A Chicago story
Picture retrieved 8/17/2020 @ https://www.juliannastrickland.com/read/2017/11/25/lattice-top-apple-pie. Edited by Jenna Malin using Fotor.
Diesel pushed himself up and rolled over onto his back with a huff, sweat glistening off his forehead. He wiped it off with the back of his hand. “Was that as good for you as it was for me?” he asked between heavy breaths.
Panting herself, Shiloh rolled her eyes. “Doubt it.”
He swallowed and stared up at the ceiling, relishing the moment. Out of all the ways he’d expected his night to turn out, this hadn’t crossed his mind. Though, despite his exhaustion, he felt oddly exhilarated. Relieved. Definitely ready for seconds. His stomach growled. “You hungry?”
Shiloh squinted at him. “Excuse me?”
He shrugged. “Dave’s is open 24/7. They make some killer Southwest omelets.”
She paused to process his words. For a moment, the only sounds in the room were their heavy breathing and the ringing in his ears. He waited for her answer, unmoving. “‘Killer’?” she asked. “That’s what you’re going with?”
He grinned and finally turned his gaze away from the ceiling and towards her. “Pun intended,” he joked, eyeing the two dead bodies on the floor between them. He chuckled at the obvious dismay on her face but regretted it as a sharp pain shot through his stomach. He seethed, and Shiloh pushed herself off the ground.
“We just fought our way out of a trap—” she began as she crossed the glass-covered floor, “—you’ve got a knife sticking out of your gut—” she kneeled next to him, examining the blade sheathed in his belly, “—and you’re thinking about omelets?”
“Fighting for my life makes me hungry,” he said through gritted teeth. But, he couldn’t resist: he winked at her. “So does sex.” She glared and yanked the knife out of him. He yelped, covering the open wound with his hands. “I deserved that,” he squeaked.
She smirked and stood up. “I know.” She wiped the blade on her already-soiled jeans before clipping it to her belt. She looked around for something to stop his bleeding.
“What are we gonna tell Blaze?” he called after her as she walked towards the kitchen. He struggled to sit up, holding his breath to keep from crying out a second time.
“The truth?” she offered lamely as she stepped over another body blocking the doorway. Her upper lip curled up as she stepped in the growing pool of blood underneath him. She braced her hands against both sides of the doorframe, willing herself not to slip in it. The welt on her leg throbbed with each movement, and she glared down at the corpse. She couldn’t remember if the welt was his fault, but she guessed it didn’t matter.
“Oh—” he grunted with effort, “—that we completely disobeyed orders and followed some Poisoned nutjob into their territory without any backup, straight into a trap and now you and I both are gonna have a bounty on our heads?” Diesel repeated with a grunt. “And you think I have stupid ideas.”
“Well, what would you suggest?” she asked, snatching a towel off the counter. It looked clean enough. She searched through cabinets for something else to wrap it up with.
“Not that.”
“Not helping.”
“Hey, I took out three of them. I’ve helped enough. It’s your turn.”
She rolled her eyes and spotted a roll of saran wrap. She grabbed it and the towel and made her way back to Diesel. She cast a sideways glance at the fourth dead guy in the corner. There was no way he could still be alive, but she couldn’t help herself. She watched too many zombie movies as a kid. She stepped over Doorway Corpse again and approached Diesel, who’d lifted his shirt to assess the damage.
She crinkled her nose. The blade had been hilt-deep when she pulled it out, and she wondered if that had been a mistake. Blood streamed out of the wound. Not fast enough to warrant blind panic, but enough to cause informed worry. He lifted his blood-covered hand to her. She helped him up, steadying him as he stumbled forward. He reached for the wall in front of him and she guided him over.
“We wouldn’t be in this mess if he’d tell us the truth.” He grabbed the towel from her and wadded it up tight. One shoulder to the wall, he pressed the towel to his side with a hiss. “Especially when it’s about you.”
“Why?” she asked, stretching the saran wrap around him. “Because you’re secretly in love with me?”
He smirked, face contorted in pain. “Because with you dead, I’d have to take your job.” He groaned as she tightened it around him. “And I’m shit with numbers. I’d wind up headless in Lake Michigan within a month.” He grimaced, sucking and holding in a breath as she wrapped the plastic around his torso.
Shiloh bit the inside of her cheek. He was only partly wrong. Blaze didn’t make this mess: she did. She still wasn’t sure how, but that didn’t ease the guilt. He’d only brought her here at her insistence. He warned her it might be a trap, but she’d been sure she still had a friend in Snake. However, judging from the knife he stuck in her best friend, he'd held a grudge. She eyed Snake's lifeless body lying to their right. His glazed eyes gaped at the ceiling.
“Stop it,” Diesel muttered.
Startled from her train of thought, she stopped her wrapping and looked up at him. “Too tight?”
“Stop blaming yourself,” he elaborated. She sighed, about to speak when he shook his head. “I can practically taste your guilt.” He spat blood at the wall next to him. “You couldn’t have known.”
She scoffed. “You did.” She ripped the plastic and pressed it down against him.
“No, I assumed, 'cause I’m a paranoid asshole. I didn't know.” He pulled his shirt down and flattened his back on the wall, catching his breath. “Besides, it’s not like this—” he twirled a finger at their surroundings, “—wasn’t productive.”
Shiloh looked around at the bodies on the floor, then back at him. “This is what you call ‘productive?”
He shrugged. “Now we know there’s a rat. And that someone’s pinned the other families against you.”
She paused, tapping the plastic wrap with rhythmic fingers. “Touché.”
“Question is who and why.” He eyed her up and down, wiggling his eyebrows. “Can’t imagine who’d see you as a threat.”
She whacked him in the arm with the plastic wrap before tossing it to the ground. “You said it yourself," she answered, crossing her arms. "I’m good with numbers.”
He raised an eyebrow. “You stumble on anything you shouldn’t have recently?”
She shrugged. “If I did, I didn’t notice.”
He sighed as silence fell. She could hear the gears turning in his head, but she could see the pain written on his face. At his request, she swallowed the guilt. “Any chance this is all a big misunderstanding and someone’s out to recruit you, not kill you?” he asked. She shrugged again. If she’d had any idea, she wouldn’t have dragged him along into a death trap. “Well, then,” he said with a groan as he pushed off the wall. “Any other bright ideas?”
She looked around. She eyed the remains of the shattered glass table in the middle of the floor. Seeing the colorful pills and white powder surrounding it, something clicked in her head. She spun on the spot, spying glass pipes all over the floor, and a myriad of cleaning supplies lining one wall.
She smirked. “I think I’ve got one that should buy us time.”
“Any stupider than your ‘let’s tell the truth’ idea?”
“Yeah, probably.”
He grinned.
Fifteen minutes later, they exited the alley by the corner store half a block down. They rushed down the street away from the trap house, heading for Diesel’s truck. He zipped up his jacket as two questionable passersby crossed in front of them. He leaned closer to her, keeping a wary eye on them as they crossed the street. “You sure it’s gonna work?”
“Any second now.” She suppressed a yawn and looked at her watch. Just past three.
“You said that a few seconds ago.”
“No, I didn’t.”
“Still, it should’ve gone—”
The house exploded, and a violent crack resounded in the air as a plume of smoke and flame billowed into the sky. The shock wave sent them both stumbling forward and they ducked for cover. Frightened shouts rang out. The homeless peeked out from their hiding places, and a few addicts who'd passed out on the sidewalk scrambled out of their slumber. They gaped at their haven – or, what was left of it. The fire raged on, and the cringe-worthy stench of chemicals invaded the air.
Shiloh and Diesel dared a glance behind them as debris and ash fell to the ground. She tossed him a haughty smirk. “Told you it would work.”
He smiled and shook his head. “You know what they say about counting eggs, Princess.” He limped towards his truck, favoring his left side. “Don’t count them before they hatch.”
“You really want that omelet,” she smirked.
“You have no idea.”
She stepped in front of the driver’s side door as he reached for the handle. “Maybe after a visit to the hospital?” she suggested, sticking out her hand.
He sighed and handed her the keys, too tired to argue. “Fine.” She smiled victoriously as he walked around to the other side. “You’re buying,” he added.
She pursed her lips. “That’s fair,” she muttered, then hopped in the driver’s seat.
They sat in silence for a moment, catching their breath and watching the house burn. It had been a long day, and the adrenaline was wearing off. Her head throbbed, the cut on her lip burned, and an ache pulsed through her bruising knuckles. Unlike Diesel, she hated fighting. Just because she knew how to, doesn’t mean she enjoyed it.
But, like him, she found herself hungry. Dave's apple pie tasted best in the middle of the night. Her mouth watered.
“Thinking about Dave’s pies?” Diesel asked.
She glared at him, while he wiggled his eyebrows. “Shut up,” she snapped, turning the ignition. He laughed, howling in pain immediately after. “You deserved that.”
“Nah—” he squeaked, “—I deserve steak and eggs. But I’ll settle for that omelet.”
She smiled and shook her head. “Deal.” She pulled away from the curb and u-turned, headed for the hospital.
Comments