Devil's Bargain

“Miss, your car is ready.”

“My car?” I remember how rudely I was brought here.

“Hawk—”

That’s right. Hawk.

I shake my head. “No, thank you.” Best to get back into my world as soon as possible. “I’m fine. I don’t need a ride.”

“But I was told—”

“I’m fine,” I repeat and walk out of the casino and into the summer heat. I walk down the street for a moment feeling like people I pass know what I did last night. My walk of shame.

Around the corner, I have to sprint to make the bus. I only look back once at the building as we pull away from the stop. Only crane my neck to look at the penthouse level for a moment before I dig out my phone and call the shop. I leave a message for Deirdre to let her know that I’ll be late today. I don’t tell her why. I then read the text from Jim, my mechanic, telling me my car is ready.

At least that’s one thing going my way.

From the bus stop, I walk three blocks to the garage and when I get there, I see the old model VW Golf in the lot. I walk into the office, glancing at the lone car in the shade of the garage.

Jim is inside on a call and nods in greeting when I enter. It takes him a few minutes to wrap up the call before he looks up at me.

“Out-of-towners,” he says, shaking his head. “They expect everything for free these days.” He looks down over his reading glasses at the ancient computer screen and pushes a button. The old printer starts chugging. “And you, miss, you can’t keep driving that thing like you are,” he says to me, setting a printout on the counter. “Duct tape cannot hold a car together.”

I’ve been known to do my own repairs now and again, but this car just needs to get me from point A to point B. House to shop and back. I can’t afford expensive repairs.

“It’s fine for now, Jim. What’s the damage?”

He hands the printout to me and explains what he did, which I don’t follow, but I trust Jim. I bought the car from him years ago and I’ve been coming to him for repairs since.

“Okay,” I say, digging my credit card out of my wallet and handing it over to him. “Here you go.”

Eight-hundred dollars is still more than I want to spend, but I have no choice. Besides, any other garage would charge me double that.

When he runs it through the little machine, I keep my fingers crossed it’ll go through.

I think about last night again. At the sound of Hawk’s voice calling out the quarter-of-a-million-dollars like it’s nothing. Spare change.

Jim puts the receipt in front of me. I sign it, then take my keys but before I go, and for reasons I don’t quite understand myself, I lean over the counter and hug him.

He’s obviously caught off guard, but he pats my back.

“Thanks for everything, Jim. I really appreciate it.”

“Anytime, kiddo,” he says, his old eyes worried when I give him a sad smile.

No, I do know why I do it. I’ve tried not to think of Liza for years. Anytime guilt crept in, I pushed it away, going back to what happened. To the fact that she lied.

We were in this together. We had a plan. But she betrayed me and when I got the chance to run, I took it.

But leaving her there, that was my betrayal of her, wasn’t it? And a more dangerous one?

I drop my tote in the passenger seat and start the car. The reality of Liza being here and what that could mean settles like a brick in my belly.

I need to go to the hospital. I need to see Liza, make sure she’s okay. Make sure she hasn’t told Sean I’m here. But first I need to go home and change my clothes.

Once I arrive at the little yellow house, I go up to my room and put on a pair of jeans and a T-shirt. Then, before I leave the bedroom, I think of something.

What if she’s called Sean? Or if she was unconscious, maybe the hospital staff would have found her identification and contacted next of kin. They did adopt her once I was out of the picture and it makes sense that they’d call him if she was unable to.

Would she tell him about me being here? I want to believe she wouldn’t.

Just in case, I take a duffel bag out of the closet and throw some clothes in.

From the bathroom, I gather my toothbrush and a few toiletries, putting them in too. It’s just a precaution, I tell myself. I don’t want to leave. It’s just in case I have to.

Things are different now, though. With the shop and so many people depending on me.