Part 11 - Gretel: Two Strikes

After leaving the precinct, I walked. I walked to clear my head. I walked to release some of the anxiety I was feeling. I walked because I wasn’t ready to sleep. I needed a touch of home, of him, of what once was.

I never found comfort in sleep anyways. I trudged through the city streets, taking in the sounds of traffic, the smell of cheap meat being cooked by street vendors, and the not-so-fresh air, damp with rain, my conscience berating me with every step. These were times I didn’t like not having close friends, but what would I say to them anyways?

“Hey there, Besties, you know how I work on the dark side? Well, it’s starting to grow on me. In me. I’m losing faith in humanity. I don’t even know why I’m doing what I do. I almost murdered someone last night; good thing someone else came along and did the job for me. Thank God for small miracles, right? Oh, and I took a bunch of cash from a criminal, and he’ll probably kill me for it. I’m also banging said criminal in the hopes that he doesn’t slit my throat. By the way, I love that lasagna recipe. What wine goes with that? Did you see that show on Thursday on HBO?”

I mulled over the imaginary conversation and garnered a few strange looks when I laughed out loud to myself. Yeah, hell of a friend I’d be. Lots of things to bond over with people. The sad thing was that even if I could walk away from all of this, I’d never find the happiness that other people have. I could never see myself baking cupcakes, kissing a husband before he leaves for work, or doing homework with little ones. I cut my thoughts of motherhood short when I realized I had wandered into the Black Forest, or at least that’s what certain parts of Central Park looked like at night.

In this section of the park, the sun barely reached through the tree leaves on sunny days, and now, in the middle of the night, shadows clawed towards me on all sides. Looking around, I saw no one else. “This is why I do what I do,” I said out loud as I approached the tree, knelt down, and ran my hand along the carving in the bark. The crude ‘H&G’ was difficult to see, as time always manages to erase all things, or so they say. But, my memories of my step-brother are as fresh to my mind as if he were with me just yesterday.

John and I had an immediate bond when we were first introduced. Our parents had been dating a few months and had decided to tie the knot. I was apprehensive about the whole idea, as it seemed like my mother had been dead only a short while. I suppose any eight year old little girl would feel that way. I loved my mother dearly, she was beautiful, with long blonde hair, big blue eyes — and she was kind.

I didn’t argue much with my father about marrying the evil witch, especially after meeting John. He was a quiet child, always telling me he never liked to bother his mother. He was two years older than I was, but we became close. We would pass the time playing out the stories we read. Hansel and Gretel was one of our favorites, so I nicknamed him Hansel, or Hans. We found it very funny when we found out that his name translated across. It was here at this very tree that he was taken just two years after I met him.

We were running from the witch, the bitch, the one that was trying to eat us. Ah the imaginations of children, huh? Had been following the trail of pebbles Hans had left through the trees. I heard him yell in the distance, and turned to retrace my steps — follow the breadcrumbs. When I got back to the tree, he was gone. “John?” I whispered, worried that the witch was still around.

I never found out what happened to Hans. I eavesdropped when the detective would drop by with an update, or when the folks were talking late at night in bed, and from what I could gather, my brother was taken by some bad men who wanted him for bad things. “Trafficking” is what they would say. I never knew what they meant until I was older. My guilt eats at me every day, I should have stayed with him, and maybe he would still be with me. Or me with him. He would have been the one person I could tell my darkest secrets to. He would understand why.

I wiped away the tears sliding down my cheeks. “This is why I do what I do.” I don’t even remember walking out of the park. I just remember those initials. That tree.

The moon was bright in the sky when I stopped by Smiley’s to collect the brown bag. A cloudless night. Nothing else but the single jaundiced bulb hanging over the door. Police tape torn and rippling in the evening breeze.

I knew I had to get that money back where it belonged, or Ivan and I were going to have a fight. Scratch that, Gigantor and I would fight. Ivan wouldn’t want to mess up his manicure or dirty his suit. I often wondered how wussy psychos ended up in charge. Without his giant, Ivan would be nothing. Maybe the giant needed to fall. The bigger they are, after all.

The alleyway of Smiley’s was deserted, as I knew it would be at this time, so I walked right up to the dumpster and bent down. “Shit!” I searched around the metal box, sliding in behind it, inhaling the stink of the night’s detrius. But no cigar. No way! Not possible. I braced against the wall, suddenly feeling the world tilt, the alley close in. It had to be here. I needed it to be here.

Deep breath, trying it ignore how my legs shook as I stood. Maybe it was in the dumpster? Some good Samaritan had cleaned up around the alley? I peeked into the dumpster still filled with trash, but I didn’t see a thing. Was I jumping in? Fuck. I had to.

Fuck! I wanted to scream when I climbed out of the dumpster, wound my way out of the alley, pulley my jacket up and over my head to keep the rain off, the stink in.

What was Ivan going to do to me? Hell, he didn’t even know I took the money; maybe he wouldn’t even realize it was gone. This is what happens when you do the wrong thing. Not much I could do about it now. Head down, I walked the rest of the way back to the precinct to get my car, but someone was already there, a dapper looking bastard, I recognized.

“Well, if it isn’t Prince Charming,” I said to the guy leaning against my car. He was secure until a broad umbrella, his face a mask of shadows, but I knew who I was looking at. Expensive suit with giveaway trash shoes. Was he even old enough to drink? Where do they find them?

“Gaia, fancy meeting you here,” he said, a barely perceptible nod of the head to go with it.

“What do you want, Charlie? And it’s Gretel, you dumb fuck.”

“Oh, nothing — just saw your car parked here and thought I’d wait for you, see what you were up to. I went in, but couldn’t find you anywhere. Where were you?”

“You can’t be here, Charlie.” I rounded on him, pushed him off my fender, and he almost tumbled onto the wet pavement. But that didn’t wipe the smirk off his face. “We can’t be seen here, you fuck.” I glared at him, ignoring how the rain fell down across my cheeks. I’d invested too much to let this rook fuck it up.

“I haven’t heard from you. You haven’t checked in for weeks. And your car is in a fucking police parking lot.”

“You have a tracker on my car?”

“Boss’ orders. He knows how you play.”

“I play the game my way. Now fuck off.” I shoved the key into the door and pulled it open. He just stared at me. “I will check in when I have something, like always. Don’t ever just show up again,” I hissed. “If I’m with the wrong people, the wrong place at the wrong time, you may not walk away. And Charlie?” I drove my last dagger into his brain as hard as I could. “I won’t hesitate to let them kill you, or worse, if it means securing my case.”

I ignored his rebuttal and got into my car. He back off as I pulled away, and I drove back to my shitty flat over the Chinese laundry. I threw the keys in the ashtray and fell face first onto the mattress. Two striked in one night, and I wasn’t giving fate a chance at a third.