“Paul…” It was more of a wheeze than a shout. Rainy barely got his name out before she started coughing. As she spoke, she saw brown work boots walking toward her from the far end of the room. They stopped abruptly, close to her face. If she stuck out her tongue, she’d taste the toe of his right shoe. Tilting her head up toward the light and the owner of the boots, she got her first look at his face, her eyes waterlogged from coughing.
Paul was long-faced, with skin the color and texture of sweaty American cheese. He had a nose for days: a nose you couldn’t miss. How disappointed she was in Quick Mart Susan and her weak description. His hair was tucked under a beanie, but she could see the oily black strands of it curling at his neck. His face told a different story: a wiry beard hid the bottom half of his face, a tangle of reddish brown. She’d pin him right under thirty, but she couldn’t be sure in this dim light. There was a meanness to his mouth, lips that didn’t curve up or down but slashed a straight line under his beard. She couldn’t see his eyes until he bent down to haul her into a sitting position. They were blue and very clear, like a Nevada sky staring back at her. How could something so evil have such beautiful eyes? Who was he? He was so familiar.
Her neck felt like it was made of cooked pasta. Her head bobbed on her shoulder and she got a good whiff of him. She could smell the fry oil on his skin, the grime of the kitchen. She was grasping at something…what was it? He was a cook…or maybe a server—he could even be the manager, she thought. Unblinking, he studied her face as she studied his. The vein in his temple was throbbing. Rainy could see it, fat and swollen beneath his skin like an earthworm. She kept the barest hint of a smile on her lips but said nothing.
When he seemed satisfied, he stood up and she was looking at the dark blue knees of his jeans. He backed away rather than turning around and she understood why: he held a phone at chest level and was taking photos of Rainy where she sat handcuffed to the steel leg of the table.
She was angry, she wanted him to stop taking photos, but she couldn’t find the words to say so. She tried to hold up her hand, to block her face from his camera where a line of drool hung lazily from her lower lip, but it was chained to the leg of the table.
“What are you doing?” She slumped forward and the handcuffs bit into her wrists. He was tall—six feet, maybe—and narrow in the chest. When he was finished taking his photos, he set his phone down on one of the metal tables. He leaned back, crossing his legs at the ankles, smiling at her pleasantly like she was a visitor. He was wearing a plain black T-shirt and his arms, which were crossed over his chest, were lean and muscular.
“I’m surprised you came.” He said this casually, as if they were having lunch. “And I’m not exactly sure why you came, to be honest, especially after this one—” he jabbed a thumb over his shoulder “—has been trying to steal your man.”
Her eyes followed his gesture. There were two stainless-steel prep tables bolted to the floor in a T shape. Rainy’s hands were handcuffed around the leg at the top left of the T while another slumped figure—Braithe!—was handcuffed to the bottom of the T, her back to Rainy.
“It’s a restaurant. One of many. It’s being renovated, and no one is here. So no one will hear you, I’ve made sure of that.”
He stared at her, a little impatiently, Rainy noticed, waiting for her to give an explanation as to why she had come for Braithe. She wasn’t going to. Braithe was clearly more heavily drugged than she was, but she was alive.
“Not in the mood to talk, I see.” He started walking toward her with a bottle of water. Rainy watched him unscrew the cap. Paul held the lip to her mouth and she sucked up as much as she could before he pulled it away. His hands were ringless, his clothes mundane; there was nothing that would draw your attention if you passed him on a street.
“What did you give me?” Her voice was hoarse.
“What does it matter?”
Water dripped down her chin, and without the adrenaline pumping wildly at her decisions, she was afraid.
“Oh, I wanted to play,” he continued. “As soon as you started texting our little Braithe here with your accusations, I wanted to play with you. I realized you were the reason she was even here. She’s a little boring, if I’m telling the truth. I can see why our beloved Grant chose you.”
Rainy blinked at him, wondering if Braithe was awake and had heard him say that.
“Well, now I’m here to play, so let her go.”