Free After the Dark by Max Allan Collins Page A

. . . just had to get away.” She let out a long, tired breath. “Logan told you . . . everything?”
    “You mean, do I know about Seth? Yeah. And I'm sorry for your loss, honey . . . which was two years ago, by the way.”
    “I know it's an old wound, but Logan ripped it wide open.” Shaking her head, Max said, “I can't believe he
lied
to me.”
    Original Cindy snorted. “He can't help bein' a dick—you
got
a dick, sometimes you gon'
be
a dick.”
    “You got that right,” Max said, laughing again, holding out her fist so O.C. could bump it, but the woman made no move to complete the ritual. “You gonna leave a sistah hangin'?”
    Original Cindy's eyes went to the floor, then back to Max. “Only Logan, he ain't no all-the-time-a-dick, Max. He's human—made a mistake. But he's a good man . . . you know, for a man.”
    Max dropped her hand. “You're sticking up for him?”
    “How many times you been in love, Boo?”
    Max said nothing.
    “Logan—he's the first, ain't he?”
    Defensive, Max blurted, “I been around.”
    “I ain't talkin' about sex, sugah—we talkin' love. You
love
that four-eyed crip, don't ya?”
    Max shrugged.
    “And he loves your sorry mean ass.”
    Another shrug.
    “Listen to Original Cindy. I been in love more times than . . . more times than I shoulda been. You think just 'cause somebody loves you that means they perfect? You think I ain't been lied to by somebody who loved me?”
    “This isn't some . . . little white lie, Cindy.”
    “Don't play the race card, girl. Quit poutin' and get back in the game.”
    “What are you talking about?”
    Original Cindy sighed. “Is Logan or is Logan not the single best dealio you ever run into in this whole sorry, solitary world? Present company excluded, of course.”
    That made Max smile. “Except for meeting you, Boo . . . yeah. I suppose. Logan's the best thing. Or anyway . . . he was.”
    “So. You gonna let one little slip ruin your whole life?”
    “It was not a little slip,” Max said, an edge in her voice. “Logan caused the death of my brother—and then he lied to me about it.”
    Normal appeared at the end of the aisle and said, “I hate to interrupt this touching reunion, but I have a pressing delivery that—”
    “Go away,” Max snapped, and—simultaneously—Original Cindy shouted, “Not now, flat top! Can't you see we busy?”
    Normal's eyes opened very wide. Then, instead of frowning or lashing back at them, Normal beamed. “Just like the good old days.”
    And Normal turned and walked away.
    “You know,” Original Cindy said with a smirk, digging a hole in one cheek, “I think I liked him better when he was a whole bastard. This halfa bastard, halfa nice guy shit . . . it's confusing.”
    That made Max smile . . .
    . . . but only for a moment.
    “Cindy, some things in a . . . relationship, you can't undo them. Some things just . . . cross the line.”
    “He didn't cheat on your ass or anything.”
    “Worse. Much worse.”
    “Excuse me? Is this Max who used to steal shit from people and peddle the goods to a fence? You remember her, right? . . . Perfect, faultless Max?”
    “Cindy, he lied to me. If there's no trust—”
    “He did not lie.”
    “He sure as hell did!”
    “This is one of them, sins of
oh
-mission, as 'posed to sin of
co
-mission.”
    “I don't see the difference.”
    “The man did not lie. He just . . . kinda held back the truth.”
    “There's a word for that, Cindy.”
    “. . . Bullshit?”
    “No . . . sophistry.” Her mentor Moody had taught her that.
    “Sof' his'try, hard his'try . . . it should
be
history, you dig?”
    “Some things can't be forgiven.”
    Original Cindy backed away and lifted her head and gazed down at Max, as if she were trying to see her better. “You look like Max and you sound like Max . . . but you can't be Max.”
    Not at all in the mood for being kidded, Max turned away from her friend.
    “'Cause if you was the real Max? You wouldn't be such a damn