“Here. Drink it and leave,” Carlo warns. Aiden holds out the ten, but Carlo shakes his head. “This one is on me.”
Aiden nods and slips the ten into the nearest tip glass, takes his drink and sits at one of the back tables facing us. He pulls out a cell phone, messes with the screen, and holds it up to his ear. We can’t hear what he’s saying, but there’s no doubt it’s about me.
We continue like that for almost an hour, me pretending they’re not all waiting me out, Carlo glaring daggers at the man who seems to be drinking the slowest cola of his life, and Aiden who watches me with the intensity of a hunter; both wary and excited at the prospect of the chase. We’re in deadlock.
Carlo must realise the same thing because he spins to face me, his hands gripping my arms. “You need to get out of here.”
I shake my head and press my lips together in an apologetic frown. Escape crossed my mind but running won’t do me any good. I’ve thought through my options. If they found me here, they’ll find me at home or wherever I run. I tap Carlo’s left hand. He releases me and steps back.
“The second I leave, those goons at the door will grab me or trail me home.”
He grits his teeth and rubs his chin, seeming to think it over. “You could go through the cellar. I’ll open the loading door and you can sneak out through the alley.”
“If I’m gone for more than a minute, they’ll notice. And something tells me they already have someone watching the alley. You said it yourself, who sends three men to collect one girl?”
“Perhaps it’s time I call your mum?” Carlo suggests.
“No. She’s at work. I won’t risk her job. Not for this.”
“Eric then?” Wow, Carlo must be desperate if he’s even considering calling Dad.
“He’ll not trail the kids into the night for me, and I wouldn’t want him to.”
He takes up his familiararms-folded-over-his-chestpose and closes his eyes. He breathes out a frustrated hiss when he can’t think of another idea. “Then what? The minute your shift is over—”
“I know.” I’ll do what they ask, but I’ll go on my terms, not theirs. “I mean, I have to go with them sometime. Get this over with. I need to explain what happened.” I don’t want to, but it makes the most sense. Plus, they came for me in a public place. That has to count for something. They arrived at the bar, gave their card, had their faces captured on the bar’s closed-circuit cameras and even dropped their boss’ name in a room full of witnesses. If anything happens to me, the blame will fall on their shoulders.
I glance over to Aiden, hoping to catch his eye and convey I’ve changed my mind, but his attention is elsewhere. He stares at the entrance and pushes his chair back, readying to stand.
A blast of chilled air hits my left arm and wraps around me.
Mr Serious stands at the door with one hand on the handle and one in his trouser pocket.
He came here? He left the hospital. For me?
Spotting Aiden crossing to intercept him at the bar, he shakes his head stopping Aiden in his tracks. Carlo picks up a dishrag and wipes down glasses that are already dry, pretending not to notice the man walking towards us, but unable to stop himself from shooting glances between Aiden and Mr Nagano.
“Jules,” Mr Nagano begins. “Aiden tells me you’re nervous about joining me at the hospital?” Why does my heart beat double fast when he says my name?
“She’s not nervous about anything,” Carlo interrupts. “She just doesn’t want to.”
“Is that so?” he asks me, only curiosity in his tone.
“It’s been a long night. I needed normality,” I explain.
“I understand.” He nods, raises two fingers and slides cash over the counter, pointing to the whisky. I fix him a double and ring it up on the till, placing his change in front of him.
“Tom is in surgery as we speak,” he adds casually, grabbing his glass and spinning it back and forth between his finger and thumb. He stares into the honey gold depths.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper, choosing to stare at his glass too, rather than look at him.
“What are you sorry for? I’m just letting you know you held him together long enough to keep him alive. You did a good job.”
I did? I dare to check his expression. I want to see if he’s lying, but instead of answers I find is a drained smile. The beautiful dark slash of his black lashes is surrounded by dark red, virtually purple, bruising. I almost feel sorry for making this even harder on him.
“I’m glad. That he’s alive, I mean.”
He nods and sips the alcohol in his glass. “You have my gratitude.”
