LAKE OFF RED

CHAPTER ONE

My legs were on the verge of giving out. I could feel the numbness crawl up my thigh like creeping death. I pinched myself, bit my cheek. A bum on the opposite end of the train gave me side-eye, a smirk cut across her chapped lips. She knew the game I was playing and I loathed her for acknowledging it because now I could hear the sand in the hourglass running thin.

“This is Lake,” said Lee Crooks off the intercom.

Full sprint off the train, hard left into Marshall Field’s, two-stepped up the stairs. Barreled down the aisles and could feel my stomach pulsating. Hooked right into the bathroom. The last stall door creaked open like a godsend. I smacked it shut, locked it, and planted my ass on the toilet.

Relief.

Red gloss caught my peripheral, I pivoted and found a gift bag hiding behind the toilet. Scooped it onto my lap, I dipped my hand in. The stall door jerked, I startled, dropped the bag. Somebody on the opposite side persistently tugged at the door.

“Occupied. Obviously,” I said.

The person walked away without a word. I fished the bag back, inside was a thick manila envelope. What harm would a peek bring me? Twenty-thousand in mixed bills slid out. My jaw nearly fell into the bowl on the way to the floor. Never would I have thought God would reward me for running the four-hundred-meter dash to take a shit.

For less than a fraction of a second, I thought of putting it back, but then I looked at my mangled shoes. If I wiggled my big toe just right, you’d see it poke through splitting threads. I wiped, washed, and took the elevator to floor two.

CHAPTER TWO

I bought three pairs of Adidas, and three three-piece Hugo Boss suits because I could. I kindly asked the clerk to toss my Chuck Taylors into the river. I swapped out my raggedy Wal-Mart jeans for Levi’s, my jacket that lost its brand tag seven-hundred washes ago for a brown Ralph Lauren leather jacket. This was all too easy. Stealing apple sauce from an old person easy. Bags of clothes later, I found myself on the first-floor figure eight-ing the purse section. Three weeks ago, my girlfriend dumped me.

Lana and I hugged the bar at Schubas over by on Southport. I was maybe four White Russians deep, enough to the point where I found the way the light glistened amusing. She squeezed my thigh, I hiccupped a chuckle.

“Did you hear anything I just said?” Lana asked. I nodded, smiled.

“Then play it back for me.”

“You said ‘Did you hear anything I just said.”’

She sighed ice-cold, “Jesus Christ.” I stared into her green eyes, thinking they’d roll over to reveal what to say next.

“I’m sorry, but I can’t do this anymore.”

“Then let’s hit up Old Town--”

“No... Us.”

“Huh?!”

“You need to find some initiative. Stand up for yourself. If you tried, you’d have so much to offer the world, but you don’t try. If it weren’t for me or for all the bullshit you talk, you wouldn’t know where to feed yourself.”

Every single word she said registered. I pushed away my drink and leaned forward, “Is it already that time of the month?” That’s when she left hooked my ass over teacups.

So in return, I found myself fondling Kate Spade purses rehearsing a bogus ‘get back with me’ speech that I’ll end up abandoning two sentences in.

“Someone’s makin’ out like a bandit today,” said the guy beside me. I looked up at him, he topped 6’4 good and flashed a smile at me I wasn’t ready to reciprocate. I just nodded.

“You tryin’ to pick out a bag for your girl?”

“Wow, you’re good at this.”

He clicked his tongue, forced a chuckle.

“You wanna know what she’d really love?”

“Surprise me.”

His eyes went dark:

“Your head inna box.”

He slugged me in my gut. A spurt of piss trickled down my leg, the world spun faster. Another man slipped behind me and grabbed the back of my neck and both of them dragged my ass out of the store. They tossed me in the back of a black Suburban waiting for us.

“Hey! Wait! STOP! What’s going on? What’d I do?”

“Bag him,” said the driver.

The goon to my right snapped his elbow into my nose and the one to my left threw a bag over my head.

CHAPTER THREE

The light stung my eyes when I tore the bag off. Dried blood caked my upper lip and itched. I sat face to face with a well-dressed man forking fettuccine into his mouth.

“Hungry?” he said.

“Cigarette?”

“No smoking in here.”

“How about a Screwdriver?”

“It’s 3:30.”

“That’s never stopped the Pope.”

“Excuse me?”

“Sorry, I’m--”

“Don’t be. It’s just us.”

I whipped panned my surroundings. Surveyed every last inch. Just the two of us in a dimly lit restaurant.

“I don’t need to spell out why you’re here, right?”

“I’ll return everything. I didn’t spend it all.”

Shook his head slow, “Keep it. But--”

“But????”

He looked directly at me. I bit my tongue as I sat up straight.

“You gotta put in work for what you took.”

“Like what?”

“Simple. Drive my girl around. Eyes on the road, mouth shut. She’ll tell you when she’s done.”

“Who?”

“Me,” she said as she curved around the corner. She wore black boots and gloves that seamlessly flowed with her suit. She looked down on me, “Wash up. You look like you had my pad for lunch.” He almost choked on chicken chuckling. I died a little at that moment.

“We leave in 10 minutes. Move your ass.”

CHAPTER FOUR

I waited for her in a blacked-out Mercedes parked in the rear. My nerves spiked when she hopped in the backseat carrying a little black book.

“3938 West 57th. Take Pulaski down. Let’s go.” I punched the address into the GPS and got going.

We got there, she spent maybe ten-to-fifteen minutes inside, came back with a stride, and crossed it off her list in her book. The next four stops played the same. Zipping across the city, I was getting dizzy, eyes began to cross. We left a two-flat in West Loop, she barked, “Head back.” I was making my way up Ashland when she got a quick call.

“Change of plans. Last minute stop in Cicero. 5131 30th Street.”

I coasted the curb, stopping in front of a quaint bungalow on the corner of the street. The block was barren, I wondered how many ghosts lived here. She ordered me to wait in the car. She’d be in and out. I watched her get welcomed in.

The air went still and I finally had a moment to notice my heart beating in my throat. My chest felt like it was going to collapse. I began to think it was the Devil who rewarded my sin. I was a cheap target, an ant being sun-beam lasered to death with a magnifying glass. I was his ‘cause I could’ like the suits I bought. I didn’t even try them on. Goddammit.

A knock on the glass made me choke on my spit. She knocked harder and I couldn’t open the window fast enough.

“Everything okay?” I said.

“Come give me a hand inside. Leave the car running.”

I followed her inside. The living room was sparse. Sun stained leather couches, a tear in one of them. It oddly reminded me of being over my grandparents in the summer and the world felt calm. Soft lake breezes in the night, backyard cookouts. She snapped her fingers in my face, flicked my nose. I winced back.

“Are you deaf or something?” she said.

“Yeah, something. What do you need help with?”

“Just have a seat for a second. I gotta use the washroom, then I’ll run it by you,” she said as she motioned me to sit. I did with a nod. She walked away but soon stopped and held still for a moment. Every possible scenario played at once in my head. My favorite one was of her turning around and devouring me whole. How else was this going to go? I haphazardly ripped off 20K of mob money. She probably only stood still for a few seconds, but I swear I watched her for an hour.

She turned around and the way she walked to me was like she was gliding on air. She reached into her jacket, I closed my eyes and thought of Lana. Thought of the last time I made her smile.

“Hey!” she said.

I faced her and greeted a gun to my face. She was handing it to me though. It was a silver, compact automatic with red grips and a suppressor fixed to the barrel.

“Grab it, I need to piss!”

I didn’t give it a second thought. A flare of sunlight grazed her brown eyes and for a brief moment, she gazed at me like a lost dog. She wasn’t wrong. Off to piss she went.

I stared at a split in the hardwood floor. The gun slept on my lap. Decided I’d give it a thorough look, only this time I realized the grips were black wood and slicked with blood. I flinched, dropped it on my foot, started feeling sick in the stomach.

“Hey!” I said… silence.

I wobbled as I stood. Bee-lined past the dining room into the kitchen. My eyes rolled to the back of my head and acid began pooling at the bottom of my throat. Good God. Three men sat around the table, slumped over limp. Their last moments stamped on what was left of their faces. The walls splattered red like a Jackson Pollock painting. I squeezed myself, peddled backward, hung left into a tiny hallway with a door in the middle. I heard the faucet running behind it. I banged on the door.

“Hey! Hey!”

No response. My stomach twisted.

“What the hell is going on?! I didn’t sign up for this!”

I gagged, swallowed it back, made it all worse.

“Open up!”

I kicked the door open. A breeze blew in from an open window above the toilet. I heard car tires burn rubber. Poked my head out and saw the Mercedes high-tail. That’s when I put 2 and 2 together and figured out what I was really driving her around to do. I was back on the toilet, now shit out of luck. To add insult to injury I heard police sirens in the distance and didn’t toss it up to chance that they were gonna go anywhere but here. Tires screeched out front, footfall quickly mobilized at the front door. Three loud sharp BANGS.

“Police, open the door!”

I had thirty seconds until I was body-slammed and teeth kicked in. I heard Lana:

“You need to find some initiative. Stand up for yourself!”

I had thirteen thousand dollars in my wallet and a bone to pick. I hoofed it out the back at warp speed. Kept running until my legs wanted to give out and ran even further. I didn’t have the slightest idea what my next move was, but I think for the first time in my life I found some initiative.