Chapter Twenty-eight

A few times, Edward had seen Pluto sitting in the Southside diner eating breakfast by himself. Whenever that happened, gang members in black jackets would be pacing back and forth around the front, trying their hardest to hide the fact that they were his security. This time, there wasn’t anyone in sight. Even the regular clientele had disappeared, most likely due to the cold. There wasn’t a blizzard outside or even any patches of snow on the ground�"there had been a rainstorm the night before, so water flooded down the streets into storm drains�"but the frequent, violent wind blowing around made Edward feel like his exposed skin was being scraped off.

The wind made the door to the diner feel five times heavier than it was. He had to grab the handle and lean with his whole body to crack it open. Once he was inside, Pluto was sitting right in front of the entrance, picking at a plate of hash browns with a fork. He wasn’t afraid to be seen through the windows in the door, and probably thought Edward was. It was a simple tactic to unsettle him that Edward wouldn’t let work.

“Mr. Montgomery,” he said, back still turned. He breathed slowly and audibly from his age. “Don’t worry. No one’s waiting on the roof with a gun.”

He was met with silence. The two were the only ones inside. Even though the television was on, spouting the news, no employees could be seen. Pluto brought a hand up to elicit a quiet cracking sound from his wrist by swinging it through the air. He took another bite of his food and sighed, “I heard they’re planning on shutting this place down. It’s unfortunate. I’ve grown to like this place.”

“How did you know where to contact me?” Edward asked, taking a seat across the table.

Pluto nodded, picking up a bite of hash brown on his fork and waving it back and forth�"or perhaps he was shaking. “I’ve always known where you were.”

“How come you never told Fay?”

“What happens between you two is none of my business. You may have also heard that Fay isn’t on good terms with the gang anymore.”

He had heard. For the last six weeks, his name hadn’t been the only familiar one in the papers. It was so rare to see a Spartan be in the newspaper because of the power of the man in front of him. Six weeks ago, he had picked up a newspaper off the street and saw an article about Fay, listing all of her various crimes�"vandalism, aggravated assault, theft, and a few counts of suspected murder. She was wanted, and seven hundred dollars would be awarded to whoever gave information. Supplied was not only her mugshot, but pictures that had been taken by other gang members. It was nothing he didn’t already know.

“I killed Aries,” Edward said. “Why not put out a hit on me?”

“There’s already one on you.”

“Then why call me here?”

Pluto set his fork down on his plate and put his elbows on the table. His hands met as fists on his chin. “I have a proposition for you. There’s a reward if you agree.”

Edward raised an eyebrow. “And what’s that?”

“I want you to kill Fay for me.”

Edward laughed. The idea was funny to him. The criminal sitting in front of him, who was miraculously in a diner and not an electric chair, wanted to use him like a hitman. Pluto was silent and frozen waiting for a response other than that, which was the only affirmation Edward had that he wasn’t making a joke to lighten the mood before a sniper put a hole in his head.

“You have hitmen already,” Edward said. “Why do you want me to do it?”

Pluto exhaled in the way that a parent exhales when a child breaks a vase. Edward wanted to turn and leave after that, but a grunt from the man’s throat stopped him. Pluto coughed into his fist and shook his head. “Forgive the malady. In all honesty, you’re the least expensive option. Fay’s holed herself up in some safehouse with some other gang. With my gang on surveillance, I could flush her out, but why go through that trouble when you have such an aptitude for driving her into the light?”

“Well I apologize,”�"Edward made the word apologize sound like a knife being driven through bone�"“But you’re mistaken. I don’t have a clue where or how to find her. She’s probably dead or out of the city by now.”

“So you desperately want to believe,” Pluto said. “But we both know the truth, and no one does what she did and gets to run free.”

“And you mentioned a reward if I do?”

“A clean record and enough money to start a new life somewhere outside the city. For someone like me, that much is pocket change.”

Edward nodded, having to stifle a grin. “You have an ulterior motive. I can see it.”

“I’ve been struggling with a dilemma,” Pluto said, his upper and lower jaws debating with each other on what to say. “Who do you punish for a dead dog�"the owner who lets him play in the busy streets, or the driver who runs him over? I decided to leave it up to fate. Whichever way this proposition ends, at least one of you will end up dead. That’s justice for me.”

Edward put his hands in his lap, turning forward and pretending to have to think. He wanted to wait until Pluto was at least somewhat unnerved, but it didn’t seem like that time was coming. Based on the fact that Pluto was a criminal and possibly had a gun in his pocket, Edward’s answer could be his last word. He wanted to enjoy it as much as possible.

“No,” he said, relishing the sound�"his tongue clicking on the roof of his mouth. He didn’t get the surprised, venomous reaction that he wanted, but was instead met with a bare-faced glare. He started to stand up to leave, but again was stopped with a finger in the air.

“I had figured you’d be too stubborn to accept my reward,” Pluto sighed with some indeterminable emotion flickering on his cheeks. “Still, I’m not disappointed. You’ll go after her anyway.”

“I’ll spend the rest of my life taking your gang down,” Edward said back, just as calmly as he would say goodbye.

If Pluto wasn’t capable of laughing, he did the closest he could to that�"a sort of deep, airy croak that was interrupted by fit of raspy, cavernous coughing. “Is that what you think you’ve been doing? Tell me this�"you know that I have a line of legatees to take over when I’m gone. Killing my son did practically nothing to weaken the gang, so why did you do it? I couldn’t care less about Fay either, and you’re putting a lot of effort into her, aren’t you? You fought against the gang at one point, but all you’re doing these days is trying to ruin Fay’s life in return for what she’s done to you. All of this is about her. I thought you’d at least be smart enough to see that.”

Edward stood up and wrapped his coat around himself. It was time to leave.

“One more thing,” Pluto said, his words like a cane around Edward’s neck, holding him still. “You haven’t heard from Scott Liao since he stepped on that train, have you?”

Of course he would say that. Edward didn’t move from his place�"he couldn’t�"and the gang boss took notice with a yellow, warped sneer that transformed into a stifled cough. Suddenly, Pluto wasn’t subhuman. He was a god looking down, relaying to him knowledge that he had been too angry to notice was there. Scott never called him. Scott had never sent the call to the newspaper like he said he would if he was alright. Suddenly, pain burst from Edward’s chest outwards as a product of his thoughts of what Pluto could have done.

Pluto began to stand and unfurl the coat that had been draped over his shoulder. “Ironically, it was Fay who took him off the train. I don’t know where he is�"only she and Aries do�"but kill her for me, and I can find out for you. Deal?”

“Deal,” Edward said. Suddenly, he was Scott, and he was being stowed away somewhere and being subjected to whatever Fay wanted. All he had to do was imagine it for a second, and all of the fight left his body in a puff of air from his mouth.

Pluto turned back to his meal, prodding at it with his fork again. The smugness seemed to leave his face as he turned, and the man hunched over the table looked like a normal citizen incapable of running across the room. With a glance up to the television, he mumbled while taking a piece of hash brown into his mouth, “There’s a lead for you.”

Thankfully, no one was harmed, said the distressed-sounding news anchor on the television. The volume was on so low that Edward only heard what was said between his own breaths, but he didn’t need to hear. He recognized the place that the video footage showed had been blown up. Although the damage to the surrounding area was minimal, the gravestone of Dillon Montgomery was in pieces, scattered around the area. He couldn’t tell if the ground below it was collateral damage or if it had been dug up. He prayed it hadn’t been, but he knew Fay too well. She was undoubtedly angry enough for it to go either way, and if it did, Edward was going to rip her throat out. The bits and pieces of grey stone dotted the ground a house’s length on all sides from where the crater was. Policemen swarmed around the area, trampling the graves around it with their boots. Edward’s father had always lectured him about the sanctity of graveyards. If he was alive, watching the footage, he would have been furious.

The notorious Hell-Chasers gang had been spotted leaving the area, but quite uncharacteristically�", suddenly, the scene changed, and the camera was bobbing up and down trying to focus on the sidewalk outside the yard. Edward wanted to kill the idiot directing the camera, but eventually it settled on the blue letters spray-painted on the concrete. Each letter was about a hand’s width large and in unmistakable curved handwriting; your move, Ed.

“She’s angry,” Pluto said. “And now she has nothing to lose. That’s a dangerous pairing.”

“I don’t know how to find her,” Edward said, his voice soft. He was no longer superior to anyone. He was just a man standing in a diner.

“Montgomery,” he sighed, looking up at him, “Remember�"no matter what happens, the city always wins in the end. And I’m the city.”

That was all the man could say before one last coughing fit took over him and he hacked into his fist on the table. Edward took that as his exit cue. Pluto was too distracted to notice. Edward didn’t tell him that he recognized that cough. There was no reason to. They were both dead men already. Nothing he could say would change that.