adjusted
position, the doors wheezed open disgorging a few intrepid souls faced with a
horde funneling into too narrow a space for the number of bodies.
Cut off and jostled, I barely managed to make it on
before the doors sighed shut. At Union I bailed and caught the Canarsie line.
It was still a hike home, but I welcomed the exercise. A small detour took me
past an Italian bakery.
When I exited the store, hairs prickled on the back
of my neck. I wasn’t alone.
CHAPTER SIX
Sasha
Oscillating in that no-man’s-land of wanting to nab
the tail and shake some answers loose, or just ignore whoever it was and let
the chips fall, was more distraction than I had patience for.
I keyed myself into my building and hauled ass to
the third floor. The landing was L-shaped with my flat on the far left, a
studio directly ahead and another cubby masquerading as living space to my
right. Both housed relatively spry seniors with inquisitive natures. They
‘watched my back’, as the eldest gentleman in the studio claimed with pride.
Not much got by either of them. In return I did small favors, fixing broken
faucets, hauling groceries.
Jerry poked his head out and rasped, “Up kinda early
ain’tcha, son?” He eyed the bag of pastries.
Smiling, I opened the brown bag for him to choose.
“Hear anything this morning, Jerry?”
The old gentleman reached in and selected a cannoli,
carefully withdrawing it with two gnarled fingers.
“Nah, quiet today. Why? You ’specting company?”
“Not exactly. Uh, listen, Jer, I’m going to be out
of town for a few. If you need anything done before I leave, I’ll be back later
on today.”
“I’m good, boy, but I’ll mention it to Miz Wisner.”
He eased back into the apartment but before closing the door he muttered, “You
take care now.”
Expecting the apartment to still look like a bomb
had gone off, I was pleasantly surprised that my compulsive neat-freak friend
had taken time to tidy up. The sheets lay on the chair, folded military-tight,
the pillow braced against the back. The tumblers and dishes were in the sink,
rinsed. The only thing in untidy piles was the paperwork I’d been perusing
before O’Hearn had showed up.
Idly I glanced over the top sheet, the one with the
columns laid out with my draft picks for explanations. I’d left a space for
option number three, still empty. On a hunch, I fingered the ballpoint and ran
it down the right-hand side.
Clearly I was missing something, and the nagging
feeling that it was right there, hiding in plain sight, was hard to shake.
Stuffing my face with the other cannoli, I headed to
the bathroom to get cleaned up. When the hot water ran out, I let the cool ease
me down, sweeping sweat and adrenalin down the drain. After brushing my teeth I
gave myself a hard look in the mirror, envisioning the young man with shit for
brains, caught up in something he’d had no business with. I’d sported facial
hair back then in an effort to look older, maybe even badass.
Trina had liked it… a lot.
Maybe she’d like it again…
Micah?
Yes.
I like.
Like what?
Your name, is… nice.
She reached up to stroke my chin
with long, elegant fingers. Thin eyebrows arched over almond-shaped eyes,
colorless in the ambient light.
Fate.
Twice she’d brushed past me,
hesitating for an instant, then moving on, trolling like me.
I wanted my reward. For the
freedom I’d bought with bloody knuckles.
Free. With nowhere to go, and no
one to go to.
The third try was the charm. She
backed me against the wall, easing me into a dark alcove. The pounding bass
receded and even the sound of my own breathing was a distant echo in the night.
She pressed, belly-to-groin, wanting to know my name.
Then she wanted to know more…
When I finished shaving, I palmed my chin, wondering
what Annie would think of my new look. She’d be curious at my grooming efforts.
I wanted to impress… and had no clue why.
Dressing in clean jeans