We Live Inside You (6 page)

Getting in was simple. You saw those window-mounted A/C units as “Open House” signs. You’d brought your LifeHammer as back-up, but all you’d needed to access Stump’s residence was a small screwdriver and the ability to disconnect a plug.

You were halfway up the stairs to the guest bathroom where the stash was supposed to be hidden, feeling like the air had been replaced with a Dexedrine mist. Your mouth was dry, your face a sheet of sweat.

You noticed a drop of perspiration fall from the tip of your nose to the carpeted stair underfoot, and wondered if it could pop up as evidence.

You were bent over using your runner’s glove to swab up the droplet when Scarface caught your left calf in his jaws.

At first you thought it was a severe cramp. Maybe you’d been favoring your left leg to protect your fragile right and the imbalance caught up with you.

Even when you heard the growl and felt teeth sinking in you couldn’t quite believe it. After all, you’d received Ava’s text: DG KNNLD, STMP LVG 1 HR.

What neither of you’d considered was that Stump might extract Scarface prior to leaving.

Call it an oversight.

An oversight that was quickly turning your left leg into shredded meat.

You collapsed forward on the staircase. Scarface dug in deeper, swung his head.

Agony.

You’d stopped thinking. You tried to kick out at him with your other foot but couldn’t land more than a glancing blow. You wished you’d started running in steel-shanked boots instead of sneaks.

You tried to say, “Good doggy let go doggy” but when you opened your mouth to assuage, all that came out was, “AAAAAAA! SHITSHITSHIT! JESUS!” It riled him; he clamped deeper.

You found the beefy treats you always carried in your pocket for just such an occasion. You tried to extend your arms backwards with the snacks so Scarface could catch the scent.

No interest. So you did your best to wing the snacks at him.

A yelp! Sweet mother of mercy—his jaws cut loose for a second. You rotated, braced for further assaults.

Scarface was pawing at the right side of his face, whining. One of the stale old snacks must have clipped him dead in the eye.

For one tiny moment you felt bad for him. Then his head dropped below his shoulders. He was about to pounce again. You kicked out in desperation, eyes closed….

Both of your feet made contact.

Scarface thumped to the bottom of the staircase, laid out.

Shit! You felt terrible—instantly cursed. Steal a man’s coke and his girl and he might move on with his life. But kill his dog? He’d probably hunt you to the ends of the Earth.

Without thinking you were limping back down the stairs, towards the dog, to see if you’d actually killed it. Then you heard a low growl.

Scarface popped up in full bristle, teeth bared, bloody.

Your blood. It took a second to recognize that.

You leapt up the stairs, four at a time. You had to lean more weight on your right. The tightness there turned to razor-wire. Then you were in the upper hallway and bounding, trying to remember what she’d said.

Third door on the left. Guest bathroom.

You collapsed into the third room, no longer caring if it was the bathroom, just wanting to kick the door closed. Shut out the beast.

You heard the door click shut and pressed your right foot against the wood, bracing it.

You could tell he was out there, hear him gnawing at the door with the side of his mouth. You reached up, locked the door. Gnashing turned to barking, guttural eruptions.

You worried about the neighbors being alerted but remembered what Ava told you—the whole joint was soundproofed since they used to get complaints about the studio bumping beats at all hours.

You flipped the light switch and caught yourself in the mirror. Bloody. Shaking. In track gear. The image ran ugly.

But at least you’d landed in the bathroom.

You were glad the mirror had to come down—seeing yourself in that moment brought in a rush of feelings and questions that were better not contemplated. You grabbed each side of the frame, lifted up, and pulled it back off its mounting screws.

The hole in the drywall was there, as she’d described. You reached in and found the plastic loop, pulled it off the nail in the stud. The loop was attached to a vinyl cord. Your shoulders strained to reel in the compressed duffel bag at its far end.

Seeing the loot gave you new confidence. You’d found your grail—your princess was waiting for your return. You re-mounted the mirror, used a towel to clean your blood off the floor and then wrapped it around your leg to staunch further bleeding.

Scarface’s paws thumped against the door, nails scraping, not calming down. You scanned the bathroom for a weapon and found nothing that would allow you to confront the hound with confidence.

That left one point of exit—a small sliding window above the shower.

You slid the window open, popped the screen. You tied off the duffel bag to your CamelBak and used the vinyl cord to lower them to the ground.

The drop from the second floor was unfriendly no matter how you went about it. You managed to hang and exit feet first. Both legs felt equally savaged so you couldn’t pick one to bear the brunt of the fall. Instead you tried to let your legs collapse and shift your weight to the back so you could somersault out of it.

This did not work.

Your left leg hit first. Before you could shift your weight your knee was driven into your jaw. A world-class uppercut delivered by yourself. For a moment everything was fireworks, copper, dust. Then your brain cleared out.

You’d made it.

Your contraband was to your left, Scarface was a distant threat, and you were only a quarter mile from an angel-in-waiting.

What you didn’t expect was… well… any of it.

Ava was at the meeting spot, a dusty trailhead near the Wildwood hiking areas. That part matched up with what you’d pictured.

She’d stepped out of the car, closed the door. She’d left the headlights off. You couldn’t see her well. You’d taken longer than expected to reach her, moving along with a limping trot. You began to apologize.

“I know I’m running a little behind but you won’t believe…”

And then she hit you with the Tazer.

You were already on the gravel before you recognized the crackling sound, felt the darts piercing your belly.

For a moment you thought that you’d been shot. That Stump Lo had found the pair of you and you were dead for sure.

But it was Ava holding the Tazer, and she wasn’t letting up on the volts.

Your right leg was folded underneath your body. With the next blast of juice you felt your calf pull too tight. Your fragile iliotibial band finally gave with an audible snap. You would have screamed if your jaw wasn’t clenched shut.

Ava let up on the trigger. She said, “Bag!”

You gestured towards your pack and the duffel bag, thrown three feet to your side.

“Ava, what…”

She turned the juice back on. Grabbed the duffel, clearly not interested in conversation. She stepped closer.

“I’m going to release the trigger, but if you start to talk I’ll Taze you until your hair starts on fire. Got me?”

You made your best effort at a nod.

She crouched closer. “You’re not coming with me, but you should still run. You probably didn’t even think of this, but Stump’s place has a shit-ton of cameras. They make him feel gangster. He’s no killer, but the people who supply him will not be pleased.”

She’d been rehearsing this, leaving no room for emotion. Maybe she really loved you. Maybe this was some kind of test…

She continued. “You’ve probably killed me. This is what people will think. They will find a letter at Union Jack’s, talking about how you’d been planning to rob Stump. You threatened to kill me if I didn’t go along with it. You’d even joked about burying me out here in Forest Park and keeping the drugs for yourself. The girls I worked with last night think I’m scared of you. I really sold it. There are plenty of people who’ve seen you staring at me for hours. It will read as stalker behavior after the letter gets out.”

“But, Ava…”

ZZZZRNT! You seized up. She was not trigger-shy on the Tazer.

“Don’t try to find me.”

Another long jolt with the Tazer. Then she was kneeling by your side, properly pegging you as too jellied for combat. Even in the dark, you could sense she was smiling. She was back at your ear.

“I did love the ring, by the way, but I had to sell it today. Easier to send off the single mother vibe without it.”

Then she was over you. Her breath smelled like black licorice. She leaned in to kiss you on the lips.

And you, you sorry sonofabitch, you still wanted it. When her lips met yours you closed your eyes, hoped time would slow.

But it ended, and she was up and the Tazer was left in the dirt.

“You’re smart enough to know I’m right. Get the fuck out of Portland.”

“Ava…”

“Good luck.”

Her car door slammed. Headlights slapped you blind and she was gone.