All the Lucky Ones Are Dead by Gar Anthony Haywood

place like this, somewhere I’ve never been before, I’m almost always approached by somebody, and it’s usually somebody I’d just as soon not be bothered with. I’ve learned if I make a move first, pick somebody out who looks halfway interesting, before somebody else can step up to the plate …”
    â€œI get it. It’s a preemptive strike.”
    â€œExactly.”
    â€œWell. Lucky me,” Gunner said, tipping his glass to her again.
    â€œNot all that lucky. I’m only here for the conversation. I hope that doesn’t disappoint you.”
    Gunner was surprised to discover that it did. Maybe his intent to keep this meeting short and uneventful had been less genuine than he thought. “Frankly, that suits me just fine,” he said. “Only I’d be lying if I said my pride isn’t a little bit hurt.”
    â€œPlease. Don’t take it personally. Conversation’s all I’m ever looking for lately.” She smiled, but her eyes did something altogether different.
    â€œI’m sure there’s a good reason for that,” Gunner said, stepping lightly.
    â€œYes. There is.”
    â€œA husband back home, maybe? Or a boyfriend?”
    â€œA husband. But not at home. Almost never at home. We don’t need to mention his name.”
    â€œNo. Let’s not.”
    â€œHe’s a good man. When he’s around. I only do this to save my sanity in his constant absences, that’s all. I’m not looking to get laid, Mr. Gunner.”
    â€œI understand.”
    â€œYou really do, don’t you? Damn. Now my pride’s a little hurt.” She laughed her throaty laugh for him again.
    â€œIf you were thinking the thought never crossed my mind, forget about it,” Gunner said. “You’re all that, and more. Thing is, I’ve got reasons of my own to be good tonight. And we don’t need to mention her name either.”
    â€œWife or girlfriend?”
    â€œGirlfriend. For now.”
    â€œFor now, huh? Sounds serious.”
    â€œI think it is.” Gunner took a deep breath, braced himself for the monumental move he was about to make. “Which is why I’m going to stand up now, get the hell out of here before I do something stupid to screw it all up.” He pushed himself to his feet. “Because I would, given half a chance. Conversation’s a wonderful thing, Ms. Warren, but …”
    â€œYes, I know. Sometimes, what you want from someone goes a little farther than that.”
    For the first time that night, she gave him a look fully intended to deliver a sexual message, and it was enough to make Gunner take a step back, fight to maintain his balance.
    â€œThanks again for the drink,” he said. “I owe you one.”
    Then he proved himself a man of his word and went home.
    Leaving the Deuce that night, Gunner had the feeling he was being followed.
    He’d sensed the same thing earlier that day, during his long drive from Mickey’s out to Ray Crumley’s apartment, but he’d shaken it off as a by-product of the dread he was already feeling, knowing the scene of an ugly homicide awaited him. Now he had no such excuse.
    But neither did he have any evidence to support his suspicion. Nothing in his rearview mirror struck him as unusual, or particularly familiar. Just headlights and parking lamps moving north along Vermont Avenue, winking on and off as they went their own way.
    Still, to ease his mind, he played some of the tricks he knew to shake an unwanted tail out of hiding—making illogical turns to see who would follow, pausing at the curb to catch someone else abruptly doing likewise—but such efforts proved futile. No one appeared to take the bait; no one did anything even mildly incongruous.
    If there really was someone back there, Gunner finally decided, they had to be better at hiding than he was at flushing them into the open.

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