It took a little longer for Turner to get hard; the thing with the cop had unnerved him a little, and his mind was racing around. Jessica didn't take his cock out right away, but stroked inside his trousers, touching him through his shorts. Turner felt her body, moving his palms on the undersides of her breasts. She murmured, a wordless murmur, and pushed against him, rubbing him.
Turner knew that at that point he didn't really want the hand job any more: he wanted to get inside her. He leaned into Jessica, close to her ear, and said, "Let's get going."
She looked up and smiled, barely visible in the shadow, but didn't say anything. He repeated it. "I mean it, let's go."
After a while, she reluctantly said, "Okay." She stepped away from him onto the sidewalk, into the orange glow.
Turner watched her amble and twirl out into the street, smiling, daring him to come after her. He stepped out too, and something changed a little, and he felt a kind of nervous energy he wasn't familiar with. He had a short snap of alarm, and he realized it was a sense of fear. He was afraid something might happen to Jessica. It was new.
"That's weird," he thought.
He walked into the street after Jessica, and something smacked into the brick or stone wall behind him, a few feet away, a sharp rap, louder than a nut falling. There was another sharp little rap higher up on the building. Turner closed his eyes for second, not wanting to but remembering, or trying to remember, what that sound was. It was something he knew. It was familiar.
"Shooters," he said suddenly, and crouched down without thinking. Then he heard a series of short little popping noises, not close, maybe a block away, maybe more. He looked up at Jennifer, twirling in the street, and knew she hadn't heard him and had no idea what was happening. He leaned down and rushed for Jennifer, and, incredibly, she turned and ran away from him down the street. He wanted to yell at her to get off the street, but thought he'd better just catch her and take her to a doorway or some cover.
Something, a small object, skittered down the street, sparking and accompanied by a short, high pitched whine. It missed them by a few feet. There were a couple more, and from a distance there was a burst of louder pops, then a roaring car, then more cars squealing tires. There was a loud crash, probably on the main street they'd just left, a car wrecking. Then some shouting, more pops, and another car blasting. He looked at the end of the block and a small vehicle sped past, with another, larger dark car directly behind it.
Then it was quiet again, and he was chasing down Jennifer, who still didn't know what had happened or what was happening. She could run faster than he anticipated, and she was running down the street, playing an inappropriate game of tag in the middle of a random inner city gunfight. Then he caught her and hustled her to the curb, covering her as best he could while she play wrestled with him, laughing.
Turner felt a shock of anger, and didn't know why. He was angry at Jessica, for putting herself into something she didn't understand.
"Hey-" he started to say, but she wrenched away and twirled away again. Turner froze unexpectedly, surprised, and didn't move for a little while, trying to think. She danced back into the street. He looked around, but it was quiet again. Silent, actually. It was weird and confusing. He went after her, and she rushed forward and hit him, playfully, and twirled around him.
Then, crazily, they were running and skipping, turning and dancing around each other, like something out of a movie. Turner moved away from Jessica, clearing his head, shaking it off, and stopping momentarily to enjoy the feeling of standing in the middle of an empty street in a major city, so oddly deserted. He couldn't believe it was real, this moment, this some kind of shared experience.
He thought about 'The Graduate', and bullshit about love he'd seen on TV and in movies. He'd never thought he'd be on a sidewalk, on a street, dancing in the dark with a girl. It didn't seem like him at all. Jessica ran out to him and grabbed his arm. She put her weight on him, and he laughed out loud with honest bafflement, his anger gone, holding her up as they stumbled and playfully pinwheeled down the street. He didn't look behind him.
She broke away from him again and half ran, half skipped towards the next intersection and streetlight. As she did he caught a brief, fleeting glimpse of her face in profile, outlined in the mercury glow of the light, and just that fast she became something different.
The kerchief on her head shined white, and her face suddenly wasn't girlish and narrow, but beautiful and unique. Turner had to stop cold in the street and just stare, stunned. He felt something new and frightening, a feeling he couldn't control at all, and he tried to fight it off and couldn't.
She had him. He wanted her; horribly, uncontrollably. He wanted to take her home, yeah, but this time he wanted her so badly it pained him, and he had to run to her, scared she'd vanish somehow.
She laughed when he got to her and she took his hand, swinging her whole arm wildly. They were almost to the end of the street, within a block of his apartment. He had to say it, he couldn't help it, and the blast made him almost mad, but not like that, an unreal feeling he'd never in his life had before. It hit him just that fast.
"You snuck up on me," he said, and he meant it. He said it again, despite her confused expression: "You snuck up on me."
He grabbed her hand, but she pulled away, smiling at him while she did it. He reached out for her, but she skipped away, and he felt a sudden, desperate fear in him that he couldn't control.
Then they were at the intersection, back on the sidewalk and going around an old storefront. It was the kind with a corner door and a little alcove, the store part long since turned into another living space, and Jessica was going to hop through the alcove. She leaped up onto the rusted cast-iron step, then jumped wildly and shrieked. A hand had darted out and grasped her leg.
"SHIT!" she shouted, then for whatever reason giggled.
There was a person in the dark corner of the sealed-up entrance, crumpled up in a heap that looked like a pile of dirty clothes.
Turner moved forward in a protective move, thinking, "Drunk." There was steaming liquid oozing on the step, turning the surface rust black under the mercury vapor lights. "The asshole pissed himself," Turner thought, and went around the step to stand next to Jessica, who was bouncing on the balls of her feet, smiling.
The heap said, "Madre," and reached an arm out. Turner was about to tell the guy to fuck himself, and take Jessica's hand to walk on, when something clicked in his brain, and he realized the liquid wasn't piss. It was blood.
He momentarily stopped, then caught himself and leaned in closer to the guy, but safely out of arm's reach. It was a kid, a teenager, and olive-skinned; there were gang tattoos on the outstretched arm. He was looking at Jessica.
He repeated his word again, "Madre," and struggled a hand into the air towards Jessica. Turner looked at her. She'd frozen solid, like a statue in a park, and was staring with wide eyes at the kid. The kid had one hand clenched on the inside of his thigh, and a growing puddle of dark liquid pumped out, soaking through his hand and running all over the step. The alcove smelled salty and organic, a primal, frightening aroma.
The kid said, pleading, "Madre."
Jessica opened her mouth, then shut it, and just stared, hypnotized. Turner swiveled his head, looking around for cops, or bangers, or anybody at all, but the street was completely deserted. He heard a weird sort of rattling choke from the kid, and turned back, almost stunned. He was confused, and wasn't really sure what to do.
The kid kept staring at Jessica. He tried to say something, but only rattled again, and then his eyes glazed over.
The three of them stayed where they were, stunned and locked in position, compositions on a dark city street. Finally, Jessica very quietly said, "Is he dead?"
Turner looked the kid over, into the now-blank eyes, and said, "Yeah. I think so." He reflected for a second, then gave a firmer answer: "Yes. He's dead."
He broke his position and walked to Jessica. He took her by the upper arm and said, "Come on, let's go." He didn't want to be around when the kid's set came looking for him. He pulled on Jessica's arm. She didn't move at first, but after a few seconds she shook her head and let him take her.
"My place is like half a block away. Come on," Turner said, and led her down the sidewalk, stumbling. She followed, tripping over her feet. They made it to his front door in a matter of minutes, or he thought so, but as soon as he put the key in the door he couldn't remember walking home. The distance and time between watching the kid die and inserting his key was gone. He pushed Jessica inside and locked the door behind them. The sirens started up, far away, then getting closer and closer until they stopped, maybe a block away from his place.
He went to the kitchen area, to the old enamel basin, and turned on the cold tap, splashing water on his hands and wiping his face. He started shaking violently and had to grasp the edge of the sink. He hunched over, controlling himself. It took longer than he thought it would, and even when he felt a little more together he was still shaking. He turned and looked at Jessica.
