Chapter Twenty-One
The rain never stopped; it only changed tempo. Tonight, it had eased from fury to a quiet, steady drumbeat on the pizzeria’s awning, a lullaby of sleet against glass and neon.
Ash sat across from Nora in a blue vinyl booth that had likely seen better decades, but still exuded that old-school, cozy charm unique to Little Italy.
A fogged-up window behind her framed the street, where steam curled from sewer grates and the distant wail of a siren wove through the city like a dying banshee.
The air inside was thick with oregano, woodsmoke, and melted mozzarella.
It was warm, warmer than either of them had been all day.
Nora cradled the mug of tea the waiter brought like it was a sacrament, clutching it with trembling hands, the sleeves of her thin sweater sliding low over her wrists.
A hint of color was creeping back into her cheeks.
Damp strands of hair clung to her face, makeup smeared and forgotten.
She looked young. Not innocent—nothing in this city stayed untouched—but younger than she had in that rusty warehouse, curled up like something kicked and discarded.
He studied her for a moment before glancing away. She’ll live. And that was more than he could say for Jimmy.
The lasagna came steaming, a slab of molten comfort on blue and white porcelain.
Neither of them spoke for the first few bites.
Ash ate voraciously, letting the sweet béchamel and tomato sauce coat his tongue, the ground beef practically melting in his mouth.
The cheese stretched in long, satisfying strings when he forked into it, hot enough to scald his palate, but he didn’t care.
He’d gone without food since breakfast, and now the warmth in his belly felt like a remedy.
Eventually, Nora broke the silence. “That thing you did. Back there.”
He didn’t look up. “What thing?”
“The… flipping and kicking and… Jesus. You moved like a fuckin’ ninja.”
Ash shrugged, eyes on his plate. “Adrenaline.”
Nora snorted. “I’ve seen guys on adrenaline. They scream. They flail. You—” She leaned forward. “You fought like it wasn’t even a fight. Like you were dancing.”
He gave her a crooked smile. “Must be a natural, then.”
“Uh-huh.” She didn’t push, but her expression said she wasn’t buying it. “Who are you?”
He looked at her then, steady and direct. “I’m a friend of Jimmy’s.”
“ Jimmy?” Her whole face lit up. “Where the hell is he? I’ve been trying to reach him for days, calling, texting, but he’s not replying. I even stopped by his apartment yesterday, but he wasn’t there. I’m going to kill him when I see him!”
Ash glanced back down and sliced into his lasagna. The blade of his fork dragged through the layers of pasta like cutting into memory. “Looks like someone beat you to it.”
She froze, fork suspended midair. “What do you mean?”
“I mean,” he said, voice low, “ Jimmy is dead. Murdered.”
Her hand flew to her mouth, but the gasp never came. The food went untouched after that. The plate in front of her became an island, something to stare at instead of the truth. Her eyes went glassy, mascara bleeding down her cheeks in crooked rivers. “How?” she whispered. “What happened?”
He decided to spare her the gruesome details and get to the point. There was no reason for her to know that her best friend had been mutilated, his face removed, his body ditched in the back alley like a piece of spoiled meat. “I was hoping you could help me figure that out.”
She blinked, confused. “Me?”
“It seems you were the last person to see him alive. Besides the one who killed him.” He paused. “What can you tell me about the night you two were together?”
Nora wiped her nose with the back of her hand, still dazed.
“It was, like, five nights ago? We went to Inferno. He was messed up, but that wasn’t new.
After a while, we split up. I went dancing with some fella who’d been hitting on me all night, and Jimmy went to the bar.
He was there for a while, flirtin’ with the bartender. ”
Ash smirked, taking another mouthful of lasagna. “Griffin?”
“I don’t know the guy’s name,” she said. “Buzzed head, handsome, looks kinda like he’s in a punk-rock band or something.”
That’s Griff, all right. Ash leaned forward, gaze sharpening. “What happened next?”
She hesitated. “I was pretty high,” she admitted. “I didn’t pay much attention.”
“Try to remember,” he said softly, coaxing. Come on, give me something. Anything.
She sighed and closed her eyes. “They were still at the bar, talking, when I left with my guy. I never saw Jimmy again.”
Ash sat back, stomach curdling. That’s it?
So much risk, so much effort, and for what?
A name he already had. He was no closer to the truth than he’d been days ago, standing over Jimmy’s body in that piss-soaked alley.
His hands tightened around his fork, the taste of frustration bitter on his tongue.
Outside, a bus hissed to a stop and rumbled off again, leaving a trail of fumes and fading lights.
He exhaled through his nose. “You can’t stay here, you know. ”
Nora looked up, startled. “What do you mean?”
“The Yakuza aren’t just gonna forget you. And they sure as hell won’t forgive.” He watched her face carefully. “Do you have anywhere else to go?”
She faltered, thinking. “I’ve got an aunt down in Delaware.”
“That’ll do. I’ll take you to the bus station when we’re done here.”
“But—I need my stuff. My place—”
“That’s the first place they’ll look. They’re probably there already.” She opened her mouth, but he reached across the table and took her hand. “You can’t go back to your old life, Nora. That door’s shut. I’m sorry.”
Her eyes welled up again. She stared at him like she was trying to find the floor beneath her, her lips trembling. Slowly, she nodded.
They finished the meal in silence. Ash flagged down the waiter, paid in crumpled twenties, and stood.
At the counter, he spotted someone’s jacket draped over a stool and picked it up in one fluid motion.
It fell easily over Nora’s narrow shoulders.
She met his eyes, half grateful, half afraid. He just nodded toward the door.
They slipped into the night without another word.
(10:00 p.m.)
The bus station stank of diesel, damp concrete, and despair.
Harsh fluorescents flickered in time with the buzz of vending machines, casting a sickly pallor over the cracked floor.
Gum wads clung to the undersides of benches where a few haggard travelers slumped in half-sleep, arms looped protectively around their bags.
A bored clerk stared blankly from behind scratched bulletproof glass, chewing something like it offended her.
Ash bought a one-way ticket to Wilmington from the kiosk and folded it into Nora’s hand without ceremony. He pressed the rest of his cash—sweaty, crumpled twenties and tens—into her palm.
Her fingers tightened around the money with hesitant disbelief. “Why are you doing this?”
He didn’t answer. Just glanced away, jaw working.
She studied him. “You’re a weird guy, you know that?”
A corner of his mouth lifted. “Yeah.”
They waited near the boarding gate. The hiss of hydraulic brakes and the low murmur of tired voices filled the space around them.
A janitor dragged a mop across the floor like it weighed more than he did.
Nora stood close—not touching, but near enough that he could feel her body heat, smell her shampoo, the clove-sweet trace of her tea.
She kept sneaking glances at him, thinking he wouldn’t notice. But Ash noticed everything.
“I still don’t know your name,” she said, voice softer now. “Or should I just call you Bruce Lee?”
“Ash,” he said, eyes sweeping the terminal for any sign of danger. There was nothing—no sneaking shadow at the edge of the platform, no echo of footsteps behind them. Maybe he made a clean break. Though, somehow, he doubted it.
She repeated it, savoring the syllable like she wanted to keep it. “Thank you, Ash,” she added. “For… everything. You saved my life back there.”
He met her gaze at last. Her eyes were clearer now, no longer glazed by panic or shock. Simply tired. And grateful. And open in a way that made him uneasy.
For fuck’s sake.
“You want to thank me?” His words came out low and edged. “Clean yourself up, get your shit together, and start over. Think of it as a second chance. You won’t get another.”
She flinched slightly at his tone, but nodded. “I will. I promise.”
The bus pulled in, belching steam and diesel into the terminal.
Ash walked her to the step. They let the other passengers board first, dragging their bags and busted lives behind them.
When her turn came, she spun to face him, one foot on the first rung, hands buried in the sleeves of her too-big, stolen jacket.
She didn’t speak. Only gave him a small nod.
He nodded back. The kind that says go. The kind that closes doors.
She climbed aboard and went to the rear, searching for an empty seat.
Ash stood there as the bus wheezed into motion, its taillights smearing red across the wet asphalt. He watched it vanish into the city’s bones, swallowed whole by the dark and the rain. Finally, he turned away, lit a cigarette, and walked back toward his bike.
The thunderstorm followed him like a curse as he roared down the slick, glittering streets of Little Italy and into Silver Cove.
He needed to shower, change his soaked clothes, and get ready for work.
He’d promised a performance tonight, his first since the pokey, and he was looking forward to it.
The Eclipse’s plush embrace, the maze of hungry eyes, the slow jazz seeping through his chest like a second heartbeat.
But Jimmy’s face kept rising in his mind. Mangled. Discarded. Unavenged. Nora had given him nothing. No trail. No lead. Just dead ends and cold rain. The weight of a promise he’d made to himself, and no clear way to keep it.
He didn’t know what came next. Didn’t know where to look, who to push, what thread to pull.
For now, all he had was the stage. The lights.
The temporary escape of being someone else.
Maybe clarity would come later. Or maybe he was chasing phantoms. He twisted the throttle and let the storm drown out his thoughts.
Either way, he wasn’t stopping.