Smoke & Silver

My anger had mostly burned off and left a bad taste in my mouth by the time that Isaac limped over to my side.

"You pissed him off pretty good, Georgie."

"He pissed me off."

"Come on. Let's go get your things."

"Where are we going?" I asked, dutifully getting into the passenger side of the car.

"Well, after we pick up whatever you need for a road trip-"

"I don't like the sound of that. What about my bar?"

"I'll have one of my accountants take care of it while you're gone."

"But-"

"They won't look like an accountant. Don't worry. Whoever you're in deep with won't think you're selling. I'll have them pretend to be an old friend from college that owes you a favor while you're taking a bit of a vacation."

"Rocco's not going to like that."

"Then I'll have someone else hang around. Georgia, your life is more important than that sinkhole of a bar."

"Says the man who lives in a mansion. That's my only source of income, Isaac. And just because it's in a bit of trouble doesn't mean I can just pack up and leave it."

"Georgia. Listen to me. We won't be gone forever. It shouldn't be longer than a week or two, and that's if John spends most of that in a gin bottle. We'll get this solved and you'll be able to go home like none of this ever happened."

I bit my tongue hard enough to bleed as he drove through the slick streets to my apartment. I thought about asking how he knew where it was, but realized that I probably didn't want to know.

My apartment was sepulcher silent when I opened the door. It smelled like stale cigarette smoke, forgotten dishes, and shampoo. The dim light filtered in weakly through the blinds, staining the room with pinks and blues and oranges from the neon across the street. I flicked on the overhead light and felt Isaac shove me against a wall.

Before I could say anything, he put his hand on my mouth and demanded silence with his eyes. I thought about biting him, but just nodded. He took a step toward the big armchair that I usually read novels in. That was when I saw the crown of someone's head peeking over the top of the worn velvet.

The only thing stopping me from gasping was the memory of Isaac's eyes. He crept forward, grip on the cane transforming it from a mobility aid into a weapon as he turned. My heart stopped in my chest.

Then he relaxed everything but his expression.

"He's dead."

"He who?" I rushed over, trying to see who was in the chair.

It was Rocco. A perfect circle was punched in his forehead, an angry ring of a burn around it. I felt my stomach roll.

"There's no time for you to wimp out on me, Georgia. Grab your shit and let's go." I heard the steady thud of his cane against the carpet as he walked into my bedroom. "If you don't come help me, I'm packing nothing but your shower stuff and we can buy you clothes from thrift shops."

"Just like college." I managed weakly. My feet trudged to follow him, leaving my stomach and sense of reality in the lap of the dead man. I walked into my room, and sure enough, he was throwing my shampoo and conditioner into a duffel bag from beneath my bed. I grabbed some shirts, jeans, and underwear from the dresser.

"Is there anything sentimental you want to keep?" He asked, looking pointedly at the altars that I had set up along one wall.

"No. But I'm bringing my box with me. These should stay here. I don't have the time to move them."

He nodded. I went to the side of the bed that no one slept on anymore and fished around beneath it. My hands closed on a small chest, identical to the one I kept in my office at work. This one was better furnished, though. I had all sorts of mean little things in there that I'd accumulated over the years. Tarantula fangs, a mummified frog, an entire scorpion in a pepper shaker covered in tin foil... Just a few things I had picked up from an old roommate that John used to date. He had been the best damn roommate anyone could have ever imagined. Other than the things that used to grow in the refrigerator and that time we'd had to exorcise the dishwasher, at least, but those things were at least half my fault too.

I put the box on the bed and reached into the nightstand for a small pistol I'd inherited from my mother.

"Oh no, Georgia. What the hell do you think you're doing with that?"

"We've had this conversation before, Isaac. I'm a decent shot."

"How long since you've taken that out?"

"About six months. Pat and I used to go every other week or so. She even showed me how to keep it clean. I'm not negotiating on this." I fished the holster out of the back of my closet and tossed it onto the bed beside the gun. I took off my shirt and fastened it around my shoulders. It had been one of Pat's before I gave her a new one last Christmas. The gun slipped into its place and I started to button my shirt. That was when I noticed Isaac watching me.

"What?"

"Nothing," He shook his head and looked away, not shy that he'd been caught. We were too familiar for that. "It's just that... Some things never change, I guess." There was a somber note in his voice.

I finished buttoning up my blouse and took one last glance around the room.

"We're good to go. But shouldn't we-"

"We're not calling the police yet because this is a set up. I'm almost willing to bet that it was done with that gun of yours."

"Muzzle's cold and the wound was too fresh."

"How did-"

"I dated a detective. I heard a lot of stories that I wish I hadn't and learned way too much about dead bodies." I paused, kicking off my heels and slipping my sockless feet into a pair of tennis shoes from the closet. Picking up the box from the bed, I turned back to Isaac.

"That's everything. I can carry my own bag."

"Are you forgetting anything?"

"Did you grab my toothbrush?"

"And toothpaste, hairbrush, and everything out of your shower."

"You're the best. Let's get out of here."

===

Once we were downstairs, instead of going through the door and into the street, he stopped me.

"You left your phone upstairs, right?"

"What? No. Of course not."

The look on his face told me something I didn't want to hear.

"You're kidding."

"Nope. Either run it up or we're tossing it in a gutter."

"Better to toss it, I guess. If I leave it, it'll look like we did what we did instead of what we should have done."

"Good point. I'll buy you a new one." He reached into my hip pocket with his free hand and took my phone. I looked away and started out of the door again.

"Where's the hurry?"

"I thought-"

"We're not leaving in the same car we came in, Georgie. Just a minute. Our ride is on the way."

Less than two minutes passed before a beat up sedan rolled to a stop in front of the door. I recognized John's silhouette in the driver's seat. As Isaac opened the door for me, I prayed that John was sober enough to drive.

I tossed my bag into the other side of the backseat, with two other bags that must have belonged to the boys. One was a dreadful duffel bag, patched and sewn with sigils, filthy from time spent in floorboards. The other was a pristine piece of luggage, obviously part of a larger set, emblazoned with Isaac's initials in gold thread against the serene blue of the fabric.

"This isn't a rental, is it?" I asked as I crawled into the back seat. John ignored me. As I looked up, I was treated to the sight of Isaac tossing both of our phones into a storm drain.

This trip was going to be hell.