Page 4 of Savior
“I took it off one of them, in case I need it later.”
She nods slightly, but doesn’t speak or move otherwise.
“Are you hungry?” I grab one of the brown bags and hold it out to her. “I’m starving. Figured you might be, too.”
She tucks a strand of her long, natural, saffron red hair behind her ear and takes a step forward, accepting the bag from me. She’s so damn frail, I doubt she’ll be able to eat all I got her, but I hope she puts a healthy dent in it.
“Come, sit down,” I gesture to the bed, and grab the other bag. Taking a seat in the chair against the wall, I give her as much space as I can in this small, shitty room. Plus, I’m filthy, and I don’t want to dirty the bed.
As I reach into my bag to grab a burger, I watch her in my peripheral. She moves slowly to sit down on the side of the mattress, fishing out some fries and bringing them to her mouth as she places the bag on the night table beside her. I’m relieved to see her eat, and feel better about scarfing down my own burger.
“Fuck, this is delicious.” I groan around a mouthful of meat and bread and whatever the fuck else fully loaded translates to in Arizona. I can still feel the grit of sand in my mouth as I chew, but I don’t give a shit. I take another bite and let my head fall back against the wall, closing my eyes as I chew and take a moment to finally relax. She’s safe. And I’m still alive.
“Are you hurt?” her small voice asks after a few moments of silence.
“I don’t think so.” I’d have felt something by now if I had been. Glancing into the mirror above the dresser, I can see why she’d ask. I’m streaked with dirt, sweat and blood. Most of it isn’t mine. The blood, that is. “Nothing a shower won’t fix.”
“I thought you would have come back last night.” She says, studying me some more with those pretty green eyes of hers. They seem too big for her pale, little heart-shaped face.
I shrug. “Thought you might enjoy a room to yourself. Privacy to shower… Plus, I had to set something up for your friends.” Damnit. I regret those last few words the second they leave my mouth. “That was insensitive, I apologize. Those fuckwads weren’t your friends.”
“Weren’t?” she echoes, taking a little bite of her burger as she continues to watch me. I take another bite of mine as well and reach into my pocket to pull out the cell phone and the four drivers licenses I took off their bodies.
“Is he in this lot?” I ask, holding the licenses out for her to look through. I’m already fairly certain he isn’t. She gets up and walks to the foot of the bed, taking them from my hand before she sits down. I occasionally look up to watch her flip through the licenses as I type out a quick text to Boss on one of the dead prick’s phones. Informing him about how the motherfucker killed our guys, but that I, Sharky, managed to take him out. I request a little bit of time to discard of the bodies, and inform him that I’ll be coming in soon. Glancing back up at her, I await her reply before I hit send.
“No.” she says with a sigh. “He’s not.”
Didn’t think so.
Nodding, I hit the green send icon, then turn off the cellphone and chuck it onto the dresser. “Looks like we’ll be here another night then.” She glances back up at me, blinking with bewilderment. “Or I can take you someplace, come back and finish this on my own. You don’t need to stay here. Where’s your family? I’ll take you to them.” I offer. Her eyes drop from mine to stare at the burger she’s now holding low in her hands. “What is it?”
She lifts a thin shoulder timidly as she replies, “I’ve been in foster homes since I was seven… I don’t have anybody. I don’t have anywhere I can go.”
Well, that settles that then.
“Eat your burger, doll.” I say, shoving the rest of mine into my mouth as I stand up to yank the Velcro straps of the Kevlar vest from my body. I slip it off and place it behind me in the armchair, then pull off my dusty, grimy shirt as well. The several points of impact where their bullets struck the Kevlar over my chest and abdomen, are now purple bruises. My torso is a filthy mess of dried sweat and more fuckin’ dirt. My arms are streaked with dried blood. I don’t think I’m cut anywhere, though. This is their blood splatter. Four men, and aside from a few base-ball sized bruises, I’ve managed to come out of this round unscathed. I guess that’s what you get when you recruit junkies to do your dirty work… Ineffective corpses becoming human jerky in the desert… Their death dealer coming for you, next.
When I turn around to face the girl, she’s still watching me intently, her eyes taking in my exposed torso. I reach behind my back and remove the semi-automatic hand gun from my waist band, placing the weapon down on the dresser. Her eyes shift to the tattoo on my inner forearm, lingering there for a moment, before they slide to the gold band on my left ring finger.
“Is that your wife’s name on your arm?” she asks.
“Lucinda. Yes.” I reply, keeping that answer short. We’re married, but wife is a stretch, lately. “I’m gonna grab a shower and get this fuckin’ grime off me.” I tell her, moving towards the bathroom. This time when I move about the room, she doesn’t shrink from me. “Please, eat your food, doll.” I encourage her. Her thin frame makes my own stomach ache at the sight of her, and I just inhaled a double loaded burger myself.
Closing the bathroom door behind me, I jerk the handle of the shower on before stripping out of my pants and boots. Then I spend the next fifteen minutes decompressing beneath the hot torrent of water beating down on my face and shoulders, washing away the filth and blood from my body. Leaning forward with my palms pressed against the cool, off-white tiles of the shower, I watch the dirt and blood pool at my feet, and flow like a muddy river down the drain for a bit, before I grab the little bar of cheap hotel soap and get to scrubbing off the rest.
A soft rapping on the bathroom door pulls my attention towards the sound. The door opens a crack, and a little hand holding my cellphone pokes through. “Your wife is texting you.” The girl says, raising her voice slightly so that I can hear her over the shower. “She wants to know if you wired the money yet?”
I take a deep breath of steamy air and let it out through my nostrils. I should have been home two days ago…
“Tell her yeah, doll.” I mutter. That’s all Lucinda gives a shit about.
When I step out of the bathroom, a towel tied securely around my waist, the girl is tucked up under the blankets in the bed, sitting back against the head board. She watches me move to my duffle bag and dig out the last of my clean clothes.
“This shit-hole have a laundry room?” I ask.
“Yes. I can do it for you. The washers take quarters. There’s a change machine downstairs, if you don’t have any.”
“I can do it, doll.” I say, fisting a pile of clothes to bring back to the bathroom with me. I’m surprised when she reaches out to touch my forearm as I pass her again. Her gentle touch stops me in my tracks. I look down at her pale little hand on my suntanned arm.
