I wanted to tell you,” she said, her arms crossed over her silk robe. She didn’t sound particularly regretful that she hadn’t. Until she said it, I had been holding out hope that I was wrong.
“But you never quite got around to it.” I could feel the shadow of the gun on the bed behind me, a black, throbbing presence. “And it would’ve been so hard? Take me out for a drink, say, By the way, I’m really the Lady Upstairs?”
Lou gestured to the tumbler on the table. “You might like a sip of that. It might make you feel better.”
“You were so cool, giving me orders. But they never seemed like orders, did they? They always seemed like suggestions. Good advice. All of it, from the pie diner to that night with . . . Ellen.”
Lou’s green eyes sparkled, as though I’d told her a joke. “I’m surprised Jackal didn’t say anything, I know he was on to me by the end. The way he wouldn’t talk to me.” That one stung. She narrowed her eyes and smiled a little. “You know, I always wondered if he’d be able to do it, if I asked. Take care of you.” She must’ve caught the look on my face because her smile blossomed. “Oh yes, he was much handier than he looked. You can convince that man to do just about anything for an afternoon at the racetrack. And he was so good at keeping the girls quiet.” Lou’s face softened a touch, and she took a step toward me. “But I never really wanted you dead, Jo.”
Jackal, the Lady’s—Lou’s—hitman. I wasn’t sure which was worse: that he’d never told me, or that I’d never guessed. Jackal, the man with nothing under the surface. If only I’d known, I thought. Murder was something we could’ve bonded over. I could’ve laughed except it was so unfunny. I wondered how many over the years, who and how and when. The room tilted on its axis and started to realign itself in unfamiliar ways. Monsters, all of us, I realized. Not only me. All three of us.
I licked my lips, tried to look away from her, and my eyes landed on the still-open luggage, the gun. Fuck. I couldn’t remember if I’d touched it or not. “The police told me you bribed them years ago, when a case went wrong,” I said. “That’s how it started?”
Lou laughed bitterly, taking a step forward, still between me and the door. “That wasn’t half a mess. One of my very first cases—back when I was doing it all myself, you can imagine what a disaster that was—and the mark called my bluff, went to the police with the photos and the note and everything. Said he didn’t care about the photos in the paper, he wasn’t going to let some little cunt run his life.”
Lou laughed again. It sounded like she was gargling glass. Despite everything, my heart ached at the idea of her, alone and scared, trying to run the grift on her own.
“That one had quite the mouth on him. Nasty, nasty man.” She shrugged at me. “So I talked my way out of the situation. I invented a boss, someone powerful, someone who could keep the police from taking advantage of me. Another layer of protection.”
Lou had to have a good reason for keeping the gun. Maybe she didn’t know how to get rid of it without being sure the police would find it. Maybe she’d panicked, thought it was safest to keep it. I could come up with a million excuses for her, in my mind. The twist of my stomach told me something different.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” I said, my voice cracking. I was surprised how much that one hurt, how that was the thing that hurt most after all. “Did you think I wouldn’t keep your secret?”
Lou’s feet made soft indentations in the carpet as she crossed to her purse, bending over to snag a pack of cigarettes from her bag. She cupped her hand over a cigarette and sparked the lighter with the other.
She took her time with the smoke, luxuriating in it while I shivered and waited. Finally, she said: “You used to be so good at your job, Jo. What happened? All of a sudden, there were so many little slipups. Little things matter. They matter. But you couldn’t stop drinking, you were taking too long on the cases—it shouldn’t have taken you more than a year, tops, to pay me back. And that’s not even the worst part.” She shook her head, disgusted. “I saw so much potential in you. So much. That day at the diner and then . . . after. I knew I couldn’t let you walk away from me.”
She slid me a sly look and my stomach dropped. None of it had been a mistake—even the debt had been a ploy to tie me closer to her. Somehow she’d let slip a detail to the Asshole that made him able to trace it all back to me. They’d been alone in that conference room for twenty minutes—who knows what she’d said while she tied him up, while she straddled him. I’d always assumed it had been my fault he’d found us. Because it couldn’t have been Lou. It could never have been Lou’s fault.
“I want you to know I wouldn’t have done this if you hadn’t forced me,” Lou said. Lou, or maybe really Rita Palmer. Unless that had been a lie, too. “You started to make such a mess. I asked Jackal to go to the Albatross that day because—well, because I know him. I knew what would happen, he’d never show up. And then I’d have a reason, you know? I could justify it with Jackal. You’d fucked up so bad, over and over again—I don’t know if you got sloppy or lazy or—”
My head was pounding, and I could hear my blood beat in the spaces where I should’ve been able to hear my own breath. It felt like I hadn’t taken one in minutes, hours. I backed up until my legs bumped the bed, jostling the suitcase with the gun nestled inside.
She could’ve thrown it in the ocean. That would have been so easy. But no. She’d kept it for a reason. For this.
“Or if you’re so in love with me you can’t see straight anymore.” Lou looked at me, very level, very steady, one hand supporting the elbow of her cigarette hand. She blew out a plume of smoke. “What’s our one rule with the girls?”
I reached a hand back and found the edge of the suitcase to steady myself. “Lou, what are you—”
“One rule, Jo. You get attached, you start to fuck up. How could you forget that?” She smiled a little. Like she was enjoying herself. That pretty face of hers, all angles, all sharpness where once it had been soft toward me, always soft to me. “I’m not going back to the streets, just me. You think you know tough? You don’t know anything about it.”
“I’m going to be sick,” I said.
“Be my guest. The police should be here any minute. I called them from downstairs just now. I told them I felt obligated to help in their search for justice.” She gave me a little smile and wink. “Don’t you think Ellen deserves justice?”
The police. I had one small chip left to play. “MacLeish told me that the St. Leo turns over the security tapes tomorrow. Going back months. You were there with her, Lou. Remember? If I go down for this, you do, too. But we could still go. Start over somewhere new. Let’s go, please let’s just go.”
For the first time, a small shadow passed over Lou’s face, and then she shook it off, her cheeks creasing in dimples. “Looks like Mr. Alibi will be coming in handy for more than an alibi,” she said with a wink. “Tapes get erased all the time.”
I gagged on the taste of gin still in my mouth. I’d never drink gin again after this, I promised myself, after this very moment I was done with juniper, Lou was right, it did taste like Christmas tree piss. My vision was pinwheeling to a small point, like Lou was the only thing I could see. I couldn’t stand to look at that face, that beautiful, terrible face.
Lou took another drag of the cigarette, shrugged. That same little smile. “Not so tough now,” she said.
I took a breath and forced myself to take another one, and another. I nodded and nodded and nodded, and then I swung the gun up from behind me and pointed it at her face. She froze. “Move, Lou. Get out of my way.”
That got a reaction from her, finally. “Put the gun down, Jo. It’s too late.” But her face was pale, the freckles bright against her nose. She took one small step toward me, still between me and the door. “Jo, listen to me.”
I’d never held a gun before. The metal was slick against my palms, which were sweating, and I had the urge to tap the trigger just to make sure it really worked.
“Put it down,” Lou said, taking another step toward me.
“Stop it,” I warned, but she moved another step closer. I flinched and gripped the gun with both hands. She put her hands up, but she took another step. Lou’s face was soft again, and if I let myself, I could almost believe that she hadn’t really meant everything she’d said, that she was only scared. I could understand that. Anyone could.
“Think this through,” she said. “The police will be here any minute. Would you really shoot me?”
I’d been trying to avoid asking myself that question since I’d grabbed the gun. She didn’t want to go back to the streets. I could still leave tonight, go to Palm Springs without her.
It wouldn’t take MacLeish more than twenty minutes, tops, to get to her place, less if he was speeding, and at least ten, maybe fifteen had passed since she’d called them. If they got here, it would be her word against mine. A coin toss.
Except I was holding a gun on her.
“I don’t want to,” I admitted, and cocked the gun. “So please, Lou, please, get out of my way.”
She stopped moving, her hands in the air, and bit her lip, a genuine flare of fear in her eyes. I thought about what she must have been like before this life, before she’d started being the Lady. I thought of the picture of Eve Dawes, yanked off the street, scared and alone in a justice system that told her she was trash, that punished her but none of the men who had used her. I wondered if Lou had a similar picture anywhere in her file. That kind heart of hers couldn’t have been entirely faked. It must have made her easy pickings for the world, once upon a time.
“Did you ever care about me?” I asked, knowing it was stupid. I was wasting time.
She took one very small step closer, still smiling that little smile. She was too close now—I could smell her. Some of her lemony brightness had faded, and underneath it was a musky, animal smell, a stink. “A little,” she admitted. “I love all my marks, a little.”
I reared back, my cheeks burning as if she’d slapped me.
Lou took the opening, throwing herself on me, barreling me backward. I bounced against the bed and twisted off it, Lou’s knee connecting with my stomach and spiking the air out of my lungs. Stunned, I could barely get my arms up to push her away as she clawed at my hair, climbing up me to get to the gun I was still clutching. “You’re not going anywhere,” she huffed into my neck, her breath tickling my ear, and finally I kicked at her, managing to knock her off for a moment, and then she was back, scratching at me, reaching for the gun.
I let my fingers loose, trying only to throw the gun far enough that I could push her away from me and scramble for the door, but she was too quick, she caught my hand on the way, pinning my arm down and growling as she clutched at it, grabbing the gun from the ground and thumbing back the hammer, trying to hold me down and wriggle it away, both at the same time. But I was bigger than she was, too strong, and I flailed my free arm, trying to get her off me, and my fingers caught the tumbler on the bedside table, showering us both with stinging gin. I only meant to stun her, I only meant to give myself a fighting chance, which was all Lou had ever wanted for herself, too, a chance to take control of her life, but then I was bringing the tumbler down just above her ear and an unholy crack came from the side of her face, that beautiful face I couldn’t stand to look at anymore, crunching against the floor as a thin line of blood ran down from her skull, as she looked up at me, her eyes big with surprise and, oh God, sadness, and her mouth dropped wide and then there was a roaring coming out of her that was worse than anything, worse, even, than the rattle that had come out of Ellen in the back seat of the car, a syrupy herk, herk, as if she’d tried to will oxygen back into her lungs.
And then I was bringing the tumbler down against her head again because if I didn’t make that sound stop I really was going to go crazy and then it did stop and the only sound in the room was my ragged breathing.
“Lou?” I whispered, pushing her away from me. She didn’t move. She didn’t make a noise. Oh God, what had I done, I hadn’t meant to do it, I hadn’t really meant to do it. But there was a little voice in my head that disagreed, that had been screaming since I’d seen the suitcase, since I’d heard her say it, I love all my marks, a little, since even, maybe, Ellen.
I pressed a hand to my hammering heart and sat up, staring down at her slumped body. Stupid, stupid. Get out of here. When she wakes up in two minutes, you’ll have missed your shot.
But I didn’t listen to myself. I turned her over. Lou’s face was frozen, lips parted, the blood seeping slower now but still covering her face. Her open eyes. That perfect porcelain face, lifeless and cracked and red and white.
It had been the only thing I’d stared at the entire time I’d choked Ellen from the back seat of her own car, Lou’s hands holding Ellen down with all her might, her face like a slice of bone-white china in the moonlight. The entire time, while Ellen had flailed like a fish on a hook, twisting and raking at Lou’s eyes, never quite reaching her, I’d stared at Lou’s face. One, two, three, I’d counted, trying to see if I could match all the pale freckles on Lou’s nose with the count I was keeping up as I willed Ellen into unconsciousness, the seat belt wrapped around my knuckles. Making a mythology of her face as Ellen stopped struggling, until it was really and truly over.
I straightened up, breathing hard. My hands were shaking and I stared at them, counting to ten over and over in my head. I could hear the light buzzing from the bathroom, like water rushing in my ears.
I knew it was useless, but I probed under her chin for a pulse. No luck. I stared at her body, numb, the body that not an hour before, I’d been . . . I shook my head. If I let myself think about that, I’d go crazy. I wasn’t sure I wasn’t going to go crazy, anyway, but I had to get myself together. I had to think.
Lou’s body. The police on their way. If I closed my eyes and concentrated, I thought it was possible I could hear the sirens approaching.
The light buzzing from the bathroom gave me an idea. I gulped down a gag and grabbed Lou’s body under the armpits, dragging her to the bathroom. I set her carefully against the toilet and ran a bath. I didn’t have enough time to fill the tub so I pushed her in with it only halfway full. It wouldn’t fool anyone for long.
As she slipped into the water, I remembered what she’d told me once, that she couldn’t swim. I pulled her head up, above the water. Some of the blood was already drying and tacky around the split in her skull, but some of it had turned the water pink. I cradled her head in my hands and stared at her. Lou, why did you do it?
If she’d come with me when I’d first asked, we could have been halfway to Palm Springs by now. I closed my eyes. The slideshow of images of what could have been: holding her hand across the gearshift, a midnight swim. Well, she got that, I thought, and then I started to laugh; it was so horrible and perfect. My ears caught the faint wail of a siren, and I knew I wasn’t imagining it this time.
If it was Escobar, I was completely fucked. If it was MacLeish, I had options. She’d been drinking. She’d fallen in the bathtub, hit her head. It happened, I knew it did.
But I wasn’t so sure I wanted options. Jackal was gone, Lou was gone. Ellen. All gone. Was there anything left for me, now, that was better than being locked up? The Lady’s business, for all it had been about taking down bad men, had left so many dead women in its wake. And I was a part of that. Maybe it was better for everyone if they caught me. Maybe that was the only end left, the best end left, for dangerous women like Lou and me.
I left the bathroom and picked up Lou’s gold lighter from the bedroom floor, where she’d dropped it in our struggle. I wanted something of hers close to me as I did what I knew I had to do. It wasn’t a trophy. It wasn’t that.
I clicked it with each step back down her stairs, dropping the hammer like a tiny guillotine. I glided my hand over the polished mahogany handrail for the last time. My prints were all over the place anyway.
I descended the staircase. Through the fogged glass of Lou’s front windows, I could see the pulse of blue and red lights, hear the slap of car doors closing. My breath was tight in my chest, and my hands were cold and soggy with Lou’s pink blood, and dripping red with Ellen’s, even if I was the only one who could see it. Through the window I saw shapes moving closer, two, but I couldn’t tell who they were. MacLeish and Escobar, MacLeish and someone new?
One of the shapes was close to the door now, and as he raised an arm to knock—the other hand moving to his hip—I took a deep breath and flipped the lock, placing my hands securely on my head in supplication, and then I waited.
I didn’t have to wait very long.
What had been our biggest rule? Oh, Lou, if you didn’t believe you taught me anything, believe this: I won’t make the same mistake twice.