Safe House

“But you wouldn’t be. We agreed, Crystal and me. She’d tell you the first part. Then I’d explain how she came to you. Then we’d both tell you what—”

“Maybe I need to tell you what,” I said.

“Burke, please don’t be mad at me. I couldn’t stand that. Can’t you just listen for a few minutes?”

“I’ve been listening. And for more than a few minutes.”

“I know. I’m sorry. Maybe this was the wrong way, okay? If I screwed it up, I’ll take whatever’s coming to me. But it isn’t Crystal’s fault. Don’t punish her for what I did. Please . . .”

I stepped away from Crystal Beth, my eyes acclimating to the pinkish light. The room was bare except for the vanity mirror and the stool. Not even a closet. “Go ahead,” I said quietly. “Say what you want.”

“Can’t we go upstairs?” Crystal Beth asked. “It’s more . . . peaceful up there.”

“Go ahead,” I told Vyra again.

She took that for agreement, got off the stool and squeezed past me. I felt silk against my hand. She went out the door. I didn’t move. Crystal Beth tugged at my hand. I pulled it away from her. “You need both your hands,” I told her.

“For what?” she whispered behind Vyra’s back.

“To put all your cards on the table,” I told her.

Vyra went first, snake-hipping her way up the stairs, silk rustling, spike heels flashing, perfume trailing. Crystal Beth was next, walking strong and carefully, like a warrior to battle.

At the top of the last flight, Vyra marched into Crystal Beth’s room as though she’d been there before . . . and owned the joint. She had the candle lit by the time I stepped inside, leaving the door open. I took the easy chair. Vyra grabbed the metal chair, crossed her legs again and went back to admiring her shoes. Crystal Beth dropped to her knees without making a sound, positioning herself between us to my right, leaving me a clear sight line to the door.

“Anytime you’re ready,” I said, to neither of them in particular.

“I met Crystal a couple of years ago,” Vyra said, talking over the other woman’s kneeling form like there was no doubt who I was going to listen to. “I was volunteering at a shelter. On the phone, mostly. Crystal was a . . . visitor. Not a client. When I found out what she was up to, I said I’d help out. And it just . . . grew on me, I guess. When she finally was ready to start this place, I put up some of the financing. It’s a 501(c)(3) corporation, so my . . .”

She didn’t say “husband,” just let her voice trail away. I didn’t fill the silence.

“It’s tax-deductible,” she finished lamely. “When Crystal started to have this . . . problem, she tried to figure out who could help. I told her I knew someone, but she was stubborn. Sure she could do it herself. Once she realized she couldn’t, then she said she’d listen to me,” Vyra finished smugly. “That’s when I told her about you.”

“You don’t know me,” I said. Flat, no room for argument, denying her credentials.

“I know enough,” she responded, a pout in her voice. “I know you could do something if you wanted to. And I know you work for money. What could it hurt to listen?”

“I don’t like that kind of game—closing my eyes and guessing if it’s gonna hurt.”

“Why do you have to be so hostile?” Vyra asked. “Crystal’s my friend. Friends exchange . . . information, don’t they? If she asked me did I know a good mechanic, or a compassionate gynecologist, or whatever, why wouldn’t I tell her?”

“I don’t know why you’d do anything,” I said, staying inside myself. The danger-jolts crackling around my nerve endings weren’t from physical fear. By then, my crew was in place. Somewhere outside, not far away. The store-bought locks these women had on their doors wouldn’t keep the Prof out. And nothing they had behind those doors would stop Max, if it came to that. But they had plans, Crystal Beth and Vyra. And I don’t like being in people’s plans.

“Burke, please. Come on,” Vyra said. “It’s a . . . job, right? You do jobs.”

“You’re guessing,” I told her.

“You must do something, right? I’m not asking you what that is, okay? But anyone can listen, can’t they? You can never get hurt just listening.”

I ignored that. If she’d been raised like I was, she wouldn’t talk so stupid.

“If he doesn’t want to . . .” Crystal Beth said, like I wasn’t in the room.

I turned to her. “Don’t lie,” I said.

She refused to take offense at what I said. Played it for a green light instead, said: “It started when—”

“Tell him about the—” Vyra interrupted.

“That’s enough,” I cut her off. “This isn’t a movie. You’re not the director. And I can’t listen in stereo anyway.”

Vyra snorted through her tiny custom-built nose, tried to fold her arms over her huge chest, gave it up in frustration. Sat quiet for a long few seconds. Then Crystal Beth started again:

“Marla—that’s her name—she’s one of those girls everybody says doesn’t know any better, do you understand? She got married when she was barely seventeen. It was better than where she was, she thought. That happens a lot—we see it all the time. He’s a lot older than she is. She said it wasn’t all that bad at first. Oh, he hit her and everything, but she was used to that. Her father had . . . been that way, so it wasn’t a . . . surprise, I guess.”

She watched my face for a few seconds, waiting for a reaction—didn’t get one, so she went back to her story.

“No matter what Marla did, it didn’t make any difference. He never stopped. It took her a while, but she finally figured it out. He liked to do it. As simple as that.”

I said nothing, waiting.

“I know what you’re thinking,” she said, accusingly. “Why didn’t she just leave, right?”

“Or stab him in his sleep,” I offered. “Or poison his food, or—”

“You could never understand,” she cut in. “How could you—?”

“—or hire a hit man,” I went on like she hadn’t spoken.

That stopped her. The room went silent. “She was afraid,” Vyra finally said in a pious tone. “Do you know what it means to be afraid? Really afraid?”

“Better than you ever will, you stupid, spoiled bitch,” I told her, a trigger-pull away from being done with them all. “Save it for the proposal-writing, okay? You want to tell me a story, tell it. You want to give lectures, find someone who wants to get in your pants bad enough to pretend like they’re interested.”

Vyra jumped to her feet, stepped toward me, hand raised like she was going to slap with it. The move was so natural I knew she’d done it before.

“Don’t even think about it,” I told her. “I’m not your husband.”

“You . . .” She couldn’t find the rest of the words. Crystal Beth put her arm around her waist, push-pulled her back to the chair, saying something so softly I couldn’t hear it.

“Let’s be calm,” Crystal Beth said like she was proposing an activity we might all enjoy. “Maybe we’re just all . . . combustible. A bad combination. Would you like it better if we talked alone, just the two of us?” she asked me.

“It doesn’t matter,” I said. “If you two trusted each other, you wouldn’t both be here anyway.”

Neither of them said anything to that, but Vyra’s face flamed under her makeup.

“If this is a story, you’re a long way from the end,” I told them. “It’s getting late, and I got work to do.”

“What work is that?” Vyra sneered.

“Work I get paid for,” I said. “You wouldn’t understand.”

“Bastard,” she said. No more emotion there, just stating a fact.

Crystal Beth dropped to her knees between us, stretched out her hands. Vyra took one. I didn’t. She put that empty hand on my knee like an acupuncture anchor, maintaining the current. She stayed there like that for a long moment, eyes closed. At least she wasn’t chanting.

“She was afraid,” Crystal Beth said quietly. “Or she was used to it. Or she didn’t know any way out. It doesn’t matter. Because once she got pregnant, everything changed.”