Mr. Savich tell Mr. Patil he was going to be okay, Michael didn’t think he’d have to worry about him. He tried to straighten his shoulders and said, “I can do that, sir,” in the most convincing imitation adult voice Savich had ever heard. What was he? Five years old? Sean’s age. Thank God Sean hadn’t been with him.
“Crissy, it’s okay now,” Michael said as he patted his sister’s back. “Dad, Mr. Savich said the police are coming and we’ve got to get our stories straight.”
Dave Raditch’s left eyebrow shot up above his glasses. He didn’t know where it came from, but when he met Savich’s eyes, he grinned, nodded, but only for an instant, because Crissy’s face was leached of color and she was shuddering like she had a fever. He cleared his throat. “Okay, Crissy, Michael’s right, we’ve gotta tell the police exactly what happened before Mr. Savich came in. How about the three of us go over there by the potato chips and talk about how this went down, okay?”
Crissy Raditch turned to stare at the woman, and then licked her lips. “Did Mr. Savich shoot her dead?”
Savich watched Dave Raditch herd his children behind the chip stand, out of sight of the devastation.
He looked at the dead woman, at the trail of blood seeping from beneath his leather jacket. Had she ever considered she might die at 8:27 on a Tuesday night?
He heard sirens.
He looked over at the kids’ two ice-cream bars melting on the floor, and then at the big round clock behind Mr. Patil’s counter. He watched the minute hand reach 8:28. Only a couple of minutes had passed, a couple of minutes that determined who would live and who would die.
CHAPTER 2
He said his name was Thaddeus, and he was sort of shy when he asked her if he could buy her a Burning River Pale Ale. He really liked it, he said, and it was brewed by Great Lakes Brewing Co., so she would be helping the local economy. While they sipped their ale, they ate the really salty peanuts set in bowls on the length of the bar. Alana Rafferty thought he was pretty cool with that white face of his and longish black hair topped with a black beret. She’d swear he even used a black eyebrow pencil. His clothes looked arty—black T-shirt and baggy black jeans—and hung on him, since he was so thin. Turned out he was also really nice and funny, one-liners popping out of his mouth. He was a nice change from her younger brother, the jerk, who’d stolen two hundred dollars from her wallet that morning when she’d visited her mother, then laughed at her when she accused him of it, because, the fact was, she always let him off the hook, just like her mother who always excused her loser father.
Thaddeus asked her questions about her job, and she opened up to him, even told him how she wanted to write a movie script for a new superhero she’d created. They drank two more Burning Rivers, and then he asked her if she’d like to drop in and see what was going on at Club Mephisto on Bradley Street, only two blocks over. Alana looked at his fine-boned face and long, thin fingers, those darkened eyebrows, the clever smile of his mouth. He seemed okay. She said yes, but she couldn’t stay for long, she had to work tomorrow.
He helped her into her lightweight corduroy jacket, a gift from her mother on her birthday two weeks ago. She gave the bartender a big smile and a little half wave, and they walked out into the cool evening. It was clear, a half-moon overhead. She had a slight buzz going. Club Mephisto—it was a good place for dancing the calories off, but she really shouldn’t go since it was a work night. She smiled at him and tried out his name. “Okay, Thaddeus, who stuck you with that name? Your mom or your dad?”
“My dad. He loved Thaddeus Klondike, you know, that old Wild West hero from Charles Haver’s books?”
“Sorry, I’ve never heard of this Klondike or Haver. I remember eating Klondike bars. They’re yummy. What else did Haver write?”
“I don’t know. I’ve never read him.”
“So here you are, stuck with Thaddeus and no context. No nickname? Like Thad or maybe Deus?” She was feeling more buzzed now than before, and that didn’t make a whole lot of sense. Buzzed on three bottles of Burning River Pale Ale she’d nursed for more than two hours?
“Nope, it’s always been Thaddeus.” He stuck out his hand to wave down the taxi cruising by. “I kind of like it that way. With me, Alana, what you see is what you get.”
The cabbie pulled to a stop and lowered the window a bit. “Sorry, buddy, I’m off duty for the night.”
Thaddeus jumped forward and kicked his front tire. “Yeah, right, you morons are always off duty.”
“Hey, dude!” The cabbie gave him the finger and peeled out.
Alana frowned at him. “Why’d you kick the tire?”
“Guy’s a moron. I mean, look, you’ve got on high heels, and now we’ll have to walk over to Club Mephisto.”
“Nah, I think he’s right. I’m feeling like going off duty myself, too. It’s getting late. I think I should be getting on home now. Maybe we can go this weekend? You free?”
He lightly touched a long, thin white finger to her cheek. “I’ll walk you home. You live close, right? That’s what the bartender told me.”
She nodded, smiling, and she stumbled. “Whoa, what’s this? I only had three ales, and they weren’t that strong.”
“Maybe it was all those peanuts.” He laughed, told her not to worry about it, pulled her closer, and walked her to her building on Hudson Avenue. He walked her up two flights of stairs, down a long, well-lit corridor. “Give me your key.”
She knew you didn’t give a guy your key, not a guy you’d just met, even though he was funny and really nice. It just wasn’t smart. But wasn’t he about her size? Didn’t that make him safe enough? Alana was feeling really sick now, nausea churning in her stomach, sneaking up in her throat, and she swallowed, but it didn’t help. She knew she was going to throw up, and she hated that. She tried to focus on getting inside and popping two Alka-Seltzer tablets in a glass of water from her bathroom sink, watching them dissolve. She gave him her key.
When he helped her inside her apartment, she knew she wasn’t going to make it to the Alka-Seltzer, she was going to throw up now. She pulled away from him, fell to her knees, and vomited on the highly polished oak floor of her small entry hall. She felt like her insides were churning backward, spewing out bile that would choke her. She huddled there, her knees drawn up to her chest.
He knelt down beside her, laid his palm on her forehead. His hand felt warm and soft. She whispered, “I’m sorry, Thaddeus, I’m feeling really sick.”
He stroked her forehead. “That’s all right, Alana. I’m the one who made you sick, and now it’s time to end it.”
“You made me sick? But how? Why?” She saw him twist a loop of wire in his hands, saw him reach down over her as she vomited again, beer and peanuts all over the front of him. She heard him curse as the wire went around her neck.
CHAPTER 3
