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“Today, you won’t,” I say, registering the grimace on his face. “Does it hurt?”
“Yeah... It does.”
He glances at the state-of-the-art kitchen.
Almost as big as the living room, the kitchen is well equipped for a gourmet experience. Stainless steel appliances line the wall, and pots and pans dangle from the ceiling.
He shifts his gaze to me.
“It came with the house. I don’t know how to cook,” I say.
“Good thing you know to handle a gun...” he mutters.
“I like guns,” I say, barely stifling a grin.
He sits on the couch and swivels his head, his eyes scanning the living room.
“Where’s my jacket?”
“At the cleaners.”
He tries to push up to his legs, shuddering in pain.
“Don’t move,” I say. “Why do you need it?”
“Have you emptied my pockets?”
“Yes.”
I walk to the kitchen counter and sift through the contents of a box.
“What are you looking for?” I ask, taking inventory of his wallet, keys, a pack of cigarettes, a small roll wrapped in plastic, and condoms.
I flick my gaze to him.
“Are you, um... back at work?” I ask, finding it difficult to voice my question.
He slowly shakes his head.
“There’s, um....” I mumble, gearing my eyes toward the condoms. “Never mind. It’s not my business,” I say, lifting my gaze.
I find no emotion on his face.
He narrows his eyes at me and throws me a gaze, guarded.
“There’s a piece of paper in the wallet with an address scribbled on it,” he says evenly.
I pull his wallet open and retrieve the piece of paper.
“I need you to do something for me,” he says.
“Okay.”
“Are you easy to be found?”
I shift my eyes to him.
“What do you mean?”
