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RHAIM

I dropped off my new rental at a chop shop I was familiar with from the old days, and asked them to put a static cling film on the windows so dark people inside could safely perform war crimes. Then I went to Enzo’s place.

The family doctor lived comfortably in a nice walk-up, that even had a little yard in back—I knew, because I’d carried bleeding men through it before.

But this time I was going through the front. I went up onto his stoop, rang the doorbell, and waited for him to arrive.

His red-headed Irish wife opened the door instead, piercing me with a look.

“Good evening Sorsha, is your husband home?”

She crossed her arms. “That depends.”

“This is a social visit. Swear,” I said, crossing my heart.

She didn’t let me in, but she did toss her head back and shout, “Enzo!”

And Enzo, having been married to her for at least twenty years, shouted back, “What?” at full volume, from another room.

“Company!” she hollered—in a tone that meant business.

The good doctor appeared down the hallway behind her, spotted me, and then the color disappeared from his skin. “Hey, Sorsh’—can you go get Mr. Selvaggio here a beer?” he said, slowly walking forward—like I was some kind of dog he needed to subdue.

I watched her go and frowned at him. “I’m not drinking it outside.”

“Yeah. I know,” he said, reaching up to nervously pinch the lobe of one ear. “Come in,” he said, and held a door open off his hall.

I also knew where his kitchen was—and it was pleasant to see his table covered with a normal tablecloth, instead of a bloody one. I took a seat, and Sorsha returned from the fridge with a Brooklyn Lager for me. I opened it, but didn’t take a drink.

“So,” Enzo said, sitting across from me, without a beer of his own—and Sorsha gave him a glare before leaving the room.

I made a show of looking myself over. “Am I bleeding from somewhere? Why’re you so nervous?” Had Enzo been turned? If he had, he wouldn’t have much to show for it—unless the cops wanted to go really far back.

“Why’re you here?”

“I just need a small favor is all.” At that, he relaxed. “Why?” I pressed. “What were you worried about?” I wondered aloud, then answered my own question. “All that nonsense in the papers today?”

Enzo took a deep breath and nodded.

“No—first off—if Nero were going to bump you, he wouldn’t do it here on a weeknight, with your wife home.

Sheesh. We have some tact,” I said, and it clearly didn’t help matters.

“I’m teasing, Enzo. Of course you’re not to blame—we’ve got people checking into the papers.

” Rio was probably crawled halfway up someone’s ass and tickling their spine right now. “No, this is more of a personal thing.”

The doctor blew a sigh out like a horse, complete with flapping lips. “I’m not doing anything here that I couldn’t charge Corvo’s insurance during normal working hours for, Rhaim.”

“No—I just need some syringes is all. And I know you got some. You’ve got a full kit in here.”

That made one of his eyebrows shoot high. He inhaled—and then he exhaled, without asking anything.

“That’s the thing I like most about you, doctor,” I said, taking a thoughtful sip of my beer. “You know when to keep quiet.”

“It’s because I take my obligations towards my patients seriously,” he huffed.

“Well if you help me, now…you’ll be helping one of your patients, too. If you know what I mean.”

His furry brow furrowed. “Just an empty syringe?”

I thought for a second. “Actually—two or three, if you can spare them. If I fuck up.”

He shook his head and then disappeared. This was the only room of his home I’d ever seen—and I didn’t intend to follow him. Just like he knew when to be quiet—I knew when to leave well enough alone.

He returned with several small syringes, with needles attached. “Perfect,” I said, pocketing them.

“Do you know what you’re doing with those?”

I just needed them for set-dressing, but Enzo didn’t need to know that. “I’ll watch some shit on Youtube tonight. I’ll know enough,” I promised, and that made him laugh.

“Doctor Google’s going to be the death of me,” he said, rubbing his temple with one hand—and then he went to his fridge, and got himself a lager.

“Oh, we’re doing this now?” I asked him, tilting my own can.

“Yeah,” he said, cracking it open. “In fact…we probably should’ve done this a long time ago.”

I blinked, feeling a little off balance. I hadn’t seen Enzo much since Isabelle’s funeral—I’d gotten my own doctors through Corvo when the insurance kicked in, and it’d been a long fucking time since I’d been stabbed or shot.

“I know I don’t have anything to apologize for, Rhaim, not really. But I’ve always felt awful,” he said, taking an overly long swig. “That Isabelle died. Leaving my place.”

And the nerves I’d felt creeping up re-settled. “It wasn’t your fault. I won’t lie—I was angry, of course—but accidents happen. I know that.”

“And I knew you did, since you never came around after. But I should’ve said something at her funeral to you.”

“You were there. You shook my hand. It was enough,” I said, waving my can at him to absolve him.

“She was so beautiful. And kind. And—she would’ve made a great mother. My own daughter had a son right around when she would’ve been due,” he said, after another gulp. “Every year, when it’s his birthday, I wonder what it might’ve been like, if my grandson got to play with your boy.”

And suddenly the sound I got inside my ears sometimes, like right before I was about to pull a trigger or slash a knife, returned, like all the blood inside my body was flowing through the same small place.

“My…boy?” I said, without any sound.

Enzo read my lips and his eyes went round. “Oh…I thought you knew.”

Isabelle had died on the way back from the ultrasound appointment she’d been to without me—because she’d been mad at me for murdering some fucking nobody who had it coming.

It didn’t seem worth worrying about what could’ve been, when it felt like everything I’d ever wanted had been taken.

“Oh, Rhaim,” Enzo said again, with infinite pity.

I picked up the beer and chugged it, before slamming it down. “I need to go. Thanks, Enzo,” I said, standing up quickly.

“Are you safe to be driving?” he asked, standing as well.

“In the mood I’m in right now—do you really want me to stay here?” I countered.

And he hesitated for a long beat—trying to be good until the end. Lost for anything to stop me, or any way to help, he wound up patting my back roughly twice.

“Don’t be a stranger, Rhaim—but next time, make an appointment.”

By the time I made it to my ride, there was a text from Lia on my burner.

It’s been a long day. I’m going to sleep now. I love you.

I love you, too.

I texted back immediately.

The dots on her end begin to whirl at once.

Don’t forget to save me.

I sat in the back of a dark car, staring at a bright screen, holding my phone like it was a fallen star, and texted her back:

As if I ever could.