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more—”
    Terrible shook his head. “Still got owes. Have em on morrow, and the knowledge. Or I come find you. And then I be mad. Dig?”
    Ben nodded. 
    Terrible reached out and patted Ben’s shoulder, harder than he had to. “On morrow, then.”
    He pocketed the watches and left, not looking back.

C HAPTER F OUR

    C HESS ANSWERED HIS text fast, the text he sent almost the second he left Ben’s. “Yeah, come up.”
    He parked, ignoring the way his heart sped up, got out and went inside. Up the stairs, to stand outside her door for a second and feel, like he always felt, the little buzz. Came from them magic locks she had around the frame, maybe. Maybe just from knowing where he was and that in a second she’d open the door. He didn’t know. Just like a lot of other shit.
    The knob turned almost as soon as his knock died. And there she stood, smiling at him like she meant it, in faded black jeans and a t-shirt the same color that showed all those magic tattoos she had on her arms, her pretty little feet with red toenails bare. It was like … like something inside him got cheered up, just seeing her smile at him. Like he relaxed. “Hey,” she said, already heading for the fridge. “Want a beer?”
    “Aye, thanks.” He watched her walk to get him the beer. Watched her bend over to grab it off the shelf. Then, feeling guilty, he turned away fast before she could catch him at it. “You right?”
    “Yeah, right up.” She handed him the beer—her fingers touched his—and wandered into her living room to sit on the lumpy brown couch. The TV was off, the stereo off; she’d been reading a book, and it sat pressed open next to her. She moved it so he could sit, too. “You? Everything okay?”
    He was careful not to sit too close. If he sat too close he might forget and touch her, like resting his hand on her knee or some shit. Hard to remember sometimes that she weren’t his, that just cause he wished she was and sometimes felt like she was, ain’t meant she was for real. “Aye.”
    She looked at him a little more closely. Her eyes under her heavy black Bettie Page bangs were clear, not glassy at all, so she’d been having a good day. “You sure?”
    Shit. He’d hoped to find a better way to introduce the subject, a smoother way. But if he wanted to find that he shouldn’t have come right over to hers so fast after leaving Ben. Words weren’t his strong suit; always felt like he ain’t knew enough of em, like he couldn’t get em to say what he wanted them to say. So he shoulda gone home, or stayed in the car til he’d thought of a good way to say it.
    But he hadn’t, cause knowing he was about to see her made it hard to think on shit like that anyway. When he was going to see Chess, all he could think about was Chess.
    But then, when he wasn’t going to see Chess, all he could think about was Chess, so … 
    She waited. Didn’t raise her eyebrows. Didn’t look impatient. Just waited, like she ain’t cared how long it took him, it ain’t bothered her none. Or, more like she ain’t even noticed when it took him a long time to answer.
    “Dame got attacked,” he said finally. “One of Bump’s, dig. Clapper Sue she name. Ain’t got who done it.”
    “Is she okay?”
    He nodded. “She be right. Ain’t—ain’t hurt bad.” It had felt bad enough lying to Edsel on it. Lying to Chess made him feel like shit.
    But he didn’t have a choice, not on this. Weren’t just about Sue’s privacy, neither; aye, she deserved it, but he trusted Chess. She wouldn’t play pass-on with that.
    Weren’t because of Sue that he couldn’t tell Chess what happened, or ain’t wanted to tell her. Were because of her . 
    She’d never outright told him anything. But she’d never had to. He knew. Dames like her didn’t hunt down an addiction lessin there was a damn good reason, and she’d sure as fuck hunted it down. He’d watched her do it, from the first time she showed up in Downside. Watched her not even