the paper’s
dwindling readership.
But Kevin did know a few things. Lincoln
Heights was Russian mob territory. They were involved in just about
everything such an organization would be expected to have ties to:
drugs, guns, prostitution, protection rackets, gambling. If it was
illegal and profitable, they had some level of involvement.
They didn’t hesitate to kill. The murder rate
in Lincoln Heights was crazy high. And that was just the bodies
that were found.
Why would she want an address in Lincoln
Heights checked out? Just how much trouble was she in? Because if
she was in that neighborhood, she was definitely in trouble.
It might not be the kind of trouble his money
could sweep away.
Even if he could help her, was he obligated?
Yes, she’d saved his life, but did that mean he was obligated to
possibly risk his? If she was in trouble with the Russian mob, her
life was in danger and if he helped her, his would be too.
Driving usually helped soothe his nerves but
not tonight. He went past crumbling tenements, trash can fires,
groups of kids huddled together on corners and in alleys. Girls in
cheap vinyl and tottering heels catcalled him at red lights, hoping
to score a rich john in a fancy car. Liquor stores and strip clubs
and corner dealers. Thumping music and angry shouts and sparkling
laughter. There was plenty of life here, it just scared the hell
out of him. It made him ashamed to admit it, even just to
himself.
When his lawyer called about changing his
community service to a safer location, Kevin almost accepted. He’d
never been so badly hurt before, his pride and his sense of
security, and yes, his manhood, so thoroughly ground down into
almost nothing. Being saved by a woman wasn’t the source of his
shame. It was his inability to protect himself that shamed him.
He’d barely been able to fight back. No amount of reminding himself
how many attackers there had been did any good. He still
felt…useless. Incapable. In truth, he’d never felt more like the
worthless playboy everyone saw him as. And he hated that.
Kevin didn’t want to add feeling like a
coward to all that, so he’d told the lawyer he would continue his
service at the shelter. Now as he considered how far to go to help
the woman who’d saved his life, he thought maybe he was a coward
after all.
Shit. He would keep an eye on the phone,
check the shelter again tomorrow. For now, he would go home. He
cued up some house music on the sound system and headed north.
Until he got to a turn-off that would take
him into Lincoln Heights. He idled at the stop sign, considering
things. Before he could talk himself out of it, he checked the GPS
map on his phone and headed for the address she’d given him.
Just a quick drive-by. Surely she wouldn’t be
anywhere around the place.
When he saw the flames reaching into the
night sky, he knew instinctively that was the place. He turned onto
the correct street and sure enough, there it was – a brownstone on
fire at the far end of the street, spitting orange and red high
into the sky and filling the area with thick black smoke. There was
no sign of any kind of first responders, no neighbors milled in the
street.
Someone walked out of the smoke that hung
like a curtain around the house. Kevin slammed on the breaks. It
was her. Jesus, she was trashed. Covered in blood and soot, clothes
torn, dark hair flying like a pirate flag in the wind. She stumbled
into the street and looked like if she didn’t sit down soon she was
going to fall down.
Taking care not to hit her, Kevin pulled up,
leaned over and opened the passenger door. “Get in.”
She stared for a long moment. He thought he
was going to have to remind her of who he was when she climbed into
the car and shut the door. “No hospital. Promise me.”
Kevin may have been rich and spoiled but he’d
been in his share of trouble before. Kicked out of private school,
juvenile arrests that cost the family money and favors to make go
away.
dwindling readership.
But Kevin did know a few things. Lincoln
Heights was Russian mob territory. They were involved in just about
everything such an organization would be expected to have ties to:
drugs, guns, prostitution, protection rackets, gambling. If it was
illegal and profitable, they had some level of involvement.
They didn’t hesitate to kill. The murder rate
in Lincoln Heights was crazy high. And that was just the bodies
that were found.
Why would she want an address in Lincoln
Heights checked out? Just how much trouble was she in? Because if
she was in that neighborhood, she was definitely in trouble.
It might not be the kind of trouble his money
could sweep away.
Even if he could help her, was he obligated?
Yes, she’d saved his life, but did that mean he was obligated to
possibly risk his? If she was in trouble with the Russian mob, her
life was in danger and if he helped her, his would be too.
Driving usually helped soothe his nerves but
not tonight. He went past crumbling tenements, trash can fires,
groups of kids huddled together on corners and in alleys. Girls in
cheap vinyl and tottering heels catcalled him at red lights, hoping
to score a rich john in a fancy car. Liquor stores and strip clubs
and corner dealers. Thumping music and angry shouts and sparkling
laughter. There was plenty of life here, it just scared the hell
out of him. It made him ashamed to admit it, even just to
himself.
When his lawyer called about changing his
community service to a safer location, Kevin almost accepted. He’d
never been so badly hurt before, his pride and his sense of
security, and yes, his manhood, so thoroughly ground down into
almost nothing. Being saved by a woman wasn’t the source of his
shame. It was his inability to protect himself that shamed him.
He’d barely been able to fight back. No amount of reminding himself
how many attackers there had been did any good. He still
felt…useless. Incapable. In truth, he’d never felt more like the
worthless playboy everyone saw him as. And he hated that.
Kevin didn’t want to add feeling like a
coward to all that, so he’d told the lawyer he would continue his
service at the shelter. Now as he considered how far to go to help
the woman who’d saved his life, he thought maybe he was a coward
after all.
Shit. He would keep an eye on the phone,
check the shelter again tomorrow. For now, he would go home. He
cued up some house music on the sound system and headed north.
Until he got to a turn-off that would take
him into Lincoln Heights. He idled at the stop sign, considering
things. Before he could talk himself out of it, he checked the GPS
map on his phone and headed for the address she’d given him.
Just a quick drive-by. Surely she wouldn’t be
anywhere around the place.
When he saw the flames reaching into the
night sky, he knew instinctively that was the place. He turned onto
the correct street and sure enough, there it was – a brownstone on
fire at the far end of the street, spitting orange and red high
into the sky and filling the area with thick black smoke. There was
no sign of any kind of first responders, no neighbors milled in the
street.
Someone walked out of the smoke that hung
like a curtain around the house. Kevin slammed on the breaks. It
was her. Jesus, she was trashed. Covered in blood and soot, clothes
torn, dark hair flying like a pirate flag in the wind. She stumbled
into the street and looked like if she didn’t sit down soon she was
going to fall down.
Taking care not to hit her, Kevin pulled up,
leaned over and opened the passenger door. “Get in.”
She stared for a long moment. He thought he
was going to have to remind her of who he was when she climbed into
the car and shut the door. “No hospital. Promise me.”
Kevin may have been rich and spoiled but he’d
been in his share of trouble before. Kicked out of private school,
juvenile arrests that cost the family money and favors to make go
away.
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