Chapter 18 #3
"Keep an eye on the door," Ruth tells me and turns her attention to London.
"I have these new black bean burgers you might like.
Here, let me show you." She guides London down an aisle, the distance between us tugging at me, itching me to move closer, to be there, just in case something happens again.
I shouldn't feel this way, but having London around gives me a sense of purpose and I don't want to fuck up the one task I've been given.
Taking my phone from my pocket, I dial August's number and walk toward the door, eyeing everyone on the sidewalk as they pass.
"Arch, what's going on?" August says through the receiver.
"They sent someone to Ruth's shop."
"What are you talking about?"
"The bodega on the corner, the one in my fucking neighborhood. They sent someone to make it look like a robbery."
"Did you ever consider it was a robbery?"
"All things considered, I'm appalled you're being so dismissive."
August sighs. "Has the situation been handled?"
"Yes."
"Did you question the person?"
"He wasn't giving anything up." I recall the shock on the man's face as I pressed the gun into his temple. I ignore the part of me that missed having that control.
"I see." August clears his throat. "And you think it was the Manor brothers?"
"When I asked him who sent him, he said they'd kill him. Who else would it be if it wasn't us? I can't imagine Leo or Seven would send someone to shoot up my grocery store."
"I mean, I wouldn't put it past Seven…"
"We're brothers, we fight, we make up, that's what we do. This time was no different."
"What's the deal with the girl?"
"I didn't call you to talk about her."
"What do you want from me, Archer?"
"Nothing, August," I bite back. "I'm trying to make you aware, is all. Take it or leave it, but if we don't get a grip on this situation, who's to say they don't take over our territory? I should have known when I took a step back everything would fall to shit."
"Excuse me?" August cuts me off. "Nothing is falling to shit. Don't you dare disrespect what I'm doing here. You are the one who resigned from your position. You're the one who wants nothing to do with things. I won't tolerate this from you."
A familiar man in uniform struts down the sidewalk, a few men close behind him. "I've got to go," I tell him. "The cops are here."
"Good, handle the situation," August says before I hang up the phone and return it to my pocket. I open the door, the bell chiming, and hold it for the men to enter.
"Archer." Officer Robinson shakes my hand. "This is Officer Peterson, McKenna, and Charles. You want to walk us through things?"
I glance at each guy and tip my head toward the dead man.
"Came in, tried to rob the place." I pull the gun out, holding it with my shirt and wiping my prints off it before handing it to Officer Robinson.
"This is what he used. Serial number is wiped," I tell him when he turns it over and looks for one.
"You heard 'em." Robinson tucks the gun up under his biceps. "Let's get this cleaned up."
Officer Peterson locks the front door and stands guard while the rest of them go to work. I leave them to find London and Ruth, who are near the produce section.
I take the basket from London, the weight of it no doubt too much for her to carry in her condition. "Did you find what you needed?" I ask her.
"And some," she confirms. "Is everything okay?"
"Yep."
"Thank you, Archie." Ruth pats my arm. "You take good care of me."
"Speaking of which, can I talk to you?" I pull her aside and disregard the strange look from London. Lowering my voice, I say, "I'll give you ten grand to close up for an hour every Sunday so we can come in without any other customers."
Ruth shakes her head. "That's absurd, Archie, I won't let you do that."
"I'm insisting." I stare at her, wanting her to understand just how serious I am. If I have to bring London in here one more time, it sure as hell better be when no one else is in here. Why take the risk if it's not necessary?
"What time were you thinking?"
"Whatever time works for you," I tell her in my attempt to make this easier on her.
Ruth rubs her chin. "We do have a slow period between nine and ten in the morning."
"Works for us. I'll bring cash." My thoughts wander to the man I made a mess of. "I'll send some extra for cleanup."
"That's absurd and not needed. You really do take great care of me, Archie. It's the least I could do to repay you. This store wouldn't be here, I wouldn't be here, if it weren't for you."
"Don't mention it," I say, actually wishing she wouldn't.
"Take whatever you need. And if I can offer a little advice…" Ruth leans in close. "You should marry that one."
"What? No. We'd kill each other." London and I are nothing alike, and the only thing we manage to be consistent at is fighting with each other. Taking things further than we already have would result in nothing good for either of us.
Our relationship is fleeting, simply a means to an end, a favor where I'm trying to hold up my end of the bargain.
"Whatever you say." Ruth grins and winks at me, leaving me a moment later to attend to the cops who are bagging up the body in the front of her shop.
"You need anything else?" I ask London who is aimlessly scanning the tray of tomatoes like she's trying to busy herself.
She points her finger in the air like an idea has hit her and marches away. "Bagels, we definitely need bagels." London latches onto a pack and tosses them into the basket. "Can we get supplies to bake cookies?"
"You know how to bake cookies?" I follow her into the wrong aisle, putting my hand on her lower back and guiding her in the right direction.
A few minutes ago I thought she was going to bolt out of here, and now she's considering baking.
I guess it just goes to show how little we know about each other.
"No. But I can follow directions." She holds out her hand. "Give me your phone."
"What? Why?" I stop in front of the baking section.
"To find a recipe, duh."
I narrow my gaze. "Where's your phone?"
"I left it at home."
Something about the way she says home cuts right through me. I swallow it down and snatch a bag of chocolate chips off the shelf, turning it over and giving it to her. "There's a recipe right there."
"Oh." London plucks the bag out of my hand and gathers the ingredients, one after another, filling the basket more and more.
We finish finding all the items and head to the front of the store where I insist Ruth checks us out and I pay for everything. With two stuffed brown bags, London and I leave the store, and the crime scene, and head back to our apartment.
I gravitate toward her, ready to throw myself over her in case anything happens, but remind myself I'm being irrational.
The attempted robbery had nothing to do with London, and more so to do with me.
If anything, London is in danger because of my presence in her life.
If I were smart I'd put distance between us to keep her safe, but at the end of the day, making her someone else's problem doesn't seem like the best option.
"What made you want to bake?" I ask her, the words slipping out of my mouth surprising me.
London draws in a breath and releases it, her head facing forward on our walk back.
"I had this maid once. She was my favorite.
She baked a lot. And anytime anything bad happened, she'd make me something.
We never talked about it, she never pried, but she'd leave a plate of cookies or muffins or a pie, you know, whatever she came up with, and would leave it in my room.
I always knew that if something happened, I'd at least have that to look forward to… until I didn't."
"What happened to her?" I ask, knowing damn well I'm going to regret the question.
"My dad killed her," London says so nonchalantly like it's nothing out of the ordinary, like it's as plain as telling someone the time. She doesn't flinch, she doesn't show emotion, she simply keeps moving forward, one foot after the other, her head held high.
I find her confession both startling and comforting—the London I'm peeling the layers off of is nothing like the London I thought showed up on my doorstep two weeks ago.