Page 98 of Bronx

Mussy hair pulled up on the top of her head.

Bare feet.

Pretty polish.

“What store?”

“Hardware store,” I lie.

“I thought the whole point of living in a place like this is that you don’t have to fix anything?”

She doesn’t believe a word I’m saying. We have another stare off, but this time I blink first.

“I’ll be right back,” I tell her.

If I stare into her deep brown eyes for too much longer, I’ll spread her ass out on the floor and bury myself so deep that neither of us will know where each other begins or ends.

I miss her.

I miss who were becoming.

But that could never be real.

Not when I have this unfinished business with her brother, and especially not when I have to lie to her about it.

“See you, then.”

Her affect is odd, even for Karma, and I wonder if she has a little secret mission of her own. She better not be going to that damn hospital to see Ray again.

***

Once I hit the ground floor of my building, a floor after the lobby but before underground parking, I dip into a little small mail center room that’s off limits to most people in the building except for tenants.

I pull out a fresh pack of Camels that were burning a hole in my pocket and tap the box methodically against my hand. It’s been a while since I’ve had a cigarette, not really needing one to dampen down my darkness, but some old habits are hard to kick.

I take a long first drag as I sit at a small table inside the room, contemplating how I’ve made such a mess with Karma.

“I never thought I’d see you again.”

A strangely accented voice startles me from my deep thoughts and I’m caught completely off guard by who it is.

“Lev?”

“You’ve grown up, college boy.”

I could kick myself. I never leave my piece when I go out, but I left my Glock upstairs in the apartment knowing that I was only coming down here for a smoke.

I’m having another déjà vu moment right now. This is exactly how they caught me slipping the last time.

“You look different too,” I tell him, checking him visually from head to toe for weapons.

Lev doesn’t look the same as he did six years ago. He’s gotten a lot heavier and his face wears the lines that living a hard life will give a man.

“Why were you looking for me in Little Russia?”

“Karma.”

His back straightens.