think you understand.”
“Understand what?”
For a moment, Eve thought the girl was going to leave without another word. Then, haltingly, Cassandra said, “I’m not going back there. I can’t ever go back there.”
Eve studied the girl. Her heart nearly broke. The girl had the haunted look of the ever- vigilant, the ever- cautious, someone who never slept, never let down her guard. She was a mirror image of Eve at the same age.
41 BADL AN DS
Eve knew her next question would not be answered. It never was. She asked anyway. “Can I ask why you didn’t go to the police?”
Cassandra looked at the floor. “I have my reasons.”
“All right,” Eve said. “I understand. Trust me. I really do.” She reached into her pocket, palmed a fifty, slid it across the counter, lifted a finger.
The girl looked down, stared at the corner of the bill for a few seconds, then glanced up at Eve. “I don’t need it.”
Eve was shocked. Street kids did not turn down money. Something else was at work here. She could not imagine what it might be. “What are you talking about?”
“I don’t want the money. I’m okay.”
“Are you sure?”
A long pause. The girl nodded.
Eve put the bill back in her pocket. She glanced around the restaurant. No one was watching. No one ever did at the all- nighters. She glanced back at the girl. “What can I do for you?” she asked. “You have to let me do something for you.”
The girl drummed her fingers on the countertop for a few seconds, then picked up Eve’s cheeseburger, wrapped it in a paper napkin, shoved it in her pocket. She also grabbed a handful of Equal packets. She spun on her stool, seemingly ready to bolt, then stopped, looked back over her shoulder. “I’ll tell you what you can do for me,” she said. Her eyes were rimmed with tears. Her face was a mask of fear. Or maybe it was shame.
“What’s that?”
“You can kill him.”
Three thirty.
The huge house was on a quiet street. It looked just as the girl had described it—overgrown with weeds, tangled with shrubbery, gnarled with dying trees. Vines hung from the gutters; dead ivy clung to the north side like black veins. Three stories in height, clad in dark orange brick, it squatted on a large corner lot, all but hidden from the street. A stone balcony wrapped around the second floor, looming over a crum
42 R ICHAR D MONTANAR I
bling stone porch. Four chimneys probed the night sky like a thumbless hand.
Eve circled the block twice, out of caution, habit, training. She parked fifty feet from the gated driveway, killed the engine and headlights. She listened, waited, watched. Nothing moved on the street.
Three fifty.
Eve flipped open her cell phone, and before she could stop herself she pressed the number, speed- dialing it for the first time. It was a mistake, but she did it anyway. The line rang once, twice. Eve’s finger hovered over the red end button.
A few seconds later, the phone on the other end clicked on. A lifetime went by.
“Hi,” Eve finally said.
Five minutes later Eve clicked off. She had said much more than she had intended, but she felt good, strong. Cleansed. She tapped her right front jeans pocket, where her courage lived. She took out the pill vial, shook out two Valium. She uncapped the pint of Wild Turkey, sipped from it, capped the bottle, looked around.
This small section of Philadelphia had a neighborhood name, the way almost all sections of Philadelphia did, but this one wouldn’t come to her. It was a small enclave of old, hidden houses, just west of the Oak Lane Reservoir.
She stepped out of the car, into the torrid, cloudless night. Philadelphia was quiet. Philadelphia dreamed.
Eve crossed the street, walked down the sidewalk toward the corner, skirting the iron fence. Beyond the fence the huge house loomed in the darkness, its dormers rising into the sky like devil’s horns. Tortured trees obscured the walls.
As she got closer she saw lights in the windows on the
“Understand what?”
For a moment, Eve thought the girl was going to leave without another word. Then, haltingly, Cassandra said, “I’m not going back there. I can’t ever go back there.”
Eve studied the girl. Her heart nearly broke. The girl had the haunted look of the ever- vigilant, the ever- cautious, someone who never slept, never let down her guard. She was a mirror image of Eve at the same age.
41 BADL AN DS
Eve knew her next question would not be answered. It never was. She asked anyway. “Can I ask why you didn’t go to the police?”
Cassandra looked at the floor. “I have my reasons.”
“All right,” Eve said. “I understand. Trust me. I really do.” She reached into her pocket, palmed a fifty, slid it across the counter, lifted a finger.
The girl looked down, stared at the corner of the bill for a few seconds, then glanced up at Eve. “I don’t need it.”
Eve was shocked. Street kids did not turn down money. Something else was at work here. She could not imagine what it might be. “What are you talking about?”
“I don’t want the money. I’m okay.”
“Are you sure?”
A long pause. The girl nodded.
Eve put the bill back in her pocket. She glanced around the restaurant. No one was watching. No one ever did at the all- nighters. She glanced back at the girl. “What can I do for you?” she asked. “You have to let me do something for you.”
The girl drummed her fingers on the countertop for a few seconds, then picked up Eve’s cheeseburger, wrapped it in a paper napkin, shoved it in her pocket. She also grabbed a handful of Equal packets. She spun on her stool, seemingly ready to bolt, then stopped, looked back over her shoulder. “I’ll tell you what you can do for me,” she said. Her eyes were rimmed with tears. Her face was a mask of fear. Or maybe it was shame.
“What’s that?”
“You can kill him.”
Three thirty.
The huge house was on a quiet street. It looked just as the girl had described it—overgrown with weeds, tangled with shrubbery, gnarled with dying trees. Vines hung from the gutters; dead ivy clung to the north side like black veins. Three stories in height, clad in dark orange brick, it squatted on a large corner lot, all but hidden from the street. A stone balcony wrapped around the second floor, looming over a crum
42 R ICHAR D MONTANAR I
bling stone porch. Four chimneys probed the night sky like a thumbless hand.
Eve circled the block twice, out of caution, habit, training. She parked fifty feet from the gated driveway, killed the engine and headlights. She listened, waited, watched. Nothing moved on the street.
Three fifty.
Eve flipped open her cell phone, and before she could stop herself she pressed the number, speed- dialing it for the first time. It was a mistake, but she did it anyway. The line rang once, twice. Eve’s finger hovered over the red end button.
A few seconds later, the phone on the other end clicked on. A lifetime went by.
“Hi,” Eve finally said.
Five minutes later Eve clicked off. She had said much more than she had intended, but she felt good, strong. Cleansed. She tapped her right front jeans pocket, where her courage lived. She took out the pill vial, shook out two Valium. She uncapped the pint of Wild Turkey, sipped from it, capped the bottle, looked around.
This small section of Philadelphia had a neighborhood name, the way almost all sections of Philadelphia did, but this one wouldn’t come to her. It was a small enclave of old, hidden houses, just west of the Oak Lane Reservoir.
She stepped out of the car, into the torrid, cloudless night. Philadelphia was quiet. Philadelphia dreamed.
Eve crossed the street, walked down the sidewalk toward the corner, skirting the iron fence. Beyond the fence the huge house loomed in the darkness, its dormers rising into the sky like devil’s horns. Tortured trees obscured the walls.
As she got closer she saw lights in the windows on the
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