Safe House

“No. I know you’re not. I mean . . . solve problems. Figure things out.”

“Some things,” I said, letting an undertone of warning into my voice.

“That’s what . . . Anyway, this young woman, the man who did it to her wasn’t a stranger, it was her boyfriend. Her ex-boyfriend. After they broke up. He talked her into having a last drink together. In a public bar. All she remembers is getting sick, him helping her out of there. When she came to, she was in his apartment. Naked. And it was hours later. She called the police too. But when they came, he told them they made love. Love,” she said, her voice trembling with something I thought I recognized. Somebody had told her that same lie, once.

“So why is she hiding out?” I asked.

“Because he took her mind. She believes he can do it again. Maybe not with a drink . . . with food, or air particles. Or whatever. She’s quite . . . insane now. But she feels safe here. That’s why the doors are always closed downstairs. If she knew there was a man here, any man, she’d be sure you were with . . . him.”

“And the last woman?”

“You are a good listener,” she said, nuzzling against my neck. “The third woman isn’t really here. I mean, she’s been here, but she’s not here now. We have her someplace . . . else. And she doesn’t have one stalker, she has two.”

“Are they together?”

“One of them thinks so,” she said cryptically. “Do you know what a falconer is?”

“Yeah.”

“Well, then you’ll understand. Two stalkers. One’s a falcon, one’s a falconer, see?”

“No.”

“That’s all right,” she said, slipping her left hand inside my sweatshirt, short fingernails scraping my chest. Carefully, like she was drawing a map. “Do you think I’m a mystery?” she whispered.

“You’re a woman,” I said.

“What a careful man you are.” She chuckled. “And not very aggressive.”

“I’m a pussycat,” I assured her.

“A tomcat, more likely.”

“When I was young.”

“You’re not so old.”

“I want to get old,” I said, slipping the warning tone in again.

“So . . . you want to know why you’re here?”

“Yeah.”

“You want to know why you? Why I chose you?”

“Yeah.”

“And you want to get paid too.”

“Sure.”

She leaned close to my ear, speaking so softly I could barely make it out. “Do you like secrets?”

“No,” I told her, more harshly than I’d intended. Thinking of my childhood. Or what should have been my childhood.

“Not those kind of secrets,” she said, catching my thoughts from my tone, her voice still soft as gossamer. “Sweet secrets. Shared.”

“I don’t know about those kind,” I said.

“I’m going to tell you a secret,” Crystal Beth said. “Then I’ll show you one. And, if they come together, I’ll do both. All right?”

“First tell me,” I said.

“The last woman I told you about. The one with two stalkers? Well, one of them’s stalking me too.”

I didn’t react, just let her nestle against me. Thinking how it’s always personal with some people. And how, every time I had let it be that way with me, somebody died. I felt the warmth of her cheek against mine, the woman-weight of her body . . . and reached for the comfort of the ice inside me. “An old boyfriend?” I asked her, wondering if I was being groomed as the replacement. And whose life it would cost to buy that ticket . . .

I haven’t played that game since I was a teenager, but I still remember how it felt. To be lying on the ground, bleeding, watching the fire-starter walk off with the guy I had fought, swinging her hips like she was slapping my face. The hardest lesson I ever had to learn was not to make the next girl pay for what the last one took.

I’d ended up doing time with a lot of men who hadn’t learned that one.

“Not even a friend,” she said quickly, slowing my train of thought before it ran off the tracks. “An enemy, in fact. He doesn’t want me, he wants me to do something. And I won’t.”

“Wants you to . . . ?” I asked, leading her into it, fire-bursts flaring under my skin. Arson in readiness, distrust standing by for the accelerant.

“Betray a trust. Sell someone out. Give them up.”

“And if you don’t?”

“Then it all comes down. Not just me. The network. My whole . . . purpose.”

“I still don’t know what that means.”

“And you still don’t know why you, yes?”

“Yes.”

She got to her feet. Bent forward at the waist and kissed me on the side of my mouth. “Another walk,” she said. “A much shorter one this time, okay?” And held out her hand.

I took it and got to my feet.

“What about my jacket?” I asked her.

“We’ll be back,” she said.

Still holding on to my hand, Crystal Beth blew out the candle, leaving the room almost black. She made her way over to the door as if she’d memorized the place in the dark. Once it was open, there was enough light to see by. She trailed one hand behind her, keeping me connected as she descended the stairs.

The second door from the staircase was painted black. Against the dull white walls, it looked like a cave opening. Crystal Beth rapped sharply. I couldn’t hear anyone approach from the other side, but the sound of a bolt snapping open was clear in the silence. The door opened to a wash of pinkish light. Crystal Beth stepped aside, nudging me forward with a hip. A woman was seated on a padded stool aimed right at us, back-lit. I couldn’t make out her face—all I could see was a pair of nylon-sheathed legs crossed at the knee, one foot dangling as though to better display a brilliant turquoise spike-heeled shoe.

“Long time no see,” Vyra said.

I felt Crystal Beth behind me, so close her breasts pushed against my back. Vyra’s heavy perfume filled the little room. It stunk like a trap.

“What is this?” I asked her, keeping my voice relaxed, my hands on my belt buckle in case my nose was sharper than my eyes.

“Don’t be mad,” Vyra said. “This was my idea, not Crystal’s.”

“What idea is that?” I asked her.

“Bringing you in.”

“You’re . . . being stalked?”

“Not me,” Vyra said. “The others. I . . . support this place. Crystal and I, we’re . . . close.”

“Why didn’t you just—?”

“Because you wouldn’t take me seriously,” she interrupted. “You never have. Never had a reason to, I mean. I thought, if Crystal told you about the . . . situation, you’d help.”

“You’re in over your head,” I told her flatly.