27. Scott
TWENTY-SEVEN
SCOTT
Unknown: Find the red coffee cart with the faded green awning on the southwest path between the fountain and the chess tables. Get a pretzel and a large hot beverage and find seating nearby. He will find you.
The text comes just as I’m walking under the arch into the park.
I stop for a moment to read it, then look up and around.
I’ve only been here once before, years ago, but the directions are specific enough.
Taking the path to the right of the fountain, I follow the shadier walkway, looking out for the specific coffee cart he mentioned.
Just past a bronze statue, there are multiple street vendors parked along the path.
Most of them have lines two or three people deep, but a little further down on the right is a small red cart with a green awning faded by the sun.
None of the other carts in the vicinity match the description, so I walk up and order a pretzel and large, hot coffee despite the cart vendor reminding me it’s almost ninety degrees out today.
I shrug and pay the woman, holding my purchases awkwardly in front of me while I look around for a place to sit.
I find an empty bench under the canopy of several large elm trees and take a seat.
My ass has barely touched the bench when another text comes through. Balancing my pretzel and coffee in one hand, I pull it out and groan. At least he isn’t trying to get me to go to another location again.
Unknown: You’re looking a little sweaty. Stand up and use the bottom of your shirt to wipe your face.
Considering he was already very specific about what I should wear to this meeting: a white tank top, bright-colored running shorts, and flip-flops, I figured there might be a song and dance to prove I’m not wearing a wire.
I had to find a department store this morning when I got into the city because I didn’t have any of those items. Luckily, I booked a room for the day so I would have somewhere to leave my things, as I was instructed to carry nothing with me but my phone and cash.
Doing as instructed, I stand and lift the bottom of my shirt higher than I actually would if I was truly using it to wipe my face.
For good measure, I turn while doing it, giving whoever is watching a full view.
My shorts leave very little to the imagination, so hopefully they’re not expecting me to drop trou right here in the park.
I really don’t feel like getting arrested today.
“Alright, alright. Stop showing off.”
The man who sidles up next to me looks like he’s in his early forties, wearing a bowler hat, an open short-sleeved button-down shirt with a dingy tank top underneath, jorts, and a pair of camo boots with the words ‘Fight For America’ written in gold along the outsides.
He has stringy, dirty blond hair coming out the bottom of the hat, and a spotty mustache above his thin lips.
Something about him is… I don’t know how to explain it.
Sickly. Like, he’s physically fine, up walking and talking, but also he looks like he’s secreting some kind of mucus—like a slug.
Or maybe he’s a frog person. I’m pretty sure that’s one of the conspiracies out there.
Or is it lizard people are walking among us and something in the 5G turned the frogs gay?
I can’t remember. Whatever it is, that’s what’s wrong with this guy.
“You’re Scott?”
“Yes, and you are?”
“Curtis Howard,” he says.
My eyebrow raises.
“Oh, so you’ve heard of me, have you?”
It’s hard not to roll my eyes at his self-important chuckle.
Instead, I reach out my hand as though I am truly honored to meet him.
He smells of rubbing alcohol, and his hand is just as clammy as I thought it would be.
He’s trying far too hard to squeeze my hand to show off his manliness.
I pretend I don’t notice, even though what I really want to do is squeeze his hand back and make him cry.
Yeah, I’ve heard of Curtis Howard. He’s a lowlife conspiracy blogger who runs a gossip site known to be an echo chamber for neo-Nazi propaganda. He’s also the piece of shit who hacked Jesse’s cloud and posted his personal information and explicit private videos and pictures online.
He has a lot of audacity meeting me here when I’m pretty sure he’s in the middle of a battle with the label’s legal team.
“I’m not into all that homo stuff, but I’m going to need to make sure you’re not wearing a wire,” Curtis says, putting his hands on his hips. “Don’t worry, I’m not looking at your junk. I don’t swing that way.”
“I get it,” I say through gritted teeth.
Doing my best not to actually show him my junk, I discreetly stretch the waistband of my already obscene running shorts, running my fingers along the inside and back.
Holding my phone and cash in my teeth, I turn my pockets inside out, then turn around and lift the back of my shorts as much as I can.
“Yeah, yeah, I think that’s enough,” he says, looking disgusted. “Let’s have a seat.”
“I’m pretty surprised that I’m meeting you here,” I say, rolling my head around to crack my neck free of some of my tension and overall ick.
Completely by accident, I stumbled into the exact right way to break the ice. “Really? I thought you’d be used to celebrities given your line of work.”
Of course he considers himself a celebrity. He really thinks he’s hot shit, doesn’t he?
“Former line of work,” I say with some edge to my voice.
“That’s right. Francis said you had a falling out with your lover-slash-boss,” he says in a blatantly judgmental tone.
“It sounds worse when you say it that way.”
“Your previous employer who took advantage of you and forced you into his sick perversions, then. Is that better?”
I’m not sure that requires a response, so I just look away. A pretty girl in a white sundress, with bright pink hair is setting up a picnic blanket in the grassy area behind us. She must be a student. NYU is near here, I think. She pulls a laptop out of her bag, and a few books.
“Ridiculous,” Curtis sneers. “Just look at what society has been reduced to. Girls doing anything to get a man’s attention, just so they can turn around and cry assault, assault! All while batting their eyes and dressing like innocent little girls with naughty intentions. It makes me sick.”
“Yeah… That’s gross,” I say, trying really hard not to make eye contact with this putrid excuse of a human being. The frog people can have him back. Ugh.
“I suppose you don’t have to worry about that sort of thing with your predilections.
Although there are those types, you know what I mean?
Those little girly boys that like to dress up in makeup and shit?
Absolute horseshit. You might be gay, but at least you’re a real man,” he says, reaching over to punch my bicep.
I’m saved from having to respond when a few papers fly right past my face.
“Oh, no! I’m so sorry!” The girl who was studying on the blanket behind us is running, flailing her hands wildly to catch a stack of papers that the wind took.
Instinctively, I grab stray pieces of paper, standing to pick up a few from the ground.
“Oh my gosh, thank you so much. I’ll never get this research paper done without these notes, you’re a lifesaver,” she gushes, putting a hand on my shoulder.
“It’s no problem.” I look down at the papers in my hand, trying to straighten them a bit before handing them back. “You must be studying something pretty hard.”
“Computer science with a concentration in cybersecurity. I really like coding.”
“Wow. Impressive. Good luck with your paper,” I say, reaching to hand her the papers. She takes them from me with a wide, friendly grin, showing off an endearing gap between her two front teeth.
“Oh, you’ve got something just there,” she says, pushing up to her tiptoes to brush something out of my hair behind my ear. “Anyway. Thanks again!”
When I return to my seat next to Curtis, he looks like he chewed glass.
“Did you see the way she flirted with you? If I’d been the one to save her papers, she wouldn’t have looked at me twice and probably would have called the cops for smiling at her.
” He scoffs. “Doesn’t even know she’s barking up the wrong tree. ”
“I think she was just being friendly.”
“You know, Francis told me you were a little wishy-washy. I was expecting more of an Alpha-male type.”
“I just like to give people a chance.”
“How many chances do they get, though?”
I look down at my hands. “I don’t know.”
“We can help you, you know. Francis and me. We can get you the justice you deserve and put those rotten little brats in their place.”
“And where’s that?”
“When I’m done with them, they’ll be back to playing state fairs and shitty bars for pennies.”
Blowing out a breath, I lean back and run my fingers through my hair. I feel something, like a little sticker with a nodule, just behind my ear where the girl touched me. Carefully, I turn my head to look at her. From behind her laptop, she brings a finger to her lips and winks.
Deciding to trust my instincts and just go with it, I turn back to Curtis. “And what is it you need me for?”
“I need dirt. Details. The stuff no one but their inner circle knows. Francis already gave me a lot, and he’s got inside eyes, but we think they’re catching on. They’ve closed ranks. Look how easily they ousted you over mere suspicion.”
“It was a pretty reasonable suspicion,” I point out. Pausing for a beat, I ask carefully, like I’m curious but timid about it, maybe awed by what they’ve pulled off. “How did he do it?”
“How do you think he did it?”
Ugh, no. I want to hear him say it. Admit to it. Out loud.
“I don’t know. I checked that place for bugs. It had to have been something else.”
“Let’s just say, you delivered a little gift for us.”
I stare at him for a minute as if I’m trying to work it out. “You set me up, but you want me to help you?”