9.6.08

“Are you leaving again?”

Daniel leans in the decrepit doorway, pursing his lips. He nods easily.

“Can I go with you?”

“It’s dangerous.”

“You didn’t come here to say goodbye, Danny.”

Daniel frowns. “Get your things.”

Knock-kneed May darts up and out of the filthy room, pulling on her socks.

--

“Where’re we going?”

“Out of the city.”

“Really!”

Bundled up in boots and an ancient tweed coat, and clutching Daniel’s arm with a youthful fierceness as they walk past dingy shops with dingy clients, May blinks against the chill and can’t decide if she is excited or not. It feels too inappropriate.

“It’s just a job,” Daniel murmurs.

“It’s never just a job, Danny.”

“Sure.”

--

May has never been on a train before. She stares out the window, melting in the warmth and too antsy to relax.

“God, Danny, it’s like I’ve never seen trees!”

“Go to sleep, May. We won’t have another chance for a while.”

“Okay.”

May is reluctant, but pushes the arm rest up and curls against Daniel’s shoulder. He puts his arm around her and doesn’t sleep.

--

They stop at a scrappy motel. Daniel nods at the desk clerk, a man so used to his presence that he doesn’t bother to solicit details. Even May barely piques his interest.

The girl is led silently to the fourth room. It is nearly as miserable as her squalid flat, but at least has light peeking through the cracked blinds. Daniel covers them and sets his suitcase on the bed.

“You need to take a shower,” he says, touching May’s greasy hair.

“How long do I have?”

“Not long.”

“Twenty minutes?”

“Make it ten.”

May disappears. Daniel begins assembling a rifle.

--

“Are you going to war?” May blinks, short hair hidden in a damp hand towel.

“I’d prefer if you stayed here, but then there’d be no point in bringing you with me,” Daniel says, pressing a pistol into May’s little hand. She stares, feeling its cold weight and, for the first time on the six hour trip, looks frightened.

“Danny, I’ll be useless with this!”

Daniel shrugs and steps behind her, helping to aim at the window. “The recoil’s not bad, just hold on tight.”

May squints at the filthy curtain, imagines shooting an ugly mug, then drops her arms. Daniel rests his hands on her sharp elbows.

--

The silence is suffocating.

May tries to control her breathing, shoved up against Daniel between buildings and trash and gunk washed around by the recent rains. A car is parked several yards behind them. May has the keys, and her pistol up under her jacket, pressed against her damp shirt.

Daniel fires.

--

The hit has gone awry.

“Get off,” May shrieks, pushing the pistol into her assailant’s belly. He tries to push it away but May, ever mindful of Daniel’s orders, has it in a death grip and fires.

The man lets out an ungodly shriek, falling on top of her; May shoves him off, shaking in fright. Another shot nearby cracks the muggy air. There is too much screaming, too many dying gurgles: the man at May’s feet is mixing his viscous blood and guts in the grime of the alley.

Wild-eyed, May shoots him again to stop the noise.

Suddenly it is quiet. Daniel runs past the trashcans, getting May and throwing her in the back seat of the car before grabbing the wheel and driving off.

“Change your clothes,” Daniel gasps. He is slick with sweat and blood, all his muscles tight under his sweater and jacket.

“You hurt, Danny?” May whispers, picking herself up off the bench and straining to look at him.

“Change, May.”

“I killed him, Danny- that guy- why do they gotta be all hopped up when somebody’s trying to bust their ass?”

“Blood rush,” Daniel shrugs, eyes hard. It’s getting dark- all the better. They have a half hour drive, even rushing, back to the motel. Away from this.

“That was really messy, Danny,” May shivers wetly, willing herself to set the gun next to Daniel’s imposing rifle in the front seat and cover them with her jacket. She is damp and frigid and finds a sweatshirt, several sizes too large for her, in the battered suitcase. Daniel absent-mindedly watches her change with her unabashed movements. She is skinny and all limbs and always folds herself up in embarrassment unless they are alone or she is terrified, like now- skittish and cramped, yet ever familiar, just a scared child he shouldn’t have taken with him. It’s too late now.

Daniel freezes up as May touches his shoulder, but finally relaxes enough to not swerve into a tree.

--

Daniel’s ragged appearance is so commonplace that the motel clerk barely raises an eyebrow. May hardly notices him either- the blood on Daniel’s shirt is congealing and she wonders who it belongs to.

She pulls his jacket and shirt off in the bathroom and sorts through the suitcase for a red toiletries bag full of bandages and antiseptic, only the rigidity of her muscles revealing that she has never done this before.

Daniel douses a towel in the sink, staining it as he cleans his torso off- there is a graze across his chest and he winces, grumbling at the mirror. So sloppy. Because she is here and he got distracted? Stupid of him.

May wraps him up and they sit on the floor, the adrenaline rush long dead and sucking their energy drastically. Limbs like bricks, May crumples against the wall, finally understanding what she did.

“Danny, I killed him-”

“I know.”

“How do you just do it?”

May’s eyes are huge.

“I’m used to it. Sorry,” he adds. “Guess you’re a little young for this.”

May shrugs. “What else would I be doing right now? Keep me with you, Danny.”

“Maybe.”

“Please!” May is panicked. “I’m gonna be hold up in that rat nest cleaning up my mom’s coke and missing school and worrying about you if I don’t.”

“Yeah, sure,” Daniel accedes, and stretches out carefully. “Take the clothes out front, Porter’ll burn them.”

“My coat too?”

“I’ll get you a new one.”

May stands unsteadily and clears off the sink, shuffling out barefoot across the tepidly beige carpet.

--

“Jesus, kid, how old’re you?” Porter asks, finally having thought about May’s presence.

“Seventeen,” May squeaks vaguely, running a hand through her slick hair.

“What’re you doing running around with a guy like Dan?” Porter says, barely interested but intensely curious as he bags the stack of bloody fabric with an unaffected ease.

“I dunno,” May says honestly, and slinks away. The motel’s walls stare at her.

--

May dunks her head in the sink, resurfaces, dries off and snuggles next to Daniel on the floor, shivering in her slip. Both are clammy and sticky in the unheated room and don’t want to be anywhere else in the world but on the cracked tile.

“I’m too old for you,” Daniel quips, kissing her hair.

“Sure, Danny.”

“Go to sleep.”

“Are we going home?”

“If you want.”

“Nope.”

“How about we go to Canada?” Daniel suggests, chuckling.

“You have a job?”

“Always.”

“Okay.”

Daniel finally sleeps.

--

They are on another train. May, knees hugged to her chest, grins sweetly at the forest.

“You’ve been bloody ever since I met you,” she says.

“You remember that? What were you, five?”

“Six. You make such an impression all splattered- aren’t hitmen supposed to be… neater?”

“You’re disturbingly nonchalant about this now,” Daniel observes casually.

“No,” May shakes her head. “It’s sad that you are.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Not enough to stop.”

“Of course not. What do you expect me to do, babysit you? Take you out to the park?”

“I’d love to go to the park,” May smiles.

Daniel shakes his head. “Alright, alright.”