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“Will that be all for you today, ma’am?” Liam Miller fidgeted with a pen in his right hand.
A woman with wrinkled, tan skin and red lipstick swatted at her friend’s shoulder, “Now isn’t he something. Just look at this cutie, Maura. What’s your name again, young man?”
Her companion, who was dwarfed by an excessively gaudy fur coat, tittered, “Oh stop, Agnes, you rogue, this one’s too young for you.”
“I was talking about for my granddaughter!” Agnes exclaimed in mock horror before batting her eyes. “And don’t even worry about those scars, honey. They add to your charm.”
“Thanks, ma’am. Can I take your menus?”
When Abram stepped out for his smoke break, it was with a hundred dollar tip. The wealthy older women seemed to find him pitiful enough to fight and fawn over. So much so that he’d gathered a small fanbase at this point. He suspected it was the only reason he was given so many hours each week. In fact, the attention was the only reason he’d been hired at such a prestigious place. The sour-faced manager had been shooing him out after his interview with an insincere promise to reach out soon when a woman decked out in pearls gasped and stopped them, saying, “Oh my, is this a new server? My friends at table two on the veranda would love to be introduced.”
The manager’s demeanor changed instantly, simpering and almost bowing before the customer, assuring the woman that Liam was in training and would love to make their acquaintance, but he was new and she would have to forgive his ineptitude.
Just like that he had a job.
He crushed the cigarette under his foot and started walking. He knew his break was long over, but he couldn't force himself to turn back. He left the many acres of the Cleveland Country Club and picked up speed. He passed the million dollar waterfront mansions and eventually his burner phone vibrated in his back pocket. He fished out the phone and tapped with jerky motions to silence it, but the icy wind had nearly frozen his limbs. He accidentally pressed answer instead and slowed to a stop.
“Liam, you’ve already had two warnings for leaving work without approval. I’ve been juggling your tables for nearly an hour now and I’m done putting you on the schedule after this. You can collect your things from the front desk at any point today.”
When the call ended, he stepped on the phone and tossed the pieces into the snow. It only had the manager’s number in it and there was no point in keeping it now. He wasn’t going back for the few things he kept in his work locker. His real possessions were buried ahead.
He walked into a cemetery enclosed by a black metal fence and trudged through muddy snow. The icy flakes seeped through his socks and burned his ankles. He passed through three rows of graves before he let his footsteps fall before his destination, a flat tombstone that read Mariana West. There was nobody buried here. He flipped the stone, pulling out a duffel full of cash. Then he replaced the stone and smoothed a layer of snow over it. He lingered just a moment, thinking of Mary Wesninski and her much less desirable burial spot before slinking back to the front gate fifty thousand dollars richer.
The cache was what drew him here, after he escaped from Lola back in Baltimore.
Right after they transferred him to the police car and closed him in the trunk with an armed Lola, he struck. No hesitation. He slammed his head back into hers with an awful crunch. Before she could process it, he’d already flipped around to grab the gun from against his back and pulled the trigger. At such a close range they were touching almost everywhere, and the gore coated the new injuries to his face like it was his own, thoroughly bathing him in red.
The cops up front didn’t pull over at the sound of the gunshot. They weren’t paid to question what happened in the back. They pulled up the winding driveway of the Wesninski property and slammed their doors as they got out. Neil didn’t wait. He crawled over the backseat, chest heaving as he inhaled through the heavy scent of iron. He held the gun in one hand and yanked the doorhandle. Locked. Eventually, the younger one of the pair of crooked officers came back and opened the door. Neil was ready. He brought the barrel of the gun down against the man’s temple with a crack and pulled the unconscious officer into his own backseat.
Neil ran from the five-bedroom house through the backyards of neighbors. The inhabitants of the Windsor Hills neighborhood were older, mostly retired, and tended to spend winters at their more tropical properties. Neil pulled up a pool covering and plunged into the icy water, clouds of red dispersing through the water as he scrubbed at Lola’s blood and his new wounds. There was no time to process the cigar burns on his arms or the cuts on his face. His father’s men would be on his heels once they found Lola.
He rang the water from his clothes as best he could and ran a couple miles southeast to reach downtown, nicking a wallet from an overcoat and running to the Greyhound bus station. He ducked his face to reach a self-service kiosk and booked the next bus ride, a ten hour trip to Cleveland, Ohio. He dried off as best he could in the restroom and sat in the back of the bus.
After he exited the bus, an old man across the street with a worn cardboard sign and an assortment of backpacks and plastic bags beckoned him with his hand. Neil crossed the busy street because he needed to, but avoided eye contact with the man, planning to walk past him.
“C’mere,” The man called to him.
“I don’t have any money.” Neil replied over his shoulder, wincing as the wounds on his face pulled.
“Did I ask for your money, boy?” The man sounded more amused than angry and Neil turned back to where he was sitting propped against an old storefront.
“Sorry, I’m in a hurry.”
“Aren’t we all? Now, what are you doing out here dripping blood on my street in the cold? Looking like a rat that battled a cheese grater and then fell into a toilet?”
“I’m not-" Neil looked down at his Palmetto uniform and crossed his arms. "I'm fine. I could just use some clothes.”
"And a shower." The man shifted and rose to his feet with a groan, “Ugh my back is not what it was.” He left his things on the ground and started to walk.
“Wait! Someone will take your things.” Neil looked down at the bags in horror.
“Nobody’s messing with my things or they’d have hell to pay and they know it. Now do you want clothes or not?” The man walked with a hunched over back and he dragged his leg, but he was practically leaving Neil in the dust.
He brought Neil to a run down apartment that smelled heavily of weed and had stained carpets. “This is my friend Reggie’s place. He won’t be back until it gets dark. Grab an outfit from the first room on the right. First aid kit and a towel is in the bathroom.”
Neil planned to leave after the shower, but he found himself job hunting during the days and returning to crash on the couch at night. The old man, who introduced himself as Jimmy, and his friend Reggie didn’t blink at the intrusion to their routine and would even leave a granola bar on the coffee table if they left before him in the mornings. Neil told them to call him Abram and they didn't question where he was from or how he got his injuries. They lived that way for a couple weeks. Eating meals together and laughing at Reggie's construction stories and Jimmy's plan to get the best street corner back from the new guy. He'd stayed too long and gotten comfortable again. It was time for Abram to leave and become somebody new.
Now, as Abram weaved through the crowd to find Jimmy’s spot on the street, he wondered how he would break the news that he’d been fired. Jimmy was so excited to hear Abram got a job. Eventually he decided he wouldn’t tell at all. He’d give him more than enough money to cover his stay and then be off again.
He slid down next to the man and watched as the crowd gave them a wide berth and avoided eye contact. They were missing out on knowing the most selfless man among any of them.
Abram fished around in his shoes before coming up with four hundred dollars. He handed it to Jimmy and the old man felt the crinkled dollars with consideration.
“Did I ask for your money, boy?”
“No, it’s just–”
“It’s just that you’re leaving.” It wasn’t a question. His dark eyes were knowing as he looked over at Abram. “You don’t owe me nothin.” The man held the money out again, but Abram shrugged.
“I know. Keep it. Give it to Reggie and buy some toilet paper.”
Jimmy huffed good naturedly and shoved the wad of cash in his shoe.
“So you’re going home then,” Jimmy’s voice crackled, “to Palmetto University.”
What?” Abram turned in surprise.
The old man taps at his eyes. “I saw that jersey. Seen all about the missing exy player on the tvs in the pubs. Neil Josten. Your people are looking to bring you home. That black haired guy and the blond one who looks something fierce.”
Abram scowled. “They’ll get over it. They don’t know about the danger I dragged right to them or trust me they wouldn't be looking for me. I can’t go back.”
“Is that really what they want or are you being a coward? ‘Cuz it seems to me that both of those young men and the rest of your team are more than capable of dealing with their own demons and yours, too.”
Abram accepted a water bottle from a pedestrian and passed it to Jimmy, ignoring the question. Jimmy didn’t know what Abram was running from and the amount of danger he’d put the Foxes in by going back. He didn’t know his presence would bring death.
“I know that look in your eyes. Seen it in my own when I was about your age. You want to go home.”
“I’m doing just fine without one.”
“I was doing fine too. I was doing fine when my old man passed two years later and when my mother followed. When my sister had her baby and when the baby passed before I met her. Name was Jaleyn. Friends got locked up and they ain’t gettin out. Friends died in a shootout on the wrong side of town. And I, a stubborn mule, kept on “doing fine” until cancer tracked me down. Now I’m an old man with nobody and I’m still doing fine, but… young man, I reckon you’d be a lot more fine with that team who is tearing apart the country looking for you.”
“I’m not calling him.” Neil said hoarsely.
“You don’t have to. I already did.” Jimmy smiled at his victory, showing off his many missing teeth.
Neil sighed and drew his knees up to his chest. The wind was vicious, but the incoming Foxes would be worse when they found out what Neil had been doing.
“Where’s your phone?” He asked, "How long ago?"
“Sh, don’t be impatient. Young people are always in such a rush,” Jimmy chided. “You know I’m gonna miss you when you go home. Reggie will be glad he didn’t get to say goodbye. He gets real emotional with these things.”
Neil looked at the way Jimmy was craning his neck to not face Neil and wondered if he wasn’t talking about himself.
“I’ll miss you too.” He didn’t promise he’d come visit or that they’d meet again. Life was too unpredictable for empty words.
Instead they sat in comfortable silence until a shiny black car pulled up to the curb.
“That’d be your folks, I suppose.” Jimmy's voice shook and he rubbed at his face.
“Bye, Jimmy. Thanks for all your help.” Neil reached out to squeeze the man's shoulder and Jimmy chuckled, “You’d be a frozen popsicle on the street if I didn’t take you under my wing. Now go on and scram.”
Home, Neil thought, trying out the word and relishing in the sweet ache that resonated in his heart. He was going home. The tinted window rolled down and Neil braced himself for the whirlwind of foxes. To face Andrew. He stood up and shook out his numb legs, grabbing the duffel of cash and looking back for another quick goodbye to the man who’d taken him in and become his friend. The man’s head was bent over his lap.
“Jimmy?” Neil quickly knelt down to shake his shoulder, but the man didn’t move. He pushed both shoulders back against the wall and was horrified to see the man's crumpled face.
“I'm sorry, kid,” Jimmy sobbed. "I didn't deserve you."
Neil turned in a split second to the car, making eye contact with Romero Malcolm and the barrel of a gun.
The silencer did nothing to calm the panicked crowd. They saw the deep red splash across the store window display. The two men peeling down the street in the shiny black car. Pedestrians scattered in every direction, trampling over Jimmy’s bags and Neil, all discarded on the sidewalk. It took five minutes for police to arrive. Ten before they ceased CPR and pronounced him dead at the scene. Fifteen before the area was taped off for an active homicide investigation. Twenty before an officer who recognized Neil from the news showed up and called the number. Twenty-five minutes before Andrew's fist went through the wall of Abby's living room.
The Foxes flew down on the next available flight to bring their teammate home.
A somber procession all in black, five hundred miles there and five hundred back.