Chapter 12
BONER
I was walking past the café when I saw Harlow sitting with a person I didn't recognize. Call me a nosy bastard if you like, but I had to slip inside and make my presence known.
Maybe it was some irrational irritation at seeing her with someone else.
I'd like to say I don't do jealousy, but frankly that would be bullshit.
When it came to this woman, I did jealousy in spades.
Also in hearts, diamonds and clubs. As far as I was concerned, she was the whole pack.
All fifty-two cards, even if that made me a joker.
I prefer to think of myself as a king, personally.
But I digress with the playing card metaphors.
I smiled at her, then at him. Naturally, the one I gave him was less than toasty warm.
"You two aren't plotting the demise of humankind, are you?" I asked.
Let's face it, if anyone was going to do that, they might as well do it in a café.
"Not the whole of humankind," Harlow said. "Just select members of it."
"Not me, I hope." I waved down a server and ordered a cappuccino. "Are you going to introduce me to your friend?" I nodded to the tattooed man in her presence.
They exchanged a glance, both nodding like they were giving each other permission to share information in front of me. As if I wasn't perfectly reliable.
I could be offended, but I had better things to do than waste time on an emotion like that. I really was the epitome of irrational.
"This is Archer Hardwick," Harlow said. "Archer, this is Edward Bonegard."
I stuck my hand out toward him. "Everyone calls me Boner."
"Everyone calls me Archer." He shook my hand briefly before taking his back.
"I'm sure they do." I grinned.
I'd bet the kids at school gave him grief for his last name. They did the same with me, but I chose to embrace it. After all, what was wrong with a perfectly good erection? So what if they couldn't get their cocks up? That wasn't my problem.
"What were you two so deep in conversation about?" I placed my arms on the table and leaned forward, looking from one to the other and back again. "Whose demise are we plotting?"
The server gave me a funny look before placing my coffee in front of me, but hurried away. No doubt she heard worse in a place like this.
Harlow said, "Someone like Carl," at the same time as Archer said, "You should stay out of it."
Once again, I looked from one to the other. Harlow was so gorgeous, I had a hard time looking away from her. But if they were talking about someone like Carl, then I wanted in.
"Sorry pal," I said to Archer. "I'm already involved. Whatever the beautiful Miss St. James wants me to do, I'll do." I turned back to her. "What do you need?"
"I don't know yet," she said. "Archer was going to tell me what he knew."
She looked at him expectantly.
He looked at me like he wished I'd go away.
I looked at him like he better tell her whatever he was going to tell her or he'd have me to answer to.
She rolled her eyes at both of us, which was fair.
"Not here," Archer finally said. "Somewhere more private."
I jerked a thumb at him while my eyes were on Harlow. "You trust this guy?"
"I trust him as much as I trust you," she said.
"That much, huh?" Okay, that might have meant she didn't trust either of us, but I choose to take it differently. If only for the sake of my ego. Yes, yes, it's not fragile, but I have my moments, all right?
"My gallery is just around the corner," I said.
"We can talk in there and not get interrupted.
" I was on my way there anyway. I'd ducked out for an hour or so to meet up with a new artist, but I needed to get back.
Not that the place would fall down without me, but I liked to be there to oversee sales as much as possible.
I liked when money changed hands, especially when it was coming straight to me. Okay, me and the artist. Still, money.
Archer looked doubtful.
I leaned toward him and said, "I'm not going to use your bones for a sculpture."
He leaned toward me and said, "I might use yours."
Our faces were maybe an inch apart. Close enough I could smell the coffee on his breath.
I grinned. "Perfect. I've always wanted to be a work of art."
"Are you saying you aren't already one?" Harlow teased.
I turned my face toward her and grinned bigger. "Now you mention it…"
"I read a study once that said unattractive people think they're more attractive than they are," Archer said flatly.
Rather than be offended, I raised an eyebrow at him. "What did it say about people who actually are attractive?"
"You don't have a golden ratio face," he added.
"Mine's more of a fraction than a ratio," I said. "It's a fraction more attractive than yours." I punctuated that statement with a smug smile.
"Studies have shown that English food is ten times more bland than any other cuisine," he retorted.
I barked a ha. "Now you're just making shit up. Next thing you'll say the Earth is flat. Or the moon landing was faked."
Sure, English food was uninspiring at times, but it wasn't that bad. After all, who didn't like a pie floating in pea soup, with a side of chips and a glass of Guinness?
"There's no air on the moon for a flag to wave." Archer shrugged. "But the Earth can't be flat or cats would knock everything off."
I laughed out loud at that. "You know what, you're an odd bloke, but you're funny."
"I have an eidetic memory. Sometimes it comes in useful.
" Archer picked up his phone from the table and started to look at something on the screen.
"Is this your gallery? Bonegard’s? Average rating of a bit over four stars.
Not too bad." He seemed unimpressed, like the kind of guy who was hard to please, unless it involved hot wax and one of those drawers like they have in the morgue.
Don't ask.
I ate the chocolate off the top of my cappuccino with a spoon and stirred the rest before taking a sip.
"Can't say I pay too much attention to online reviews.
Art is subjective, so all of that is only opinion anyway.
One customer loves the things another customer hates.
If I decided everything I did based on shit like that, I'd never do anything.
How fun would that be?" No bloody fun, if you asked me.
"This review says the floor was sticky." Archer's face was expressionless.
"A kid dropped a lollipop," I said. "We've had it cleaned up since."
I'd never known the stickiness from a lollipop to spread as much as it had that day. I could have come all over the floor and made less of a mess. And had more fun.
Figures someone would take the time to leave a review about that.
Granted, it was fucking unpleasant. We kept a closer eye on young visitors after that.
And any who looked like they might take the chance to come all over the floor.
If anyone was going to do that, it was going to be me. Preferably with help from Harlow.
"I'd like to see your gallery," Harlow said.
"Of course you would; you have good taste," I told her.
Now I was going to have to think how to get rid of Archer as quickly as possible so I could show her all the spots that were good for fucking. I had quite a few ideas. She probably had a few of her own.
Once she realized I really wasn't going anywhere, she might open up more and we could try different things. I was patient. She'd be worth it.
"The sooner we go, the sooner we can be done," Archer said as if that wasn't abundantly clear. Maybe we were on the same wavelength after all.
My coffee was a little too hot, but I drank it all down, savoring the way it scalded my esophagus and brought tears to my eyes. I appreciated a bit of pain. It made me feel alive and reminded me of the people I killed. They were dead, I wasn't. I needed to appreciate that more than I did.
"I'll pay," I said. If Archer was going to give Harlow the kind of information I was hoping for, he was doing us a favor. The least I could do was to pay for his coffee.
Before he could argue, I was up and off to the register, leaving a generous tip for the server. Like I always did, because I drank here several times a week at least. They looked after me and I returned the favor. Besides, the coffee here was almost drinkable. That deserved recognition.
I turned around to tell Harlow and Archer to follow me, but they were right behind me. So close I almost bumped into them.
"Getting up close and personal, I see." I grinned.
"Sorry." Harlow put her hands up and stepped back.
"Don't be," I told her. "I like being up close and personal with you." I wanted to kiss her right now, but if I did, I might not be able to stop. I suspected the staff wouldn't appreciate if I sat her on one of the tables and ate her out.
Or would they? We might have to find that out another time.
When Archer wasn't lurking nearby, casting the occasional glance at Harlow.
He probably thought I didn't notice, but I did.
It was obvious to me he had a thing for her.
That was fine with me, as long as it didn't get in the way of me and her.
I grabbed her hand and pulled her to the door and out onto the street. The buzz of the city immediately ignited a matching buzz through my whole body. You couldn't help noticing it wherever you went. The air was thick with it. Constant motion and energy.
The only time I wasn’t borderline manic was that moment after one of my victims took their last breath. Then, a heavy stillness overtook me, from my toes to the top of my head and deep into my soul. A sense of peace I couldn't get any other way.
It was almost as good as an orgasm.
I led them through the crowds, right up to and inside my gallery.
It was quieter in here, soft music playing through the speakers, lulling people to linger and part with their cash.
The air was set to a perfect temperature, a hint of lavender fragrance drifting through.
The only thing missing was a small fountain with a tinkle of water.
I might have to look into piping that sound through the speakers too.
Anything to lull visitors and give them that sense of well-being that kept them here for longer.
I led them into my office and gestured for them to sit on the comfortable leather chairs while I perched on the desk.
Harlow sat back and crossed her legs at her knees, her hands resting in her lap. She looked comfortable, like she belonged here.
Archer, on the other hand, was also perching, glancing around himself like a sword might come flying out of the wall and decapitate him.
That was ridiculous. I didn't need a sword coming out of the wall. I kept a garrote in my top drawer. And a knife. And, if push came to shove, a gun in the second drawer.
No one ever said Edward Bonegard was unprepared. If they did, they didn't say it for long, because I proved them wrong. The dumpster out the back was emptied regularly, I saw to that.
"Okay, what's this about ‘someone like Carl?’"