Black Widow
Page 44
I drew in a soft breath, then leaned down and peered through the opening.
The quarter-size hole was about five feet off the ground, and the angle and position of the Dumpster let me see the open back door of the restaurant and the crowd of people milling around the alley beyond it—including Bria, Finn, Silvio, Xavier, and Owen.
Faces tight, eyes red and weary, shoulders slumped. The five of them stood in a row against the wall opposite the Pork Pit, their backs resting against the dirty bricks as if those were the only things holding them upright. Finn had his arms wrapped around Bria, who’d obviously been crying, while Xavier had his hand on Silvio’s shoulder. Owen stood a few feet away, his phone clutched in his hand as if he were waiting for me to keep my promise and call him at any second.
My stomach churned with hot, bitter acid at their obvious heartache and suffering. If only I hadn’t broken my phone, I could have at least texted Owen and told him where I was hiding and why. But I had no way to communicate with him or the others.
So close, so far away.
Minutes passed, then dragged into more than an hour. And still, cops, firefighters, and other officials kept moving through the alley and all around the Dumpster before going into the restaurant and streaming back out again. Fletcher had taught me to be patient, but it was almost more than even I could bear, knowing that my loved ones thought that I was dead, seeing the doubt, agony, shock, and suffering on their faces, and not being able to tell them that I was alive.
Finally, the coroner arrived and went into the restaurant. Ten more minutes ticked by before he came back out again. He shot Bria a sympathetic look, then turned to the cop in charge of the scene.
“There is definitely a body inside . . .” The coroner’s voice trailed off. “And it looks to be female from my preliminary examination.”
“No! No! No . . .”
Bria screamed and screamed before burying her face in Finn’s chest, her voice trailing off into loud, ugly, heartbreaking sobs. Tears streamed down Finn’s face. Xavier’s too, and even Silvio dabbed at the corners of his eyes. Owen remained still and stoic, although his fingers curled a little tighter around his phone, almost as if he were willing it to ring to prove everyone wrong.
I closed my eyes, and my heart twisted into cold, hard, guilty, shameful knots. I didn’t want to put my friends through the torture of thinking that I was dead, but I couldn’t leave my hiding place either. Otherwise, everything that I’d been through inside the Pork Pit would have been for nothing. So as much as it pained me to do so, I held my position and forced myself to open my eyes and keep watching through my peephole.
But even as Bria’s screams died down into gut-wrenching sobs, the speculative whispers started, the way I knew they would, and soon everyone in the alley was chattering about the burned body.
“Is it Blanco? Is she really dead?”
“Looks that way.”
“Didn’t think the Spider would go out like that. . . .”
And on and on it went.
Every muttered comment, every soft word, and every harsh, mocking laugh made me grind my teeth together. Even though I knew that it was crazy, part of me wanted to leap up in the Dumpster and scream Boo! as loud as I could. It would serve the gawking, jabbering ghouls right to get the shit scared out of them.
But I swallowed down my anger and held my position, even though the growing heat of the day baked me like a potato inside the Dumpster, as well as intensifying the reek of the garbage. Soon, the sour, putrid stench became so foul that even a thick layer of Jo-Jo’s ointment all around my nose couldn’t block it out.
While I waited, I planned my revenge.
Madeline had spent weeks setting her grand scheme into motion. Framing Bria and Eva. Causing business problems for Roslyn, Owen, Finn, and Jo-Jo. Coercing her maid into trying to kill me. Getting the Pork Pit shut down with that ridiculous health inspection. Bribing Dobson to put me in the bull pen. That had all taken time, energy, and money to pull off, and I wanted the same time to think and plan and plot.
But most of all, with my supposed death, I wanted to see what Madeline would do next.
Now that I was out of her way, there was nothing to stop her from assuming Mab’s position as head of the Ashland underworld, and she would make sure that all of the crime bosses knew that she was the one who’d so thoughtfully, elegantly orchestrated my death. They might grumble about it under their breath, but the other bosses would have no choice but to bow down to their new queen, or she would kill them the same way that she’d supposedly killed me.
So I huddled in the Dumpster and thought through all the implications, wondering how I could stop Madeline’s reign of terror once and for all. The acid elemental was smart, clever, and cunning. So far, she’d been three steps ahead of me in our little game, and as soon as she realized that I was still alive, she’d start scheming more than ever before.
But what would she do if I stayed dead?
She would gloat and preen and then turn her attention to other matters, like solidifying her hold on the underworld. The more I thought about it, the more I realized that my death was the key to taking her down. I needed to hit Madeline the same way that she had me—completely blindside and bulldoze her until she was buried six feet under.
I wasn’t quite sure how I was going to go about doing that yet, but one thing was for certain.
I was sure as hell looking forward to it.
* * *
People streamed in and out of the alley the rest of the day as my supposed body was loaded up and carted away, and the Pork Pit was officially condemned as a safety hazard. To help keep my strength up, I guzzled down a bottle of water and ate some of the granola bars that were in the zippered pockets of my duffel bag. Then I made myself as comfortable as possible and dozed on and off through all the noise. That was the only thing I could do.
Finally, night fell, and the clamor and commotion around the restaurant faded away. About an hour after the sun set, I felt safe enough to get to my feet and peer over the side of the Dumpster.
The alley was deserted.
I looked left and right, scanning the shadows, but all of the cops, firefighters, and other officials had vanished, along with all of the curious passersby. Of course they had. Everyone thought that I was dead. There was no reason to stick around and gawk anymore.
So I climbed out of the Dumpster, rotten bits of food and other disgusting garbage dripping off my cold, sweaty, soot-streaked clothes. As soon as my feet touched the cracked pavement, I slid behind the container, out of sight of anyone who might glance down or even enter the alley.
The quarter-size hole was about five feet off the ground, and the angle and position of the Dumpster let me see the open back door of the restaurant and the crowd of people milling around the alley beyond it—including Bria, Finn, Silvio, Xavier, and Owen.
Faces tight, eyes red and weary, shoulders slumped. The five of them stood in a row against the wall opposite the Pork Pit, their backs resting against the dirty bricks as if those were the only things holding them upright. Finn had his arms wrapped around Bria, who’d obviously been crying, while Xavier had his hand on Silvio’s shoulder. Owen stood a few feet away, his phone clutched in his hand as if he were waiting for me to keep my promise and call him at any second.
My stomach churned with hot, bitter acid at their obvious heartache and suffering. If only I hadn’t broken my phone, I could have at least texted Owen and told him where I was hiding and why. But I had no way to communicate with him or the others.
So close, so far away.
Minutes passed, then dragged into more than an hour. And still, cops, firefighters, and other officials kept moving through the alley and all around the Dumpster before going into the restaurant and streaming back out again. Fletcher had taught me to be patient, but it was almost more than even I could bear, knowing that my loved ones thought that I was dead, seeing the doubt, agony, shock, and suffering on their faces, and not being able to tell them that I was alive.
Finally, the coroner arrived and went into the restaurant. Ten more minutes ticked by before he came back out again. He shot Bria a sympathetic look, then turned to the cop in charge of the scene.
“There is definitely a body inside . . .” The coroner’s voice trailed off. “And it looks to be female from my preliminary examination.”
“No! No! No . . .”
Bria screamed and screamed before burying her face in Finn’s chest, her voice trailing off into loud, ugly, heartbreaking sobs. Tears streamed down Finn’s face. Xavier’s too, and even Silvio dabbed at the corners of his eyes. Owen remained still and stoic, although his fingers curled a little tighter around his phone, almost as if he were willing it to ring to prove everyone wrong.
I closed my eyes, and my heart twisted into cold, hard, guilty, shameful knots. I didn’t want to put my friends through the torture of thinking that I was dead, but I couldn’t leave my hiding place either. Otherwise, everything that I’d been through inside the Pork Pit would have been for nothing. So as much as it pained me to do so, I held my position and forced myself to open my eyes and keep watching through my peephole.
But even as Bria’s screams died down into gut-wrenching sobs, the speculative whispers started, the way I knew they would, and soon everyone in the alley was chattering about the burned body.
“Is it Blanco? Is she really dead?”
“Looks that way.”
“Didn’t think the Spider would go out like that. . . .”
And on and on it went.
Every muttered comment, every soft word, and every harsh, mocking laugh made me grind my teeth together. Even though I knew that it was crazy, part of me wanted to leap up in the Dumpster and scream Boo! as loud as I could. It would serve the gawking, jabbering ghouls right to get the shit scared out of them.
But I swallowed down my anger and held my position, even though the growing heat of the day baked me like a potato inside the Dumpster, as well as intensifying the reek of the garbage. Soon, the sour, putrid stench became so foul that even a thick layer of Jo-Jo’s ointment all around my nose couldn’t block it out.
While I waited, I planned my revenge.
Madeline had spent weeks setting her grand scheme into motion. Framing Bria and Eva. Causing business problems for Roslyn, Owen, Finn, and Jo-Jo. Coercing her maid into trying to kill me. Getting the Pork Pit shut down with that ridiculous health inspection. Bribing Dobson to put me in the bull pen. That had all taken time, energy, and money to pull off, and I wanted the same time to think and plan and plot.
But most of all, with my supposed death, I wanted to see what Madeline would do next.
Now that I was out of her way, there was nothing to stop her from assuming Mab’s position as head of the Ashland underworld, and she would make sure that all of the crime bosses knew that she was the one who’d so thoughtfully, elegantly orchestrated my death. They might grumble about it under their breath, but the other bosses would have no choice but to bow down to their new queen, or she would kill them the same way that she’d supposedly killed me.
So I huddled in the Dumpster and thought through all the implications, wondering how I could stop Madeline’s reign of terror once and for all. The acid elemental was smart, clever, and cunning. So far, she’d been three steps ahead of me in our little game, and as soon as she realized that I was still alive, she’d start scheming more than ever before.
But what would she do if I stayed dead?
She would gloat and preen and then turn her attention to other matters, like solidifying her hold on the underworld. The more I thought about it, the more I realized that my death was the key to taking her down. I needed to hit Madeline the same way that she had me—completely blindside and bulldoze her until she was buried six feet under.
I wasn’t quite sure how I was going to go about doing that yet, but one thing was for certain.
I was sure as hell looking forward to it.
* * *
People streamed in and out of the alley the rest of the day as my supposed body was loaded up and carted away, and the Pork Pit was officially condemned as a safety hazard. To help keep my strength up, I guzzled down a bottle of water and ate some of the granola bars that were in the zippered pockets of my duffel bag. Then I made myself as comfortable as possible and dozed on and off through all the noise. That was the only thing I could do.
Finally, night fell, and the clamor and commotion around the restaurant faded away. About an hour after the sun set, I felt safe enough to get to my feet and peer over the side of the Dumpster.
The alley was deserted.
I looked left and right, scanning the shadows, but all of the cops, firefighters, and other officials had vanished, along with all of the curious passersby. Of course they had. Everyone thought that I was dead. There was no reason to stick around and gawk anymore.
So I climbed out of the Dumpster, rotten bits of food and other disgusting garbage dripping off my cold, sweaty, soot-streaked clothes. As soon as my feet touched the cracked pavement, I slid behind the container, out of sight of anyone who might glance down or even enter the alley.
