“Yes,” I said.
“And remember when I told you Jet and I had a conversation about people we both knew, people Jet refers to as ‘gray’?”
I remembered.
He said they ran games, dealt drugs and likely murdered people.
I felt my stomach twist joined by a heart squeeze.
“No,” I breathed.
“Yes,” he said.
I shook my head. I didn’t want to believe that of Shirleen.
I liked her.
“I’l tel you the whole story later,” Hank promised, correctly assessing I’d had enough for one night. He wrapped an arm around me and moved me toward the bedroom.
“I don’t think I want to know,” I told him.
“Then, I won’t tel you the whole story later.” I nodded.
That worked for me.
“Okay,” I said.
We walked through the kitchen.
“Let’s erase the night,” Hank suggested when we neared the bedroom.
My stomach twist eased and my heart started beating again, much faster than its normal rate.
“Okay,” I repeated.
*
Friday, Hank spent the day at work sorting through my mess with Bil y.
I spent Friday helping out at Fortnum’s and alternately dancing attendance on, running interference with and reassuring my mental stability to Mom and Dad, Annette and Jason, Daisy and a variety of other people who dropped by.
Indy was going to have to hire someone else soon, the crowds were getting fierce (especial y in the mornings) and we were al forced to pitch in to keep up with them.
Indy had the Bye-Bye Bil y Party (the name was Al y’s idea) at Fortnum’s Friday evening, opening it for the private soiree because it was the only place that would fit us al in.
Even with short notice, and an almost-shoot-out in the middle, word spread like wildfire that Indy and Al y were throwing a party. The party was wel catered with everyone pitching in, most especial y Kitty Sue and Eddie’s Mom, a lady named Blanca. In fact, even though I’d never met them, Eddie’s entire family came. In fact, everyone came (such was the al ure of an Indy/Al y party), bringing food and booze.
Uncle Tex and Dad had the Jet-caramel-layer-squares face off and Dad had to back down and admit Jet’s caramel-chocolate brownies were better than custard sundaes at Miriam’s Café. After this happened, Mom cal ed repeatedly to Sweet Jesus, swearing that Dad had never admitted to anything outside Brownsburg, Indiana being better and such an admission had to be divine intervention.
A couple of hours into the party, Vance walked in.
I noticed him immediately (not out of any heightened awareness gained through osmosis from the Hot Boy Brigade, but because the bel over the door went). I was standing with Indy, Al y, Jet, Annette and Daisy. Hank was across the room with Malcolm, Eddie and Lee.
I broke away from the Rock Chicks and approached Vance.
“Hey,” I said when I made it to him.
“Hey, girl,” he replied, his dark eyes doing a scan of my face.
I didn’t know what to say, so I said, “I don’t know what to say.”
“Nothing to say,” he told me.
Then I figured out what to say. “I’m sorry you had to do that.”
“Had to do what?”
I sighed. “Spend days hunting down Bil y, then having to shoot him. I’m so sorry, Vance.”
He watched me for a beat. “How much you got left?” he asked, what I thought, bizarrely.
“Of what?”
“Of whatever it is that’s pul ed you through this shit.” I shook my head, confused.
He got in my space.
“Maybe you should know somethin’ about me.” Oh no.
“What?” I asked, even though I didn’t know if I wanted to know. Every time one of these boys shared, it freaked me out.
“I’m not sorry,” Vance said.
“Excuse me?”
“That he’s never gonna use that hand again. I’m not sorry. Not only that but, Roxie, I’m glad I got to do it. Fuckin’
thril ed.”
Holy cow.
I held my breath.
He got closer and said low, “Justice.”
Holy, holy, cow, cow, cow.
Then, I felt heat at my back, an arm came around my upper chest from behind and I was pul ed into Hank’s body.
Vance moved back, his eyes shifting to look over my shoulder.
“Hank.” he said.
“Vance,” Hank said from behind me.
Vance’s shit-eating grin spread across his face as he took us in.
Then he said, “I’l let you two let life begin again, I’m gettin’ a drink.”
Good grief.
I closed my eyes and curled my fingers around Hank’s forearm.
When I opened my eyes, Vance was stil grinning at me.
“I’m not going to hear the end of that, am I?” I asked.
“Nope,” Vance answered.
He kept right on grinning.
I narrowed my eyes at him. “Don’t you need a drink?” I asked, sounding uppity.
Vance started laughing.
Then he said, “Yep,” and walked away.
After a few seconds, I realized that Hank’s body was moving and I was pretty certain it was with laughter.
“Don’t you start, Whisky,” I warned, looking out the window at the cars on Broadway, my back stil pressed against him.