Page 43 of The Fallen Man
That made him laugh. He glanced at Katie, illuminated in the flashes of ambient light as they drove. He felt like he should ask about her man situation. But on the other hand, other than the jerk Russian stalker, he didn’t really care as long as she didn’t.
“You speak Russian?” she asked.
“Ukrainian,” he said.
“How do you learn Ukrainian?”
“From your mother,” he said.
She laughed. “I learned proper spray tan technique. Somehow I think your mother gave you a more useful skill.”
She directed him, and he realized that she did indeed live in a shitty neighborhood. As they parked, he saw a skinny teenager with the screwdriver in his pocket drift into position near the rear of his car. Philosophically, Jackson didn’t mind the hustle, but he really didn’t feel like taking the train home or having to fill out the insurance claim.
“Let me just run up, and I’ll get your coat,” she said as he parked.
“I’ll come up,” he said, getting out. Katie shrugged as if his presence was irrelevant and went to unlock her door. Not exactly, the clearest signal.
“Just a sec,” he said and went over to the skinny black kid, who was pretending to hold up the wall and smoking a vape pen.
“Touch my car, and I’ll break every bone in your hand,” he said, leaning in close but speaking calmly.
“Hey!” barked Katie, hurrying over, ruffling up like a mother hen. “Leave him alone!”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” said the kid, looking injured. Jackson reached out and snagged him by the ear, pinching the thin cartilage and twisting a little.
“Tell her what the tool in your pocket is for,” he ordered.
“Jamal?” Her eyes went round in confusion.
Jackson twisted a little harder.
“It’s for stealing cars,” admitted Jamal, trying to pull away from Jackson.
“Oh, Jamal!” Katie looked genuinely disappointed.
“What? I can get five hundred for a crappy Honda Civic.”
“You’re getting ripped off,” said Jackson, letting go. “You should be getting at least seven fifty for a Civic.”
“Fuck! I knew I should be getting more. It’s because I’m thirteen. Those fucks think they can rip me off.”
“Well, if you can keep that crew across the street from jacking my ride then I’ll give you some cash.”
“Jackson!”
“No,” said Jamal. “Two Grants. At least.”
Katie and Jamal stared at each other in mutual confusion, and Jackson laughed, which made them stare at him. “He wants two fifties,” he said to Katie. “She disapproves and is saying my name—Jackson.”
“Ohhh,” said Jamal. “What’s wrong with his cash?”
“Yeah,” seconded Jackson, “what’s wrong with my cash? I can’t pay him to do a job?”
“Um… Well, when you put it like that, nothing? It just seems like he should be home in bed?”
“Katie…” said Jamal with a sigh.
“What?”
