“—No. No. I don’t mind. I…” he blows out a breath and stares up to the sky. “I miss talking about her. I’ve stayed quiet so long trying to process my grief.” He tosses his garbage in the trashcan. “My situation was a little different. I always knew I’d lose Abigale one day. I knew. I didn’t want it to happen, I prayed it wouldn’t, I begged, I cried, I did anything I could think of to keep her with me. Deep down, though? I knew I was on borrowed time. And when she passed, I woke up and saw how still she was. Something woke me up; it was like suddenly something was missing. It changed me forever, One-Eye. I won’t ever be the same after that.”
I do something I’ve never done with him before: I invade his space and give him a hug. He’s shocked for a second and his arms hang loose at his sides, but then he clutches onto my back with his hands. I pat his back, trying to tell him I’m here for him.
“I’m so fucking sorry you had to feel that much pain and still do, Wolf. You haven’t had it easy. Don’t think I don’t remember.” I’m talking about the times when I was strung up in the barn along with Arrow and Kansas while he was forced to take care of the girls in the basement, so they wouldn’t kill his sister. He did the best he could in the situation he was given.
At the end of the day, his sister is safe now, so I guess something worked out in the end.
“It’s okay. I appreciate it. I actually feel better than I have in a long fucking time because I’m out here with you. I really did need to get away. And I swear, we are going to bring her home. No more losses.” He holds out his hand and I slap my palm into his just as my cellphone rings.
I pull it out of my pocket just as a bicycle zips by me, dinging its bell. “Fucking bicycles. Those are dangerous, you know,” I grumble in frustration and Wolf snickers. “Hello?”
“One-Eye. I have news,” Boomer starts to say, and I stand straighter. “Go meet with O’Crowely. He’s eating at some fancy Italian place, uh, Fiori. I don’t know what the fuck that means. It’s apparently really good, though. Oh shit, Michelin stars. Fine dining. Damn, I’ll have to take Scarlett there. She’d like that. I got to go. I’m going to make a reservation. Hey, see if the Crow can get me in.” He hangs up and I’m left a little baffled and confused.
“What’s the word?”
“We are going to Fiori.”
“What did you just call me?” Wolf jokes as he mounts his bike. “I don’t know what the hell that is.”
“It’s some fancy place we’re supposed to meet the Crow at,” I explain. “I have no idea where to go, though.
“Fuhgeddaboutit. Ya better off walkin’,” cuts in a bystander who apparently overheard our whole conversation. He’s a big man, with a thick New York Italian accent. “This is what you’re gonna do. Go down here, eh, four blocks, okay? You with me? Good. And then, ya take a left and another two. You’ll see the restaurant there. My cousin owns it. I’ll give him a heads up to let him know you’re comin’. It ain’t a problem.” He pinches his four fingers and thumb together in the classic gesture that Italians make. “Welcome to the city. I’m Vinny. Who the hell are you?” he asks in the big boisterous tone most New Yorkers carry.
“I’m One-Eye. This is Wolf.”
“One-Eye.” He points to my eyeless face. I’m not wearing my patch today. My goal is to scare people. “I see what you did there. That’s fucked up. I get it. But fucked up.” His phone rings and he curses. “What?” he yells. “I told you I was getting the fucking milk.” I can hear the woman on the other end shouting too, also with a thick accent. “Now you want pizza? No, I won’t go jump off a fucking bridge. You go,” and then he chuckles. “Baby, you’d know I’d catch you. Yeah, yeah, fuck you too. Love you.” He hangs up the phone. “Alright, I gotta go. My pregnant wife is killing me. You know what I’m talkin’ about? Nice to meet ya.” He walks away quickly, vanishing into the crowd of people nearly running on the sidewalk to get to work or from work, or wherever.
So many suits. So many skirts.
And everyone looks like they either need to run or die.
“What the fuck was that?”
“Don’t know, but I’m going to listen to him. Let’s get to walking.” When we step onto the sidewalk, I expect people to give us space, but they don’t. They don’t blink an eye at us. If anything, I’m annoyed because if one more person hits me as they pass me, I’m going to lay someone out on the sidewalk.
I want to reach in my pocket for my gun. Maybe then they would give me some breathing room.
“Hey, watch it, pal,” some suit says to Wolf as they ram into one another.
A wolfish grin spreads across Wolf’s face and he snags the man by the blazer. “You need to be careful who the fuck you’re mouthing off to. Next time might just be your last time.” The guy is terrified as Wolf pushes him into the crowd.
“I don’t like it here,” I mutter.
“Me either. And it stinks, like a sewer.”
I huff in agreement, and we walk the four blocks the guy told us to and then we take a left. It’s been a while since I’ve walked so much. I understand why New Yorkers walk everywhere, but Jesus, how do they remember where to go?
“Hey, there it is,” Wolf slaps my chest and points to the restaurant across the street. He whistles under his breath. “Damn, that’s nice. Are they going to allow us in looking like this?”
“They better,” I growl and cross the street, a taxi honking at me. I slam my fists on the hood, staring at the driver right in the face.
His mouth falls open and he nods, the color leaving his face when he sees the monster he is looking at.
“Ya know, your one eye thing, it isn’t that bad. It’s fucking cool-looking. I know you’d rather have your eye, but I’m just saying, maybe it’s time to embrace it. It doesn’t bother most.”
“Yeah, but it bothers me.” We finally approach the fancy restaurant, but I notice the sign on the door says ‘closed’. I lift my fist and pound on it, shaking the glass.
A waiter opens the door and smiles, his brown eyes landing on Wolf. “I’m sorry, but we are closed.” He tries to shut the door, but I put my boot in the crack just in time.
With some extra force, I grip the edge of the door and swing it open. “I’m not here for you. I’m here to see the Crow.”
The large Adam’s apple bobs as the kid swallows. He can’t be more than seventeen. He still seems innocent, fresh in the face, but he knows what men like O’Crowely do. Birds of a feather and all that. No wonder the kid is afraid of us.
“Of course. I’m so sorry. I didn’t realize he had guests. Please, follow me.” He closes the door behind us and locks it again, then squeezes by us awkwardly. He accidentally rubs against me, and he yelps. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” He begins to fast walk in front of us and Wolf chuckles beside me.
“I love it when they freak out,” he says.
“You’re fucked up.”
“Don’t act like you don’t like it. You probably get off on it.”