“Half?” Mara answered before I could. “No.”
Her voice was quiet but hard. Rachel turned. “It’s my father’s money.”
“It’s money that shouldn’t still be coming.”
“And what are you buying your medication with?”
Mara went pale. “Rachel.”
I cut in. “Enough.” I pulled her into Dad’s old room. “What do you need money for?”
“I need it.”
“Half the pension isn’t pocket change.”
“I know.”
“Most of this month’s money is gone.” I listed it. Medication. Mortgage. Food.
Rachel laughed bitterly. “So you get all of it?”
“We’re talking about money paid in the name of a dead man.”
“And you’re just now discovering that’s wrong?”
That shut me up. After a moment, Rachel sat on the edge of the bed. For the first time, she looked less angry than exhausted. “I need money.”
“How much?”
“As much as I can get.”
“For what?”
“To take Noah somewhere else.”
“Where?”
“I don’t know yet.”
“Someone’s looking for you, aren’t they?”
She stood too quickly. “No.”
Again, too fast. I scraped together fifteen hundred dollars and gave it to her. She took it without thanking me. “Next month we split Dad’s pension.”
I didn’t agree. I didn’t refuse.
That was how our filthy little alliance began. Mara and I hid a dead man. Rachel hid why she needed money. None of us was clean enough to judge the others.
* * *
Two days later, Rachel came home with a split lip.
“What happened?”
“Fell.”
“Onto somebody’s fist?”
“Leave it alone.”
Noah looked away from the television. “Mom got hit.”
“Noah.”
He went quiet. I crouched. “Where?”
He looked at Rachel. “At the card place.”
I turned. “You’ve been gambling?”
“Couple hands.”
“With the money I gave you?”
She didn’t answer. Anger rushed through me. “Are you insane?”
“I only need one good night.”
“One good night for what?”
“Enough money to leave.”
“You said you don’t owe anybody.”
“I don’t.”
“Then why are you running?”
Her face twisted. “Can you stop asking?”
“No.”
“You’re staying in my home. Your son is here.”
That landed. Rachel looked away. After a moment she wiped the dried blood from her lip. “I need enough for a place.”
“For school.”
“For us to get out.” Her voice broke. “Enough that I don’t have to come home and ask Dad.”
I understood. Dad’s birthday had only been half the reason she’d returned. The other half was money.
* * *
That night Mara said: “You need to watch her.”
“How?”
“If she goes gambling again, follow her.”
“Why?”
“Because she’s not doing it for fun.” Mara looked toward Rachel’s room. “People who believe they absolutely have to win are the people most likely to do something desperate.” Then she looked at me. “Don’t let her bring something worse back here.”
* * *
Two nights later, Rachel left around nine. I waited a minute. Then followed.
She went to an old neighborhood on the south side. Behind a closed tea shop was a private card room. I learned later it wasn’t directly owned by Vince Marlow. Rachel had chosen it because she thought a small place like that would be outside his network. But in that world, people knew people. A face that had once been seen beside Vince Marlow didn’t disappear just because she wanted it to.
I waited across the street.
Almost an hour later, Rachel came out looking hollow. Not injured. Worse. Like someone who had lost money she couldn’t afford to lose.
She turned into an alley. Two men appeared. One wore a black hoodie. The other was broad and tall, in a sleeveless work jacket.
“Still running?” Hoodie said.
Rachel stepped back. “I don’t have your money.”
“We’re not here for money.”
“What do you want?”
“The kid.”
My entire body went cold. “Leave him out of this.”
“Out of it?” The big man laughed. “He’s the boss’s son.”
“He’s my son.”
“He’s Vince’s too.”
Rachel turned. Hoodie grabbed her arm. “Bring the boy back.”
“No.”
“Don’t make us come looking.”
I stepped out. “Police!”
All three turned. I raised my voice. “Someone already called the cops!”
A few people at the far end of the alley looked over. The men clearly didn’t want witnesses. Hoodie pointed at Rachel. “You got lucky tonight.” Then they left.
* * *
“Who is Vince?” I demanded.
“None of your business.”
“They just asked where your kid is.”
“I can handle it.”
“Handle it how?” My voice rose. “You hide Noah in a suitcase. You stare out windows. Now two guys show up demanding him. How long were you planning to keep lying?”
Rachel went pale. For a long time, she said nothing. Then: “He’s Noah’s father.”
“Vince?”
“Vince Marlow.”
“Were you married?”
A bitter smile. “Never got that title.”
“What does he do?”
She looked toward the building we’d just left. “Runs card rooms.”
“And things around card rooms.”
I felt a heavy knot form in my stomach. “You took Noah and ran?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
Rachel looked at me. Fear was in her eyes now. Real fear. “I told you.” Her voice was low. “I don’t have anywhere left to go.”
I looked down the dark alley. Then I thought about my apartment. Mara. Lucy. Noah. And Dad, lying inside the refrigerator.
I didn’t know yet what Rachel had taken from Vince. I only knew the danger I’d been afraid of since she dragged that suitcase through my door—had finally started following her home.
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