Steven’s face went white, but he nodded his head, jerking it back toward his house. “Come in.”
I followed him inside, Clair coming along behind.
His place was neat, modern, sleek. Small splashes of color broke up the otherwise brown and gray scheme. There was a leather couch, long wood table with red fabric-covered chairs, and pictures on the wall.
“Sit,” Steven said, pointing at the couch.
“It’ll get bloody,” I said.
Steven grunted, rubbed his face. “Your blood?”
“No,” I said. “Martin’s.”
He stared at me. “Dead?”
“Dead,” I said.
“Fuck.” He paced back and forth. “All right. Upstairs. Guest room. I’ll get you clean clothes. I don’t want to wake up Colleen if we don’t have to.”
“Fine,” I said.
He took us up the steps to the first door on the right. Basic room, queen-sized bed, end tables, flower pattern comforter.
“Stay here,” he said.
I nodded as he disappeared then turned to Clair. She walked over to the window, stared outside at the empty street.
“You okay?” I asked.
“Ears ringing again.”
“That’ll stop.”
She turned back to me. “What are we going to do? What if my uncle is dead?”
“He’s not,” I said. “No way they’d let the Jalisco get near.”
“How’d they even get inside?”
I paused, shook my head. “I don’t know.”
She watched me then turned back to the window, and I wanted to say more. I wanted to tell her it would be fine, we’d get her mother back, we’d fix everything. I could see the defeat in the way she moved, the way she looked around. I wanted to reach inside her and bring her back to life, restart her heart, make her feel again.
But it was just the shock. It would wear off, sooner or later.
Steven came back a minute later. He knocked once, came inside, tossed a pair of sweats and a t-shirt on the bed for me and a pair of yoga pants and a tank top for Clair.
“Thanks,” I said.
“Get changed and come down to talk to me,” he said, then looked at Clair. “Make sure she sleeps.”
“I don’t think I can sleep,” she said.
“Try anyway,” Steven said. “Luca, hurry up.” He left without another word.
I stripped out of my bloody clothes and carefully folded them. I left them on the hardwood floor in the corner, trying not to spread the blood. Clair just stood there, staring at me, as I got changed.
“Clothes,” I said.
“My mom—”
“Clothes,” I said again.
I saw a flash of anger. A little brief burst of life.
But it faded. She stripped down, got changed, threw her bloody shirt on the bedspread heedless of the mess.
I grunted and shook my head, piling her clothes on top of mine.
“Stay here,” I said. “Try to get some sleep if you can. I promise we’re going to do what we can for your mom.”
“They’ll hurt her,” she said, stating a fact.
I didn’t want to lie to her. I really, really didn’t want to start telling her pretty lies. But I knew that if I gave her the whole truth, it might break her further, and I needed her whole, needed her thinking.
“She’ll be okay,” I said. “She’s important. If they kill her, they don’t have leverage.”
“But she’s expendable. In the long-term.”
I gestured at the bed. “Sleep, Clair.”
She turned back to the window without a word.
I left her there, staring out at the street, her face blank and empty. She was a mannequin, a representation of herself. She was in shock, and sooner or later she’d wake up again, but right now she was barely there.
I found Steven sitting at the kitchen table on the phone, glass of whiskey in front of him, another glass in front of the seat across from him.
“Right,” he said into the phone. “That’s right. How bad? How many? Fuck, okay, I understand. Yeah, I’ll gather them. Right, he’s here. Okay, okay. Fine.” He shook his head, hung up the phone, stared at me.
“What’s going on?” I asked.
“You fucking tell me,” he said. “You’re the one showing up at my door covered in blood in the middle of the night.”
“Shit went down at the Don’s,” I said, drinking the whiskey. It was good stuff, left a slight burn, but felt warm in my stomach. It helped to unwind some of the kinks in my brain. “We heard gunshots, yelling. I barely got out.”
“How many dead?”
“I don’t know,” I said. “Martin for sure. I killed at least four, maybe five.”
“Five Jalisco?”
“Yeah, and they had more.”
“I didn’t know they had that kind of firepower.”
“They must’ve been hiding it from us,” I said. “The Don told me something like that might happen soon, but I don’t think he ever thought they’d come to his place.”
“Nobody would’ve guessed that.”
“Who was on the phone?”
“Vincent,” he said. “He’s out looking for his dad right now.”
“He’s got to be alive,” I said. “No way he didn’t have an escape plan.”
“Yeah, I agree. And I don’t think the Don was the target, anyway.”