Intercepted (Page 25)

This.

This is why I left Chris.

Okay. So technically I left him because he’s a lying, cheating dirtbag. But I like to think I would’ve left him eventually anyways. I wasn’t my best with him. I dulled myself in order to let him shine.

In the words of the infamous Ice Cube, today was a good day. #GangstaRapInspiration

Eighteen

You know when people say don’t count your chickens before they hatch?

I hate the saying. I’m terrified of birds and their evil, beady eyes and razor-sharp beaks waiting to peck me to death. But that’s not the point. The point is someone should’ve repeated this to me before I skipped down the street, whistling rap songs.

It’s the end of October, but we’re having an unusually warm fall, and I’m enjoying it before the inevitable return of snow sends me running to my parka.

I turn onto my street and for the first time in a couple of weeks, James is back outside of my building. I have mixed emotions seeing him. Part of me is relieved to know nothing terrible happened to him, but the other part is sad because I really hoped he’d found a better, warmer sleeping arrangement.

“Hey, James,” I say when I get closer to him.

“Miss Marlee.” I don’t know why he calls me Miss Marlee. He’s thirty years older than me, and I’ve asked him to stop too many times to count, but he never listens. “How’s you doing tonight?”

“I’m good. How are you?” I wish these streets were better lit and I could get a better look at him. I don’t know if it’s because it’s been a little while since I’ve seen him, but something seems off.

“Oh . . . I’m okay.” He’s talking so slow, it’s almost as if he’s about to fall asleep.

“James,” I say when I see his head bob and his body sway.

“Miss Marlee. How are you?” he asks again.

Crap. This isn’t good.

“Have you eaten today?” I watch him as he shakes his head and uses his sleeve as a tissue. “I got a bonus at work today. I was thinking some tacos from El Señor sounded like a good way to celebrate. Want to come with?”

“Ooooh, girl.” He whistles even though his eyes are still closed. “You know I love tacos.”

“Great! I didn’t want to go alone.” He refuses to except charity, so I always let him know he’s the one doing me a favor by coming with. “Would you mind waiting here a few minutes so I can change first?”

“Does it look like I have places to go, Miss Marlee?” He walks to the bench a few feet away and sits on the unforgiving metal seat with zero grace, but I flinch more than he does. “I’ll be here when you’re finished.”

“Okay. I’ll go fast.” I turn on my heel and run into my building. I don’t know what’s going on with him, but I don’t want to keep him waiting long.

When I come out in my leggings and running shoes, James isn’t alone anymore. A man I’ve never seen before sits next to him on the bench. In most instances, I’d be thrilled to see somebody giving James attention, treating him like he exists instead of ignoring what they don’t want to acknowledge. But something about this guy has the hairs on the back of my neck raised high. He looks to be about my age, his blonde hair cut down to a low buzz cut, and he’s wearing a gray, short-sleeve button up shirt that, if I had to guess, I’d say was a nice shade of blue in its prime.

“James!” I wave, letting him know I’m ready. I’m the person who pushes her instincts to the side to be kind, but this guy is setting off warning signals left and right, and I’m not trying to get any closer. Too bad for me, not even distance can protect me from the silver-toothed smile and disgusting way his gaze trails my body when he sees me.

“You must be Marlee,” he says from his spot beside James. “Nice of you to take our boy out tonight. Getting your good deeds in for the day?”

Even his voice makes me want to retreat. I wonder if this is how Harry Potter felt the first time he heard Voldemort?

“Nope. He’s doing me the favor. I didn’t want to eat alone, and he’s good company.” I keep my voice strong and casual. I’ve watched enough Lifetime movies to know guys like him get a kick out of scaring people. “Ready to go, James?”

James struggles to stand and I want to go help him up, but the guy I’m pretty sure might moonlight as a serial killer is in my way.

“What? No invite for me?”

Hell no.

“Not this time.” I avoid eye contact and watch James as he makes his way to me at a turtle’s pace.

“That’s okay. Maybe if I’m lucky, I’ll see you around,” he says right before I turn around. “I mean, I know where you live now.”

“Ready, James?” I pretend to ignore him, but my back goes straight at the laughter. If I wasn’t so worried about James right now, I’d run straight into my apartment, lock the doors, and call my dad.

“Yup, Miss Marlee.” He hobbles beside me. “Let’s go.”

* * *

• • •

EL SEÑOR’S TACO truck sits on the edge of Lincoln Park. During the day, it’s filled with urban yuppie moms pushing their babies in strollers that look like they were designed by NASA and wearing yoga pants that cost more than my electric bill. But at night, the crowd becomes less savory. The kind that makes you keep your eyes straight ahead, and you don’t look twice at what’s being exchanged during handshakes. I usually try to stay away after sunset, but sometimes the need for tacos surpasses self-preservation. Tacos are life.

It’s only a fifteen-minute walk from my house . . . and a five-minute one from Gavin’s. Not that I knew that. Why would I? We’re not friends. Gavin who?

Walking with James tonight though, it takes thirty.

Not that I mind, because even though he’s pretty out of it, he still tells killer stories about the neighborhood. Tonight he told me about this woman who pretended to be a prostitute to get close to the other girls on the corners and when they’d get in trouble, she showed up like fuckin’ Wonder Woman (his words, not mine) and hid them in the basement of her Five Points bungalow. Until one day she trusted someone she shouldn’t have and they ended up shootin’ up her house and killing her.

“The moral of the story,” he says, “is not to trust everybody. You might be doin’ right by them, but some people ain’t strong enough to do right by you. And that’s as much yo fault as theirs.”

Kind of a downer story during tacos, but . . . beggars can’t be choosers.

I give him the change from the tacos, only about ten dollars, but his eyes light up when I hand it to him. I’m not sure what he does with the money, but I figure it’s not my place to ask. I give him the money from my heart, it doesn’t come with strings. Of course I hope he saves it for food tomorrow in case I’m not around, but it’s up to him.

Just as we’re taking our final bites, James asks me to walk with him in the park. We meander around the paths—him talking and me listening, but he bails on me halfway through—right around the fountain currently being used as a drug exchange headquarter. He seems more alert after getting some food, so I’m not worried as I watch him head in the opposite direction we came from. And since I’m alone, it gives me the opportunity to do something I haven’t done in weeks . . . four weeks to be exact. Walk past Gavin’s house.