I want her dead. You want her alive. Blah blah blah.” He sighed and found a dustpan before sweeping the glass into it. “I don’t know why we keep going over this.”

He dumped the glass into a trashcan then leaned against the counter.

“She ran to her father,” I said.

Dante looked surprised. His eyebrows shot up and he tilted his head. “So what the fuck are you doing here, then?” he asked. “The girl left. She’s not your problem anymore.”

“She’s still very much my problem.” I paused, looked back at the baby toys on the floor, and cursed. “She’s pregnant.”

Dante laughed. It was like he couldn’t help it. He put his hands to his face and laughed then shook his head like he couldn’t believe a word I just said.

“You’re joking, right?”

“I got her pregnant,” I said. “First night we met, I bet. Wasn’t careful.”

“Holy shit,” he said. “You’re really not joking.”

“Just found out. I think it scared her, so she went running back to her father.”

“She’s pregnant with a killer’s baby. Can you blame her?”

I grimaced. “No. I understand what she’s feeling.”

“I doubt that very much.” Dante turned and opened a cabinet.

I tensed, ready to pull my gun. He brought down a bottle of whiskey and two glasses. I relaxed as he filled them and placed mine on the table.

He held his glass up. “To fatherhood,” he said.

I took my glass, helped it up, and drank. “Good stuff,” I said.

Dante stared at me, sipped his whiskey, and refilled his glass. He held the bottle toward me and I accepted a refill.

“Let me give you some advice,” he said.

“That’s not really why I’m here.”

He held up a hand. “Humor me.”

“Fine.”

“Babies are a different thing for men,” he said. “For women, babies mean their whole life is about to change, whether they want it to or not. Their bodies change, their lifestyles change. They can mitigate those changes, of course, but it’s never the same.”

“Babies affect men too,” I said.

“Not the same, not really.” Dante took a deep breath and let it out. “It’ll change your life, of course. I’m not the same man I was before the baby. Gino came along and changed everything, but for me it was almost superficial, you know?”

“I don’t,” I said.

“Aida does everything for that boy. We both love him, and I do as much as I can, but I work all the time. When a woman gets pregnant, she knows it means her whole life’s about to be radically different in so many ways. Women see it, you know, they’re told their whole lives what it means to be a mother. When it happens, I don’t know, man, shit just gets real.”

“So you’re saying that I can’t understand how she’s feeling right now?” I asked.

“Pretty much. Girl’s going through some shit. She’s pregnant by a guy she barely knows, a guy that was supposed to kill her a few weeks ago. Her whole life got flipped around and she’s probably feeling pretty lost.”

“I appreciate the fatherly advice,” I said. “But it doesn’t change my situation.”

“Maybe you give her some space, yeah?” He tilted his head, finished his drink. “Might be good for you both.”

“Give me her father’s address.”

“Why do you think I have it?”

“Dante.”

He grunted and waved a hand at me. He rattled off an address and I committed it to memory. He finished his drink and poured another. I sipped my second but tried to keep a cool head.

“Just saying, don’t go rushing off and do something stupid.”

“What do you care?” I asked. “You’re killing the girl, right?”