“Uncle Sam embraces hacking? I’m shocked.”
<So we’re trading army stories?> “I wish. I thought it would be a desk job, and I wound up in the field, trying to get networks online while mortars blew my platoon to hell.”
“You saw action?”
“Got the Purple Heart and the PTSD to prove it.”
“Where all were you?”
“Afghanistan. You?”
“Iraq.”
“Let me guess; 11 Bang Bang.”
Grim nodded. “Do I give off an Infantry vibe?”
“You might as well tattoo groundpounder on your head.”
“I was thinking about doing that. Can’t decide on the color.”
“Is that where you got the scar on your hand? The army?”
Grim looked at his palm, then ran his finger over the two inch white ridge. “Ah… no. I’d love to say I got it saving a busload of kids from some knife-wielding insurgents, but this was just a dumb accident. I’ve got some other, better scars. But you probably don’t want to play the showing-off-scars game.”
<I definitely don’t want to play that. But give him some hope.>
Presley smiled. “Maybe when I get to know you better.”
Grim chuckled. “Well, the physical ones, they make good stories. The psychological ones, not so much.”
“How’s the sleep?” <I’m actually genuinely curious about that.>
“I’ve been self-medicating with booze.”
<I went that route. Failed at it.> “You should try Prazosin.”
“Heard of it. The nightmare pill. Works?”
“I haven’t woken up screaming in over a year.”
Grim sipped more coffee.
<He’s attractive, in an awkward, dopey, kind of way.
<He held the door open for me when we walked into the bakery. Been a while since anyone had done that.
<And his eyes are kind.
<Unlike Fabler, who looks like he could skin a person without blinking.
<Grim is the sort of guy who would nurse a sick bird back to health.
<Or maybe it’s been too long since I’ve gotten laid.
<Wow, how long has it actually been?>
She buried the thought.
<Stick to the script. Find out what he knows.
<You’re trying to get him to talk to you, not take you home.>
“So, how long have you been a cop?”
“A few years.” He reddened. “I… uh… look, I wanna be honest. I used to be a cop, but I ceased to be one a few weeks ago.”
She played it coy. “So you’re not Officer Grim?”
“Just Grim. The lights, in my truck, I haven’t gotten around to returning them yet.”
“What happened?”
He looked at his pastry and rubbed his jaw. “I made a mistake. A big one.”
Presley decided to push it. “Wait… Pilgrim? Did I read about you? That guy with the missing wife?”
His shoulders slumped. “My sister.”
<Keep pushing. You need to know what he knows. Smile so you don’t piss him off too much.> “Didn’t you frame him, or something?”
“It’s complicated.”
She went all-in. “How is that complicated? Did you frame him or didn’t you?”
Grim stared up at her. The boyishness was gone, and he had a pained look.
<Did I take it too far?
<How would I react if someone badgered me into revealing some of the doozy mistakes I’ve made?>
“I framed him.”
<Keep going. This is what you do.> “Why?”
“Because he did it. He killed my sister. And he was going to get away with it.”
“So you took the law into your own hands?”
“I had access to some lab reports…” Grim turned up his palms. “I tried to help the state’s case.”
“That’s pretty serious.”
“She was family. Do you have a family? What would you do for them?”
“I’d do whatever it takes.” <No questions asked.>
“That’s what I did. But the bastard somehow got a few steps ahead of me.” He leaned closer, lowering his voice. “You need to be careful, Presley.”
<Huh?> “Why do I need to be careful?”
“Because there are psychos in the world. They seem like they’re good people, on the surface. But inside, they’re broken. Broken and crazy and capable of things you can’t even imagine.”
Presley thought about Fabler with the gun to his own chin, and her appetite vanished. She pushed the plate away.
Grim’s face relaxed, his eyes getting bigger. “Sorry. I get a little intense sometimes.”
“No, it was fine. I’ve reached my sugar limit.”
Silence ensued. Presley risked a glance through the window, looking for Kadir.
“We never found her body.”
She turned back to Grim. “Your sister?”
He nodded. “Lori.”
“So maybe she’s not dead?”
“She’s dead. She has to be. But the not knowing… in a lot of ways, it’s worse.” He lifted his coffee cup again, but halted when he saw it was empty. “No funeral. No last goodbye. It’s like a cut that doesn’t heal. And it won’t. Not ever. Not until I know what happened.”
Presley reached out, put her hand on his. Not flirting. Just one human being reaching out to another.
He pulled away.
<That’s disconcerting. I’m not used to men pulling away from me.
<Wait a second. Who’s manipulating whom here?>
Grim leaned back, clearing his throat again. “So, uh, where you from?”
“How do you know I’m not local?”
“You don’t have the Wichita twang. You sound a bit more East Coast.”
<He’s astute.> “Brooklyn. Born and raised. Then I hopped around. Oklahoma. Michigan. California. Washington. Texas. Now here.”
“What brings you here?”
“Work. I’m sort of a… <careful here> an assistant for this guy. He’s got some mental health issues.”
“So you’re his nurse?”
“Not really. I help him with things.”
“Computer things?”
Her mind flashed to almost getting caught, hacking Fabler’s PC. “When needed.”
“Been in town long?”
“About two weeks.”
“How do you find our fair city?”
“Coreen’s is nice.” Presley held up her hand and wiggled her fingers, showing off her French manicure. Two of them had already chipped, courtesy of training with Fabler.
“That hair place? My sister used to go there. Raved about a stylist named Dominic.”
“That’s the guy I use.” <At Fabler’s behest.>
“Anyplace else in town you like?”
“I joined a spa.”
“BlueSpa?”
“Yeah.” Presley raised an eyebrow. “Why? Something I need to know?”
“No, place is supposed to be nice. My sister went there, too.”
<Fabler set up my appointments for Coreen’s and BlueSpa. He also insists I shop at a specific grocery store, and get gas at a certain station.
<I blamed it on Fabler being obsessive-compulsive.
<But he’s making me follow Lori’s old routine.
<The implications here are… scary.>
“That guy…” Grim interrupted her train of thought. “The one you kicked. Who is he?”
Presley returned to the moment, considering her possible answers.
<Can’t hurt to reveal a little.>
“I needed money. The banks wouldn’t lend me anymore. So I got it from someone who wanted it back fast, with a lot of interest.”
“A loan shark.”
She nodded, reaching for the pastry again, breaking off a piece of frosting with a chocolate swirl on it. “When it came time to pay, I didn’t have it yet. I was working, had some cash, but it wasn’t enough.”
“That guy had a ring. A black ri
ng. I’ve seen them before.”
<Uh-oh.> “Really?”
“It’s Turkish Mafia. The skull face has fish hooks on it. Tears out a hunk of skin when you throw a punch.”
The icing in her mouth got sour. “Really?”
Grim leaned in closer. “I’m not a cop anymore, but I still have a friend or two at the precinct. I can take you in right now. You can file a report.”
Presley shook her head. “No way.”
“They can protect you.”
“That would make things worse.”
“But if that guy is—”
“I can handle myself, Grim.”
“I don’t doubt you can. But that was two on one.”
“In the parking lot… I got distracted. It won’t happen again.”
Presley finished her coffee and decided she wanted to leave. Then she remembered that leaving meant going back to Fabler’s, and trying to convince him to take her back. As much as she didn’t want to have this conversation with Grim, that was an even grimmer proposition.
She appraised the man in front of her.
<Nice enough, decent company, not hard to look at. And there could be more things he knows about Fabler that could help me get rehired.>
Presley smiled, hooding her eyes, like they were sharing a delicious secret. <Which, in a way, we are.> “So… you self-medicate with beer?”
“On occasion.”
“Where can a girl get a decent beer in this town?”
FABLER ○ 1:20pm
When he was done staring at Lori, Fabler left the secret room, sealed the door tight, and went to shower away his tears.
After the shower, he sat down at his desktop and searched for a copy of his Craigslist ad. After pulling up the file, Fabler tried to figure out what he could change to get more responses.
He decided to deal with it later.
Then he did sit-ups until his stomach felt like it was being torn in half.
Then he rubbed himself all over with zinc oxide.
Then he put on the welding mask, lit a flare, and ran twice around the house.
Then practiced with his lockpicks.
Then he opened a fresh condom.
Then he practiced hiding his lockpicks.
Then he did push-ups until his arms felt like they were being torn in half.
Then he navigated the house, on his knees, using the wall railings.
Then he practiced with the Pocket Fisherman.
Then he used the angle grinder to cut a meter off the restraint chain, and attached it to the leather harness.
Then he did squats until his legs felt like they were being torn in half.
Then he went for a jog, going east this time, searching and searching and searching and not finding it and then going back home after crossing that route off his GPS.
<Presley hasn’t returned.
<I actually miss her.
<For that reason alone, I hope she never comes back.>
GRIM ○ 4:45pm
<This is going to end badly.
<Tell her.
<Just tell her. Come clean and tell her everything.>
But Grim didn’t come clean and tell her everything. He didn’t tell her anything at all. Instead, he force-fed a dollar bill into the tavern’s jukebox, played an Aerosmith ballad because all women over the age of thirty-five liked Aerosmith ballads, and asked Presley to dance.
“I hate Aerosmith.”
<Dumb move. Should have asked her what she liked.>
He was about to do just that but Presley finished her beer and pulled him, by the hand, onto the sawdust-covered dance floor.
It was a slow number, but Presley kept a distance between them, swaying and wiggling and doing slow turns, sometimes closing her eyes. Grim kept his hands to himself, trying not to stare, trying to feel the music even though he didn’t like Aerosmith, either.
He hadn’t picked a second song, and the jukebox went on shuffle and played Otis Redding, and this time Presley did come up to him and placed his palms on her waist and locked his eyes.
“It’s been a long time since I’ve hung out with a nice guy. Are you a nice guy, Grim?”
He answered truthfully. “No.”
Another song came on. Slower than the last.
By the time it ended, Presley was fully in his arms, pressed against him, her cheek on his chest.
<This is nice.
<Except for the minor fact that I’m a deceitful prick.>
He slowly eased out of her hold, stepping back to get some space.
“So how about we get some coffee. Sober up a little.”
Presley offered a boozy smile. “Where’s the fun in that?”
Several times during his life, Grim had been the lucky and grateful recipient of female attention. He knew he wasn’t bad-looking. And some women liked the military-slash-cop background. Back in the day, he enjoyed flirting and could flirt back with the best of them.
But after his disastrous relationship with Heather, and what happened to Lori, Grim lost interest. Not just in women, but in life.
Being in the bar with Presley was resurrecting all kinds of feelings in him. It felt good.
<Except for the fact that she has no idea who I actually am and what I’ve been doing.
<And if I tell her, she’s going to be rightfully pissed off.
<I don’t want her angry with me.
<I should go with it. Take advantage. Apologize later.
<Be the scumbag that deep down I know I already am.
<So if I’m such a scumbag, what’s stopping me?>
PRESLEY ○ 4:55pm
<This guy is not taking the hint.>
Presley couldn’t figure him out. Grim showed all the signs that he was into her; wide pupils, showing gums when he smiled at her, over-attentiveness, furtive glances, leaning in.
<But now he’s backing away.
<What’s up with him? I can normally wrap men around my finger twice and have them begging for a third time.
<Do I look that bad without make-up?
<Is it my breath?
<He’s acting scared. Like a junior high kid on his first date.
<Am I coming on too strong?
<Why am I coming on at all?>
Presley slowed her approach.
<I’m not normally the pursuer.
<Why am I pursuing him at all?
<Is it the booze?
<The slow dancing is nice.
<He smells good.
<He feels good.
<And I have nowhere to stay tonight.>
She reconsidered that thought.
<Is that what I’m angling for? A place to stay?
<Where Kadir can’t find me?
<A place to stay, other than going back to Fabler’s?
<Or…
<Do I actually like this guy?>
She tried to remember the last time she danced for fun, and couldn’t.
Presley closed her eyes, losing herself to the sound.
<This is fun.
<I’m having fun.
<Is Grim dancing too?
<Should I look?
<No. It doesn’t matter. I’m here to get information. That’s all. If he left, fine. I can get a room in town. Pay cash.
<Or go back to Fabler’s.
<Go back to Fabler’s, and do whatever I need to do to get the job back.
<Fabler spent three years behind bars. If I came onto him, he wouldn’t back away.
<Like Grim is backing away.
<Is Grim still backing away?
<Did he leave?
<Should I check?
<No, I’m sure he didn’t leave. I don’t need to check. I know he’s here. Watching me.>
She smiled.
<When was the last time I got drunk?
<It’s nice. Nice to let go.
<To be the real me, not the super woman I pretend to be.>
She mulled that over as she shuffled and bumped, rocked and bobbed.
<Dancing, drinking, dating… that’s for people who don’t have my responsibilities.
<People who can afford to let their guard down.>
Presley stopped dancing and opened her eyes, the realization coming like a slap.
<I actually had my eyes closed.
<And I felt safe.
<Why? Because of the alcohol?
<Because of Grim?>
She looked, almost panicked when she couldn’t find him, and then saw him a few meters away, one hand in his pocket, eyes on her.
<Watching over me.>
Presley felt her whole body flush.
<I like him.
<Would hooking up be wrong?
<Yes. I’m not being honest with him.
<But when are men ever honest?>
Presley moved her eyes down and up Grim’s body.
<It’s been a long time. And I could use some R&R.>
She smiled, then danced her way over and reached for him.
Grim took her hand, swaying his hips in time with Presley.
“Can I be honest with you, Grim?”
<Well, honest about one small thing, and not the rest.>
“Sure.”
“I’m lonely. I find you attractive. And I’m a little drunk.”
“Three beers. Three shots. That’ll do it for most people.”
<He deflected the pass. But his pupils are huge.
<Okay, I’m going to put it all out there.>
“Do you like me?”
“Sure.”
“I don’t think I should drive. Do you?”
“No. That’s a bad idea.”
“And I don’t currently have anywhere to stay.”
“Because you got fired.”
<Thanks for the reminder.> “Right. Because I got fired.”
She moved closer to him. Almost touching.
Close enough to kiss.
“So maybe…” Her voice trailed off.
<Why can’t I say it? I say it to a lot of guys.
<Why is this one difficult?>
“Maybe what?”
Presley stretched toward him, lips near his neck, behind his ear. “Maybe you should take me home.”
GRIM ○ 6:03pm
It had been a long time since Grim slept with a woman, but everything about that moment hinted that sex wasn’t a good idea. Not when they were both closer to drunk than sober. Not when he was still hiding so much from her.