Chapter Ten
Surprise Texts and Strategic Turns
Elliot
I make my way through the dark alley behind the club. A steady thrum of music filtering from inside provides some life to the gloomy path. They really need to do something about the lighting situation here. Or maybe it’s intentional? A shadowy nook to hide the shady activities.
In between the smokers and a horny couple who really need to take it down a notch, I spot the man I’m cutting down on my sleep time for. Drew is wearing a black shirt, a jacket, and jeans. Sufficiently conspicuous getup for the place.
He’s casually leaning back against the wall, smoking. Not a care in the world, no remorse, no regrets.
I walk up to the guy. The smell of tobacco fills my senses. I tamp the instinct to take a deep inhale and savor it like I haven’t had a drag for almost a decade. Mostly because I haven’t. Also, this Elliot is still a smoker. One who often forgets to bring his own pack.
“Can I bum a smoke?” I ask Drew, a hesitant smile on my face.
“Yeah, sure,” he hands me a cigarette and holds out his lighter. I take a big puff. My first in seven years. The things you do to make people like you. If I weren’t going to murder this guy in cold blood, I’d have felt like a peer-pressured teenager.
I lean back against the wall beside him.
I turn my head to the side, then up to look at him. “I’m Elliot, by the way.”
He nods. “Drew,” he says. I detect a slight southern accent.
“I know,” I say.
“Oh yeah?” His posture remains laidback. Why wouldn’t it? A mere human half his size isn’t a threat, not when you have no compunctions about killing them.
“Oh, yeah,” I wink at him.
“What do you want then, Elliot?” he turns to his side, shoulders leaning against the filthy wall.
My gaze lingers on his. I smirk at him. “What do you have to offer me, Drew?”
He laughs low. “Don’t play with fire, boy. Tell me what you want or leave me the fuck alone,” he smirks. A little short on patience, this Drew.
“You’re no fun,” I whine. “Alright, I want you to take care of me.” I bat my eyelashes at him.
“You trying to party or sleep?”
“Let’s say party,” I say.
He nods. I put my hand inside my pocket and then sneakily transfer the money into his jacket.
Before I can even register, his hand moves into my jacket pocket, then retreats just as quickly. “Now fucking leave,” he grumbles, looking ahead, dismissing me.
I still smile at him before begrudgingly dropping the cigarette and crushing it under my shoe, instead of poking Drew’s eyes with it. Just a few days, and he won’t be this smug anymore. Just a few days, and he’ll never hurt anyone anymore.
I head towards the back door of the club, a little put out by the fact that even the sleaziest people don’t suspect me of being a cop. Can’t you be a little uncertain? Would asking a few questions be that much trouble?
Then the loud music kills my brain’s ability to think as soon as I enter the club, which is good, because now is not the time to be insecure about my height.
I order a drink at the bar and sip it slowly. “Are you looking for company?” A man slides up to me and stands close, too close.
I look him up and down. Tight leather pants and a leather vest. In this weather. In a sweaty club in downtown LA. I pointedly look ahead, deciding complete disregard is what he deserves.
“Yeah, whatever,” he says and slinks away.
I wait for another fifteen minutes, accepting this as punishment for every time I’ve been mean to another person. Yes, I know it’s my default setting. Yes, this still feels like too much just for that.
The music is making my brain vibrate to a tune I’ve never heard before nor would want to hear again. The sweaty bodies brushing against me every few seconds send shivers down my whole body. A man staring at me from the corner makes me too aware of myself.
I wouldn’t wish this on my worst enemy. If this really is a punishment, I’m going to need to learn to smile more.
When I'm finally back in my car, I take a long breath free of sweat and alcohol. Small blessings. Then, I call Sam before starting the engine.
“He didn’t even ask me if I was a cop,” I complain as soon as he picks up.
Sam sighs. “Don’t worry, dude. I’m sure deep, deep inside, he was trembling with fear. That’s why he didn’t ask any questions,” he says with mock honesty.
“I could be a cop. Doesn’t take much to be one,” I grumble.
“For sure. There’s an entire show about a guy in his forties becoming one,” he says.
“Exactly. Drew is a bad drug dealer,” I conclude.
Sam laughs. “Did you want him to be suspicious?”
“No?”
“Oh my god, you wanted it to be more dramatic, didn’t you. You’re angry you didn’t get to use all the Gen-Z lingo you’d learned.” He laughs louder.
“It was hard, okay?”
I lose Sam for about a minute until he gets his breath back and isn’t wheezing anymore. “Oh my god, you’re adorable,” he says, like a person who wants to die.
“I’m not adorable,” I growl.
“The most adorable. Cute even,” he coos. “You ask for drugs outside of a club, and the dealer doesn’t even suspect it’s a trap.”
“That’s because I’m good at my character work,” I insist.
“Adorable character work,” he says.
“I’m hanging up,” I warn.
“Noooo. Tell me about Drew Blue. What kind of parents give their kids a name that rhymes? No wonder he turned out horrible,” he adds.
I mean, Drew Blue? What were they thinking?
“You’ve cracked the code to why people choose a life of crime.
Horrible names.” I snort, then I brief him on my visit with Blue before he starts quoting statistics about bullying and its interconnection with the rise in crime or whatever study he’ll inevitably remember if we continue this line of conversation.
“I think this is going to be a really easy one. He’s too confident. He wasn’t wary of me one bit. And he was high as fuck,” I say.
“Great. Still, let’s not take him for granted. Maybe it was a one-off getting-high-at-work thing,” he suggests.
“If you say so. And we’re sure it was him?”
“Yes, couldn’t have been anyone else. He had an argument with Ashton at the club a week before his death.
I hacked into the club’s security system and checked the footage.
I also checked Drew’s GPS history and he was near the forest clearing for an hour two days before they found the body,” he says.
“That’s good,” I say before Sam decides to tell me how he hacked Drew’s GPS data. I park my car in my driveway. “Anyway, I’m home. I need to go do some coke.”
Sam laughs. “You wish you were that cool,” he says and hangs up.
I’m not, no. Not that doing drugs is cool because, as we have already established, I’m not a peer-preasurable teenager.
But I do own a good amount of cocaine, which has a date with my toilet while I take a long shower to wash away the smell of smoke, the sensation of loud music, and the attention of an incompetent drug dealer.
Drew is going down and soon. His blank, lifeless expression is the only one I’ll want in my memory.
***
“Maisie has been demanding too many walks lately. Can you find out if she’s holding a grudge or something?” Chad asks.
I sigh internally and turn to face Chad.
My professional-Elliot smile is automatically full on display.
I had to train myself to refine this one so it looked friendly, helpful, and less evil and murderous than it wanted to be most of the time.
Might have been the most difficult thing I’ve done in my entire life.
The guy wearing a green hoodie and a backward baseball cap sitting gingerly on a chair in front of me isn’t really named Chad. Probably. But that’s what he is in my mind. I hadn’t bothered to learn his name yet, this being his only third visit with sweet Maisie.
“Why do you think she’s holding a grudge?” I ask sincerely.
“Because she always interrupts me when I’m clutching in Call of Duty. I'd understand if it was once or twice, but dude, it’s like she has an internal alarm that goes off, and she’d hop on me, demanding attention. That can’t be a coincidence,” he says, giving Masie a side eye.
I nod and turn to grin at the tiny offender on my examination table. I pat her head proudly. “Maybe she just likes having your attention?” I offer. Or maybe she knows she’s got you wrapped around her little finger and is taking full advantage of it. Could be either, honestly.
“Maybe… but sometimes I feel like she knows when will be the absolute worst time to leave the house, and that’s when she pounces.” His voice sounds a little spooked.
I very consciously don’t burst out laughing. That’s not what professional Elliot does. But in that instant, I decide I’d follow Maisie into war. She’s evil, and I love that for her. “Nah, she just likes her daddy.” I pat her again. “Don’t you?” I coo at her.
Maisie yips.
When Chad finally leaves after I convince him that Maisie doesn’t have a hidden Call of Duty stage detector or something along those lines. I immediately purged his useless words from my brain.
I march to the reception to find Ashley sipping her second cup of coffee. I glare at her until she produces another one from under the desk and hands it over. Satisfied, I go to my office to eat my sad salad while reading the files of the next three patients of the day.
My phone vibrates midway through file two.
Y is it soooo hot today!???
I look at the text, then up at the sender's name.
Nicholas Harper Oliver’s Friend.
Why the fuck is he texting me? And what reply is he hoping for? We ended it so nicely. A clean break. Easy, simple. We went on one date. One. And now he wants to text?
It’s not even a conversational text. He wants to continue talking about the weather? The thing I talk about with my clients so they don’t realize I’m rude as fuck? The thing people use to fill awkward silences in mandatory conversations?