Chapter One
It was adivebar restroom in bumfuck, Kentucky. Grade had set his expectations low before he pushed the door open. Turned out that “low” was still too high.
The dead man lay sprawled on his back on the tiled floor in a puddle of his own blood. One side of his head was gone. Well, not gone. Most of it seemed to have been splattered over the doors of the stalls, hair and bits of bone shellacked over the greasy mess of graffiti left behind by past customers. The man was barefoot and hadn’t taken the care of his feet necessary to make that choice.
On the other side of the corpse, a man in well-worn jeans and a sleeveless tank top pissed into the bloodstained urinal.
“Christ,” Grade said, the exclamation dragged out of him involuntarily.
The man glanced around. He took the cigarette out of his mouth with his free hand and gestured at the corpse.
“First time?”
“No,” Grade said. He shrugged his kit bag off his shoulder and let it thump down onto the tiles. “I just didn’t expect to find anyone else in here.”
The man shrugged.
“I needed a piss.”
Tattoos covered his shoulders and down his arm, mostly professional-looking instead of stick-and-poke jailhouse scribbles. That meant he wasn’t here because he couldn’t afford to drink anywhere else. So either he was slumming or…
“Are you Ezra?” Grade asked.
The last drops of urine hit the porcelain, and the man gave his cock a shake before he tucked it away. He took one last drag on his cigarette, flicked it into the urinal, and then tugged his jeans up over lean hips so he could zip up.
“What business is that of yours?” he asked, his voice still lazily good-humored in that slow, easy way that around here meant the opposite.
The back of Grade’s neck felt sweaty and uncomfortable. “I was told to ask for Ezra.”
“And now you have.”
They both waited. After a second, the man snorted. He stepped over the corpse and gave his hands a brisk wash in the sink. Habit made Grade silently sing along, and the end result wasn’t exactly pandemic proper but close enough.
“Ezra’s in the office,” the man said. He shook water off his hands and then wiped them on his jeans. “I’ll tell him you’re looking for him.”
He took a long step over the puddle of blood and walked toward Grade. Three steps, and then he paused. They stared at each other expectantly. Grade was mildly surprised to realize he was taller and…
…in the way.
He was in front of the door.
Grade stumbled to the side, nearly tripped over his kit, and had to grab the wall to keep from losing his balance. He snatched his hand back quickly and tried to ignore the itch that started at the base of his fingers and worked its way down to the heel of his hand.
“You know, you should still wear a mask,” Grade said. “Especially in a confined space.”
The man raked curly light brown hair back from his face and tucked it behind his ears. His smirk was crooked but creased the corners of his dark brown eyes. “Like Covid could survive in this shithole,” he said. “It’s syphilis you have to worry about.”
He pushed the door open and sauntered out.
Grade waited until he was gone, the door swung shut behind him, and then rubbed his hand roughly down the leg of his chinos. The fabric wasn’t nearly abrasive enough to make him feel certain that layer of skin was all gone.
It was fine, he told himself grimly. That wasn’t even his best hand. He could get along without it.
He scratched his palm absently as he assessed the space and started to put together his plan of attack. The door opened behind him and bumped into his back.
“Fuck sake,” Grade snapped as he turned and yanked the door open. He glared at the rangy, harsh-featured man on the other side. “It’s out of order.”
The man looked Grade up and down, snorted, and tried to push past him. “Go fuck yourself.”
