Chapter Four
GRIFFIN
“How do you do it day in and day out, man?” Mark asks. He’s asked the same question twice, now, each time jumping onto his own tangent about how cruel this world can be without my needing to answer him.
We’re sitting at his dark wood bar in the living room. The TV’s sound is cranked up, and a Tom Waits song blares through the speakers. This is usually a good sign. It means the night’s coming to a close and I can go back to my planning.
However, now I’m done with my last victim – a nobody mortician who fancied the company of dead women a little too much – my work’s done. I don’t have anywhere else to be but here. I am waiting for Emma to walk through the front door so I can soak her in.
Mark’s newfound Sherlock Holmes nature might dash my chances.
“How do you do it?” He repeats. “How do you get up in the morning knowing there are twisted people out there, and go to bed not being able to stop them?” His current rant is about the Whitefish vigilante.
He’s spoken about it throughout the day, but in his drunken stupor, nothing can hold back his tongue from going there again.
“It chews me up inside, but you can’t dwell on these things,” I say. “Bad shit happens to good people all the time. Small losses don’t stand against the big victories. Someday I’ll catch the bastard terrorizing my town, and it’ll be sweet. For now, we just go on and try and make the best of it.”
Mark sways in his seat, as he nurses the last swallow of his overpriced whiskey. “It’s bittersweet,” he says.
“How do you figure that?” I crook a brow, sucking down the last of my drink. I reach over the bar counter to the bottle of whiskey and pour another. There isn’t much left in Mark’s tank, but I’ll keep him around as long as I must, to feed this twisted need to see Emma again.
“Say you catch the guy in five years,” Mark gestures his hands wildly while he speaks. “You’ve done a good job, right? He’s in prison and Whitefish is saved. What about the destruction he’s caused along the way?”
Destruction? That doesn’t sit well with me. I don’t kill without conviction. Those who feel my wrath deserve their punishment. They are filth; they are monsters, and I am the hand of justice.
A question such as Mark’s is a double-edged sword. I can’t proclaim the criminal has any redeeming qualities, because it may come back to bite me. Not that I think Mark has any cognitive sense left in him at the moment.
Before I can answer, I’m saved by the front door swinging open.
Emma bursts through it, seemingly in a rushed panic.
She moves quickly through the living room towards us.
Even in this state of near hysteria, I can’t stop myself from staring at her.
The top buttons of her shirt are undone, leaving just enough open space to glimpse her cleavage.
I bite down, grinding my teeth together and doing my best to find the strength not to gawk too long.
“Baby-girl?” Mark turns towards her. His head droops to one side, and he fights to keep it upright.
Emma throws herself into her father’s arms. She’s not crying, but her quivering lip tells me she wants to. Something happened tonight. By the state of her, it must have been bad.
Mark wraps her up in a fatherly embrace. “What’s going on?”
“There was a guy at the bar…” Emma starts. She goes on to explain what happened on her eventful evening at work. With every passing word, something vicious twists inside me. When she tells me he laid a hand on her, all I can see is red. Some scumbag touched Emma? I’ll take his hands as punishment.
“He finished off by saying he’ll see me again soon. It’s probably nothing, but I got so scared that I ran.”
By the end of her telling, tears are streaming down her cheeks.
“It’s a good thing Lucas and the other guy were there,” Mark says. “At least they were able to get you away from it.”
“It shouldn’t have happened in the first place.” I hadn’t meant to say that out loud. Shit!
“It’s the nature of the business,” Mark waves it away. “We’ve all been young, dumb, and full of cu—”
He cuts himself off before delivering the vulgar end of his statement. An afternoon with the boys loosened his tongue, and the liquor isn’t tightening it.
“Have you seen him around the bar, before?” Gathering information on a potentially dangerous threat is what I excel at. I can keep tabs on this guy, scare him if I must. His threat of going near Emma again won’t come to fruition.
Emma shakes her head, breaking away from her father’s embrace. “No, that’s why I don’t think it’s anything serious. I’m reading too much into it.”
No you’re not. You were smart to run, to get to safety.
“It’s better to be safe than sorry,” I say.
“Ah, come on, Griff. Ease up a little,” Mark chuckles and drives a soft fist into my shoulder. “It’s not that big a deal. Some drunk got handsy is all. It’s what happens in these places.”
His nonchalant attitude towards his daughter’s suffering is as infuriating as it is irresponsible.
“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves,” he carries on. “If this guy does end up coming back, you’ve got a strong support structure with the folks you work with. Have Lucas see him out.”
Just to have him waiting for her in the parking lot when her shift ends? Not if I can stop it.
“You asked how I do it. This is how I do it,” I stare directly at the side of Mark’s head.
He’s still facing Emma, who seems to have calmed now that she’s safe.
“If there’s a threat I can prevent, then I’ll throw myself into it fully.
You can’t sweat the one who gets away when you never had him.
But, if I can help Emma or some other poor girl who’s going to fall victim to this prick, I’ll sleep a lot easier. ”
Emma’s face lightens with a gentle smile.
Her eyes are glued to mine. Mark debates my words silently, but opening and shutting his mouth as if he wants to say something.
Finally, he settles on spinning around in his bar chair, drinking the droplets of whiskey left in his glass and saying, “Maybe you’re right. But I don’t think it’s a big deal.”
“How do you feel?” I ask Emma, ignoring Mark’s statement.
“I’m fine now. The drive back cleared my head,” she says.
“I think that’s gonna be me. Getting too old for this late-night drinking.” Mark speaks abruptly. He gets out of his chair, nearly tumbling to the floor. I jump out of my chair and catch him before he can actually slip.
“Holy shit, buddy, getting soft in your old age?” The three of us laugh together.
“Not the young buck I used to be.” He hooks an arm around my shoulders. “Let me see you out.”
Before the sentence is fully out of his mouth, Emma says, “No, I’ll take care of that.”
She wants to see me out? God, yes. There’s no chance I’m going to pass up on an opportunity to be alone with her. I understand the relationship and dynamic I have with this family, but I lose every ounce of sense around her. I’ve fought so many urges in my life, so many dark, depraved thoughts.
However, when it comes to Emma, I’m lost. She’s a drug, without her even knowing it. I can see why she’s drawn the attention of that bastard from the bar. Who knows? Maybe while I’m spending my last moments with her, I’ll be able to get some more info about this prick.
“Are you sure?” Mark tries to raise a brow, but it doesn’t get very high on his face.
“I am,” Emma says. “You get to bed.”
Mark gives Emma a final hug, before pecking the crown of her head. He slurs goodnight and goodbye in his drunken voice, and then he shuffles down the hallway to his room.
We’re alone.
I have her all to myself.
Why can’t I think of anything to say?