Love You to Death Page 2

  “Spunky,” he repeated. He put his hands on his hips and jerked his chin forward, motioning me to get lost. “Beat it, kid, before I change my mind.”

  I was still holding the wood defensively as I carefully backed my way through the narrow alley. When I made it safely to the stoop, and Angel Face wasn’t following, I dropped the wood and ran.

  Stewie was waiting for me on the corner, a block away. I grabbed his arm and pulled him behind me for two more blocks. When I was sure we weren’t being chased, I slowed down. There was a free clinic beside Holy Spirit. I decided to take Stewie to get checked out.

  “Who the hell was that guy?” I asked him.

  “Don’t be mad, Cherry,” he said, worry creasing his forehead.

  “I’m not mad at you, Stewie.” I drew a deep breath. He could be a little frustrating to talk to. “I’m mad at the jerk that beat you up.”

  “He’s okay, Cherry. Don’t be mad.” He shuffled along beside me. “It was my fault. I didn’t do what he told me. I’m a dumb tard.”

  “You’re not a tard, Stewie.” I cursed, kicking an empty paper coffee cup, pretending it was Angel Face. “What did I tell you about that?”

  “Stewie is special,” he said slowly.

  “And...” I prompted.

  “I’m not a retard.” He smiled, showing me all his teeth again.

  “You got it, big guy. Remember that.”

  As we approached the street that led to South Charles, and the free clinic, I knew what to expect. When Stewie was afraid, he strapped on his disguise, assuming the badass alter ego of Bruce Wayne. Stewie stopped to reach into his bag. I patiently waited for him. He pulled out the Batman mask and snapped it around his head.

  “Let’s go get you patched up, Batman.” I took his hand, coaxing him forward.

  “Batman isn’t afraid of the doctor,” he said, taking on a deep baritone.

  I gave him a much-needed reassuring smile. The twists and turns of my life had led me where I never thought possible. But even in the midst of all my woe, I could still find things to be grateful for. Looking at Stewie—wearing a child’s mask—I added a few more.

  Chapter Two

  I managed to keep an eye on Stewie for about six weeks. Then one Tuesday I woke up from my afternoon nap—fresh and clean once again—to find the cot beside me empty and Stewie nowhere to be found. Miss Vinnie couldn’t help me much. She said she’d seen him talking to a guy at the entrance about an hour ago but had to get the dinner line started. She didn’t see which way he’d gone.

  “What’d the guy look like?” I asked. I had a bad feeling.

  “Oh, baby girl, he was fine lookin’. Flashed them baby blues and just about had Miss Vinnie in a swoon,” she cackled.

  “Blond, well dressed, about yea tall?” I raised my arm six inches above my head.

  “Yes, honey, that’s the one.” She turned serious. “I take it he ain’t a friend?”

  “Nope.” I licked my lips. I had to think. What was the street he wanted Stewie to stay on?

  “I’ll ask one of the guys out front if they saw Stewie.” She wobbled away, her plump backside jiggling from the quick mincing steps.

  I grabbed my pack, a newly acquired jacket, and followed after her. The hot weather was long gone, and the street people, more comfortable in the autumn chill, gathered outside the shelters in small groups to pass the time. I skipped down the stairs and searched for a familiar face.

  “Hey, Buck Rogers...” I called out.

  A painfully thin man raised his head. If Ichabod Crane had been a black man, Buck Rogers would’ve been him. He was black as pitch with short, almost shaved, hair that was peppered with gray. He’d claimed to have worked for NASA somewhere down in Laurel, that’s how he got his street name, Buck Rogers, the space man. That was his previous life. But he lost his job, then his family, and finally his home, to the battle with the bottle.

  “Hey, how ya doin’ Cherry?” He grinned, waving me over. I was pleased to see his dark eyes were clear and focused. He was sober.

  “Hey, have you seen Stewie?”

  “Yeah, yeah. I saw him walk up the street with some pretty white boy. They drove off in a Porsche.” He squinted, giving me the once over. “Are you in trouble?”

  “No, not me.” Bless his heart. He had taken a shine to me, for whatever reason I couldn’t figure out. Buck Rogers was a father figure for me. He actually cared about what happened to me. When he was sober.

  “I knew that guy was trouble. I should have stopped him.” He shook his head, looking very sad.

  “Nah, it’s all good. Don’t worry.” I had to be careful with Buck Rogers. Any little fault he found with himself was a binge waiting to happen. “He’s a friend. I just wanted to talk to him, that’s all.” I lied. I was good at it too.

  “Oh, alright, if I see him again I’ll tell him.” Buck Rogers smiled at me, happy again.

  “Thanks,” I said, patting his bony shoulder. I walked up the street, where Buck Rogers had pointed. The bad feeling was swimming in my stomach. Angel Face went to the trouble of finding Stewie. That didn’t sit well with me. What the hell was the name of that street?

  I kept walking, totally unsure of whether or not I was heading in the right direction. I was calling myself all kinds of stupid when the number three bus roared by. The advertisement on its side read, ‘Public Transportation... Go Green!’

  “Yes!” I whirled around and ran the opposite way I’d been going. Greene Street was four blocks away. I weaved in and around the various people walking.

  Hang on Stewie, I’m coming!

  * * * *

  I was out of breath, and more than a little light headed, by the time I reached Greene Street. Now, all I had to do was look for a Porsche. Shouldn’t be too hard, even if I didn’t know the color. How many could there be?

  There were four. The first two were red, both parked in the private spaces of a dentist office. The next car was white. It had a pair of pink furry handcuffs hanging from the rearview mirror. I had trouble picturing Angel Face driving around with those dangling in front him. The last car was black.

  It figures. Murphy’s Law stated that when you were looking for something it would always be in the last place you looked for it.

  I saw Angel Face leaning casually alongside the entrance to a three-story brick building. A slow, easy grin spread across his face when he saw me.

  “Well, look who it is,” he drawled, pushing off from the wall. “Are you following me, Cherry?”

  “Where is he?” I didn’t bother with niceties. I knew this guy’s type. I didn’t want to give him any ammunition.

  “Spunky as ever,” he drew a deep breath, letting it out slow, all the while staring me down with his sharp eyes. “He’s fine. He’s inside, doing me a favor.”

  “Look, I don’t know what your game is, but Stewie isn’t your personal hockey puck.” I was scared of Angel Face, but I was more upset for Stewie. Otherwise, I’d be beating a path as far away as I could from this man and his dangerous vibes.

  “Simmer down, sweetheart. Stewie’s just fine,” he assured me. I knew he wasn’t lying, but I also knew he wasn’t giving me the whole truth.

  As if he’d summoned him out of thin air, Stewie, wearing his Batman mask and sucking on a lollipop, emerged with a slight limp from the glass doors of the entrance.

  “Cherry? What’re you doing here? Are you going to get a shot too?” He shuffled his feet, hurrying to my side. He wasn’t acting like he was afraid, but he reached out and took my hand, a gesture of comfort. I gave his fingers a light squeeze.

  Without looking at Angel Face, I turned Stewie around and walked us down the street. I planned to come back here, when I found a safe place to stash Stewie, and find out what the hell they were doing to him. I seriously doubted they were giving him a flu vaccination.

  * * * *

  I left Stewie with Miss Vinnie and double-timed it back to the building on Greene Street. I made sure the black sports car wa
s 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.