We return to our old hotel room the next morning. Maya drops her brown wig onto the bed and announces she’s going to take a shower. I know there’s an invitation in there too, and grin.
“We’ll see.”
“Once the tough guy, always the tough guy.” She leans in and kisses my chin. I drink in her smell of hotel soap, which smells so much better on her for some reason. “Mmm, stubble.” She kisses me again on the cheek, then on the corner of my lips. “My rock. My moss-prickly rock.”
“I’ll shave once you’re out.”
“No—keep it. I like it. And the mustache.”
She wraps her arms around the back of my neck and lassos me into her kiss. I know she wants me to turn her around and put her up against the wall. I’ve already got my hand sliding up, cupping her butt underneath her skirt and rubbing her skin in that hard, pinching way she likes when I hear the buzz of my phone.
“Leave it,” she says.
“What if it’s your father?”
“All the more reason to leave it.”
“Can’t,” I break off although it almost kills me. “I’ve got a job to do.”
“You’ve got a job you’re ignoring. And a hundred to one odds your cell phone can’t beat you off like I can.”
“Take your shower.” I kiss her on the nose. “I’ll be in soon as I’m finished.”
She frowns but she knows that’s the best she’s going to get for now and leaves without arguing. I’m glad. Maya strikes me as the kind of girl who spits fire when she gets angry. After seeing how violent her fun, playful side can be, I’ve got absolutely no desire to see how violent her vicious side is.
I answer the phone a second before it goes to voicemail. “Quinn here.”
“I know Quinn’s here. Why the hell would I have called this number if I didn’t want to talk to my bro?”
“Palmer?” I settle into the bed. “Good to hear from you.”
“Likewise. It’s only taken twenty goddam missed calls. You’d better thank whatever lucky stars you’ve got I’m a patient guy.”
“I told you I’ve got a gig.”
I hear the spurt of hot water, and Maya’s voice through the door humming “Moon River.”
“You may have your gig, big man, but your boys have got a problem.”
“A serious problem?’
“You think I’d have called you twenty fucking times if the problem wasn’t serious?”
“It was at least that many times when you stalled your Camaro.”
“That was serious. I was two hours late picking up my baby sister from ballet. Those other kids were flat out cruel to her man.”
I lie down on the sectional with my phone still in hand and take the Item from the back of my jeans and set it next to me.
“You serious about this being serious?” I ask. “Like—emergency situation stuff?”
“Wouldn’t phrase it that way.” Palmer pauses to click on his lighter. That’s the second time I’ve heard the noise this phone call. From the sounds of things he’s chain-smoking for all his lungs are worth, which tells me he’s nervous.
“But follow what I’m about to tell you, right? We’ve got this fan: big industrial fucker you use for like rock concerts and stuff, you with me? And right next to this fan, picture a mountain—a motherfucking mountain of dinosaur shit. And that mountain is set out on a little platform, and that platform leads right into that industrial-size fan. You got me?”
“Palmer.” I take my legs off the sectional. “What’s happened?”
Maya’s moved on from “Moon River” to “I Feel Pretty.” My heart’s starting to sink from everything Palmer’s saying. And not just what he’s saying, but all the stuff he’s leaving out. “Is it the Eastern Europeans?”
“Eastern Europeans. Russians. Motherfucking Kazakhstani. It’s big guys with guns, Quinn. You remember I told you about Miles and the boys trying to settle their tab, yeah?”
“They got into a fight in Easttown. You told me a few weeks ago.”
“Fight?” Palmer laughs. “That was playground Cops and Robbers compared to this new shit, man. That was nothing. They’ve just put a goddamn target on our boy’s back, Quinn. Miles is in the hospital—I’ll tell you the whole thing later. But it’s the stuff in addition to that: I’m talking shots in the street and grenades cars. Give these guys a couple weeks man, and they’re gonna be making hits. Who the fuck makes hits in our city aside from the mob and us, huh?”
His end of the phone goes quiet. I don’t say anything. I just let Palmer’s last sentence fill the room, mixing with the sound of Maya’s shower and the air conditioner and the faraway hum of cars on the freeway.
“You mean war?” I finally say. I can’t see anything obviously, but I know from experience with the guy Palmer’s nodding.
“War’s a good enough word for it.”
“Jesus Christ. How the hell did you let this happen? Easttown’s supposed to be neutral. That’s the whole goddam reason we set up shop there in the first place.”
“Stitches haven’t done a damn thing, Quinn. You know that. Hell, we’re pacifists compared to some of these meaner guys. Even during the territory wars we never took what didn’t belong to us. Now these big cats come in from downtown or wherever the hell they’re from and beat up a couple of our guys and expect us to turn tail. No way we’re gonna do that. Laws of physics, man. We’re reacting.”
The shower goes off. I’ve got to wrap this up soon—there’s no way I want Maya listening in on this.
“Palmer, I gotta get out of here soon. I’ve still got a job to do. But give me a few hours, and I’ll make it out to the docks.”
“Quinn,” Palmer’s voice goes so neutral so fast it’s eerie. “You know what all this means, don’t you? I don’t need to make any of this clearer than I already do.”
“We’re gonna be at war soon. You’re summoning your generals. What could be clearer?’
“Good man. Stitches are looking forward to seeing you.”
I drop the call just as Maya’s coming out of the bathroom. She trails steam like a Greek goddess. The gold of her hair and the darkness of her skin, which I can see plenty of because the only thing she’s got on is one of those super-short hotel bath towels—all of that along with the water from the shower makes her look like she’s shining.
My heart sinks another floor. If all that Palmer said was true and not just drama; if the Stitches really are going to be at war soon, then I can probably count on my fingers the days I have left watching Maya Butler.
“That was lonely,” she says, scrubbing a second towel through her hair to dry it out.
“I’m sorry. I had to take it.”
“Well, as long as you’re sorry. Or even if you’re not—that way there’s punishment.”
She tosses her hair out a little more and turns my way and smiles, sticking out her top teeth and dragging them back from her bottom lip. Yesterday—hell—ten minutes ago, that would have been enough to make me lose my head. Just like she’s been wanting me to do this whole time. Now, I look down at the floor and don’t say anything.
“What is it?” She sits down next to me on the sectional. “That wasn’t Daddy, was it?’
“No. It was a friend of mine.”
“Oh. What did he want?”
“To come help him keep the bad guys away.”
Her body goes a little rigid. “What bad guys?”
“I don’t know yet. Guys who have already hurt some of our own. Guys that need taking down, so they don’t go making a mess out of everything. Dangerous guys.”
“And you’re going to go.” It’s not a question. Maya knows just by looking at me that things have already been decided.
“I have to,” I say. “They need me.”
“But you’re part of a club, aren’t you? There are other guys who can do what you do. You don’t have to go at all.”
I breathe out. It’s forced, heavy, and angry. I put an arm around Maya’s shoulders, and she doesn’t move it away, which is a good sign. She’s angry with me, but she’s still letting me in.
“I don’t have to go. I want to go. These guys are my brothers. We’ve been everywhere together, raised each other. We’ve lost families together. When everything else goes bad, we’re always there. And I’m not going to let these guys face it on their own.”
“So you’re just going to leave me here?” Her brown eyes go sharp as flint. “Soon as something more exciting comes along you’re just going to up and abandon me?”
“I’m not abandoning you.”
“How is this not abandoning me? How is it not abandoning me when you just trade me off for your other friends?”
“Because I’m bringing you with me.”