Love You to Death (3 page)

I left Stewie with Miss Vinnie and
double-timed it back to the building on Greene Street. I made sure
the black sports car was nowhere around before I entered the
building. A large sign reading BME—Baltimore Molecular Engineering,
hung behind a receptionist desk where a voluptuous brunette sat
pinching the handset of the phone between her head and her
shoulder, snapping her gum. She glanced up at me with a bored
expression and waved me to the elevators on the left.

“It’s the second floor, room six,” she told
me and returned to her obvious personal call.

I didn’t correct her. I just walked to the
elevators, hit the button, and hustled inside. The elevator hummed
to the second floor, pinging when the doors opened. I cautiously
stuck my head into the hall.

The second floor was deserted. The corridor
was lined with closed doors, all numbered, and smelled distinctly
of stale air and disinfectant. I was suddenly attacked with a case
of nerves.

Bad vibes rolled down the hallway and hit me
in sick forceful waves. I’d waited too long. The elevator doors
began closing. I stuck my arm out and stepped into the hallway. I
stood there, staring down the long stretch of nothing.

I sucked in a deep breath, telling myself I
had to do this. For Stewie.

I carefully moved along the hall until I came
to door number six. I reached out to grasp the knob only to find
the door yanked open and a medium-sized man standing on the other
side.

He looked startled for a second then seemed
agitated at finding me there.

“You’re too late. We’re closed,” he said,
crossing over the threshold to join me in the hall. He locked the
door then tested the knob.

“Sorry,” I said. “Traffic was a bear.” I
flashed a sarcastic grin.

“You people...” he glared at me as he walked
away.

You people?

“Excuse me?” I said, following after him.

“Are you high?” He tossed over his shoulder,
jabbing the elevator button repeatedly. “I can’t help you.”

I was working up a perfectly good zinging
reply to his insult when the elevator pinged. I opened my mouth,
closed it, and opened it again, emitting a silent “oh”.

Beyond the ignoramus, inside the elevator,
leaning his hip casually on the hand rail, was Angel Face. A
knowing smile played on his lips. He nodded to the guy as they
switched places. The bad feeling was back. My stomach pitched and
churned. I licked my lips, quickly thinking of an escape.

“We have to stop meeting like this,” he said,
laughing lightly. He didn’t seem surprised to see me. Those
beautiful light blue eyes contemplated me carefully. “Still not
talking to me?”

I shrugged. He wasn’t doing anything
threatening, but I had lots of experience with dangerous men. Angel
Face might look innocent, but I sensed the tight control of his
menace.

“I knew you’d come back here.” He crossed his
arms over his chest, proud of himself. I could tell he wasn’t in
any hurry to leave. I’m sure he already knew what I’d only just
realized. He was blocking the only way out. “Did you find what you
were looking for?”

I nodded, lying. He chuckled again. It was a
warm, rich, inviting sound.

“Cherry, you should never lie to a liar.” He
stepped toward me. I took two steps back. Briefly glancing at the
stairwell door beside the elevator, I wondered if I could make it
past him.

“You could try it,” he answered my silent
question. I hated the way he always seemed to know what I was
thinking. “Or,” he drew out the word in a friendly tone, “We could
go grab something to eat and talk.”

The mention of food was very enticing. My
mind fast forwarded through a million different orders. He saw the
weakness in my expression and offered me another friendly smile. I
hesitated telling him to go screw himself as my stomach, painfully
empty, rumbled.

I had a better chance of escape if I played
it cool now. I was sure I could outmaneuver him once we were
outside. I gave him a measured nod, anxiously licking my lips. He
kept his eyes on me as he stepped back, reached behind himself, and
pressed the button. The doors opened up, but I didn’t move. Angel
Face braced an arm across the door and waved the other, inviting me
in.

“Your chariot awaits...”

* * * *

The sky was fading fast as we exited the
lobby. Shadows grew around the now empty desk, where the gum chewer
had been. Angel Face clamped a hand around my bicep. He had a solid
grip on me, but not hurting. I jerked my arm once, to test him, but
he held tight.

“Play nice Cherry and this will all be
explained to your satisfaction. I won’t hurt you. I promise.” He
fixed those phantom eyes on me, waiting for my decision. I can’t
explain why I suddenly decided to trust him. Maybe I was just tired
of always distrusting everyone. Maybe I was just plain tired. But
it might have more to do with the holstered gun I felt poking me
from under his jacket. I gave him another nod. I think he sensed my
sincerity, because he looked pleasantly surprised and let go of my
arm.

He took me to Attman’s Deli on Lombard
Street. I ordered a Rueben. It felt like forever since I’d had one.
My mom and I used to make our own. She’d bring home thinly sliced
pastrami from the deli counter at the grocery store, and I’d make
homemade Russian dressing. Nostalgia dug its claws into me. Tears
threatened, but I quickly recovered by forcing myself to think on
something else.

I ignored the stares of the other patrons. I
was used to them. I knew what they were looking at. My too big
clothes, that swallowed me up, my long inky black hair in desperate
need of a haircut, and the duct tape that patched a hole in my
right sneaker. I looked homeless.

We sat at a small table. I tried to tell
myself to eat slowly and take my time, but the hunger pangs told me
to shut the hell up and eat! I sipped the Dr. Brown’s root beer
between bites, all the while keeping my eyes on Angel Face.

“Are you going to tell me your real name?” he
asked, working on his own sandwich.

“You can call me Cherry,” I quipped.

He smirked, wiped his mouth with a napkin,
and said, “You’re a hard nut to crack.”

“What do you want with Stewie?”

Angel Face stared at me, slowly chewing
another bite. When I thought he might not answer my question he
said, “He’s just doing a little community service.”

“At a molecular engineering facility? What is
he, a lab rat?” I picked a piece of meat from my teeth with my
tongue. Something dark flickered across his face.

“You’re pretty smart for a skid.” He took a
swig of his soda. Skid was short for street kid. I didn’t like the
term. But then, I didn’t like anything associated with this harsh
existence.

“I’m pretty smart, period,” I corrected,
angry.

Angel Face raised his brow and cocked his
head. He looked torn between wanting to laugh and wanting to
backhand me.

“You got a quick mouth, Cherry,” he said. I
thought he almost sounded proud. “It’ll get you in trouble if you
don’t watch it.”

My shoulders lifted and fell.
Big
deal.
I’d heard that before.

“Tough girl, huh? I can appreciate that,” he
paused, toying with a wadded up napkin. “What’s the story with you
and Sped Ed?”

“His name is Stewie, dill hole.” My mouth was
quick, sometimes too quick even for me. Angel Face looked at me
from under his lashes. I knew this look too. It meant I was on the
edge of really ticking him off.

“We’re friends. We look out for each other,”
I offered lamely.

He nodded thoughtfully, as if he expected
this. Then, “What’s your theory?”

“I told you... lab rat.” I’d seen a
made-for-TV movie about it once. How these freaky doctors used
homeless people to experiment on.

“Pretty smart...” His beautiful lips curled
upward.

“No more visits for Stewie.” I forced myself
to look him in the eye. He stared back, pursing his full lips,
digesting what I said.

“I don’t think you’re in a position to decide
that.”

“I don’t think you’re so sure about
that.”

I chewed slowly on the last bite of my
Rueben, trying to make it last. I stuffed the complimentary bag of
chips in my jacket pocket for Stewie. I was anxious to leave now
that my stomach was full. I knew he wasn’t going to tell me what I
wanted to know. Spending any more time with him was just going to
be a waste of mine.

I cleaned up the table, wiping down my area
with napkins before I piled them onto the paper plate, and drank
the last of my soda. I stood up, took the plate to the trash can,
tossing the empty can in with it, and kept walking, right out the
door.

Once I cleared the door, I sprinted left in
the direction of Charles Street. I was only a block from the safety
of the shelter when the black Porsche cut me off as I tried to
cross the street. The tinted window lowered, and Angel Face smiled
at me from the driver’s seat. I calculated my options.

“Get in,” he ordered. I looked at him then
quickly up the street. “Don’t make me chase you. It’ll make me
mad.” He winked at me like he’d just said something funny, instead
of a softly veiled threat. I eased around the front of his car and
slid awkwardly into the passenger seat.

“Buckle up,” he bit out, revving the engine
and speeding down the street away from the shelter. We drove a few
blocks, neither of us saying anything. I kept quiet for fear of
fanning the fire, and I could only guess his reticence was meant to
make me squirm.

“Do you always eat and run?” he asked,
slowing to downshift and make a left turn.

I opened my mouth, but quickly closed it
before I said something polite like, “Sorry.” or “Thanks for the
food.”

I was still having trouble shedding the good
manners I’d been taught. I reminded myself that this was the bully
that had kicked Stewie around. I crossed my arms over my chest and
stared out the window, watching as the massive neon sign for the
Power Plant passed by.

“Silent treatment again?” he asked. “I
thought we were going to talk.”

“So talk,” I said, keeping the fear from my
voice. I mentally compiled a list of my current situation and how
to get out of it. He made another left, heading toward a very seedy
section of town. One I avoided in the daytime, so there was no way
I wanted to be here after the sun went down. I imagined myself
floating face down in the dirty water of the Inner Harbor.

I had to do something quick or I’d be out of
options. The street light ahead was changing from yellow to red. I
coughed to cover the sound of the click as I released the seat
belt.

Angel Face slowed the car to a stop.

It was now or never. I grabbed the handle of
the door, pushed it open, and jumped from the car. I didn’t bother
closing the door. He was hollering my name as I ran back in the
direction we’d come, as fast as I could, praying the whole
time.

I knew Angel Face would be looking for me at
the shelter. I couldn’t go there. I even figured he might go as far
as to check out all the shelters. I’d have to steer clear for the
night. I saw headlights and ducked into the recessed doorway of a
shoe store. I held my breath as a taxi drifted by.

I combed my fingers through my straggly hair.
I had to think of somewhere to go. Normally, wandering around all
night wasn’t so bad because I knew where the all-night places were.
I suspected Angel Face did too. Another set of headlights sliced
into the night. A police cruiser sped up the street.

Most street kids make it a point to stay away
from the police. A stay in juvie wasn’t exactly a day at the theme
park, but sometimes it was the better choice, considering some the
foster homes they stuck you in. I’d never had the pleasure of
either, but a few of the other kids gave me the 411.

The passing cruiser gave me an idea. Angel
Face would probably never think to look for me at the police
station. I wasn’t planning on getting arrested.

There was a nice little alley around the back
entrance of the police station downtown.

Chapter
Three

I huddled into the corner made by a concrete
wall and a metal dumpster. I had to keep swiping my sleeve under my
nose to stop the steady stream of snot dripping out. But Jack Frost
was nipping more than just my nose. The cement step I was sitting
on seeped icy cold into my butt, numbing it.

What I wouldn’t give for a nice warm bed,
behind a dead bolted door.

I was drifting off when I heard the soft hum
of tires, a few car door slams, followed by footsteps. I sat up
straight, instantly alert and ready to bolt.

“Hey, Cass, haven’t seen you for a while. You
comin’ or goin’, man?” a baritone voice called out.

“I’m comin’, Franklin, always comin’,”
another man replied, chuckling.

My eyes almost popped out of my head. I
recognized that voice.
No way, it couldn’t be.
I leaned back
to peek through the wide crack between the station wall and the
dumpster. The move made my backside tingle. I started to groan but
caught myself.

There stood Angel Face, cutting it up with a
young uniformed officer. I hung my head between my legs and cursed
my luck. I heard them laughing about another officer, a rookie, and
something about a stolen taser. I don’t know why I did it. Maybe it
was fear. Maybe it was my congealing blood from the early onset of
hypothermia. Maybe it was both, but for whatever reason, I tried to
make a run for it. I lurched to my feet, keeping hunched over to
stay hidden behind the dumpster.

But I’d been sitting too long, and the nerves
in my legs were dead. When I tried to take a step, all I got was a
painful explosion of needles and pins. I bit down hard on my lower
lip, drawing blood. That awful coppery taste registered with my gag
reflexes.