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It’s different.
Older.
More dilapidated and worn.
I’m different.
Stronger.
“Maybe not,” I breathe.
He scrutinizes me. “You hard up for cash?”
“Scottie takes my whole paycheck, but I tattoo on the side,” I tell him. “It’s enough to eat.” It’s a lie, considering Akara gave me a raise and my uncle doesn’t know about it. “Are you?”
He laughs. “I bartend at the Rhino, what do you think?”
“Thought the Rhino closed down years ago.” It’s an old musty biker bar.
“It’s surviving. Barely.” He’s quiet. “You know, if you’re hurting, you should use what you have. It’s right there.”
My stomach lurches. “What do you mean?” I have to get him to say words. Not just imply criminal acts and bad deeds, like using my connection to the Hales, Meadows, and Cobalts for profit.
“You know what I mean,” he says. “You’re not a stupid kid. Hell, you might be the smartest one out of all of us.” He pauses, skimming me. “The Ass-Kicker. You know people love the shit outta you online?” He grins like a proud dad. “You haven’t started an OnlyFans, have you? You’d make a killing.”
“Can’t,” I tell him. “It’d break my contract with private security.”
“Just create an anonymous account. They won’t know.”
“Then I wouldn’t be able to capitalize on my notoriety and whatnot.” I’m irritated, but I just snuff out the cigarette.
“Start somewhere. If you’re gonna shoot a load, you might as well get paid for it. And you have experience doing it.”
I die inside.
It’s like being sucker-punched, knowing that what he just said…Luna’s dad just heard.
“Don’t get weird about it,” he says quietly. “No shame in the game.”
I just nod, unable to speak.
He stands up, and I follow suit, gathering my half-eaten hoagie. Gonna take it to-go, even though my appetite has died too. My throat feels thick from the soda and conversation, so I buy a bottle of water from Mike. I pocket my wallet and take a few swigs.
My head is on a tilt-a-whirl.
I didn’t get him to admit to any wrongdoings, but I didn’t think he’d confess or implicate anyone in one sitting. As he goes to the jukebox, I ask, “You want to hang out again?”
He smiles over at me, surprise in his eyes. “Yeah. I’d like that.” He fishes in a quarter and punches the buttons. “See you around, Paul.”
It’s chilling hearing my name from his lips, but no more so than hearing the song he plays. The same one I always picked when an old lady gave me a quarter. “Winds of Change” by Scorpions.
I waver for a second. I shouldn’t want to return for any other reason than to rat him out. I shouldn’t like him, and I’m afraid I’m gonna fall into a trap where I do.
My head is still floating above me as I leave and find my way to the Mini Cooper. Lo picks me up further down the street. Hopefully no one notices.
I climb into the car.
Lo’s expression volleys between emotions I don’t try to read. It’d mean staring at his face for longer than a second, and it’s not a place I’m excited to reside.
He just learned I have experience getting paid for sex. He doesn’t know the details of what I did, and I’m sure his brain has been rolling through creative scenarios.
Mine would.
“You gonna drive?”
“You okay?” he asks sharply.
“I’m alive, so yeah.” I reach beneath my shirt, shut off the recorder, and unplug the mic like Thatcher showed me.
The hum of the air conditioning is all I hear as Lo charts a course for Center City.
He breaks the silence. “Thank you.”
“Don’t thank—”
“For Ripley,” he cuts me off, and I look over. His eyes are bloodshot, reddened like he’s restraining the most stinging emotion. “You didn’t want me to know.” It’s not a question.
“I didn’t do it for you.” I lift my foot to the seat. He says nothing about my boot on the cushion. Elbow to my knee, I stare out the window, watching South Philly disappear behind us.
“What happens if you stop paying that prick?” Lo asks me.
“I don’t know. It’s why I haven’t stopped.”
His jaw sharpens. “I’ll pay him in the meantime.”
“No—”
“You realize I make more money than Connor Cobalt?” He makes a face at me like I hit my head on the curb. “Whatever you’re giving Scottie is chump change to me. I’m paying. He’ll still think it’s coming from you, and he won’t ask for more.”
I’m still uneasy.
“I’m doing this for my grandson and for Moffy and Farrow. I’m not doing this for you.”
It’s now that I relent. “Alright. Go ahead.”
“Great.” After a quiet moment, he groans like he’s fighting himself. He cracks his neck and grimaces. “I’m going to ask.”
“You don’t have to.” I try not to tense, knowing this has to be about sex. “You can let it go. Pretend you never heard it.”
He lets out a laugh. “God, I wish. If only. But my daughter unfortunately likes you.”
