“You’re okay,” I said, leaning toward him. “You’re okay, man, you’re okay. You’re going to be okay.” Which was a fucking nasty lie and he knew it. His blood pumped out of him and he’d be gone in a few moments. His eyes were glassy already, but his hand squeezed mine, and I squeezed it back.
He slipped away as Linc knelt down on his other side.
“Omar,” Linc said, shaking the dead man gently. “Wake up, man. You gotta stay awake. Cam, you gotta call someone.”
I dropped Omar’s hand. It fell to his side. “There’s nobody to call,” I said and stood up. “Can’t fix him now.”
“No,” Linc said through his teeth. “Fuck. Omar.” He stood up, gun clutched between his hands.
I grabbed him by the arm. “We have to go,” I said.
“That girl,” he said. “She knew this was going to happen.”
I took a deep breath and stared at him. “Maybe you’re right,” I said. “What do you want to do about it? Go in there and put a bullet in her face?”
“Yeah,” Linc snarled. “I do.”
Sirens blared in the distance.
“Go ahead,” I said, releasing him. “You go kill that girl. Then you can spend the rest of your life in prison, you stupid fuck.”
“She can’t get away with this,” Linc said.
“She won’t. We know where she lives.” I looked over his shoulder to where a pair of terrified eyes peered out at me through the blinds of the first-floor apartment. “We’ll be back.”
Linc helped me drag Omar’s body onto the sidewalk. I crossed his hands over his chest as the sirens got closer. Irene sat in the passenger seat of the truck and stared out the windshield like she’d gone blind.
I drove away with Linc cursing in the back.
Irene’s hand found mine as we drifted through the city and away from Omar’s body.
11
Irene
I’d seen a lot of things on the street.
That wasn’t my first taste of death.
Overdoses, heart attacks, freezing, and worse. Disease and murder.
But there was something about Omar getting killed that hurt even more than any of that.
Maybe it was because Cam saw it coming, and still couldn’t save his guy in time. Or maybe it was Luiza’s betrayal.
Either way, I could still hear the gunshots, could still see the horrified, rage-filled look on Cam’s face as he drove away. I could still hear Linc’s silent sobs as he struggled to hold himself together.
I could still feel the pavement pressing against my body as the air around me burst full of killing lead.
Cam didn’t talk much for the rest of that day. He dropped me off back home then disappeared with Linc until late. That night he came in drunk and exhausted and passed out on the couch. I stood in the hallway and stared at him, breathing deep with a look of anguish on his face even deep in sleep, his large chest rising up and down, and I wondered how much he’d given up to become what he was, a killer for the Valentino family, and how much more he’d have to lose.
In the morning, he made breakfast, poured coffee, and stared at me with his hands on his hips. “We’re going to talk to Kira,” he said.
I nodded slowly and ate my eggs. “Is that a good idea?” I asked. “After what happened with Luiza.”
“Someone’s got to pay for what happened,” Cam said.
I met his eye, and I wanted to argue. I wanted him to understand the immense pressure these women felt, how the Healy family held a knife to their throats at all time, how they knew their bodies weren’t their own. Luiza only did what she had to do, and in retrospect, she probably tried to rush us out to save our lives. If I had to guess, the plan was probably for her to keep us there long enough for the Healy family to send their little hit squad.
If she hadn’t changed her mind, we might’ve been killed in that little grimy living room.
And yet she still turned on us, and Omar was still gone, and I couldn’t deny any of it.
“When?” I asked.
“After I shower,” he said. “Finish eating.” He disappeared into the bathroom and I sat there picking at my eggs, drinking my coffee, and listened to the water running.
On the street, I had to make choices. Sometimes the choice was obvious: run, fight, scream, that sort of thing. But sometimes the choice was more ambiguous.
I could share my blanket with a stranger for more warmth, but he might end up trying to hurt me. I could sleep under a bench in the park, but a cop might pick me up. I could steal from that store, but their cameras might be working.
All of life was a series of choices, and more often than not, I made the wrong ones.