Page 15 of Visions in Blood
His eyes brightened, and he nodded.“I told you you were too good for running with Harlow.”
I laughed.“But you have to admit, he’s a laugh a minute.”
Bulldog growled.“He thinks so.”
“I’m good.So is Ginger.But we have to disappear for a while.”
“Take care of yourself, little girl.”And he gave me another punch I wasn’t expecting that made me take two steps back while rubbing my arm.
I scowled when the guys laughed, but I left them with a grin before walking through the door, closing it behind me.The room was larger than my apartment’s living room, and a table with a single chair sat in the center.I glanced at the dozens of various-sized boxes—smaller ones at top and the larger ones at the bottom—before striding to mine and running the combination.All the locks were keyless, and Bulldog loved to share stories about people having to sober up before accessing their box.The guards always had a good laugh watching fools stumble around while trying to remember three numbers.
I opened the door to my cubby and pulled out a tin box I’d heisted from an asshole slumlord.He owned half the buildings in the neighborhood and was miserly on repairs.Twice a year, Harlow and I would hit his place and steal enough cash to help the tenants fix stuff like the heat and plumbing.This particular tin had some street value, but I kept it for what it represented—stealing from the sleazy rich and redistributing their wealth.Our own modern-day version of Robin Hood.
The tin only held two items—a stack of cash I could get to quickly and a key, which I pocketed.
Bulldog wasn’t around when I stepped out of the room, but the guards nodded as I shut the door behind me and strode through the caustic smell of bleach and the sounds of tumbling clothes.
I took different bus routes back, knowing any one of them would end up at City Center.Two blocks down from the transportation depot was an expansive indoor-outdoor mall that stretched for two blocks.I slipped through a door to the main building with a group of high schoolers.After walking through several stores just to make sure no one followed me, I stepped out to another street and entered through the side door of a major retail bank.It was probably overkill, but that nagging feeling of someone following me wouldn’t go away.Probably my imagination, but it had been two weeks since I’d been on my own, and I’d gotten used to having my own personal protection squad.How sad was that?
After waiting at the counter for several minutes, I was led to the safety-deposit room where the bank teller assisted in retrieving my box.Yeah, the laundromat and the bank.Call me insecure.Once I was alone in the room, I lifted the lid with trembling hands.
I didn’t come here often, but when I did, the same emotions always slammed into me.I lifted out the colorfully painted wooden box and ran my hands over it, nostalgia forcing me to blink rapidly.The box was one of those old cigar ones that had been wrapped in white butcher-block paper to provide a blank canvas.Squares the size of baseball cards were glued all over it, leaving little of the white remaining.Each card had been hand-painted with childish drawings of flowers, animals, and landscapes, and my mother had glued them onto the cigar box.She told me the box held special powers and would protect all my cherished items.It was the last project we’d worked on together.The last time we did much of anything together.Before Christopher.
I wiped my eyes, sniffled, then opened the lid to find pieces of ribbons, a seashell, a bead bracelet, and other cheap trinkets from road trips we’d taken up and down the coast.A sharp pain, like a knife through my center, hit me when my hands ran over a short stack of letters.Mother would write small notes and mail them to me.I’d felt like such an adult when I received one, ripping them open to read as soon as I took them from the mailbox before racing up the walk to hug her tight.I swiped at my eyes again.Good grief and hell’s bells, Cressa.Get a grip.At the bottom of the box, under the letters, was the silver necklace.It laid there forlorn and forgotten, staring up at me as if it called out, “It’s about damn time.”
I took a moment, not sure the best way to pick it up.“What do you think it’s going to do?”I pictured it zapping me, blowing up, then dropping me into some psychedelic dream.My first instinct was to snatch it up, but I ended up lifting it with more care than was necessary.Nothing happened, of course, and I felt silly for thinking something would.
I was going to shove it in my back pocket but fastened it around my neck instead.When the silver medallion fell against my chest, a strange sense of completeness washed over me, startling me with its intensity.Then it was gone.I shook it off and, after brushing my hands across the stack of letters, closed the lid to the painted box.I was stuffing it back in the safety-deposit box when my cell phone rang.
I jumped at the unexpected ringtone then scrambled to find the volume control.For the short time I’d had the phone, the only numbers on it were Devon, his cadre, and Ginger.I didn’t recognize the number and waited for the fourth ring before deciding to answer it.
“Hello,” I whispered.I’d never taken a call in a bank before.Would that look suspicious on their security cameras?
“Hey, girl.”A loud, excited voice pierced my eardrum.
“Ginger?”
Her voice dropped to match my whisper.“Sorry.Are you some place where you can’t talk?”
I snorted.“It’s not what you think.I’m at the bank.”
“Well, that’s boring.”
“Are you back?You’re not at the apartment, are you?”Apprehension filled me, thinking about the break-in at the apartment until my senses returned.
“Oh, yeah, baby.I’m back, but not at the old place.”
“I didn’t recognize the number.”
“Yeah, Lucas gave me a new phone to use.”
“Are you back at the hotel?”
“Nope.I totally loved being pampered, but it’s not like having our own place.”
“Where are you?”
“I texted you the address.Do you have time to stop by?”
