MONDAY, 4:00 P.M.—PERRY ST.
The cartel doesn't like to hide out. They never stay in one place, no home base, no lair. Since midnight I've been tailing them and they never stay in the same place for more than a few hours. I got some coffee at the sidewalk stop across the block from their current stop, now I'm just standing like an idiot leaning against a street sign. Two hours, they're still not coming out. I look up at the steel cross above me: Perry and West 4th. Course that's where I ended up.
I look down the road and sure enough I can see the dirty green and white sign. There's a giant truck outside her door, the motor still running. A little jolt pulls me forward, and I figure the Mexicans won't leave for a while. I start walking towards the shop, seeing someone standing next to the driver's side, looking in. Once I'm on the block someone else steps out of the store looking like he's bathed in blood, his clothes smeared, hands dirty, counting a slip of cash before smiling and hopping into the truck, the car speeding down the road. Fuck.
Another jolt sets me off and I launch forward, coffee on the sidewalk and my hand reaching around the hilt of my gun. They're gone by the time I reach the door and when I kick it open there's nothing there. The tiles are still clean, no body on the floor, no yellow hair stained orange and red. My ears are hammering, eyes spinning around the counters. The shelves completely empty, two lobsters crawling over each other in their tanks. They wiped this place clean, they took everything, they took—
"let this groove, light up your fuse, hm hmm hm"
In the far corner there's a stack of crates and ice. She's turned away from me, humming, whorls of hair bobbing with her knee. Kellyn. When the bell on the door rings she turns and looks my way the way she usually does: feet first, then trailing up to my face, chin lifting up. A massive fish with its head still on is in her hands like a pet. We say a quick hello and then nothing for a minute, my breath slow now, blood quiet in my ears. I want to see how she healed; her face is one color again, no limp, no scars. Medicine, she said she studied fish and medicine, right?
"New shippers." She smiles a little and nods towards the boxes, eyes scanning me like an x-ray. I have to laugh a little. New shippers. Come on Frank, you've been on edge for too long. She's okay, she's alright. When I look up she's a little closer, looking at me, studying. Another moment of silence and she looks away. She gets uneasy when I look at her so I take the chance when she's staring at something across the room. She's cleaned up: clothes are fresh and she looks like she's actually slept through the night. I can only imagine what I smell like, and I'm lucky to be standing considering the two full days I've had to tail these guys. Maybe I should go back now.
"Thank you." She's staring at me now, locked on and unafraid. I'm not quite sure which part I'm being thanked for, but I can guess. She turns back and unpacks the fish, asking me what I'm going to do next, and her voice sounds less edgy. "Just looking for some people." She stiffens a little, and I can see her arms flush red, knee moving back and forth. Another silence. I need to go, get back to check if the Mexicans have left the cafeteria. Instead I'm still here, shadowing her as she heaves giant poultry into the bed of ice.
"You know the Cartel?" She whips around and her face is ruddy, eyes wide and confused. I watch the hair flip over her shoulder when she turns. She backs up a little into the counter and clears her throat before telling me they're meat suppliers, smuggle guns in their cargo. Jesus, how does she know this shit? Streets, people, times and dates and details locked in place. I see her hands struggle to grip the tail of a bright silver fish and take a few steps to the counter, grabbing one out of the crate and handing it to her. We're close now, and she holds her hands still for a second, watching me carefully. What are you thinking?
We pass fish back and forth for a few seconds and she finally stops staring, lips relaxed, face still candy-pink. Her hands are ice cold when she touches mine, but I imagine they're smooth. "Why, do you not trust me?" She smiles and I can tell she's not afraid to look at me now. Finally. I take a hand and rub the back of my neck, relaxing the tired muscle. "Eh, still trying to figure that out." Still trying to figure you out.
I grab the tail of another fish but when I look to her again she's frozen, looking over my shoulder to the street. Two men, Mexicans, pressed suits, model 1887s strapped to them under their coats. "You have to go." I hear her blurt out, voice rushed and breathy. I reach behind my jacket, cold metal in my fingers. They're headed right for the store, just a few meters away. My blood boils and I take a step towards the door. They can die in the street, that way she won't have to mop them up.
I stop when she grabs me, tugging back like a child. I jerk and see her short fingers are clutching my arm and her eyes are wide, ogling me. "Please, they haven't seen you." She tugs me again, and I can feel the cold from the ice seeping through my jacket onto my sweaty skin. If I gun them down then the Cartel men will hear, they'll ditch the place and scram to whatever den they're headed for next. "Please." Her voice is coming out in pants, and I let her pull me behind the counter, figuring she's taking me out through the back. Instead she takes me to a huge freezer and pulls the door open, shoving bags of food farther back. "Get in."
"What?" She's looking out the glass window and patting my sore shoulders and back, agitated. She mutters something franticly when I step inside and she pulls the door shut, staring at my shotgun, then me. "Don't come out" she whispers, and I hear the doorbell ring over the sound of the fan inside. It's dark, but she didn't close the door all the way, so I can see her through the open slit, facing the counter, stick straight. When I breathe it comes out as fog, and the sweat on my skin feels like it's turning into ice. I hold the barrel of the gun against the door, ready, waiting. The cold tightens my muscles and makes me tense, staring out of the crack with my neck exposed to the air.
They tell her they're taking over for the Germans and I want to jump out, spray the room with gunpowder. They work for him, the one who owns the club, the one who's distributing chemicals and weapons in the town. The Cartel men call him the Chemist. It almost makes me grateful for the nickname I got. He's the top of the pyramid, the head honcho. I'm not back here for him, but he's definitely on my list.
Instead of backing down to them she shuts them off, walking past the fridge and grabbing something. I can hear ice crunching and her feet coming close to the door before I see her fingers wrap around the frame, pulling the handle and opening the door. They still can't see me, but she reaches inside, a bag of meat in her hand. When she leans inside her hair brushes against my ear, placing the bag on the ground, and she looks at me closely, no sound coming from either of us. Even in the dark I can see the dots on her face.
She pulls back and closes the door completely so I can't see anything, and the fan makes it almost impossible to hear. I lean close to the door and the tip of my gun clicks against the steel. Shit. I pull back a little and wait. Muffled voices still. I hold still, arms tight to my sides, waiting until I hear the bell ring again to kick the door, stepping out onto the tile. She jumps and watches me walk over to the glass, looking for which direction they went. I'm assuming she knows who they are just as much as I do.
She says his real name: Kurt Shtolen. When I cock the gun she rushes over to me, frantic again. "You can't go after them." She talks fast, hands bobbing weirdly, eyebrows crossed. It's not till I'm at the door that she reaches for me again, stopping cold when I turn to her. She said my name. Her eyes are sharp, probing me for something. I held still, the heat coming back to my skin. Her hands looked like they could be reaching for me.
I walk back out into the street, looking towards the cafeteria. Sure enough all six are piling into a black van, heading south. I follow on foot, the hard metal stabbing into my back when I walk. By the time I get to their stop for the night the sun's been gone for an hour, yellow streetlamps lighting the warehouse. One guy standing watch, short, barely put up a fight. The rest were inside playing poker, loud TV in the background. So loud nobody heard the first one when I put him on the ground.
It started off fine. They didn't see me coming so I got about five or six down before they swarmed. Somewhere along the way they'd pushed me into another fridge, white walls and hookfuls of meat swinging side by side. I was taking three at once when one sliced my back with a Bowie, a massive gash running up my spine. I went into overdrive, hanging them on hooks and slicing them at the gut. Only when I was walking out of the fridge could I actually feel the blood that soaked my jacket and pants. My face was busted and my arms were cut to shreds, hands dripping with the Cartel.
When I got back out into the night I stumbled, socks wet with sweat and blood. I was way too far from the garage, too weak to run, barely good enough to walk. I made my way through alleys and backways, two hours of walking and bleeding till I had to stop and lean on something, my vision was starting to blur, a drunk and hungover feeling in my head. I looked up at the streetsign, trying to gauge how far I had to go, how long it could make it. I was on Greenwich but I was still almost 15 blocks away. Fuck.
I make a quick and foggy decision and walk North for a block, back to the same spot I'd been a few times before. I looked up at the building, all brick, cracked and scrawny. There's words echoing in my head, blending together, keeping me moving. Medicine, medicine, Maria, medicine, water, FrankandLisa, keep going, secondfloor, lay down, just a fewmoreminutes, Kellyn.
I just about collapse outside of her door, leaning hard against the frame, my hands soggy and red. I make a knocking sound against the chipped wood and close my eyes.