Luke was glaring at me. He was pissed, and he wanted his money— nothing complicated about that. It was the way the other guys were eyeing me that was making my skin crawl. Hungry, that was the look. With a side of disgust. They wanted the pretty black girl they’d just stumbled upon and were pretending to hate themselves for it. Awesome.
Push back. That would be the tactic I’d use as a litigator— always go on the offensive. Forceful, but confident. Like you already know you’ve won. Of course, we were far from a Manhattan courtroom right now. Out on that sidewalk, in the middle of nowhere, deflection was my only safe option.
“I’m up here staying with a friend. If you have some situation with him, that’s between the two of you.” I continued to watch Luke evenly, ignoring the other two. “Anyway, Jonathan doesn’t actually owe you anything. You’re just trying to shake him down. You and I both know it.”
In fact, I did not know it. With Peter involved, anything was possible.
“Oh, he owes me,” Luke said, with an easy smile. So easy it was unsettling. “And he’ll pay, one way or another. You can be sure of that.”
Luke walked past me then toward the door, but his weaselly friend stepped boldly into his place. The six inches I had on him did not seem to be deterring him in the slightest.
“What’s your name, sweetheart?” he asked, voice rising at the end like he was talking to a child.
Fuck off. That’s what I wanted to say. But I also wanted to stay alive. So I clenched my teeth, took a step back. I bumped right into his fat friend who’d closed in behind me. I could hear his breathing.
Luke turned back at the door, like maybe he was going to tell his friends to knock it off. Instead he just shook his head and disappeared inside. Watching him go, the sweat on the back of my neck turned cold. The little one stepped closer, lifted his chin. I could smell mints on his breath.
“At least tell me your name,” the weasel said, staring conspicuously at my breasts. “We’re all friends here.”
The fat guy laughed like a hyena.
I could dart between them, run away from the bar. But alone in the dark was where they wanted me. I could fight, knee the short guy in the groin, throw a punch. Except getting physical first was even more of a risk. Yell for help, then pray. It was all I had left. I was about to when the door to the Falls flew open.
“Are you out of your fucking mind?” Finch bellowed, grabbing my hand and in one smooth motion pulling me clear of the men and into the bar.
Inside, I blinked, stunned— the light, the noise, all the people. A second later, the two men strolled in past me like they didn’t have a care in the world.
“Motherfuckers,” Finch muttered when he came in behind them. He grabbed a chair from some pissed-off guy about to sit down and held it out for me. “You need a glass of water?” He looked around like he was debating whether it was safe to leave me, then waved down a woman on her way to the bar. I desperately wanted his rescuing me not to feel good, but it did. “Hey darlin’， you mind bringing me a glass of water on your way back?”
The woman smiled at Finch, then wrinkled her nose at me. “Sure thing.”
Finch reached out a hand like he might touch me, then put it on the back of his head instead. “Did they, um, do anything to you?”
“No. But I think they might have.” I took a breath. “Thank you for helping me.”
“You want to— maybe we should call the police.”
“No,” I said, thinking both of Keith, probably with drugs on him by now, and the white cops who would surely come, demanding to know what crime I thought had been committed. “There’s no point.”
Finch still looked concerned. “You want me to go get Maeve then, or something? She was just back there talking to Derrick.”
And what was Maeve going to do? Press her hands to her china white cheeks, click her Chloé flats three times, and tell me that everything was going to be fine, even though I could still smell that guy’s minty breath up my nose? Better that she stay talking to Derrick. Maybe he’d get up the nerve to say something to her finally, save her from the Upper East Side and Bates.
I shook my head. “There’s nothing Maeve can do.”
The woman was back with the cup of water.
Once I started drinking, I couldn’t stop. I wiped at my mouth with the back of my hand. When I looked up, Finch’s brow was furrowed with concern. He really did seem like he’d shed some noxious shell. This new Finch was almost human, and kind. I still didn’t want to talk. But better to speak first, at least try to move the narrative away from why I hadn’t returned any of his dozen calls.