When Diller and Shawna had come to his mom with their plan, she’d cried. Following advice, they’d not told her anything until it was time, and then, after Diller had pleaded with her, his mom had gone with Shawna. His mom, who had always seemed so tall and proud throughout his childhood, had looked small and frightened as she waved out the window of Shawna’s Honda as they drove away.
It had been eighteen days now. Diller went out to see her whenever he could. It was hard, but she had always been a fighter. It was working. It was really working. Finally, after all this time, the wolf was being beaten back. Diller just had to keep up his end of the bargain. He had decided not to ask friends such as Smithy for money. He wanted to do this himself. Besides, Smithy was saving up for his own dreams. Doing the whole thing alone had taken on a near religious significance to Diller. This was his penance. So what little money he had was going towards making the fees to keep his mom in the clinic.
Unfortunately, the plan had left no money for unforeseen expenses. Like finding out that his mom owed more money to certain people than he had realised. Hence why Ronnie Stocks was standing outside his house. All Diller needed to do was keep ducking, diving and providing, while his mom fought her battle. Ronnie could wait. Luckily, Ronnie wasn’t going to come into their house. The reason for that was Mrs James, a nice old lady from the neighbourhood who Diller and his mom had taken in years ago. She got a little confused at times, but she had a sweet disposition. His mom had just done it because, even with the wolf to deal with, she couldn’t stand by and let someone else suffer. At least with them, Mrs James got a roof over her head and a hot meal most days.
Diller hadn’t realised who Mrs James’s grandson was, mainly because she wanted nothing to do with him. Marco James was a bad man. In and out of prison, even in Hunts Point, he was someone you gave a wide berth. Somebody had broken into Diller’s place a couple of years ago, taking what little they had. More importantly, it had left Mrs James terrified and confused for several days.
Diller never found out what happened, but two days later their stuff reappeared, left on the front step in a cardboard box. After that, Diller had been told that their house was holy ground. Nobody was going to step foot in it again unless they had a strong desire to meet their maker. Marco had made that very clear. All of this meant that Diller’s home was truly his sanctuary, providing he could get inside without becoming a brutal example of what happens when gravity goes wrong.
While people might not look up much, lights in the sky could certainly attract their attention. It was why the timing of Diller’s phone ringing was especially bad. Diller flapped round, trying to grab it from the back pocket of his jeans, but his left hand got tangled in a strap. He freed it by twisting his body. At that sickening moment he felt the phone, dislodged by his movement, slip out of his pocket and fall free. Terribly, possibly fatally free. It was a cheap phone, but Ronnie would not take that into consideration when it landed on his head.
Diller’s hand flew out reflexively. Somehow he grabbed the phone between the middle and ring fingers of his left hand. He caught his breath as he looked down at it, the screen painfully bright in the night sky. He had only the most tentative hold. Below, Ronnie Stocks rummaged around in his left nostril with an enthusiastic finger. The phone stopped vibrating as the call finally went to voicemail.
Slowly, painfully slowly, Diller turned himself enough to bring his other hand almost within reach of the device. It was no use – the straps prevented it from going all the way around. There was only one thing for it. As he felt the phone slip from between his fingers, Diller whipped up his left hand, dragging the phone a couple of feet in the air before he lost his grip on it entirely. His right hand came around just enough to grab it.
He held it to his chest. His heart was pounding now. That had been ridiculously close. Always the little things.
As Diller’s breath returned to normal, the phone vibrated in his hand again. He was about to turn it off before it caused any more trouble when he saw the number and stopped. Shawna.
He looked down to check Ronnie was still oblivious, then answered the call. “Hi, Shawna, now isn’t a good time.”
“Sorry, Diller, but we got a problem – a really big problem.”
Chapter Fifteen
Jackie stopped behind the bar to pick up the baseball bat he kept there for special occasions. Dressed as he was in his wife’s fluffy dressing gown, in ordinary circumstances he might look comical. The presence of the bat would dissuade anyone from attempting to crack any jokes. Jackie was a nice guy but a big one, and one who’d run a bar down by the docks for a decade before he’d got the Porterhouse Lodge.
Whoever was outside pounded on the door again. “Alright, I’m coming. Jeez – it’s almost two in the morning.”
He looked across to the storeroom doorway where Smithy was standing in his underpants. Jackie pointed the baseball bat at him. “You told me you needed somewhere to stay for the night because your old lady kicked you out.” He waved the bat towards the main door. “If this is the cops, you and me are through.”
Smithy held up his hands. “I swear, Jackie, this ain’t me. I told you the truth.”
“Yeah, well …”
A fist pounded on the door again.
“Alright,” hollered Jackie, “I’m coming. So help me, someone better be dead, or someone is going to be.” More to himself than anyone else, he added, “My wife will mention this. A lot.”
Smithy took a few steps forward as his mind filled with horrible possibilities. It hadn’t seemed at all likely, but maybe that blond asshole had gone back to Cheryl’s apartment. Crap. He should have stayed outside in the cab and kept watch, comfort be damned.
Jackie finished throwing the bolts on the inner door, flung it open and stepped into the vestibule. “Who is it?”
“It’s me, Jackie. It’s Diller.”
Jackie’s body language changed and he looked back at Smithy, his brow furrowed with concern. Diller was not the type to bang down your door at 2am without a really good reason, and no good reason would be good news.
“Hang on, Dill,” said Jackie. “Just a second.”
Jackie moved back inside and deactivated the alarm, dropping the bat on the bar as he did so. He took a large ring of keys from the pocket of the dressing gown and picked out the ones he needed. As soon as the door opened, Diller all but fell through it. He was soaking wet, bedraggled, and his normally placid face was filled with a fearful desperation that Smithy had never seen before.
“Jeez,” said Jackie, all anger long forgotten. “Are you OK, Dill? You’re soaking.”
“Is Smithy …” Diller stopped as he caught sight of his friend. “Oh, thank God. I’ve been looking everywhere. Why didn’t you answer your phone?”
“Sorry,” said Smithy. “It ran out of juice. I didn’t bring a charger. I was going to get one in the … Look, what’s wrong, Dill?”
As Diller moved inside, Smithy noticed he was limping.
“Diller,” said Jackie. “How come you’ve only got one shoe on?”
“Lost it,” said Diller, without turning around. He collapsed to his knees in front of Smithy and grabbed him by the shoulders. “You have to do it.”