An airbrushed sign for a nail salon on Belmont.

Trees flanking the sidewalks, the rustle of shadows cast by streetlights.

Then suddenly she was home, looking over her shoulder to park the truck, her blinker on as though everything were normal. She felt snapped back into her body. Like she’d been trailing behind it on a kite, string. Their apartment was twenty yards away. She could see through the bay window to the living room, where a light burned, and it made her feel naked. Could anyone look in so easily? Did they walk around unaware of the eyes watching them? Had the man been watching her?

Was he still?

The thought tore through her like ten thousand volts of adrenaline. She whipped her head around, sure he stood beside the car.

There was nothing there.

Stupid, stupid girl.

She yanked the keys out of the ignition and threw the door open. Stepped out, forgot the broken heel, lost her balance, one knee slamming into the door frame, white-hot pain jamming up her leg. She kicked off the heels and stepped to the grass, limping as fast as she could. Front door. Light blue key. In, slam, lock. Stairwell door. Dark blue key. Up the stairs.

She made it halfway before the tears caught her. Fear and relief mingled and twisted into an emotion too raw to have a name of its own. Sobbing, she pulled herself the rest of the way up using the bannister, heard the door to their apartment swinging open, saw Danny framed against the darkness, a running silhouette. When he reached her, she threw her arms around him, the tears coming freely now, her fingers catching handfuls of his shirt, not so much hugging him as holding on.

They sat in the kitchen with all the lights on. The track lights, the one over the stove. The pantry door open and that light burning as well. She could feel the warmth of the tea through the cup, the warmth of the whiskey in her gut. Danny had his hands over hers, and it helped.

She’d told him about it, the words spilling all over the hallway, and he had guided her inside and listened as she told it again, not saying anything except that it was over now, it was okay, they were going to be okay. She’d let the tears come, and his T-shirt had a dark spot on one shoulder. She felt better for the crying. And for being home, with all three locks thrown.

“God, I just feel so…” She paused, looking for the right word, choosing the simplest. “Stupid.”

“It wasn’t your fault.”

“Parking in the alley, not having anyone walk me to the car…”

“Shhh…” He stroked her hands. “You’re sure you’re okay? You don’t want to go to the hospital?”

She shook her head. “I’m fine. Just shaken up.” She tried a smile, knowing it looked thin. “Really, I’m fine. Just ruined a skirt and a pair of heels when I fell. He didn’t even take my purse.”

“What scared him off?”

“I don’t know. I don’t think anything. He just let me go.”

“Huh?” He looked up at her. “What do you mean?”

“I tried to use the pepper spray you got me, but I forgot to take the safety off, and then he twisted my arm and took it away. So many thoughts were going through my head, you know, bad things, was he only after my purse, or was he going to rape me, was he some sort of psycho. But then he just kind of shoved me, and I slipped, and when I looked up, he was walking away.”

That memory burned brightest, the muscles of his shoulders cutting clean lines against the streetlight. She’d been certain she would see him advancing, his hands unfastening his belt. She shook her head, the two images, one real, one imagined, overlaid in her mind. Danny was staring at her, the weirdest expression on his face.

“What?” she asked.

“He just let you go?”

“Yeah. Well, first he said something.” She laughed nervously. “He told me that Chicago was dangerous for a woman.”

“He… what?”

She repeated herself, wondering what was going on in his head, why he looked so spooked. Danny sat quiet for a moment.

“Did you get a look at him?”

“Not really. I mean, I saw him in the club, but only barely, and it was dark in the alley. He was a bit taller than you. Really strong. Curly hair. He had gloves on.” She paused, remembering. “They smelled like cigarettes.”

“Christ.” He stood up suddenly, hesitated, and then went to the counter for the bottle of scotch. Grabbed her glass and one for him. She could see that his mind was working, flying over something, but he focused on pouring, the amber liquid splashing up to the mark for doubles.

“What is it?”

“Huh?” He looked up, his expression startled. “Oh, nothing, baby. I’m just so glad you’re okay.”

“You sure that’s all?”

“Yeah.” He set the bottle on the table, and sat down himself. For a moment, it seemed like a thought was playing in his mind, like he had something to tell her. But she could see the moment pass, and when he caught her staring at him, he smiled softly, concern and resolve in his eyes. “I guess I’m just getting scared after the fact. You know, the way your mom used to get when she’d find out you’d done something stupid years ago. That’s all.”

There was more, but she didn’t care. Not right now. He pushed the drink toward her. “Go ahead,” he said. “It’ll help you sleep.”

She picked up the glass, not really wanting it, but hating the thought of lying awake till dawn. The burn pushed away all other sensations, and that she did want. “I think I’m going to take a shower.”

He nodded.

“Will you-” She paused, feeling self-conscious. “Will you come sit with me? I don’t want to be alone.”

“Of course.” His smile wrapped her up safe as a blanket in fall. “And, baby – I promise. I’ll never let anyone hurt you. Whatever I have to do to protect you, I will.” His voice firm.

Like he had made up his mind about something.

19

Evan tossed the butt out the window while he waited for the light to change. A kid in a fluorescent T-shirt stopped asking passersby if they had a moment for Greenpeace long enough to glare at him. Evan stared back, and the kid quickly looked away.

When red turned green he floored it, the Mustang roaring like it’d been kicked. He was finally out of the stretch of yuppie boutiques on Halsted, but on his way into Boystown, home to most of the city’s fags and the corner where Danny wanted to meet. He powered past a drugstore, a liquor warehouse, and across Belmont before the traffic stopped again. On the sidewalk two stacked guys, one white, one black, walked with their hands in each other’s back pocket. Funny to see. Inside it was different. Not like TV, or mostly not. Die-hard queers aside, in prison going gay was almost a way to pass the time. Another way the place humiliated you. Guys blowing each other just to break the monotony. Except you had to wonder, you spend long enough sucking off your cellie, at some point how different were you from the guys on the street here?

Evan had broken the nose of the first asshole who’d tried his luck, and stuck to jerking off.

Two blocks up, the car still creeping, he spotted Danny kicking back at a bus stop, his arms up on the bench’s back. He had the newspaper in his lap, but wasn’t reading it, keeping his eyes up and moving, scanning the traffic. Danny Carter, always too smart for his own good. He’d spotted Evan, but waited until the Mustang pulled in front of the bench before standing up slow and walking to the car. Evan leaned over to flip the lock. “Hey, partner.”

Danny shot him a cold look as he climbed in. “Drive, asshole. Take Lakeshore north.”

Evan chuckled, turned off Halsted onto a residential street, cut through an alley, and wound back toward the lake. Decided to ignore Danny’s expression now that it looked like he might be doing the right thing. The guy had reached out to him, after all, calling Murphy’s and leaving a message with the bartender. That made it his move. What would it be? Play the hard case, tell him if he ever laid a hand on Karen again, blah blah blah? It didn’t seem his style, but as he kept being reminded, this wasn’t the guy he’d grown up with.