Involved with the Mafia

6.

  Searching the petite space, I find a narrow shaped door, which seems to look like a closet. Twisting and pulling the knob, the door won't budge. Planting my feet sturdy on the ground, I pull at the door with all my might. The door swings open and I tumble to the ground.

  Ow.

  The room smells like dead rats and a weird earthy smell that violates the tiny space. There's a rack of multiple paints and brushes, tool boxes and a brown leather case at the bottom. My eyebrows furrow as I pull the case out of the closet. Specks of dust lift into the already pungent air and I sneeze.

  This must've belonged to the lady that owns the building. Searching the case, I find a lock that refrains me from opening it. Wrapping my fingers around the metal, rusted lock, I pull until my fingers turn white. It still won't budge.

Maybe she left the key here somewhere.

I make mental note of that while pushing the case back in the closet. Touching the paint cans, I view the colors. Red, Yellow, Light Blue, and Purple.

I look back at the empty wall space behind the main computer. Grabbing the paint brush, I pry the lid open and start painting the wall.

***

Placing my paintbrush down, my phone starts to ring. Careful not to get any paint on me, I slide off my gloves and pick up my phone. It's Wilson.

I press my phone to my chest, identifying my wrenching heartache.

I press it to my ear and wait for him to speak.

"Reece's cup?" His voice sounds unsure and familiar.

A smile cracks at my lips. "Woodrow Wilson?"

Both of us remain in a comfortable silence unti I hear the sound of a door close on the other side of the line.

"Reece, Klara told me everything. I'm so sorry for not being there. Where are you?"

I shake my head even though he couldn't see me. "Nowhere that should excite you, Wilson. Don't worry about me."

He sighs. "I worry about you, Reece," he whispers, "all the time..."

  I take a sharp intake of air and shift my weight on my left leg. "Wilson, please."

  "Reece where are you?"

  "You can't-"

  "Where are you, damnit?"

  "Ask Robby," I say, "It's not on me if you get caught by Klara."

  "She doesn't own me."

  "It sure seems like it." 

  Nobody speaks. When it's clear that he has nothing to say I speak, "Goodbye."

***

Next chapter will be an appropriate length. Sorry if I seem like a bad guy, but I like to keep the suspense. :)

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-Xx_Sabrina_x