Iron Night (10 page)

“Are you always hungry?” Hosting Suzume was already proving to be a drain on my wallet, and I winced.

“I'm a fox, Fort. We're opportunistic predators.”

“Meaning that you're always hungry as long as I'm buying.”

She smiled. “We can discuss that further when you get me a cannoli.”

•   •   •

In a good film noir, running out of leads would've resulted in a cinematically significant rainstorm and maybe some ruminating at the bottom of a bottle of whisky, finally punctuated by the entrance of a femme fatale. For me, though, it resulted in finally having to do what I'd put off: I called Gage's parents to express my sympathy. It was a painful phone call, made more so because of just how very nice they both were to me. They were trying to find some comfort in the fact that Gage's “killers” had been caught. I didn't like the lie, but I hoped that it would at least give them a little closure. I knew they were dreading a trial, but at least they'd be spared that. Madeline never let any of her frame jobs go that far—there would be a tragic accident in the prison very soon, to tie up any potential loose ends.

Trying to appease some of my own guilt, I offered to box up all of Gage's stuff for them, which they accepted. His parents had moved from Rhode Island down to Key West about three years ago, after his dad retired, and this would at least save them a trip up here. They promised to make arrangements for a moving van to pick up the boxes and Gage's car in a few days, and after a few more painful minutes of conversation, I said good-bye and hung up.

Suzume was stretched out on the sofa, openly listening to the call, and lifted an eyebrow. “So,” she said, “I guess you'll need some help.”

I couldn't help being a little surprised. “I knew you said you'd help me look for Gage's killer, Suze,” I said, “but if you don't want to do this, you don't have to.”

She shrugged, stood up, gave a bone-defying stretch, then smiled crookedly at me. “I meant what I said before, Fort. I'll help you. Even if it's boring.”

I stared at her for a long second, trying to read into her inky black eyes. Finally I shrugged helplessly and just said, “Thank you.”

She nodded. “If you give me your keys I can go down to the grocery store and get some boxes. That way you can get a start on sorting things.”

“Thanks,” I said, tossing her the keys. Then I went into Gage's room and took a long look around, seeing all of his stuff just sitting there. For a moment I felt stuck, unable to take the first movement of breaking down his room and removing the last parts of my friend from my life.

There was a small scuff of a shoe, and I turned to see Suzume leaning in the doorway, watching me. There was so much sympathy and empathy in her eyes that I was almost viscerally reminded of how foolish it was to ever assume that I'd figured her out.

“While I'm out,” she said, very gently, “you should probably take the chance to find and dump your friend's porn.”

I gaped, and she gave that familiar slow smile. I couldn't help it—I laughed. At the sound of it, Suzume gave a little
my work is done here
gesture and sashayed out the front door.

I turned back to the task, feeling lighter. Gage would've laughed at that joke, I knew. And he also would've recognized, as I did, that there was a certain truth to the matter. So the first thing I did was check under the bed, then at the bottom of his closet, then in his bottom drawer, and when I found the box I was looking for, I immediately walked it out to the Dumpster.

•   •   •

We spent the rest of the day boxing things up. Knowing that his parents might take a long time to unpack on the other end, and wanting to spare them anything unexpected, Suzume and I took much more care with the packing than I think either of us had ever taken with ourselves. Everything was completely sorted into similar boxes—there would be none of my usual moving experience, where I'd just throw toiletries in the same box as winter sweaters. We also wrote out inventories of each box—both on the side in black Sharpie marker and on included sheets of paper.

“This must be how Martha Stewart packs,” had been Suze's only comment when I'd told her the idea. Other than that, we hadn't talked much.

Other than one quick pizza run around eight, we worked without pause. By the time we'd finished it was almost one in the morning and we were both completely wiped out. Suze and I sat on the floor of the room, staring at the results of our work. The bed frame and mattress were the only items that had belonged in the apartment, but everything else had been stripped down and packed. We'd even taped cardboard around Gage's dresser to prevent it from getting scratched up during its trip down to Florida.

“This is why I bought a house,” Suzume said after taking a long swig of her beer, then failed to control her shudder. I felt a brief twinge, remembering that my last conversation with Gage had been about me buying shitty beer. “I got so sick of having to pack up all my stuff.”

“Yeah, it does suck,” I admitted. “Last year my landlord jacked up my rent. I got incredibly pissed off and started looking for a new apartment, but then I remembered what a pain in the ass moving is, and . . .”

“Knuckled under?”

“It was the three flights of stairs with no elevator that did it.”

Suzume nodded sagely and took another drink. The silence between us was comfortable.

“So,” Suze said after a long minute, “are we crashing here or heading back to my place?”

I thought about it. I'd swept up the broken glass basically on autopilot, and Suze had scrubbed the tiny blood stains while I'd packed Gage's clothing. Once those two signs had been gone the room had looked so deceptively normal that it was easy to imagine that Gage had just left without warning. Keeping busy had helped me ignore the thought of Gage's body lying on the floor just last night, but it all came flooding back at Suze's question. I looked over at the window, with its taped garbage bag. There was a small but noticeable breeze, and I wondered whether my landlord would actually have it fixed before winter.

“You don't have any of your stuff. I wouldn't want you to be uncomfortable,” I offered.

“I threw an overnight bag in your trunk this morning while you were showering,” Suze said calmly.

“Oh, good.” I paused. “You'd be uncomfortable, though. I don't have any sheets that would fit this bed.” Gage's room had a double, but I made do with a single mattress.

“Nah, I'm good with the couch.” Suze continued looking at me.

I thought for a second. “Suze, do you want us to stay here?”

“That's not what's important. The real question is, do
you
want to stay here?”

I considered, then answered slowly. “This is more than just tonight. You're asking if I'd be okay living here, even though I found Gage's body here.”

She shrugged. “We packed up everything Gage owned in a day. I could go get some more boxes and we could have you out before Monday.”

“Do you think I should want to go?”

She shook her head. “I'm not saying you should want one thing or another. I'm saying that if you don't want to stay here, we'll pack you up and move you out. If you do want to stay here, I'll go put my jammies on and crash on your couch. There's no right answer, Fort.”

It took me a long time. While I thought, Suze just sat quietly, her eyes almost closed, taking small sips of her beer, looking completely relaxed.

Finally, I said, “Go get your jammies.”

She nodded once. “Okay.” She stood up and stretched, then looked down at me. “Probably the better choice anyway. Three flights of stairs would've made moving a real bitch.”

•   •   •

I woke up once that night, one of those abrupt surges into wakefulness. I lay perfectly still for long minutes, straining my ears, but I heard nothing beyond the usual night sounds of the apartment. I retrieved the Colt from its hiding place under my bed and walked into the living room, intending to check Gage's room.

In the glow from the streetlight streaming in from the windows I could see the black fox on my sofa, completely dark except for the brilliant white tip of her tail. Her paws were tucked under her, and her head rested on the arm of the sofa as she watched the open door to Gage's room. I knew she heard me, because one of her long furry ears twitched sharply in my direction, swiveling like a radar dish. After a moment she turned to look at me, and I could see the gleam of her dark eyes. She wagged her tail twice, making a soft little thump against the nest of sheets and quilts I'd made for her, then turned back to continue her watch.

I felt a warm sense of comfort. I backed out of the room as quietly as I could. I thumbed the Colt's safety back on and slid it under the bed again. As I got under the covers, I called out, once, “Suze?” and heard her immediate yip of acknowledgment. When I closed my eyes again, I slid back into a dreamless sleep.

•   •   •

The next morning the night's interlude seemed like something I might've imagined, but when I went into the living room I saw the black fox sleeping peacefully in exactly the position I remembered her. She woke up while I started putting together breakfast, padded into the bathroom, and returned on two feet, dressed in a T-shirt and a set of red argyle lounge pants. Her hair had that kind of sleepily mussed yet sexy look that I'd secretly always considered a Hollywood trick, given that every woman I'd previously seen first thing in the morning had looked like they'd been caught in the middle of a windstorm. Beth had been particularly notable in that department, as the perfect Grecian curls of her hair had required a really frightening level of maintenance and preparation before they were ready to be seen by the world.

I'd made cheese omelets, and I slid one onto a plate and handed it to Suze. She nodded her thanks, and we spent a few minutes with no sounds filling the air other than those of mastication.

Eventually I glanced over at Suze, cleared my throat, and brought up the elephant in the room. “You were up all night watching Gage's room. Did you think that whatever killed him was going to come back?”

“Fort, if I'd thought that thing was coming back, there's no way I would've let you trot out off to bed. We would've been waiting for it with extensive firepower.” Suze took a long swig of orange juice.

“Then why—”

She frowned. “Sometimes shit happens, Fort, and people get killed. Meteors fall out of the sky, texting teenagers plow SUVs into pedestrians, and roaming monsters get hungry and are too lazy to just order takeout. It's not personal; it's just bad luck. I still agree with your brother that it was a sucky coincidence that it happened to be
your
roommate. But it's been bugging me that whatever did this dumped Gage's body in his own bedroom.”

I nodded. That particular thought had been very uncomfortably itching at the back of my own brain. “I was thinking that it might've looked in his wallet and found the address. We don't know if it robbed him as well.”

“It's possible,” Suze acknowledged. “Maybe even likely. Most things that prey on humans will mix a mugging with dinner. But to specifically return Gage's body to his own room is kind of excessive.”

“It's almost like a sick sense of humor,” I said. Suze nodded grimly, taking another mouthful of eggs. I considered what we knew again and asked, “You keep referring to food. Do you think that whatever killed Gage wanted to eat him? I mean”—and here I gulped a little, regretting that I'd made this a breakfast discussion—“most of him was still there.”

“You told me that his hands were gone,” Suze pointed out. “And your detective buddy told you that most of Gage's blood was gone. I called my grandmother after you passed out like a sorority girl after one drink.” I protested the characterization indignantly, but she just continued talking over me and I had to give up. “Grandmother said that there are lots of things that would drink blood, even besides your family, but the hands have her a bit stumped as well.”

I deliberately ignored the pun. “Gage's hand wasn't bitten or ripped off. It was sliced.”

“Then I have less than no idea, Fort,” Suzume said. “But it didn't seem like the worst idea in the world to keep an eye on you last night.”

“I do appreciate that,” I said, and I meant it.

“You could appreciate it even more by making me some bacon.”

“I have a whole package of tofu in there. I can fry it up and you could pretend.”

•   •   •

Perhaps it was a residual bitterness over my lack of real pork products, but Suzume suggested we try sparring after breakfast. Despite the unexpected holiday from Chivalry's fitness regimen, I agreed that it seemed like a good idea.

We pushed back all of the furniture in the living room to make an open space and centered the rug so that there would be a nice surface to both potentially fall onto and to also muffle the noise to avoid bothering Mrs. Bandyopadyay downstairs. Suzume hadn't bothered to change out of her pajamas, but I'd taken the opportunity to put on my usual workout clothing.

I'd seen Suze in action several times, and had a high level of respect for her ability to kick ass and take names. “Don't take it easy on me,” I said as I finished stretching out.

Suzume's sole concession to the workout portion of our morning had been to pour herself a second cup of coffee, which she saluted me with before putting it on the counter behind her and pulling her hair into a messy ponytail on top of her head. “I would never dream of doing such a thing, Fort.”

“No, I'm really serious,” I said, pulling my fists up into the correct fighting position that Chivalry had drilled into me, as we started circling each other. “I've been working really hard this summer, and I'm definitely not where I was a few months ago.”