Chapter 5: American Muscle
Derek
The Skinniflute saloon is about the type of dive I’d expect from a Patrick source. A wood-paneled biker joint with perforated steel plates on the lower half each exterior, the only windows are small and near the ceiling, and the dark interior is lit by single-bulbs hanging over the small booths lining the walls. Fluorescent lights and neon beer signs add illumination behind the bar in the center of the room.
As instructed, I’m wearing dark jeans, boots, and an inconspicuous black tee and leather jacket. Patrick’s in a similar getup, but he’s added a bandanna tied over his light brown hair.
“Should I be expecting a fight?” I quip as we slide into the wooden booth to wait for Toni.
“Hell, no. These guys are pretty mellow. Didn’t even look up last time I was in here.”
“How often are you in here?”
He shrugs. “Third time.”
A waitress, who resembles Amy Winehouse in hot pants and a tight sweater, appears with a small, round tray. Her dark eyes move quickly from Patrick to do a slow sweep over me. I don’t return her interest.
“Hey, Brian. What can I getcha?”
My eyes cut across the table to my partner’s. “Vodka rocks and this guy will have…”
“Coke is fine. I’m driving.”
Her eyebrows rise, and she spins on her heel before sashaying away. I’m pretty sure her exaggerated hip movements are for our benefit.
When she’s far enough away, I lean forward on the table. “Brian?”
“First time I was here, I didn’t want Toni to know I was looking for her, so I told Lylah my name was Brian.”
“Lylah?”
“Just go with it.”
We straighten up as she returns to put the drinks in front of us. Patrick puts a twenty on her tray. “Keep an eye on this for me.”
“You got it, babe.”
She saunters off again, and I settle in to wait for our contact. “So you’ve explained the situation to Toni?”
Patrick shrugs. “Only in a roundabout way. I wasn’t sure how much you wanted out there, but she’s willing to help us. She has some bad blood she wasn’t ready to tell me about on Tuesday.”
“Maybe she’ll talk about it now.”
I glance up as another brunette enters the bar. She’s tall and slim and dressed similarly to Lylah. I wonder if it’s the standard uniform for this place.
“Yeah, that’s her.” Patrick follows my gaze, and I see their eyes connect. A slight nod, and she says something to Lylah before heading in our direction.
My lips curl into a frown. “She’s too tall.”
“She likes to wear those stilts.” Sure enough, she’s wearing stripper heels.
“Do you have a shoe fetish or something?”
Patrick gives me The Smile. “Nothing’s hotter than a naked woman in heels.”
Lifting the Coke, I can’t resist a small jab. “Especially when she’s got your dick in her mouth.”
“Nope.” He shakes his head, serious again. “Elaine’s the only woman for me now.”
“You’ve got some incredible good luck, partner.”
“Don’t I know it.” He slides down as Toni approaches the table.
Her eyes graze over me as she takes the spot Patrick’s created, and she returns my frown. “You look like a judgmental asshole.” Her voice is low and smoky.
This is getting worse by the second, and I’m losing interest fast. “And you look like every con artist I’ve ever helped put away.”
“Well,” Patrick laughs, doing his best to salvage things. “This is getting off to a great start. Can I get you a drink?”
She shakes her head. “I’m on the clock. What’s this about, Patrick?”
“My partner here…” He pauses for introductions. “Derek Alexander, Toni Durango…”
We nod, still displeased at the prospect of working together. Patrick continues. “My partner here has a problem, and I think you can help. It’s about the situation we discussed on Tuesday.”
Pushing a lock of straight, dyed-black hair off her shoulder, she takes a sip of his vodka. “You didn’t tell me much, and I only said I’d listen. I haven’t agreed to work with anybody.”
He nods. “Fair enough. Derek? You want to explain the situation?”
It makes sense, as I know more about what’s going on than anybody. “It’s like this…” But my phone cuts me off. It emits the special tone I’ve set up for my man in Baltimore, and I pull it out fast to read the screen, my current meeting forgotten.
Subject AWOL. Sorry, boss, he must’ve left in the night. Can’t find him.
I’m on my feet before I’ve even finished reading, swiping Patrick’s keys off the table.
“Derek?” Somewhere behind me, I feel Patrick struggling to get Toni out of the booth so he can follow, but I’m in a tunnel. My brain is miles away, focused on one objective—getting back to Wilmington. Fast.
I’m out the door with my heart thundering painfully. Jamming the key into the ignition, Patrick’s Charger roars to life. Satisfaction surges through my legs. It’s going to be a tough drive, but for once I’m thankful for Patrick’s bravado. American muscle is exactly what I need to cover the miles at top speed.
Shoving the stick into reverse to back out, I slam on the breaks and put it in gear before punching it. Rocks fly as I spin out of the lot, and I only vaguely hear Patrick yelling for me to wait. He’ll figure out a ride back. I’ve got to get to Melissa.
I try calling her, but it goes to voicemail. I send her a quick text. Call me please.
While I wait, I hit Elaine’s number, voicemail. She’s in class. I try Mel’s mother, voicemail again. Dammit! She’s probably with a patient. Why don’t I have her office number programmed in my phone?
I throw my cell on the passenger seat and grip the wheel again. Both hands hold it so hard, I’m surprised it doesn’t bend in half. It’s like my body is trying to push the car faster by brute force.
How could I be so careless? Bennett’s been watching Sloan for weeks, and nothing’s happened. He’s been quiet, going about his routine, obeying the law. I should’ve known he’d make a move now.
Melissa said his behavior was cyclical, and she could tell when it was time for him to either leave town for a hook-up or for her to start sleeping with her door locked and the can of pepper spray under her pillow. The very thought of her living like that grinds my jaw.
After all my work closing the office, driving all night, I left her alone, out there in that little cottage unguarded. Fuck! My fists tighten harder on the thin, metal ring guiding Patrick’s sports car. I’m pushing ninety, and car after car flashes past.
Traffic is light this early-afternoon Thursday. It’s the one small advantage I have. I’m making the most of it and wishing I had a portable siren. Once more the smallest prayer sneaks from my brain. Not again. Please don’t let it happen again.
I’m too far from her. If she needs me, if she’s afraid or in danger, I’m not there. If the unthinkable happens… Memories of the pain of that loss scorch through my chest. The mind-numbing helplessness is back. I can’t bear it a second time. I can’t lose Melissa.
Glancing down, I’m at a hundred now. I’ll be there soon, but it still feels too long. My breath is fast, and my brain is repeating the word No. It’s all I’ve got, the force of my will, demanding that she be okay.