vehicle that was parked for the night. Unless the owner was highly observant and checked the mileage, he’d never know Simon had used it as transportation to and from a crime scene. The vehicle wasn’t damaged in any way—there were no dents and no bloodstains. He’d need to shower and toss his clothing, but since no one knew where he was staying he wasn’t in a hurry. Even the car he was now driving was a difficult trace. Angelica had purchased it in her name, using his money, and it wasn’t on the police radar.
Angelica, who often sheltered him, looked up from the laptop she’d been working on, then stood and closed the sliding-glass door behind her. During the daylight hours, the backyard of their property overlooking Fairmont Park would have been deserted, but at this time of night, someone with sharp hearing was bound to be sitting out on their deck enjoying the warm night. Reaching for the remote, she asked, “What channel would you like to watch?”
“Any fuckin’ channel. I just want to see the news.”
“What’s going on?” She crossed her arms across her chest and stared at him.
“I blew away Billy Wallace. I wanna see if he’s dead and if they know it was me.”
Showing no reaction to his confession, she calmly pointed the remote toward the television. Her cable service offered access to local channels, and she began searching them, working her way up from the low numbers. There was no report of the shooting in North Philly. “Why don’t you try the computer? Or call the hospitals?”
Simon smiled. Angelica was smart, and he couldn’t help admiring her beauty. She was tall and slim, with wavy brown hair and eyes to match, and he loved how she looked at him. Even during a stressful time like this, she could bring his blood to a boil in seconds. Those were just two of the reasons he’d fallen for her. She was also cunning and ruthless and blindly ambitious, traits he greatly admired. “Great idea! Get me some phone numbers.”
Simon melted into the buttery soft couch and continued to channel surf, but the television was filled with movies and reruns, and no news at all. After a few minutes, Angelica handed him a list of phone numbers for the closest hospitals and then turned her attention back to her laptop while Billy studied the paper before him.
“Where have you been for four days?” she casually asked, her eyes never leaving the screen in front of her.
Aiming the remote at the giant television, Simon pressed a button and the house grew silent. He knew it would remain that way until he spoke. Angelica would wait him out, make him squirm and sweat, waiting to find out if he was forgiven. He wished he could tell her the truth, but he didn’t want to hurt her, and he knew it would. And never was he sorrier that he hadn’t been here with Angelica than he was now. If he had, none of this shit with Billy would have happened. “I’m sorry. There’s nothing else I can say.”
“Did you have an obligation?” she asked.
“I did.”
“You should have told me.”
“Soon, baby. This is all going to change.”
She didn’t acknowledge the unspoken promise in his words. “Why’d you shoot Billy?” she asked as she looked up from the computer a minute later.
Angelica had never met Billy; she was part of Simon’s other life. His dealers, his couriers, his friends on the streets—they were his tough life. He had other people, too—family, coworkers, and associates—in what he considered the good life. Angelica, she was real life. She knew she was the only woman, the only person with whom he’d ever connected. With her, Simon felt truly alive, truly real, and he considered this place, with her, to be his home. They’d bought this house together, and he spent much of his time there, eating at the glass table they’d picked out together, cuddling on this couch, wearing out the mattress in the bedroom.
“He’s a fuckin’ snitch. He got out of jail early for givin’ up
Angelica, who often sheltered him, looked up from the laptop she’d been working on, then stood and closed the sliding-glass door behind her. During the daylight hours, the backyard of their property overlooking Fairmont Park would have been deserted, but at this time of night, someone with sharp hearing was bound to be sitting out on their deck enjoying the warm night. Reaching for the remote, she asked, “What channel would you like to watch?”
“Any fuckin’ channel. I just want to see the news.”
“What’s going on?” She crossed her arms across her chest and stared at him.
“I blew away Billy Wallace. I wanna see if he’s dead and if they know it was me.”
Showing no reaction to his confession, she calmly pointed the remote toward the television. Her cable service offered access to local channels, and she began searching them, working her way up from the low numbers. There was no report of the shooting in North Philly. “Why don’t you try the computer? Or call the hospitals?”
Simon smiled. Angelica was smart, and he couldn’t help admiring her beauty. She was tall and slim, with wavy brown hair and eyes to match, and he loved how she looked at him. Even during a stressful time like this, she could bring his blood to a boil in seconds. Those were just two of the reasons he’d fallen for her. She was also cunning and ruthless and blindly ambitious, traits he greatly admired. “Great idea! Get me some phone numbers.”
Simon melted into the buttery soft couch and continued to channel surf, but the television was filled with movies and reruns, and no news at all. After a few minutes, Angelica handed him a list of phone numbers for the closest hospitals and then turned her attention back to her laptop while Billy studied the paper before him.
“Where have you been for four days?” she casually asked, her eyes never leaving the screen in front of her.
Aiming the remote at the giant television, Simon pressed a button and the house grew silent. He knew it would remain that way until he spoke. Angelica would wait him out, make him squirm and sweat, waiting to find out if he was forgiven. He wished he could tell her the truth, but he didn’t want to hurt her, and he knew it would. And never was he sorrier that he hadn’t been here with Angelica than he was now. If he had, none of this shit with Billy would have happened. “I’m sorry. There’s nothing else I can say.”
“Did you have an obligation?” she asked.
“I did.”
“You should have told me.”
“Soon, baby. This is all going to change.”
She didn’t acknowledge the unspoken promise in his words. “Why’d you shoot Billy?” she asked as she looked up from the computer a minute later.
Angelica had never met Billy; she was part of Simon’s other life. His dealers, his couriers, his friends on the streets—they were his tough life. He had other people, too—family, coworkers, and associates—in what he considered the good life. Angelica, she was real life. She knew she was the only woman, the only person with whom he’d ever connected. With her, Simon felt truly alive, truly real, and he considered this place, with her, to be his home. They’d bought this house together, and he spent much of his time there, eating at the glass table they’d picked out together, cuddling on this couch, wearing out the mattress in the bedroom.
“He’s a fuckin’ snitch. He got out of jail early for givin’ up
Similar Books
