I leave the office and close the door behind me. I head back through the red curtain and make my way slowly across the empty club. Now everything’s settled, the place looks like a war zone. I re-holster my gun and stare at them one last time through the hole I made in the mirror. Then I turn and walk out of the club and out into the night.
I turn left and head down the street, passing people who were in the club who have congregated out front to stare at the scene. In the distance, I can hear sirens. Time I wasn’t here, I think.
I cross the street and duck into the first alley I see. I break into a slow jog, anxious to put some distance between the club and myself, but preferably without causing myself any more pain by doing something taxing, like breathing.
God, I need a drink.
12
Oh… my… God…
What did I drink last night?
I open one eye and look around. I appear to be lying face down on the floor of my motel room at the side of the bed. My shoes are just in front of me by the desk.
I close my eye again and try to kick-start my brain into telling me what’s happening. My head’s throbbing and it’s hurting to take the slightest of breaths.
I open my eyes again. Images of broken glass and pickaxes come rushing to the forefront of my mind.
Oh… I remember now.
I take a few deep breaths, getting myself familiar with the stabbing pain in my chest so I can learn to ignore it. Slowly, I push myself up, using the bed for support. I stand upright for a brief moment, but decide it’s probably best if I sit down for the time being.
I massage my temples with my right hand and groggily look around the room. I try to stretch, but my back tells me I’m not quite ready for that yet. I let out a heavy sigh and frown.
What’s that noise?
I look around again, more alert this time and realize I can hear the shower running in the bathroom. The door’s closed as well.
Did I leave it on last night when I got back? I really don’t remember anything after leaving The Pit and the mild concussion I have isn’t helping. I suppose it’s my own fault for getting thrown through a window.
I stagger over to the bathroom door, listening for any movement. I reach for the handle just as I hear the shower stop running. Someone’s in there… Shit! I’m in no condition to…
The door opens, nearly dragging me to the floor because I’ve not let go of the handle. I stumble forward, regaining my balance and look up. Clara Fox is standing in front of me, dripping wet and wearing nothing but a towel. She smiles at me.
I don’t understand…
I blink hard and shake my head. The ability to think of anything intelligent to say eludes me.
“Huh?” I say. It isn’t Shakespeare, I admit.
“Morning sunshine,” she says, pushing past me and walking across the room, drying her hair with a towel and leaving wet footprints on the carpet. “Well, afternoon… Jesus, you look like shit.”
“Uh… thanks?” I say, still confused. “You look like you’re wearing a towel…”
“I am.”
“Oh, okay. Any particular reason?”
“I just got out of the shower,” she shrugs as she sits down at the desk and finishes drying her hair in the mirror.
I massage my temples again in the hope I can stimulate my brain enough to form actual sentences and questions.
“Yeah, what I mean is, why are you showering and walking around in a towel in my motel room?” I ask, still a bit dumbstruck.
She looks at me in the reflection of the mirror. “You got your ass kicked last night, you know that, right?”
“You should see the other guy,” I reply, dismissively.
“I followed you to the club. Figured you might need some back-up.”
“So where were you when Pick Axe threw me through a window?”
“Who?”
“The other guy.”
“Ah, right. Strange name.”
“He carried a pickaxe with him. He liked to throw it at people.”
“Oh, that makes more sense.”
“So, wait — why did you follow me? Why would you care if I needed help?”
“Well, forgetting for a moment that I pulled a gun on you, then you elbowed me in the face and pulled a gun on me—more than once, I might add — yesterday in the hotel suite was somewhat of an eye-opener.”
“Now there’s an understatement,” I say, remembering the whole Uranium mine thing and the reason I went to the club last night in the first place.
She turns to face me, crossing her legs and causing the towel to ride up slightly. I feel myself go wide-eyed momentarily, so I stare at her eyes and make a conscious effort not to look anywhere else.
“Why did you offer me that money?” she asks.
I sit back down on the bed and think. I might as well be honest. “The truth? I kinda felt sorry for you.”
She looks offended. “Do I look like I need your pity?” she asks, with a hint of hostility in her voice.
“You look like you need to get dressed.”
She glares at me with her green eyes, which are filled with a suppressed anger. I sigh. I never could talk to women…
“Look,” I begin. “I meant no offence, alright? While I’m sure you’re an extremely capable and highly experienced person, I could tell yesterday that you had no idea how bad this situation with Dark Rain actually is. You looked out of your depth and you looked mad at yourself for letting it all get away from you like this.”
Her expression softens and she looks away.
I continue, hoping I’ve managed to turn this around. “As soon as I realized that you had no idea about the Uranium, I admit I felt kinda bad for beating on you the way I did.”
She looks back at me and pulls a face, but says nothing.
“I don’t need the money and I didn’t want you getting caught up in this any further. Easiest way to leave a situation like this is quickly and with a shitload of cash. I thought it was the right thing to do.”
She lets slip a small smile that I think she intended hiding. “My hero,” she says.
“Think of me more like your big brother.”
She smiles again, this time without trying to hide it. “Thank you.”
“I think I should be thanking you,” I reply. “I’m guessing I got back here with your help last night?”
“I was keeping watch on the club. I saw you enter and when I saw everyone come running out screaming, I guessed the mob hadn’t taken your news too well.”
“I didn’t tell them about the deeds. I just said I killed Jackson and he didn’t have them on him.”
“And they bought it?”
“They seemed to. They were certainly mad enough to suggest they did.”
“That was simpler than I thought.”
“Yeah, sometimes the best lies are the most straightforward ones.”
“So, what now?”
“Not sure. I definitely need to shower and change. Are you sticking around then?”
She stands up and looks at me. Her dark green eyes dazzle like emeralds on her face, highlighted by the still damp blonde hair slicked to her head and resting on her shoulders. Also, her towel isn’t anywhere near long enough. I’m annoyed that I keep having the urge to stare at her legs and it’s making me uncomfortable. I keep eye contact with her. I can tell by the look on her face that she’s picking up on my distress and finding it very amusing. But to her credit she doesn’t mention it.
“I can’t just walk away from Dark Rain, they’ll find me,” she says. “I don’t care how much money I have. I’ve seen too much of their operation for them to allow me to leave.”