Kean's Edge Read online

  “Amal!” a beautiful little girl squeals. Jumping from the top of a packing crate, she drops the rag she was using to dust a mirror. Amal plucks her from the air and tucks her onto his waist. The girl speaks rapid French, showing her necklace and pulls back her long dark hair so he can admire the matching earrings. He makes the appropriate appreciative sounds.

  Without stopping for a breath the girl twists in his arms and yells. “Papa!”

  Kissing her cheek, Amal sets her down and watches her skip back into the shop. “Fatima, my sister.” He smiles. “Please, come this way.” He indicates the dark interior of the shop.

  They follow Amal to the back of the cluttered shop and up a flight of stairs to a small apartment.

  “Welcome.” An older version of Amal in pinstripe trousers and a neatly pressed black shirt greets them.

  “My father, Karim.”

  Karim shakes Kean’s hand. “Please sit.” He smiles and nods at Ozzy. Pouring mint tea, he asks about their flight.

  Ozzy fidgets with the heavy ornate bracelet on her wrist. She looks around at bric-a-brac heaped on shelves around the room.

  “I see you have the wrist guard.” Karim nods at Ozzy’s arm. “May I?” He moves to slip it off her wrist.

  Kean gives her a slight nod and she shrugs. “Sure.”

  “It’s lovely work,” he says, turning it over in his hands. “Jewelry is a hobby of mine. Allow me to replace this with another.” He nods to his son. “Amal, show the young lady our wrist guards.”

  “That’s very generous. Thank you.” Ozzy smiles, following Amal to the shop below.

  “We wouldn’t want your pretty wife to be unprotected.” Karim inspects the bracelet in the light of a window.

  Kean doesn’t correct Karim’s assumption. He remembers all the times he and Ozzy had stolen ID chip information. All it took was a cheap black market scanner hidden in a jacket or bag. Ozzy would bump a mark on the subway or sidewalk while Kean, a few feet away, downloaded social security numbers, bank information, even health records from the scanner to a small laptop. They sold the information to a Canadian outfit, until it was busted.

  Karim moves to a work table. Using a thin blade, he pries off the bracelet’s decorative gold inset and tosses it aside. A small silver data disk falls into the palm of his hand. He stares at the disk, lost in thought for a few moments. He looks up, remembering Kean is in the room.

  Karim pulls a small ivory-colored chest from a cabinet and sets it on the low table. It’s twelve inches long, eight inches high and eight inches deep. Dull copper hinges and a large ornate lock are the only decorations.

  “I don’t understand. Are we supposed to carry the organics in a wooden box? The box alone is going to get us stopped by security.” Kean frowns at Karim’s bemused look.

  “Of course, you are correct. A wooden box would be against the Organic Material Act. This is made from camel bone.” Karim presses the sunflower keyhole cover. There’s a soft click as he turns it 180 degrees. The tops of all four sides of the chest release at the same time, flipping open to reveal they are hollow.

  “Whoa.”

  “Whoa, indeed.” Karim grins.

  “As you can see, all four sides can hold one volume.” He gently pulls a book from a compartment. “We have records of authenticity for the chest that will allow you to travel with relative ease. It states you are taking it back to the States to be studied and put on exhibit. The fragile nature of the artifact will make it exempt from any type of x-ray or chemical screening.” He places one of the books in Kean’s hand and excuses himself.

  The sound of Ozzy talking to Amal’s sister drifts up the stairs; he smiles at the sound of giggles. He brushes his hand over the pebbled leather. The book falls open in the middle and he runs his fingers over the thin pages. “Don’t understand what the big deal is,” he mumbles. He notices the letter “e” is tilted forward as if beginning to roll into the next letter. He rubs his thumb over it, and then turns the page looking for more flaws.

  Karim watches him. “Intriguing, aren’t they? To read something unedited, unfiltered, unapproved by the CIC.”

  Kean nods. “The data disk we brought?”

  “Several texts that have been banned for a very long time by the Council.”

  Both men turn at the sound of breaking glass and the whip-thump of rounds burying in plaster.

  Karim’s face moves from sadness to confusion as his hand clutches his chest, blood oozing through his fingers.

  “Karim?” Kean steps closer.

  “Run,” he whispers, collapsing on the carpet.

  “Ozzy!” he screams, throwing the book in the box. He stumbles down the stairs landing on his knees at the bottom. Amal sits on the floor cradling his little sister, a gaping hole where her right eye used to be.

  Ozzy stands next to them, a silver wrist guard dangles from her fingers. Blood is spattered across her face and neck. Her eyes glazed, she moans, “No. No No,” shaking her head.

  Amal rocks back and forth, clutching Fatima to his chest. His silent scream finds voice. Ozzy jumps at the violent cry, dropping the wrist guard.

  “Amal.” Kean kneels in front of him, shaking his shoulder.

  “Get out!” Amal screams, covered in his sister’s blood and gray matter. “You brought them here. Get out before I kill you myself.” Blood and spittle hit Kean’s face. Swallowing hard, Kean nods. The sound of breaking glass and wood splintering can be heard from above.

  Kean grabs Ozzy’s wrist, pulling her toward the back of the shop. The narrow hallway leads to a storage room. Closing the door, he shoves the box and backpack at Ozzy. He puts his back to a metal shelf and leans into it. Heavy brass urns and figurines clang to the floor as the storage shelf falls against the oak door.

  They can hear Amal yelling in rapid French. The sound of muffled gunfire cuts him short.

  Ozzy starts to shake uncontrollably. Kean pulls her to him, making low, comforting sounds. He feels her press her mouth to his shoulder to stifle a hysterical giggle He searches frantically around the windowless room for a way out. Out of the corner of his eye, Kean sees one of the rugs that cover the walls lift away a fraction of an inch.

  He untangles himself from Ozzy’s grasp to take a closer look. She grabs the end of his shirt, unwilling to have much distance between them. He pulls back the rug to reveal a roughhewn door with a shiny new padlock. He grabs a wrought-iron candle-stick and pounds on the lock.

  “No like this.” Her hands still tremble, but her voice is steady. She takes the candlestick and wedges it between the lock and the latch. “There, try it now.”

  Kean braces his foot against the door and pulls the latch and part of the doorframe away from the wall. He pushes through the door into a crowded back alley. At a nearby stall, he steals a scarf and sunglasses, the vendor too busy haggling with a young couple to notice. Handing them back to Ozzy without looking, he tries to keep a leisurely pace, stopping after a couple of stalls to buy a baseball cap.

  “What are you doing?” Ozzy hisses. “We need to get out of here.”

  “Yes.” Kean wipes blood from her chin. The scarf and oversized sunglasses hide most of the gore. “But running will be a dead giveaway.”

  “What happened back there? Amal?” Ozzy bites her lip.

  Kean shakes his head. “I don’t know.” He listens to her quiet sobs as he pulls her through the streets of Marrakech.

  *

  It takes several hours to make their way to the train station. After much discussion, they decide not to use the credits Fischer gave them. Kean sits in the terminal looking for an easy mark. He signals to Ozzy an elderly Australian couple who just purchased tickets to Tangier.

  Kean watches over the edge of a newspaper. His body tenses, ready to grab Ozzy and run at the first sign of trouble. Ozzy pinches the tickets with a dimpled smile and a sweet “excuse me” as she brushes past without missing a step.

  He remembers Ozzy bumping into drunks as they stumbled out of the st
rip club at dawn. Stealing any remaining money they had after a long night. He would crouch behind the dumpster with an aluminum bat in case of trouble. He couldn’t have been more than twelve and Ozzy fourteen at the time.

  Ozzy drops in beside him and palms him the tickets. She looks up at him with mischief in her eyes. He laughs and she joins in. “Come on,” he says grabbing her hand.

  As they board, Kean catches a glimpse of the couple frantically looking for their tickets. He feels a stab of guilt and quickly brushes it aside.

  An overly polite porter scans their tickets. “Sleeping berths are down three cars.”

  “That’s a lucky break,” Kean whispers as they make their way to their car. “We can stay out of sight until we make Tangier in the morning.”

  As Kean stows their backpacks, Ozzy stares out the train window. “Did you ever wonder why Fischer hired us?” she asks.

  Kean shrugs, thinking of the jobs he did in order to get the money for the transplant. Jobs he had forced from his mind as soon as they were finished. A couple of the bigger paydays had involved powerful people Frank had put him in contact with. He had a hunch that’s where Fischer got their names.

  “We’re small time. We steal credit cards and social security numbers; this isn’t what we do. People are dead. People are trying to kill us.” She turns to face him, her green eyes glisten with unshed tears.

  “I made a phone call when we got off the plane, while you were in the bathroom.” He looks at a point just above her head.

  “What? Why?” Ozzy asks. Before Kean can reply, she closes her eyes and sighs. “Frank.”

  Kean nods.

  “You’re an idiot.”

  “Yes, I’m an idiot. Those people are dead because of me.”

  “You’re an idiot.” She holds his face, pressing her forehead against his. He feels her breath on his lips as she talks. “But those people died because of the business they were in, not because of you.”

  He closes his eyes. “We have to contact Fischer. Let him know this thing has gone sideways. We have to find another way to get the books back.” Kean swallows hard; he smells the familiar scent of her perfume.

  “Uh-huh,” she mutters as she kisses him. Her lips taste faintly like citrus. “Take off your shirt,” she whispers.

  “Are you sure?”

  “Shut up.”

  *

  Kean leans on his elbow, watching the sun come over the low mountains. Ozzy gives him a sleepy smile, and he kisses the star tattoos that start at her neck and run to the small of her back.

  “Are you hungry? I can go find a food cart,” he asks between kisses.

  Turning over, she runs her fingers through his short, spiky hair. “It’s growing on me.” She gives it a short tug.

  “Ouch.” He grins, pinning her arm above her head.

  “I think we should cut our losses.”

  “What?” He struggles to a sitting position on the narrow bunk. “After all we’ve gone through? Do you know what they are worth?”

  “Yes, our lives and then some. I think we should burn them, drop them in a lake. Hell, just leave them on this train, but we should walk away.” She stands, swaying slightly with the motion of the train. She’s naked in front of the window as they pull into Tangier. He reaches over and pulls down the shade.

  “No.” His mind flashes to the tilting letter “e.”

  “Just no.” Ozzy pulls on a t-shirt. “Not, ‘let’s talk about it,’ or ‘let’s hear your reasons.’ Just no.”

  “I can’t.” He stands, searching for his jeans. “If you just looked at them you would understand.”

  They both jump at the soft knock at the door. Kean sticks out his head, smiles and nods at the porter and shuts the door in his face.

  “I don’t give a damn about books. The world and we were doing fine without them,” she whispers, yanking on her jeans.

  “Listen, we’ve come so far. I can get us home, you know I can. Think about the money.” He pulls her to him. “No more Frank shaking us down or running the short scams, no more computer hacking or stealing to get by.”

  Her arms wrap around his waist. “Please, it’s not working out like we thought. This is a shit storm and it’s only going to get worse. The CIC knows who we are. How is this going to be okay?”

  Kean stiffens, pulling her arms from his waist. “Is this why we hooked up? Because you want to convince me to walk away from this?”

  Ozzy jerks back from his touch as if burned. “Fuck you.” She grabs her jacket, opening the door.

  “No, Oz, don’t.” Kean grabs her arm. She lands a punch to his nose. He lets go, stunned. They hadn’t gotten into a scuffle since he was 14. Ozzy slams the door behind her. Sitting on the bed, he wipes blood from his nose. He considers telling her the truth about her heart but quickly dismisses it. He takes his time gathering up the rest of his things, letting her cool off.

  She’s waiting for him. “How’s your nose?” she asks without looking at him.

  “I’d forgotten how wicked your right cross is.” Kea smiles sheepishly “I’m sorry, Oz.”

  A tight smile crosses her lips. She looks at a ferry schedule in her hand. “Let’s go. I overheard one of the tourists say the ferries to Spain fill up fast.”

  *

  Ozzy gives Kean a rough shake. “Hey, get up.”

  Kean squints in the dim hotel room, noticing her red puffy eyes. “What?” He’s on his feet; shaking the sleep off before she can get a word out.

  “What’s wrong?” He pulls back the curtain, checking the street below.

  “You were asleep when I got out of the shower so I went to get us something to eat.” She sits on the bed.

  “What? Did someone follow you? I told you we should stick together.” He takes another look out the window.

  She takes a shaky breath. “I boosted a cell phone.”

  “Okay,” Kean says, wondering if they should be packing their stuff and leaving out the kitchen entrance.

  “I called Frank.”

  Kean sits next to her. “What now?”

  “He says our pictures and names are all over the news. The CIC is offering a big reward for any information leading to our arrest. Apparently, we are wanted in connection to the murder of a Dr. Ellis Fischer, CIC historian and anthropologist.”

  “Shit.” Kean runs his hands over his face. “That’s how he had all those organics.”

  “Yes, well, he’s dead now, and according to the CIC, we killed him.” She finally looks him in the eye. “But it gets better. Dear Daddy tried to convince me to turn you in. To say I was your hostage in all this.”

  “Fucking bastard.” Kean gives her a quick hug. She doesn’t move.

  “He tells me quite a story. You know, trying to convince me.”

  Kean lets his hands slide from her shoulders. “I couldn’t just let you die. I had to get the money for the transplant.” Kean grabs her arms as she tries to get up. “What? Do you think Frank actually paid for the heart?”

  “My heart.” She pushes Kean away. “You had some girl killed?”

  “It wasn’t like that.” Kean stands and moves away from the loathing and anger on Ozzy’s face. “She was dying and—”

  “And what?” Ozzy screams.

  “She agreed, her family agreed and you needed it. The money saved their lives, and yours.”

  “Really?” She glares at him through the tears. “Do you really think I would have wanted it this way? This isn’t who we are.”

  “Well, who the hell are we then, Oz? Huh?” Kean leans in, yelling in her face. “Because we sure the hell aren’t the good guys. Do you have any idea what I’ve done to keep you alive?” He pounds his knuckles on the side of his head. “The shit I can’t get out of my head?”

  “Listen.” Kean holds up his hands, taking a deep breath. “Listen to me, Oz. I had to, can’t you see that? It’s always been you and me. I knew you would never agree. I refuse to feel bad about watching out for you when I knew you wouldn’t
watch out for yourself.”

  She stares at him for a long moment, and finally nods. Kean lets out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding.

  “Please try to understand.”

  She places her hands on the sides of his face and searches his eyes. “I didn’t want to die, but you gave up part of your soul to save me. Can’t you see that?”

  “No. I don’t see that at all.”

  She runs her hands through his short hair, pulling him into a quick kiss. “I love you, but I can’t stay, not right now. I have to settle things with Frank. You have to understand.”

  “But, I don’t.”

  “I’m sorry.” Ozzy picks up her bag and slips out of the room.

  *

  Kean hides his Indian motorcycle behind an abandoned convenience store and walks the ten blocks to Frank’s Place. He hasn’t seen his picture or name in the media since he made it back, but he stays close to the privacy fence surrounding the parking lot avoiding the security lamps.

  He spent several days in Spain, looking for the perfect mark. Finally, he found Gunther Koss in a popular tourist bar. Kean wasn’t sure he had the right mark until a pretty waitress asked if they were brothers. After several rounds, they left the bar to look for girls. Kean apologized to the puzzled Gunther before knocking him out and hacking his ID chip.

  A petite brunette pulls into the strip club’s back lot and climbs out of her rusted Honda.

  “Hey, Sonja,” he calls from the shadow of the fence.

  “Yeah?” She squints into the darkness, her hand slides into her purse.

  “You seen Oz?” Kean steps into a circle of light, not wanting to be shot by a jumpy stripper.

  “My name’s Sasha,” she says, pulling her hand out of her purse. “Frankie’s dead, you know.”

  Kean stops studying the shadows and stares at Sasha trying to process what she said. “Is Ozzy around?” he asks again.

  “He was shot in the alley.” She nods toward the side door. “Oscar’s handling the bar now, until, you know, things get figured out. A lot of girls have already left. They think Oscar’s a creep.”