Prodigy

Smoke and Money

"Oh Locke, I hate you so much," Zane muttered to himself that evening, stood outside the front door to Locke's apartment, staring at the heavy dark wood. He should have just gone straight home. Or to Eddie's place.

But no.

Jess had set him off - as he knew she knew she would if she mentioned anything. He couldn't just leave well enough alone, could he? Locke had finally buzzed off and stopped contacting him or seeing him every day.

Things were quiet again.

And then she goes and mentions that something might - might - be wrong, and he couldn't get that look of utter devastation in Locke's eyes out of his head all evening. It had got to the point that he'd even allowed himself to take a basketball right to the face because he'd been thinking about the stupid man.

If for no other reason, he was at least at Locke's place to take his irritation out on the guy.

However, the door was slightly ajar and that just added to Zane's annoyance. How could he be so careless?

He pushed the door open and peered in.

The apartment was dark, for the most part, dim light filtered through from the main room down the hall.

Someone was in at least, he could hear voices.

"Locke?" Zane called.

The voices stopped.

Zane listened for a moment, then pulled back. "Sorry man, I'll come back later," he called, just as the door to the main bedroom opened and a man walked out.

It took Zane a moment, but he recognised him. It was that guy Richard from the after party. The one who'd been too handsy for Zane's liking.

He came out of the bedroom, a cigarette between his lips, his shirt open to display a torso that wasn't bad for guy who was closer to fifty then thirty and he was making an overly big deal about zipping up the fly of his trousers before he noticed Zane.

Zane got the hint.

"Seems I bothered you, like I said, I'll come back later," Zane said calmly, turning away.

"Well, it's Zane, isn't it? Locke's new favourite plaything," Richard said, his voice loud in the silence of the apartment.

Zane stopped, his hand resting on the outer handle of the door. He took a slow breath, looking out into the hall.

"Don't worry about running off, Zane; we just finished, for now. You're welcome to stay," Richard said, walking away into the kitchen. "Let me get you a drink. I'm having a whiskey, what's you poison? Locke's around but we'll leave him be for a bit."

"I wouldn't want to disturb things," Zane said.

"Nonsense! Get in here. Now, Zane."

Zane's jaw locked at the blatant command, but stepped into the apartment all the same, closing the door behind him and walking into the living room.

"It's not that cold in here. Get that jacket off, make yourself comfortable. What would you like? A beer? Whiskey? Wine? A cocktail perhaps."

"No thank you, I'm not eighteen yet."

Richard chuckled. "Come on now, that's just a guideline. It's not like I'd tell anyone."

"No, really, I don't drink."

"Really? I thought all your type drank."

Zane's lips thinned slightly. "I don't know what you mean by my type."