Chapter 31
Chapter Thirty-One
Frankie
A fter scouring the atrium, a few lounges, and the upper-deck celebration for the Normies, we’re forced to admit defeat. Wherever Ice Pick is hiding, he’s doing a damn good job of staying below our radar. It’s almost dinnertime, and we haven’t even caught a glimpse of his shining head.
“What about the surveillance cameras?” I ask. “Won’t Jim let us check them out?”
Maverick shakes his head. “Before we spotted him on the island, maybe, but now that he knows Ice Pick is essentially safe, he’ll want to let the chaos run its course.”
“But what if that gets Ice Pick in trouble? Doesn’t he care?”
“He won’t let it get that far.”
I don’t miss the slight quiver in his voice. He believes himself as much as I do.
“Come on,” I say as I wind my arm through his. “Let’s check the dining hall. There’s a buffet, and I’m kind of hungry.”
He smirks and matches my steps as I start down a hallway. “You don’t want to see what’s on Chef Maurice’s menu tonight?”
“I’ll pass on the man meat, thanks.” I look him up and down. “Unless you’re on that menu.”
“You want Chef to kill me and serve me on a plate?”
“Okay, I didn’t think that one through.”
Our laughter is cut short as the elevator opens and Ice Pick emerges. Before he has a chance to scurry away, Maverick grips his arm and drags him back into the elevator. I hurry to join them as the door whispers shut behind me.
“Let me go, man,” Ice Pick shouts as he tries to yank his meaty arm out of Maverick’s hand. “I’ve got a date, and she’s very funny about punctuality!”
“What do you think you’re doing? She’s a Normie, Ice! Aren’t you concerned she’ll figure out who the fuck you are?” Maverick releases him and takes a step back to give him some space. “We saw the cat fight on the island. You’re drawing a lot of attention to yourself.”
Ice Pick swipes over the wrinkles in his Bud Light t-shirt.
“We hit it off. I can’t help that the drunk brunette wanted a piece of old Ice Pick too, but I only have eyes for Amber.
And for the first time, someone only has eyes for me.
I don’t care that she’s a Normie. I’ve already decided to give up killing. ”
“Give up...killing?” If Maverick’s jaw drops any lower, we’ll have to have it surgically reattached.
He steps closer to Ice Pick and takes his shoulders in his hands.
“Do you hear yourself? Ice, you can’t change your entire way of life because you think you’re in love with this woman.
This might only be a summer fling for her. ”
His words get under my skin. It’s as if he’s speaking in subliminal messages meant for me. Is that why he’s so adamant that I keep my federal job? Is this just a fling for him?
I step closer and place a gentle hand on Maverick’s shoulder. He looks back at me, then steps aside to let me talk sense into Ice Pick.
“Not you too,” Ice Pick mutters as he looks at his feet.
“No, not me too,” I say, and Maverick practically gasps behind me. “I think you should go for it. If Amber makes you happy, go be happy. If you don’t want to kill anymore, don’t.”
Ice Pick looks up at me, his mustache curving slightly as he smiles. “Do you mean it?”
I nod and smile back at him as Maverick groans and tries to walk away, only to remember that we’re in an elevator. When he can’t escape, he starts mashing buttons. The doors open with a ding, and he steps into the hallway.
Stepping backward so that the doors stay open, I wave for Ice Pick to join us.
“You can’t be fucking serious,” Maverick says as he swipes his hand down his face. “You want us to join him for dinner with his Normie girlfriend? When he’s about to throw his life away? And you expect me to say nothing ?”
I turn away from Ice and face Maverick, still keeping my hands on the doors. “Yes. If this is your friend, you will support him. Even if it’s just a fling .”
His eyes widen, and his frustration shifts to sheepishness. “Oh, I didn’t mean . . . You thought that . . . Frankie.”
“Save it.” I hold up my hand. “We are going to dinner with Ice Pick and Amber, and we will have a nice time. Got it?”
Maverick pinches his lips shut and nods, and Ice Pick finally emerges from the elevator. As a trio, we start toward the dining hall. Ice walks a few feet ahead, occasionally glancing back to see if we’re still following him.
“Do you guys really have to tag along? What if you embarrass me?” He stops just outside the open doors and glances at his watch. “I told her I’d meet her at eight, and that’s in fifteen minutes. Could we hang out afterward?”
He has a point. Maverick and I are like parents attempting to chaperone their tween’s first date. It’s not a good look for him, but it’s an even worse look for us. I look up at Maverick.
“I guess we could eat at a different table?” I say.
“Or in our room,” Maverick mutters. I give his side a sneaky pinch, and he jumps. “We’ll eat at a different table,” he says to Ice Pick.
Knowing this is the best he’ll get, Ice Pick turns and heads into the dining hall.
Once he’s out of earshot, Maverick whispers, “I didn’t mean what you thought I meant. This isn’t just a fling for me.”
I firm my grip on his arm and rest my head on his shoulder. “And maybe this isn’t just a fling for them, either. Let the poor guy have some fun.”
“I’m just worried about him. Ice is one of us, but he’s different.
We have a support system of close friends, but we only see him on these trips, really.
He goes missing the rest of the year, and we only know he’s still alive because we’ll see news blips about his kills in Texas.
” He shakes his head and swallows. “If he gives up killing, how will we know he’s okay? ”
Now I see that this goes deeper than I realized. He’s worried about his friend, sure, but he’s more worried about losing the friendship. If Ice Pick gives up killing...they may never see him again.
I consider how that translates to my situation.
By giving up my career, I’ll be forced to say goodbye to my colleagues as well.
A momentary flame of regret flickers to life before my brain douses the fire in a spray of reality.
My colleagues were sent to die, and I was collateral damage.
The man I trusted, the man I admired and viewed almost as a father figure, sent me to my death.
So no, our situations aren’t so similar after all, but that doesn’t mean Ice and I shouldn’t come to the same conclusion.
That sometimes change is a good thing.
I grip Maverick’s hand and give is a solid squeeze. “Sometimes we have to let people we care about make the scary decisions. We have to trust that they know what’s best for them.”
“And you think he can tell what’s best for him?”
I follow his gaze to a line of people standing alongside the buffet table.
Ice Pick mills about with his plate piled to the brim.
A Swedish meatball rolls from the edge and splats on the carpet in a spray of wetness.
He bends at the knees, plucks it from the carpet, and puts it back on his plate. Then he licks his fingers.
“Okay. Maybe you’re right. But maybe it’s best to let things run their course. I mean, what harm could it do?” I squeeze Maverick’s hand again. “Let him have this. For me.”
He looks prepared to concede as we step into the dining room, so I shut my mouth and leave it right there. Nothing is more annoying than someone who keeps on once they’ve made their point.
We grab a warm plate from the station and stand in line. When I say the plate is warm, that’s a gross understatement. The ceramic feels as if Satan dragged his fiery asshole over everything my fingers touch. Maverick and I play hot potato with the white disks, looking as foolish as everyone else.
“It looks like we’ll lose feeling in our fingertips by the time we reach the mac and cheese,” I mutter, and he struggles to keep a straight face as he stares down the line.
Ice Pick has reached the end. He grips a drink in his left hand as he makes his way to his table. Unfortunately, he chooses this moment to glance at his watch, which sends the entirety of his sweet tea to the floor. I internally cringe and hope Amber wasn’t here to witness this.
But then a blonde appears at his side, materializing out of thin air.
With wildly apparent mother-hen energy, she begins helping him.
She takes the plate from his hand and ferries it to their table before returning with a clump of napkins, which she uses to pat the damp area near the bottom of his jeans.
Instead of looking frustrated or embarrassed, she’s all smiles and sweetness.
But that’s when I notice the bracelet on her wrist, and my world comes crashing down. Ice Pick has made a huge mistake. Because as it turns out...he’s fallen for a fed.