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‘Remind me which guy that was?’
I see a muscle in Kris’s cheek twitch before he speaks, ‘The guy who was obsessed with him. Who kept him locked in a room.’
‘Kept him locked in a room?’ I say. ‘That sounds horrible. Your poor friend. But I can assure you that that was not me.’
‘Are you sure?’
My expression freezes. ‘Yes. I’m quite sure. And you know, actually, I have a few things I need to take care of. I think I should probably get going.’ I drop a few ten-dollar notes on to the table to cover my scrambled eggs on toast and Bloody Mary and pull my jacket from the back of the chair.
Kris gets to his feet suddenly and puts his hand out towards me. ‘No,’ he says, a note of panic in his voice. ‘Don’t go. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to freak you out. It was just – it seemed, I don’t know – please, stay, finish your drink at least.’
His eyes go to the door again and mine follow them. I see a dark car pull up outside and park haphazardly in the road. I see two doors open in unison, two men in dark clothing step out.
I turn and look at the back of the restaurant, see a corridor leading to the kitchens, and run.
