“It must be. Blood and murder and all that.”
“I work in the Robbery Unit.” At Nina’s face, Cage said, “The irony is not lost on me.”
“What’s it like, going from fighting to crime fighting?”
“Oh, it’s fine. Like being a garbage man, except the trash is human. Better than being a junkie, anyway.”
Nina agreed. Then she realized he was talking about her. “I’m not a junkie.”
“Then why rob people?”
She flicked ash. “We can’t all be cops. The world needs robbers, too, or there’s no game.” Apart from their guns, she wasn’t afraid of cops themselves. The only real difference between a cop and a criminal was one bad day.
Cage said, “Your casual demeanor with me is interesting.”
“You already told me you weren’t going to arrest me.”
“No. But.” Cage leaned against the wall and sighed. “The thing is, there are rumors now.”
“What rumors?”
“That I’m a tomato can and got knocked out by a bitch,” he said pleasantly. “The night I met you, remember the people I was with?” Nina did. They had cheered. Cage said, “You hit me in front of the VP of Talent Relations for the biggest fight promotion company in the world. He poured a beer on my face to wake me up. That’s not the kind of thing Antonio Ricardo Ricardito Gino Joseppe Irving Spina forgets.”
“Who?”
“Antonio Ricardo Ricardito Gino Joseppe Irving Spina? The biggest fight matchmaker on the planet?” He shook his head at her blank look. “We were discussing my comeback.”
People are always better in their imaginations, Nina thought. Cage might think he was just on a bad streak, but Nina could see his future, and it didn’t hold a comeback. His eyelids puffed at the corners from occasional dabbling in whatever—confiscated drugs, veganism, urine drinking, creatine, condomed hooker sex. His skin was ruddy and bloated, as if it held too much sour blood and steroids for his body to effectively contain. He was flaming out. The rough terrain of his face was flushed bright with the changing season, summer to autumn, but he was going out in a quieter blaze than he had anticipated.
Cage said, “I’m asking nicely.”
It was a reasonable request. She should give the badge to him, make a friend.
But if he had his badge back, he would then be free to arrest her. She’d be nothing to worry about. Now, she was a nothing with a stolen police badge. Jackson used to say, “It’s not strength—it’s leverage. Grab a pinky finger and you can move an entire man.”
“It’s in an undisclosed location,” she said. “Not hard to find, but not easy, either. If something happened to me, it would certainly pop up. But until then, it’s perfectly safe.” This was all a lie—the badge was in her desk drawer at home.
Cage probed her face with his washed-out gaze. “Tell you what. Why don’t we fight for it? Nina.”
Her breath caught. “How do you know my name?”
“I’m a detective, dumbass.” He smiled above Nina’s head. “You know, I’ve never been in this alley until today. This place feels…exempt.”
She knew what he meant. It was in-between. The oil slicks were more variegated, the bricks held more contrast, and the smog cleared away, just here, as if this particular alley had its own source of air and light.
Nina didn’t like Cage in her alley. “I’m not part of your story,” she said.
“Just fight me, chica. If I win, I get the wallet. If I lose, it’s yours.”
“It’s already mine.” And I already beat you, she thought. “I fight for money. Not hate, or whatever this is.”
“I’m not sure if I hate you or love you.”
Saying the word “love,” Cage suddenly looked bigger, handsomer. He stood tall, relaxed, his eyes clear. His shoulders were big enough for her to rest her head on, without him even feeling the weight. He was a police officer. He was a smiling keeper of secrets, an armed person in an unarmed world. Could she rest there in his Lysol cloud? Or anywhere?
“This is already an unhealthy relationship,” she said. When she lit another cigarette, her hand shook. Summer buzzed against her skin, itchy.
Cage stepped closer, looked in either direction, and kissed her.
His kiss was matter-of-fact, a prerequisite, like taking your pants off before sex. Nina tried to lean into him, but couldn’t find her angle into his enormous body. She touched his cheek, and it slid from her fingers.
Cage disengaged from her mouth with a soft pop. He plucked the cigarette from her hand with perfectly groomed fingernails. Then he turned his back on her to stub it on the wall behind him.
Nina decided to choke him out.
She grabbed Cage’s big shoulders for leverage, hopped up and jabbed both feet into the hollows of his knees. They buckled. The air sharpened as he thudded to a kneel.
The cigarette fell from his fingers. Before it touched the ground, she had already launched off the ground again onto his back, piggyback style. She locked her feet around his waist. He was already twisting toward her, a giant boa constrictor. Sweat had sprung to his skin, lubricating Nina’s rear naked choke as she snaked her arm around his neck.
The sun poked Nina in the eye. Cage’s Adam’s apple chugged against the soft crook of her inner elbow. Realizing what had just happened, he yanked at her arms, but her other hand was already shelved against his head. He clawed backward at her face. She buried her face in his neck. He smelled of dandruff shampoo, expensive aftershave, and the kind of cheese you don’t have to refrigerate. She was wondering what his diet was like when he whirled around and thrust himself backward against the wall.
“Oof,” she said, sandwiched between brick wall and high-velocity Cage. Something happened to her ribs, her hip. But she held on.
He did it again, but she tucked her chin and braced for the impact. It came, harder than before, and she held on. She always held on.
Cage reached for his pocket holster, but his arm was slow, limp. He fumbled with the snap. By then, his head must have felt like a grape, about to pop out of its skin. The tiger tattoo on his flailing shoulder roared, retracted, slept. His body sagged downward. The gun rested, cupped in his hand. He relaxed in her arms. Whites lined the cracks of his partly-shut eyes.
Nina laid Cage down flat in the dry, hot street. She checked his sluggish pulse, his hot, wet breath on the back of her hand. She picked up the gun. It was so heavy. She caressed it for a second, then threw it in the dumpster. Washed in adrenaline, she climbed the fire escape to her apartment.
Nina didn’t feel bad about what she had done. She felt as neutral as a bowl of water on a ledge. She was just showing him. Nobody really loves anyone, not really. It wasn’t a constant, or a quality. The truth as Nina knew it: when your life is on its thin edge and you’re on your last breath, you only have enough room in your heart to love one thing. Air.
~
Isaac dropped the photograph and postcard onto the dashboard of the rental car, and Kate immediately snatched them both up. The postcard featured a movie still of Ronald Reagan tucking a chimpanzee into bed. It was from the film, Bedtime for Bonzo. The printed handwriting on the other side read: “Dear Nina. I am sorry about your tooth. I have a house here with an extra bedroom for you, and I turned my basement into a dojo. I will wait. Jackson.” It was followed by an address, no phone number.
Kate put the postcard in her overalls pocket before pulling it out again to read it.
“Your hand’s sweaty,” Isaac said. “You’ll smear the ink.”