“Uncle Sam embraces hacking? I’m shocked.”
“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.”
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’ve been self-medicating with booze.”
“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.
She buried the thought.
“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.”
“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.
“I framed him.”
“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.”
“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.”
“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.
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.”
“What brings you here?”
“Work. I’m sort of a…
“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.”
“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.”
“That guy…” Grim interrupted her train of thought. “The one you kicked. Who is he?”
Presley returned to the moment, considering her possible answers.
“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.”
“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.
Presley smiled, hooding her eyes, like they were sharing a delicious secret.
“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.
GRIM ○ 4:45pm
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.”
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.
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.
PRESLEY ○ 4:55pm
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.
Presley slowed her approach.
She reconsidered that thought.
A fast song came on, and Presley turned away from Grim and her feelings, letting her body bounce and sway and shake to the music, becoming one with the beats.
She tried to remember the last time she danced for fun, and couldn’t.
Presley closed her eyes, losing herself to the sound.
She smiled.
She mulled that over as she shuffled and bumped, rocked and bobbed.
Presley stopped dancing and opened her eyes, the realization coming like a slap.
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.
Presley felt her whole body flush.
Presley moved her eyes down and up Grim’s body.
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?”
“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.”
“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.”
She moved closer to him. Almost touching.
Close enough to kiss.
“So maybe…” Her voice trailed off.
“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.
What Happened to Lori Page 10