Broken (8 page)

“Because people are looking for her.”

“I bet they are. So you decided to join the crowd, did you?”

Lex nods.

“Here’s a bit of advice. I would leave your sister alone. I would go back to whatever home you have and leave things be. She’ll
be found. But not by you.”

“What do you want with her?”

“What do I want? Nothing. Nothing at all. Just two or three years of my life back. But that’s all. Nothing else.”

The air blowing out of the vent above him is cold and causes Lex to shiver. He is still groggy from the blow to the head.

“You’re not a part of this, so my advice to you is to leave. Leave Chicago today. This is not your problem, and Laila is not
yours. You seem like a good kid so stay that way. You have family, Lex?”

He nods.

“Then go back home to them. I don’t ever want to see your face again. I don’t ever want to get another call from you. And
hear me when I say this. If, in some miraculous bit of blind, stupid luck, you do find your sister, you tell her to come back
home to Rodney. Because if she doesn’t I will not only hunt her down, but I’ll add you to the mix. You got it?”

“Yeah.”

“That’s good. Hey, Dan. We’re all done here.”

The car slows down as it pulls off to the side of the freeway. “Get out.”

“Here?” Lex opens the door and hears a blast of sound coming from a passing semi.

“You’ve wasted enough of my time and energy for one night. That’s all it’s going to be too. You forget about that skank of
a sister, and you go back home.”

Lex watches the car drive off, and then he stares off in the distance, the Chicago skyline beautiful and bright.

He stares at the heavens above it and wonders if this was all a mistake.

“Lord, please help me. Help me find her.”

Then he starts walking, continuing to pray, continuing to try and beg God to let him find Laila.

Especially now.

There was a time, as brief as a blink, when I thought things were going to work out. When I thought the busyness had brought
me to this place in my life, this place of meaning. I began to believe that I could let go and live. But that all crumbled
before me, and I realized how foolish I was to believe in the first place.

Hope is a dangerous thing. Because when it is pulled from underneath your feet, you find you have a long way to fall.

The drop is always painful.

So many things break even though you have to get back up on your feet and try walking again. Even if you have no idea where
to go.

T
he young man, probably in his mid or late twenties, gets out of his car and tries to make his way around to open her door,
but Laila is already out.

They walk into her apartment complex, a newer building with gates at the front. Nothing hard to get into, especially with
all the people going through. James already knows the traffic patterns coming and going well. He’s been here spying on the
place long enough to have them memorized.

He turns up the radio and stares at the darkened street in front of him.

This is the third time he’s seen the two of them together.

It’s a habit he doesn’t like. More than that, it’s a habit that’s making him nervous.

He thinks of making a call when a hand tugs at him through his open window.

“Hey—you awake?”

James curses and looks through his open window. It’s a cop.

“Wide awake,” he says.

“Then you better move that car of yours. I don’t see a handicapped sticker.”

“Well yeah. I’m waiting for somebody.”

“Saw you here an hour ago.”

He studies the pudgy face and the lazy eyes and then forces himself to smile. “Guess they aren’t going to come.”

“I’m not in the mood to write a ticket tonight.”

“You’re a kind man.”

James starts the car as he wonders what it would sound like to break the fat man’s neck. There are few things in this life
he hates more than a guy who gets a badge and a gun and thinks he’s king of the world. Where he comes from they aren’t anything
except someone to pay off.

“You have a good night then,” the policeman says with a slow drawl that James would like to smother.

“You too. See you around.”

He wonders if the cop can hear the sarcasm on his words. Doesn’t matter.

He drives around the block and finds an empty spot to park his car. Then he gets out, making sure the handgun he took from
Laila is safely tucked underneath the passenger’s seat. If his car was searched, they would find more than that in the trunk,
but James knows there’s no reason for the rental car to get searched.

James walks toward the front of the apartment building, then sits on a bench to wait for Laila’s new friend.

He wants to make sure he gets a good look at the face he’s about to bloody up.

•   •   •

Even before they had made the trip out to see his cousin and pick up the handgun, Kyle had brought a bottle of red wine to
help Laila relax. At the sight of it, she had rolled her eyes and almost said something, but Kyle quickly made it clear he
had no bad intentions and that he would leave whenever she wanted him to.

That was a couple of hours and several glasses ago. The bottle is finished and has settled in well with the two of them. It
sits on her table in the family room right next to the handgun they borrowed.

Perhaps having those items make it easy for Laila to talk. She can’t remember a time when she has simply opened up and talked
about anything and everything. A little personal and a little forgettable but all a little too enjoyable.

“Where’d you grow up?”

Laila is tucked under a blanket sitting on her love seat, Kyle sitting next to it on the floor with one arm leaning on the
couch.

“A small town in Texas that you’ve never heard of.”

“Try me.”

“Brady.”

“You’re right. Never heard of it.”

“It’s the dead center of Texas. That’s the way you’d find it.”

“I don’t think I would have guessed that, though you do have the spunk of a Texan.”

“I get it from my mother. So I was told.”

“You don’t know for sure?”

“She died when I was four.”

“Sorry.”

“Yeah. Never knew her. I grew up knowing stories. She was German, my father is Mexican. How they ever got together beats me.”

“You don’t know?”

“No. My father’s many things, but not a romantic. He doesn’t like dwelling in the past. My mother is more of a historical
footnote than a heartfelt memory. My father can show emotion but certainly not talk about it.”

“What made you move away?”

“Brady or New York? Hmm. Which city have you heard of?”

“So that’s what did it?”

“It’s a long story, and I’d need a lot more wine and time.”

“I can oblige.”

“I’m sure you can. I’m fine with all we had. Tell me about yourself. I like listening rather than talking.”

“Not much to tell. I’m not originally from Greenville.”

“I can tell. You don’t have a strong accent.”

“I grew up in Cincinnati, Ohio. Moved down here for school. Then stayed.”

Laila shifts as she asks him which college.

“Gamecocks.”

“Sorry?”

“Don’t follow football, do you? Not even a little?” He sees her shake her head. “University of South Carolina.”

“Oh.”

“Did you go anywhere?”

“No.”

For a moment the no is open-ended. There is more to come. But then it hovers in the air like a golf ball, finally coming back
down on the fairway and landing all by itself.

“You know. My questions are just to get to know you. To find out a little more about you.”

“Why?” she asks.

“Because… well, among other things, many other things, I think you’re fascinating.”

“I’m really not.”

“Anybody who asks for a gun late on a Sunday night is interesting.”

“Or psychotic.”

“I guess if you had wanted to kill me, you would’ve already done so.”

She forces a smile and takes a sip from her glass.

“What type of trouble are you in?”

“It doesn’t matter.”

“It matters enough to get a gun,” Kyle says, his face so fresh and seemingly innocent.

“But it shouldn’t matter you one bit.”

“Is there anything I can do?”

She smiles, finishes the wine, then laughs. “You know, we used to have coyotes on our land back in Brady. We had a lot of
property, and sometimes these nasty coyotes would come and get into things. Kill our animals. I remember when I was young
and scared, I asked my father what he was going to do one night. It was late and he had a rifle and he was going out. He had
that look on his face, that look that said he was up to something. And that’s what he said to me.”

“What?”

“ ‘It shouldn’t matter you one bit.’ I think the better saying is it shouldn’t bother me one bit, but I always liked the way
he said that. Imagine this big gruff Mexican with a deep accent saying, ‘It shouldn’t matter you one bit.’”

“It matters to me, Laila.”

“I know. Thank you. Thank you for doing this.”

“For sipping wine with probably the most beautiful woman I’ve seen in my life?”

She tightens her lips, glancing away.

“I’m sorry. It’s true. I just had to say that. Not that you haven’t heard that before.”

“Thank you. Thank you for everything.”

“That sounds like something you’ve said a thousand times before.”

“Maybe.” Laila pauses. “But I’ve never said it to someone like you.”

“My cousin sure liked you.”

“Yes, he did.”

They both laugh.

“Sorry he was a bit—well, you know.”

“That’s okay. He was harmless.”

“Yeah. But he’s got a one-track mind.”

“I’m used to one-track minds.”

“Yeah, I bet.”

“Sometimes it seems like the world has a one-track mind, you know?”

Kyle nods.

“Do you like it around here?” she asks, changing the subject.

“Where? Greenville or the South?”

“Both, I guess.”

“I love Greenville. Never thought I’d still be at the bank, but I guess in today’s economy, any job is a good job. Especially
at a bank, you know? Believe it or not I always wanted to be a photographer.”

“Why aren’t you?”

“Oh, I don’t know. Back in college it was a hobby, but I was never really serious about it. You blink and ten years pass,
you know?”

She nods.

“I still do it from time to time. Not sure how I could have made much money from it. That’s what it usually boils down to.
A dream is just that. You realize you have to be like the rest of the world and earn a living.”

“Dreams are overrated.”

“Think so?” Kyle asks.

“I know so.”

“See. The fascination continues.”

She shakes her head. “I’ll write you a book, okay? Then you’ll realize I’m not particularly fascinating. You’ll realize the
sad truth. Ordinary, boring, not at all fascinating.”

“But do you really look at life like that? Seriously?”

“I’ve seen ten thousand dreams destroyed. Or so it seems, at least.”

“Sounds like a country song.”

Laila smiles. “Could be one. It’d sure be a sad one.”

“Here’s the way I look at life. My brother was killed when he was ten years old. Some freak accident riding his bike—one of
those you’d never believe unless it actually happened to your family. It changed everything. For me, for my family. But I’ll
tell you something crazy. It’s made me appreciate life, even now, almost twenty years later.”

“I’m sorry.”

Kyle appears to think for a moment. “And I have no idea why I just told you that. None. Except—well, you mentioned the sad
bit. Do you know that some days I feel Keith looking over me? Looking out for me?”

“Maybe he is.”

“You believe in heaven?”

“Not anymore.”

“I believe everything happens for a reason, that Keith watches over me. And so—I say that because this—this right now. I don’t
think this is random. There’s a reason we’re here.”

“Yes. It’s because I needed a gun and you were someone that appeared trustworthy.”

“Yeah, but, sure—I get that.”

“That’s all. Everything is completely random.”

“Do you really believe that?”

“Did my mother’s death have deep profound meaning? No. It just happened. I’ve seen some people who have lived charmed lives.
People said that about me—how lucky I was. How I had a charmed life. I don’t know if anybody really has a charmed life, to
be honest. But I think some people are protected more than others. And it comes down to fate and chance. It comes down to
complete and random luck.”

“That’s a pessimistic view, I’d say.”

“You have a right to say whatever you want. I say it’s realistic. I say it’s true. It’s the only truth I know.”

“Do you believe in miracles?”

“No. But I bet you sure do.”

Kyle smiles and looks away and scratches his arm, appearing nervous.

“Go ahead, tell me one,” she says.

“No. Maybe some other time.”

“I believe that crazy things happen every day to everybody. But I just don’t believe there’s a puppet master behind them.”

“Man, I just—I don’t know what I’d do if I didn’t believe. That’s the scary thing. Thinking that all this—this crazy, big
fat world is just drifting through time and space completely on its own. That would make everything feel so—I don’t know.
So fragile. So breakable.”

“But that’s what we all are. We’re all delicate, fragile souls. Every single one of us.”

For a moment he’s about to say something more, but Laila sits up, stretches, then glances at a nearby clock. “I better get
to bed.”

“Look, I didn’t mean to be so deep. So personal.”

“It’s okay. I went there too. It wasn’t just you. This was nice. Sitting here, talking.”

“I told you I don’t bite.”

“No teeth marks yet.” She checks her arms. “But wait until I wake up tomorrow.”

Laila thinks about what she just said. “I mean—I didn’t mean—”

He laughs and says, “I know. It’s fine.”

“It’s late.”