Page 8 of Vas

Vas scanned the shelves and plucked the magazine with the 1956 Ford Thunderbird on the cover from the rack.

“Ain’t she a beauty?”

Vas grunted again as he flipped through the pages.

“My first car was a T-Bird. Took Sheila Attworthy to the prom in it.” He chuckled. “She let me steal a kiss in the back seat.”

Vas looked over with a raised brow.

He chuckled again. “You, being so young, wouldn’t know it, but that was a big deal back then. Relationships moved slower in my day.”

Anya’s face appeared before his eyes and despite himself, he was intrigued. He nodded to Mac, encouraging him to say more.

“When I was wooing my Norma, I didn’t expect her to put out after a couple of dates. What do the kids today call it? The three-date rule? Hogwash, I call it. A man shouldn’t expect nothing and should be grateful for what he gets. Treat your woman like a lady and she’ll be yours forever. You remember that, son, when you meet the right one.”

Vas paid for his magazine and left Mac’s company, but the old man’s words stayed with him all the way home.

Treat your woman like a lady and she’ll be yours forever.

He thought about his parents’ relationship while he was growing up. If and when the time came, Vas wanted a better marriage than that of his parents. His father hadn’t been a cruel man, but he had been indifferent. Mama had always said he hadn’t been the same after the collapse of the Soviet Union, but Vas wouldn’t know, he’d been born the year after its fall.

Unable to cope without its ruling structure, his father had sunk deeper and deeper into a depression until his mother had finally had enough, packing up him and his older sister and escaping to live with a cousin of hers in the States. He was ten at the time—an impressionable age—and without the guidance of a father, fell in with the wrong crowd.

He brushed that thought away and, along with it, all thoughts of relationships. At this point in his life, ideas like that would only get him into trouble.

He glanced down at the magazine he held and studied the car on the cover. One day he’d get out of the business and take his fat bank account to fund something that had always fascinated him—restoring old cars to their former glory. He’d spent so many years destroying the ugly in the world, it would be nice to try his hand at creating something beautiful.

He rolled up the magazine in a fist.

One day.

He took the stairs up to his apartment and unlocked the door. The place was dark when he walked in save for a soft glow emanating from the hall. Pocketing his keys, he kicked the door shut and threw the deadbolt home before following the light source to his bedroom.

He lived sparsely. A queen-size mattress on a plain bed frame and one wooden nightstand were the only pieces of furniture that filled the room. Same with the rest of his place. A small sofa, coffee table, and TV in the living room and the bare essentials in the kitchen.

It wasn’t a home, it was a dwelling he occupied on occasion. And one he should have moved from a month ago. With the solitary nature of his job, he didn’t like to stay in one place for too long and grow comfortable with people or places. He had a rule. One year, tops. Once a lease was up, he was gone. Anya had changed his usual routine and when it came time to renew his lease, he’d found himself signing on for another year. If there was one thing Vas usually wasn’t, it was stupid, but even knowing it was a bad idea, he'd still done it. Anya had compelled him to stay.

Going straight to the sliding door, he opened it and stepped out onto the balcony. He had the perfect view of the back of the diner from his second-floor perch. He stood there waiting for Anya to appear so he could watch her walk to her car—get his last look at her before calling it a night.

Peering into the darkness, he scanned the alley not seeing any signs of life or moving shadows. He stood there and waited. A look at his watch told him she should be out soon. Later than usual, but she always was when working a shift with the lazy waitress.

Finally, after long minutes, the back door opened and Anya and the diner’s cook came walking out.

Vas rested his forearms on the railing, leaning against it as he watched her get in her car—a piece of shit Grand Am that was at least thirty years old. Its only saving grace was it was a tank, and he knew she’d be safe in an accident with any car other than literally a tank. He waited to see the red flash of her taillights, indicating she’d started her car.

He waited.

And waited.

Then he saw her car door open and she got out.

Fuck.

Just as he was turning to go down and help her, a flash of movement caught his attention. He whipped back around and saw some asshole grab Anya.

And then he saw red.

Knowing every second would count he didn’t have the time to exit the traditional way through his front door as he’d first planned. He looked to the lawn below and estimated it was about a twelve-foot drop. He didn’t even hesitate. Swinging his legs over the railing, he launched himself off. Feet hitting the grass with a hard thud, he tucked and rolled, barely losing momentum as he somersaulted to his feet and ran full-out.

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