Total pages in book: 49
Estimated words: 47606 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 238(@200wpm)___ 190(@250wpm)___ 159(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 47606 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 238(@200wpm)___ 190(@250wpm)___ 159(@300wpm)
They gave the laundromat a cursory check, saw nothing out of place, and left. I waited fifteen minutes before I went to the washer and informed the guy that he could come out. He said no, thank you, that he would remain there.
“But you’re bleeding,” I reminded him.
“It stopped already, and I’ve been hurt worse than this.”
Since I had been as well, I got a couple of clean towels from the lost-and-found bin, opened the door, and gave them to him. I also got him a bottle of water from the machine and then closed the door again. He thanked me, and I returned to my cubicle. The same guys came back another twenty minutes after that, checked more thoroughly the second time, and still found nothing. They would have had to open every machine, and by then, there were college students in there watching them, eyeing them suspiciously. When they asked me if I was sure I hadn’t seen anyone, I squinted at the main guy like he was stupid. He groaned and left. Not even mad, disgusted with himself was my guess.
Now, had any of them been remotely smart, they would have known that locking me in a cubicle all night—what would happen if there was a fire?—was against the law. But they didn’t, so I got lucky. Not one of them knew what an OSHA violation was.
Around six, I went to the cash office, pulled the tape out of the VCR—it was not an upscale establishment, so there were no DVDs and nothing was saved to a Cloud—and rendered it unusable, unviewable, basically dead.
Since my shift ended at eight, I woke up the guy at seven, helped him out of the washer—he had some trouble moving, he was all cramped up by then—and opened the back door so he could go out through the alley. When my relief showed up at eight, Mrs. Kwon and her husband, I explained that the VCR had eaten the much-used tape and they would need to put a new one into the rotation. She gave me a pat on the cheek—she liked me, I always showed up for work—and told me that was fine.
Walking down the street toward the pay-by-the-night hotel I was staying in, a black SUV rolled up beside me, and when I turned, there was a man in the back seat on the driver’s side, staring at me from a partly rolled-down window. He appeared much like every other thug I’d seen in the neighborhood. Tatted up, expensive suit, lots of gold rings, and easily a two-hundred-dollar haircut. When you had no money, you always knew what everything cost.
“Hey,” he said, and his voice was husky and low. “Come here.”
I tipped my head, the question there in the gesture. Who did he think he was talking to?
He surprised me when he smiled and grunted, leaning back so I could see the guy I saved waving from beside him. Leaning forward, he gestured me over.
I got closer, still making sure I stayed out of grabbing distance, and he held out three hundred-dollar bills. When I reached for the money, he held on, and I had to pull a bit harder. He relented, and I thanked him.
“I haven’t seen you around here.”
I squinted, and he laughed that time.
“You’re a wiseass, kid.”
Crossing my arms, I waited.
“Name?”
“Paxton Walsh,” I answered, because why not? I was hiding out from Child Protective Services, not the Russian mob. “Who’re you?”
“Genrikh,” he replied, and his eyes narrowed. “Genrikh Antonov, but I go by Gen, yes? You saved my cousin Erast, and I am in your debt, Paxton.”
I shook my head. “Just Pax, and no, this covers it fine. We’re good. I didn’t do it for a reward anyway, yanno?”
He nodded, the window rose, and he, and my good deed, were gone. I remembered thinking in that moment that I would never see them again.
If only.
I exhaled deeply and turned to Colton. “That was the first time I met Gen, but after that he’d show up out of the blue, usually when I was walking back to the hotel in the morning. Finally, after weeks of that, he caught up with me at my second job as a barback, where I worked from three to eleven.”
“Two jobs at sixteen and nobody cared?”
I made a face like he was ridiculous. “I got paid cash under the table. No one gave a shit. I had three a year later at seventeen.”
“Okay, go on,” he prodded, steering me around a frozen patch on the sidewalk with an arm draped around my shoulders, and not moving it even when the sidewalk was clear of anything but soft snow.
“Well, once he found me at that club, he offered me a job at his, promised to pay me more—a lot more—and said there was an apartment in a building he owned that would be better than paying weekly for a place where I could be murdered.”