Memphis May Fire (#1 of the Harleigh Lynn series)

Chapter Eight: Confrontation

"Parker and I will be discussing a number of things, including whether or not to shut down the venue while the investigation is underway. Wilma, Markov, I spoke to the hospital, and you have permission to speak with the injured people from the venue. Harleigh and Gene will be speaking to the band and going through that evidence box again," Ari continued.

Gene laid his head on the table and received matching frowns from Markov and Wilma. Ari studied his notepad, face impassive.

"I think that's all. Please sleep tonight."

Gene gave him a hard look, and Ari's dark eyebrows shot up. They seemed to be reading each other's thoughts for a moment, then Gene stood up.

"Ok. See you guys tomorrow," he said, "Unless I die during my morning workout. Please make sure to mention on my gravestone that it was Ari's fault."

Wilma rolled her eyes.

"We get it. Go to bed and try to wake up less grumpy."

"If you pass out, I will be sure to revive you so you can finish your pushups," Markov stated.

Gene waved them off and left the room, and everyone else stood up to follow. Out in the hallway, Harleigh noticed Gene heading in the wrong direction. She followed him, not really knowing why. He ended up near the pool room, and Harleigh frowned, creeping closer.

He went inside, and Harleigh clenched her teeth.

Why not just confront him? I'm quitting tomorrow anyhow.

She opened the door and was hit with a wave of warm, chemical air.

"Hey!" she called.

Her voice sounded louder with the echo, and he turned, green eyes wary.

"What do you want? Are you following me?" he asked, spreading his hands wide, "What, you wanna catch me setting fires, Scarface?"

Harleigh started videotaping, tucking her phone into her front pocket so the camera faced him.

Just in case.

"No. I wanted to...ask you a question," Harleigh said, wishing she'd thought of a better excuse.

"Oh really? Cool, well, I have some questions for you. Number one: Why the heck are you here?"

He folded his arms and smirked at her, his blond hair ruffled and sticking up. Harleigh realized he would've been slightly handsome in a very different situation.

"I wanted to know why you hate me," she ventured.

"Oh do you, sweetheart? What are you going to do, write a sad poem about all the reasons why? I hate you and your little 'oh I'm so shy', 'feel bad for me', 'let me show you my depression medicine' and 'I'm just here for the fun of it' act that you put on," he ranted, spitting on the tile floor, "You're just here for the drama of it all, aren't you?"

"Um, no," Harleigh said, trying to push down the anger rising in her stomach, "I don't know what you're talking about, you prejudiced twit. Is this because I'm a girl or something?"

Gene ran both hands through his hair.

"Heck no. Don't you stand there and tell me you're innocent! I don't know why you're here, and don't pretend that you're helping anyone. You don't know what you're doing, and it shows. I can't afford that!" he broke off and cursed at her.