Rebecca Caruso

"No cops," Marco declared, cautiously approaching and casting a wary glance at the motionless figure sprawled on the concrete.

I peered around, wishing somebody else took the initiative; the pedestrians that once stood near us succumbed to typical bystander fallout... No one cared if it wasn't their problem. People merely faded back into the city's profound siren calling, dismissing the helpless; with echoes of blissful ignorance and drunken laughter taunting the vulnerable.

"What do you mean, no cops?" I said, peering down at Frank's lifeless body.

The pooled blood slowly seeped into his clothes, staining the once pristine white collar of his Hawaiian shirt a vivid red.

Damn it.

"Let me at least call an ambulance!" I protested, my words tumbling out in a state of disarray, as I hastily retrieved my phone. "He needs a doctor. I can't just leave him like this." Throughout my time on call, I had witnessed far too many deaths due to excessive bleeding, a significant portion of them caused by bullets—deaths that could have been prevented if someone had just dialed 9-1-1 in time.

"He'll be fine," Marco asserted firmly, nudging the unconscious body with his right foot. There was no response, no movement, not even the faintest twitch.

"Are you a doctor?" I retorted, frustration and a bitter awareness of the carnage and death I had encountered far too often coursing through my words. In Chicago, whether people liked to acknowledge it or not, we were in the midst of a kamikaze warzone, with Mr. Hyde on steroids, and most were blissfully unaware. "Clearly, he's not fine."

I doubted someone like Marco had ever laid eyes upon lifeless corpses before.

"I've never heard of anyone being 'knee-murdered' before; he's fine," Marco quipped, stepping gingerly over Frank's unconscious body, his eyes locking on mine as he moved closer. He placed a hand under my chin, gently but firmly, steering my gaze to meet his. "Hey, look at me, Rebecca," he said softly, his voice calm yet commanding. "Trust me. He's fine."

I shook my head, pulling back from his touch, the weight of the situation still pressing on me. "You can't possibly know that," I muttered, feeling a rush of doubt and guilt creep in. My pulse was still racing, the edges of reality blurred with the remnants of adrenaline.

Marco didn't argue. Instead, he took a step back, his expression growing more serious as he paced, eyes drifting downward, as if searching for answers in the ground. His silence only made the uncertainty worse, an unsettling calm before something darker.

"Marco...?" I called out, trying to gauge his thoughts, but deep down, the warning signs were flashing bright. I should have trusted my gut from the beginning. Something wasn't adding up.

"The club's security team will come up any minute to handle this." His expression was deadpan as he grabbed Frank's gun from the ground.  "I can't have you..." he added while flipping the switch for the safety mechanism. 

I watched as he concealed the weapon between his jeans, behind himself.

Jesus, this guy knew what he was doing.

What in the hell did I get myself into?

"I need you to listen very carefully, Rebecca." Marco's voice was steady, his hands gripping my shoulders firmly, anchoring me in place. "Tonight, you and I never met. You were never out here, and all this with Frank never happened. Understand?"

I stared at him, the gravity of his words sinking in. The intensity in his eyes was unmistakable, a blend of urgency and something else I couldn't quite place. The adrenaline from the fight still buzzed through me, but now it was mingled with a sharp, uncomfortable clarity.

In all honesty, didn't know how to answer his question, let alone process everything.  "W-Why?" I managed to ask, my voice trembling slightly.

Marco took a deep breath, his gaze unwavering. "Because things are about to get complicated, and it's better if you stay out of it. Trust me."

I hesitated, feeling the weight of his request. My instincts screamed that something was off, but, logically, Frank did attack me, so it would have been self-defense if we did get the authorities involved.

I glanced down at Frank's battered form, then back at Marco, trying to piece together the fractured puzzle.

But then again, Robert would have a field day if he found out...Screw suspension, I'd be kicked off the police force permanently if word gets out about what happened tonight.

"Fuck—" I could feel my breath accelerate, anxiety and adrenaline fueling my lungs with panic and terror. 

Maybe it's for the best. Maybe it's better to set aside every instinct and erase tonight from memory. After all, I could have struck up a conversation with anyone at the club. I just happened to choose the one with a complicated employee relationship.

Technically, this is Marco's mess, not mine. We're just random acquaintances—nothing more, nothing less.

No need to get involved, Rebecca. No need to get involved. No need to get involved...

"Fine...I wasn't here," I said, reluctantly agreeing. I knew well enough that I'd trusted much more questionable things before. "I didn't see anything."

"Atta girl," Marco said with a subtle smile before pulling me into a tight, grounding hug.

I wasn't used to this kind of physicality, especially not from someone I barely knew. Though it felt pleasant and comforting, I didn't quite know how to handle it. Christopher had never been one for casual touch, and this was a new, albeit oddly reassuring, experience.

"Now," Marco said as we finally pulled apart, "where is—"

The headlights of a large SUV instantly provoked our vigilance as it immediately jerked over the curbside and onto the sidewalk. It pulled over to the curb, wheels spinning, half stopping, the driver then letting it drift back onto the road.

"The fuck?" I internally remarked while hastily pivoting even further away from the street.

First becoming a hostage and now being run over, at this point, it felt like being back on patrol duty. I surveyed the area around us as Marco smirked; he just stood at the exact location—unmoved by the commodity.

You should have fucking gone home with Christopher...

I continued to gawk at this massive idiot-of-a-vehicle that halted about a foot from where the now unconscious Frank was laying. It was a well-kept, black, Chevy Tahoe with custom black window tints and ultra-clear headlights.

The limousine-based vehicle plate followed the same motive, spelling out the words AM-CTY1. American City One, perhaps? I never quite understood the need for customized plates.

"It's good, relax Rebecca. We're good," Marco pointed out knowing the acute, wide-eyed, adrenaline my face was portraying. "It's just my driver."

"Wait—" I stuttered in bewilderment. "This, this is your driver?" This was the guy who planned to drive us home?

"Right on the nick of time," he nodded while watching me creep back closer.

The passenger window rolled down revealing a seventy-something-year-old, shirtless, man wearing dense prescription lenses leaning forward on the starting wheel.

"Jesteś dobry, signore?" The driver asked in a familiar tongue.

"Tak, tak, wszystko jest w porządku," Marco replied before looking back at me. "Rebecca, this is Earl; he's a friend of my father's. He'll take you home."

Rocking an e-cigarette in one hand, and what appeared to be a red bull in the other; this deeply tanned man had eyes that were set so far forward on his face that neither his peripheral vision nor his sense of self-preservation were able to keep him from reckless endangerment.

Oh, hell no.

"You trust this guy behind the wheel?" I murmured to Marco. 

"I trust this guy with my life."

I gave a nervous smile and waved at the crazy driver as Marco opened the back passenger door for me.

"Kim ona jest?"

"Moja dziewczyna," Marco replied flawlessly. "Musisz zabrać ją bezpiecznie do domu."

"Russian, right?" I noted while climbing into the backseat. 

They both gave an intense gaze of perplexity. 

"No," Marco curiously replied, "Polish." Our focus is thrown off by three largely built bouncers hastily charging out through the main doors of The Alcove with automatic rifles pointed about. "Fuck," Marco rapidly slammed the car door. "Take her home, napęd napędu jazdy!"

"Bezużyteczne dupki," Earl cursed as he aggressively shoved the gas pedal.

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