FOUR
“Thought you’d ditched me, baby.” Gresh pouts, his lower lip curling all the way over his upper lip until it reaches the underside of his nose.
“How many times, Gresh? Not. Your. Baby. Not your anything.”
“You’ll change your mind.”
“Not likely. Are you ordering another or are you ready to go?” I nod to the bottle in his hand. The last dregs swirl as he lifts it to his bleary eyes and peers inside. I hope he’ll choose the latter option but know better than to believe it.
“Yeah, same again.” The fresh bottle gurgles and hisses as I pop the cap. Gresh snatches it up in his grubby paw and holds it out, neck tilted forward. “Might as well stay, now that my favourite girl is here.” He lifts it to his lips and takes a long swallow, wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, and smiles again. “Every day is lucky for seeing you.” He licks his lips as his eyes trail over my body.
“You creep me out, Gresh. When will you get it through your thick skull? I don’t care that you are friends with my dad, or that you’ve watched me grow up. Hell, that makes you even creepier. So, I am warning you, if you try to hit on me tonight or do what you did last week and follow me home, I will have Carlo kick you out—with his fists or that shotgun he has in the office. Do you understand?”
“Sure do, baby. I’m happy just to watch.”
I walk away, pulling my apron tighter around my waist and grabbing the empty glasses littering the bar, but I catch his added “for now,” and try not to stiffen. Gresh’s interest in me has increased over the last few weeks. My irritation is fast becoming concern because although he looks like a scrawny weasel, he can overpower me if he chooses to. I need to have a word with my father. Gresh needs to be put back in his place. And yet a small part of me is glad for this twisted sense of normalcy too.
“You okay?” Carlo asks, placing a few more dirty glasses onto the bar.
“Hm?”
“You look like your mind went somewhere else.”
“Oh, yeah, I’m fine.” I’m not. My hands itch, my head pounds to the beat of my heart, I keep seeing playbacks of Tom in my mind—like a horror movie I can’t shake—and Gresh’s heavy breathing makes my lip twitch with wanting to scream at him. I’m the furthest thing from fine, but I give Carlo a strained smile and fill the wire basket with dirty glassware.
I take my time loading the washer. At least in the back room, I enjoy a few minutes of calm instead of getting eye-fucked by a middle-aged gargoyle. I let the sounds of the bar fade out around me as the machine swooshes rhythmically. It’s the first moment of peace I’ve had all day.
“Jules!”
I ignore him, despite the edge of urgency in his tone. Carlo needs to worry less. Two minutes in the backroom is hardly shirking my duties. I could be working; slicing new lemons or refilling the ice buckets.
“Jules! Get your arse out here.”
My shoulders stiffen in readiness. I stick my head out from the back room and snap at him. “What—?” But he doesn’t need to answer. The second I see the bar, I see what—or rather who—puts him on edge.
A pair of austere faces follow me with their eyes. They wear identical black suits and hover six inches from the edge of the bar. After a quick scan, I spot a third man waiting at the entrance, blocking the doorway with his wide shoulders. They’re here for me, but how did they find me?
“Is something wrong?” I ask, trying to keep the panic out of my voice.
I already know who is in charge. He’s closest to the bar, shoulders wide and solid like a wall of muscle daring me to run again. His hair is longer on top and short on the sides, modern in style and, though it’d be classified as dark blonde, it’s nowhere near so prosaic with the natural shimmers of walnut, auburn, and chestnut. His neatly shorn beard is somewhat darker, but that only serves to define his jaw. He’s all business and there’s an energy about him so intense it makes the other two appear…I don’t know…novice perhaps? Less engaged?
“You’re Jules?” he asks, proving me right.
“Yes.”
He raises a lone eyebrow at my curt response. I notice his eye colour matches the timbre of his voice; rich amber-whiskey orbs…husky and guttural.
“The same Jules who assisted Thomas on the stairs of Olive Tower, earlier this evening?” he presses.
Carlo side-steps, partially blocking me from his sight. “Who wants to know?” he growls. His brusque interruption draws their eyes and Mister I-feel-drunk-just-looking-at-him, finally breaks eye contact with me.
The man’s lip curls at one side in a half smile. “We work for Mr Nagano, the brother of the man you saved tonight.”
Did he mean Mr Serious?Then it hits. “Saved? Is Tom alive? Is he okay?” I step forward and bury my nails in the bar without even realising. Carlo lays his hand down upon mine and strokes over my fingers, loosening them from the varnished wood.
“He’s alive and undergoing surgery as we speak. Which is why Mr Nagano sent us instead of coming down himself,” the man explains. He lifts his arms, pulling back the lapel of his coat with his left and reaching into the inside pocket with his right. Carlo stiffens, raises up to his full height, grips my wrist and tugs me behind him once again. It feels like slow motion, but it all happens in time it takes the man to remove a business card from his pocket.
Am I still in shock? Can shock mess with time? Or is it me? Am I out of it?
“I’m glad he made it to the hospital,” I whisper, but no one hears me over Carlo.
“So, what do you want with Jules? Why are you in my bar? And why does it take three men to collect one girl?” I would ask the same things myself if I had any wits about me.
The man takes a deep breath and nudges his head toward the door. The younger man at his side takes the hint and exits, taking Mr Double-Wide in the doorway with him.
“You ran off,” he accuses. “You were witness to what happened tonight and instead of hanging around to answer questions, you decided coming here was more important.”
I didn’t owe this man shit, but something about his accusation and the fact that he’s talking directly to me instead of through Carlo makes me rush to explain myself. “My job was at stake. I…I couldn’t stay there any longer.”
“I understand. But you’ll still need to answer questions. Mr Nagano would like you to join him at the hospital.”
Carlo makes an amused sound beside me, a huff of air and incredulity. “Not happening.”
“And you are?” the man asks, taking Carlo’s presence into consideration.
“I own this place and I know her parents. There’s no way I’m letting her walk out of here with you. If your Mr Nagano wants to talk to her, tell him to get his arse down here. Or better yet, he can fucking wait until she’s processed things. You can see she isn’t right.”
The man nods. His features stay controlled, giving nothing away. “I understand what happened was—” His voice is empty of emotion; he can’t even bring himself to sound sincere and it’s funny, but that’s what brings me back to myself. This familiar bullshit fakery. The same fakery I get from Mum. The same fakery I live by.
And I fucking hate it.
I’m a real person. I have a life, feelings, and dreams. Tonight terrified me. I’m still scared out of my mind, damn it. I deserve a shred of human emotion, concern, compassion—something.
I cut him off before he utters the lame excuse sitting on his tongue.
“You think you understand what I went through? You don’t understand what it was like. I was the only one there. Don’t you dare tell me you understand or try to empathise when you can’t even muster up sympathy in your voice. Your boss wants answers, but I don’t know anything useful. I found Tom. I helped Tom. I left. That’s it.”
“Jules—” the man begins. There is a hint of a plea in his voice. Though I doubt it’s for me.
“No.” The word rumbles in Carlo’s chest. “You heard her. If she says she’s done, then she’s done.” He folds his arms across his chest. A moment passes between them where neither man backs down, then Mr Suit sighs.
“At least take this.” He slides the business card over the counter and taps it twice with his index finger. Carlo and I stare at it, neither bothering to take it, but I catch his name and stored it in my mind. Aiden Driscoll. Such an ordinary name, but there’s nothing ordinary about these men. Which means there’s nothing ordinary about Mr Nagano either.
Aiden edges closer, leaning one arm on the counter and reaching into his trouser pocket. He pulls out cash and slips a ten from the wad. “Cola.”
As I reach for a clean glass, Carlo grabs my hand and lowers it to my side. “I’ve got this one.” I step back and watch Carlo serve Aiden. Neither men’s gaze strays from the other’s unless it’s to shoot a look at me. Even Gresh keeps his beady eyes on the action rather than my chest.
“Here. Drink it and leave,” Carlo warns. Aiden holds out the ten, but Carlo shakes his head. “This one is on me.”
Aiden nods and slips the ten into the nearest tip glass, takes his drink and sits at one of the back tables facing us. He pulls out a cell phone, messes with the screen, and holds it up to his ear. We can’t hear what he’s saying, but there’s no doubt it’s about me.
We continue like that for almost an hour, me pretending they’re not all waiting me out, Carlo glaring daggers at the man who seems to be drinking the slowest cola of his life, and Aiden who watches me with the intensity of a hunter; both wary and excited at the prospect of the chase. We’re in deadlock.
Carlo must realise the same thing because he spins to face me, his hands gripping my arms. “You need to get out of here.”
I shake my head and press my lips together in an apologetic frown. Escape crossed my mind but running won’t do me any good. I’ve thought through my options. If they found me here, they’ll find me at home or wherever I run. I tap Carlo’s left hand. He releases me and steps back.
“The second I leave, those goons at the door will grab me or trail me home.”
He grits his teeth and rubs his chin, seeming to think it over. “You could go through the cellar. I’ll open the loading door and you can sneak out through the alley.”
“If I’m gone for more than a minute, they’ll notice. And something tells me they already have someone watching the alley. You said it yourself, who sends three men to collect one girl?”
“Perhaps it’s time I call your mum?” Carlo suggests.
“No. She’s at work. I won’t risk her job. Not for this.”
“Eric then?” Wow, Carlo must be desperate if he’s even considering calling Dad.
“He’ll not trail the kids into the night for me, and I wouldn’t want him to.”
He takes up his familiar arms-folded-over-his-chest pose and closes his eyes. He breathes out a frustrated hiss when he can’t think of another idea. “Then what? The minute your shift is over—”
“I know.” I’ll do what they ask, but I’ll go on my terms, not theirs. “I mean, I have to go with them sometime. Get this over with. I need to explain what happened.” I don’t want to, but it makes the most sense. Plus, they came for me in a public place. That has to count for something. They arrived at the bar, gave their card, had their faces captured on the bar’s closed-circuit cameras and even dropped their boss’ name in a room full of witnesses. If anything happens to me, the blame will fall on their shoulders.
I glance over to Aiden, hoping to catch his eye and convey I’ve changed my mind, but his attention is elsewhere. He stares at the entrance and pushes his chair back, readying to stand.
A blast of chilled air hits my left arm and wraps around me.
Mr Serious stands at the door with one hand on the handle and one in his trouser pocket.
He came here? He left the hospital. For me?
Spotting Aiden crossing to intercept him at the bar, he shakes his head stopping Aiden in his tracks. Carlo picks up a dishrag and wipes down glasses that are already dry, pretending not to notice the man walking towards us, but unable to stop himself from shooting glances between Aiden and Mr Nagano.
“Jules,” Mr Nagano begins. “Aiden tells me you’re nervous about joining me at the hospital?” Why does my heart beat double fast when he says my name?
“She’s not nervous about anything,” Carlo interrupts. “She just doesn’t want to.”
“Is that so?” he asks me, only curiosity in his tone.
“It’s been a long night. I needed normality,” I explain.
“I understand.” He nods, raises two fingers and slides cash over the counter, pointing to the whisky. I fix him a double and ring it up on the till, placing his change in front of him.
“Tom is in surgery as we speak,” he adds casually, grabbing his glass and spinning it back and forth between his finger and thumb. He stares into the honey gold depths.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper, choosing to stare at his glass too, rather than look at him.
“What are you sorry for? I’m just letting you know you held him together long enough to keep him alive. You did a good job.”
I did? I dare to check his expression. I want to see if he’s lying, but instead of answers I find is a drained smile. The beautiful dark slash of his black lashes is surrounded by dark red, virtually purple, bruising. I almost feel sorry for making this even harder on him.
“I’m glad. That he’s alive, I mean.”
He nods and sips the alcohol in his glass. “You have my gratitude.”
I shake my head. I appreciate him telling me I didn’t mess things up, but I don’t need his thanks, not when I almost ran away. I don’t deserve thanks.
“Which is why I’m here. If you need me to leave the hospital to reassure you, then that’s what I’ll do. If you need to speak in the safety of the bar, then we’ll talk here. If you want a friend present.” He shoots a curious look at Carlo, “Or the police, we can arrange that too. You tell me what you need, and it’s done. All I want is an explanation for what happened tonight and preferably before someone comes to finish the job on my brother.” He tries to sound reasonable, but my guilt reads it as a reprimand: You shouldn’t have torn me from my brother’s side.
Suddenly I don’t feel quite so sorry for him. Coming here was his choice. I sure as hell won’t take shit for it.
“Subtle. Tell me off all you like; You sent too many men. An army for one girl seems a little excessive. Can you blame me for being cautious?”
“No. I admire it. Still, I need that explanation one way or another and I’d rather we did this tonight. Tom’s life, yours, and mine might depend on getting this straightened out.”
“And what if I can’t give you an explanation? What if I don’t know anything? I was in the wrong place at the wrong time.”
“Right place. Right time,” he insists, and I can see his point. For his brother’s sake, he’s glad I was there. “And I’m betting you can help more than you realise.”
“Fine. We’ll go to the hospital. I’ll tell you what I remember and then you can let Aiden, over there, take me home.” I nod toward the man now waiting at the door. His cola remains mostly untouched on the table.
“Why Aiden?” he asks, a ghost of a smile at his mouth.
“Because Carlo’s seen his face, he has his calling card and will hunt him down and eviscerate him if I don’t make it home tonight,” I explain, tearing off my apron and dumping it on the counter. “That okay by you, Cue-ball?”
“Sure is.” He dusts off his hands on his own apron and reaches for the untouched business card, slipping it into his back pocket. “I’ll call your mum to explain,” he adds.
“Sure,” I grumble under my breath as I dart to the back room and grab my bloodied jacket and remove the sweatshirt. I fold it neatly and place it on Carlos’s desk. He’ll know it’s my way of saying thank you. I march outside just in time to catch Carlo and Mr Nagano shaking hands. I make a mental note to ask Carlo about it when I next see him.
As Mr Nagano leads me out, Gresh lifts his glass in a farewell salute. It’s a twisted version of his earlier greeting. One thing feels the same, the way his eyes dance at the promise of mischief. Sure as shit, my dad is about to receive an interesting call, but I can’t bring myself to care.
Instead, I steel myself in readiness for the last act of this fucked-up-drama filled night.