Almost Infamous (Detective Damien Drake Book 9)

by Patrick Logan

  Considering how stuffy the apartment was, and how much it smelled of stale sweat and lingering vomit, Tobin thought that the missing ingredient might be some long-overdue fresh air. He was just reaching for the door when the knob started to turn on its own.

  He half-expected it to be Kevin returning, telling him that he’d changed his mind, that he wanted his cash back… that he was going to take everything from Tobin—check, money, everything.

  But it wasn’t Kevin.

  It was Kenneth. And the man’s perpetually resolute expression looked even grimmer today. Startled, Tobin just stared at the man for several seconds without blinking.

  “You bleeding,” Kenneth informed him, his eyes flicking to the top of Tobin’s head.

  So much for ignorance.

  Tobin grabbed a clean-looking napkin off the counter and dabbed it so carefully against his forehead that he barely even made contact. Nevertheless, it came back pink and wet.

  At least it’s not yellow.

  He resisted the urge to smell it; his stomach wasn’t there yet.

  “You no pay rent,” Kenneth barked as he tossed his backpack on the floor. “And now I missing somesing from my room.” The man’s eyes drifted to the pen on the counter, the drawer that Kevin had left open. “You no let friends in here, do you?”

  Tobin averted his gaze. He’d completely forgotten about the money that he’d borrowed from Kenneth.

  “I didn’t let anyone in. Maybe you just forgot to lock the door.”

  Kenneth didn’t even bat an eye at the insinuation.

  “I always lock door. Maybe you—”

  “Don’t know what to tell you… I’ve been sick and holed up in my room the whole time. I didn’t let anyone in. Maybe it was one of your friends.” With every word, Tobin’s tone became increasingly harsher. “I don’t appreciate you blaming me for stealing your shit, Kenneth. That’s not my responsibility or my fucking problem.”

  Kenneth remained stone-faced, which enraged Tobin even further.

  “How dare you fucking accuse me of stealing your stuff?” Tobin glanced down at the man’s worn backpack. “I wouldn’t be caught dead with any of your cheap dollar store garbage.”

  Kenneth didn’t take the bait, didn’t allow himself to be sidetracked from what was clearly a prepared statement.

  “You have not paid rent for three months, Tobin. You have one week and then, after that, you—”

  Tobin sighed looked at his feet.

  “Okay, I’ll pay you,” he said softly as he sidled past the man and toward the front door. “I—I will. I just… I need a little more time. I have an… appointment, an audition. Just—just give me more time.”

  But no matter how much he begged, Kenneth was having none of it. He wasn’t going to be swayed by any sob stories.

  Truthfully, Tobin didn’t blame him. He was three months in arrears, not just late by a few days.

  “You have one week, Tobin. Then you have to get out. You have one week and then I call police.”

  Tobin stepped into the hallway.

  “I just… just a little more time, okay?”

  He closed the apartment door before the man could once again refuse the offer.

  One week… gimme a fucking break.

  Despite the two unsettling interactions, Tobin felt his mood start to lift as he walked briskly down the stairs. Once outside, and the crisp fall air struck his warm face, he started to forget about the encounters altogether.

  Before long, Tobin found himself standing outside his favorite thrift shop. As he stared at his reflection in the glass, his hand snaked into his pocket and he grabbed the wad of bills that Kevin had ‘given’ him.

  The responsible thing to do was to pay his back rent or find a way to return the cash to the envelope beneath Kenneth’s bed. It wasn’t enough to cover either, but it was a start.

  As Tobin’s eyes drifted from his reflection to the items inside the store, however, a different idea started to take hold.

  And once an idea sunk its barbs in, breaking free often proved more difficult than even taking time off from social media.

  Or I could buy myself something new… after all, if the world is going to meet the new Lucas Lionell, I’ve gotta put my best foot forward. And… shit, after what I’ve been through, I deserve it. I deserve everything. #Facts.

  Chapter 18

  Tobin was ecstatic to discover an over-sized designer jean shirt with little wear, but the real find was a white Balenciaga beanie. He wasn’t one-hundred percent sure if it was real, but if he couldn’t tell, Tobin doubted that anyone else could, either. After trying both of them on, there was no question that they were absolutely made for him. And, with a little haggling, Tobin managed to score both for just under two hundred bucks.

  Sporting both of his new purchases, Tobin left the store with a renewed spring in his step. All the shit that had happened this morning—his weird falls, his interaction with the fat fuck Kevin, and Kenneth being a little bitch—were now forgotten.

  The reality was, once Jan and all the other talent acquisition agents saw the new him, all his problems would be solved. Kevin would be begging for an autograph, while Kenneth would be on bended knee asking him to stay in their shitty apartment.

  And Tobin knew exactly what he was going to say to both of them: Fuck no.

  That’s what happened when you got famous; people who weren’t willing to give you the time of day before now wanted a piece.

  The irony was, nowadays, you almost had to already be famous in order to get more famous.

  This reminded Tobin that it had been a long time—too long—since his last social media update. As he crossed the street, his eyes scanned the storefronts for something a little more boujie than the thrift store.

  After about five minutes of brisk walking, he eventually found a place that he thought sold high-end shoes. It wasn’t ideal—shoes were more often accessories than main fashion statements, Louboutin’s notwithstanding—but he had to disseminate something into the ether.

  Tobin dipped inside quickly, just long enough to confirm that the place sold shoes and not anal beads. Then he returned outside before any of the salespeople could harass him and set up his shot. The most important thing was making sure to frame his face so that the label on his hat was visible while still accentuating his new forehead contour. With a little filter tinkering, a slight saturation boost here and there, the coloring on his face even appeared normal. Better than normal, in fact.

  I look fucking great, Tobin thought. This brought a genuine smile to his lips, and he caught the moment perfectly with his camera.

  Still grinning, Tobin quickly added a caption—Balenciaga? Balencia-hell ya!—and posted the video.

  When Tobin saw a salesclerk coming toward the window, he put his phone away and started to walk again. Only, unlike before, he now stood tall and proud as he moved.

  And people started to take notice. Three women held his gaze a little longer than usual as he passed, as did a man with shoulder-length hair and smooth, high cheekbones.

  Stare all you want, Tobin thought. Hell, snap a pic, it’ll last longer.

  With no specific destination in mind, Tobin allowed his thoughts to wander as he made his way deeper into Manhattan. There were more people out than usual, and as he passed a bustling outdoor patio full of men in suits sipping gin and tonics, it dawned on him that it must be Friday.

  Normally, on Fridays, Tobin was so exhausted from hauling furniture around all week that he just crashed on his couch. Sometimes, he found enough strength to post a video to his socials, but that was usually about it.

  Today, however, he felt full of energy.

  I can go out… no, I should go out. Can’t just be posting pictures of retail outlets all the time, no matter how chic… I need to post pictures with people, real people… people having fun.

  The chuckle that rose in his throat surprised Tobin, so much so that it nearly became a full-fledged laugh.

  He was
interrupted by the sound of a church bell ringing six times somewhere in the distance.

  Six o’clock, he thought. Just enough time to visit Dr. Cratom for a refill, then get ready for a night out.

  Sure, he had no intention of going anywhere before midnight—only douchebags who had nothing better to do went out before then—but it would take him a considerable amount of time to get ready.

  People were always watching, always taking pictures… always on the lookout for the next influencer.

  Tobin straightened even further, feeling much taller than his already lanky six-foot-three frame.

  Well, they found him… they found me.

  ***

  Dr. Alex’s Pet Shoppe was busier than Tobin recalled seeing it before. True, he was usually there during off-hours, but on the occasion that he visited while Dr. Cratom was still performing his regular duties, there were typically only a few patrons in the waiting area.

  But now, on a Friday coming on seven-thirty in the evening, there were more than a dozen people holding their cats, or hamsters, or seated next to their dogs.

  Tobin pushed the front door open and was greeted by the sound of a chime announcing his presence.

  All eyes were on him, and Tobin reveled in the attention. A woman with a fluffy orange cat in her lap smiled at him, and he smiled back.

  His eyes were still locked on her lined face when a voice called out to him.

  “Can I help you? Sir, can I help you?”

  Tobin turned to face the secretary. Unlike the majority of Dr. Cratom’s clientele, she was young, with jet-black hair pulled into a ponytail. Her face was too pale, and her lipstick too vibrant for her complexion, but Tobin supposed she could pass as ‘cute’.

  “Yes,” he said with a small chuckle. He walked over to the large desk that separated the patrons from the inspection rooms. “I think maybe you can. I’m here to see Dr. Cratom.”

  The woman looked down at his empty hands.

  “Do you have an appointment?” she asked, her eyes narrowing.

  Another chuckle.

  “No, no, no. I—”

  “Is this an animal emergency? Do you have a file here?”

  “I’m a… a friend. Just let Dr. Cratom know that Tobin has arrived to see him. Please, be a doll.”

  The secretary chewed her lip as her gaze drifted to the full waiting room behind him.

  “Yeah, I’m sorry, but I’m afraid that if you don’t have an appointment and it’s not a pet emergency, you’re going to have—”

  “No, you don’t understand. Dr. Cratom and I, well, we’re…” Tobin searched for the right word, and eventually settled on the first one that popped into his head. “…acquainted. Just let him know I’m here. Please.”

  Tobin turned away and nodded at the woman with the cat. She wasn’t smiling anymore, but he certainly was. Shit, he was wearing a designer jean shirt and a Balenciaga beanie, and his forehead was completely flat.

  Why wouldn’t he be smiling?

  “I’m sorry, but Dr. Cratom is very busy today. I’m sure if you arranged with him something after hours or on the weekend?”

  Tobin could read between the lines, but this secretary obviously couldn’t; she just wasn’t getting it. All she had to do was tell Dr. Cratom who was here to see him, and the man would come right out.

  He was sure of it.

  “Yeah, I get that you’re busy, but this will only take a minute. Let the good doctor know that Tobin is here.”

  The woman pressed her lips together more tightly now.

  “I’m sorry, but you’re going to have to leave. This is a veterinary clinic.”

  At long last, Tobin’s smile vanished.

  “What? No, just get Dr. Cratom.”

  “Sir, please don’t—”

  The door behind the secretary swung open and a man clutching a beagle to his chest walked out. The dog had a cast on one of his legs.

  “Just try to keep him off his feet for a few days. I know, I know, it’ll be next to impossible; Chip has always had such high energy. But if he insists on walking around, please do it on carpeting or something equally as soft. Nothing hard, like pavement or sidewalks,” Dr. Cratom instructed.

  “Thank you,” the woman following behind the vet said as she accepted her pet. “And if I need—”

  “Dr. Cratom!” Tobin said, casting a contemptuous look at the secretary. “Alex! It’s me.”

  Dr. Cratom finally turned front and center and noticed Tobin for the first time. But instead of being happy to see him, the man looked positively grim.

  “Can I help you?” the doctor looked at the secretary, who shrugged.

  “What? Alex, it’s me… Tobin. I’m here for—” conscious that others were listening and staring now, he leaned in close. “—a refill,” he finished softly.

  “I’m sorry, but you must have me confused with someone else. As you can see, this is a vet clinic. Please, I’m going to ask you to leave now and if you refuse, I’ll call the police.”

  The police?

  “Alex, I just need—”

  Dr. Cratom reached out and grabbed the back of his arm tightly. This happened so quickly that before Tobin could even react, he was already being led toward the door.

  “You need to leave,” the doctor said loud enough for everyone in the waiting room to hear.

  “But I—”

  “I told you not to come back. I warned you,” Dr. Cratom hissed in his ear.

  The bell above the door chimed as Tobin was shoved roughly out onto the sidewalk.

  “I’m very sorry about that,” Dr. Cratom said as he turned back to his room full of patrons. “But you know how it is… young people these days… they think they own the place, that they can go around saying or doing whatever they want. But here? In Dr. Alex’s Pet Shoppe? The ones who have the final say are those with four legs and fur and not kids wearing wool hats in seventy-degree weather, am I right?”

  Chapter 19

  One shot of tequila and three ibuprofen while getting ready for the club was enough for Tobin to forget about the humiliation he’d suffered at the hands of Dr. Alex Cratom.

  He was still wearing his Balenciaga hat, his new vintage over-sized denim T-shirt, but now he’d paired them with skin-tight black jeans and his trusty white Chuck Taylors.

  As expected at midnight, the lineup outside Focal was substantial. But this mattered not to Tobin because he had no intention of waiting in it.

  Head held high, he walked directly to the front and pulled out his cell phone.

  “Think I can get a shot with you for my Insta?” he asked a bouncer who was dressed all in black. The man’s thick arms were crossed over his chest, and he had a scar that ran from one shaved cheek all the way to his ear.

  He was probably the largest man Tobin had ever seen irl.

  “A shot for my Insta?” he repeated.

  The bouncer tilted his head toward the right, a not so subtle indication for Tobin to go to the back of the line.

  If only the man would look at how many followers I have, how much influence Lucas commands. Then he’d not only bump me to the front of the line, but he’d personally take me to a private table.

  But Tobin knew he couldn’t push the issue. Not only would the man eat him whole, but it was a well-known fact that Focal was owned by the notorious Petrazzino crime family.

  This time when Tobin held his phone out to the man, there was a hundred-dollar bill sandwiched against the sequined case.

  “Just look,” Tobin said, his voice returning to its normal octave.

  The bouncer didn’t look; apparently, he didn’t need to. He did, however, swipe the cash with the deftness of a master magician. And yet, when Tobin tried to slip by him, the man still blocked his path.

  “What? C’mon.”

  The bouncer shook his head.

  Tobin cursed under his breath and pulled out his last hundred. He’d wanted to keep it, not for drinks once inside—there were plenty of men who would jump at
the chance to buy him a shot—but to repay some of his debt.

  But what was more important? Standing in line like a common person or paying down one percent of what he owed?

  Tobin begrudgingly gave the man the money. As the bouncer slipped the bill into his pocket, which, Tobin noted, was stuffed with cash, he ducked under the rope and scurried into Focal before anyone could intervene.

  Weaving quickly between sweaty men wearing low-cut V-necks, he dipped into the throng of people on the dance floor. Within seconds, the only thing that Tobin could hear was the bassline, and it wasn’t pleasant. It first felt as if his ears were plugged, but this soon passed.

  It was replaced by a thrumming sensation in his forehead.

  This was of a more immediate concern than the idea of the bouncer chasing after him, and Tobin changed courses. He moved off the dance floor and out of the flashing lights and the low-frequency aural assault.

  Even though he was uncomfortable, Tobin projected an air of calm. This was his—no, not his, Lucas’s scene. And Lucas was a budding star.

  Which was exactly the way he acted.

  A couple, the man wearing a polo with the collar popped and the woman in a white dress, looked at him strangely as he passed them on his way to the bar, but Tobin just smiled.

  Yeah, keep looking… but no pictures. You gotta pay for pictures, bitch.

  For a place as busy as it was, the bar wasn’t that crowded. Just a couple of jukes and twists and Tobin found his way to the front. In his back pocket he pulled out his last ten dollars, an emergency bill he always kept on his person, and held it up.

  Almost immediately, the cash caught the attention of a waif-like bartender with a buzz cut. He sauntered over.

  “What can I get ya?”

  Tobin cleared his throat and made sure to speak in his deep voice when he answered.

  “Vodka soda.”

  The bartender nodded and started to prepare his drink. While this took place, Tobin took the opportunity to survey the scene.

  Focal had undergone a major renovation when it was bought up by the Petrazzino family and the clientele had likewise gotten an upgrade.