Unworthy Of Love (BXB)

31. The Deal Is Off

His reaction is immediate. The moment the door locks click, his hand darts down to his right boot and then comes up with a thin blade that he points at my face.

"Unlock the doors," he says. "Unlock the fucking doors!"

I catch his wrist and push the sharp steel away from my face; then twist his hand so that the blade flies into the back seat. His tries to unclench my fingers with his free hand, then throws it forward, trying to stick his finger in my eye.

"Stop it," I snarl, avoiding the blow and catching his second wrist as well.

"Unlock the doors, you psycho!" He tries desperately to shake me off, then twists in his seat and hits me in the stomach with his foot. I gasp and let go. He turns to the window and slams his elbow into it. The glass doesn't break; he hisses with pain and turns to me again.

"Open the door! I told you I don't want no trouble!"

"I only want to talk," I say, trying to catch my breath.

"Yeah, right." He darts forward and reaches over me, trying to get to the button unlocking the doors. I grab him again, by his jacket this time, and push him away; there's a sound of tearing material, and one of his sleeves remains in my hands.

He pulls back and cowers in the corner of his seat, rubbing his elbow, glowering at me.

"Great," he says. "Just great."

"Calm down," I say. "Stop fighting."

"The deal is off, man, double price or triple price. This door-locking, jacket-tearing thing is not cool. You're messing with the wrong people here."

"I'm messing with a scum and a whore," I say. "And a druggie, I guess?" I catch his arm left bare by the torn sleeve and turn it wrist up. The pale skin is dotted by red marks, some old, some clearly fresh. "What is it?"

"A freaking tattoo, what do you think it is?" He wrenches his hand out of my grip. "Are you a cop? If so, just arrest me and let's be done with it."

"I'm not a cop."

"Then who the fuck are you?" In a quick movement, he reaches out and pulls my scarf down, exposing my face.

His eyes go wide, and it seems everything freezes for a moment. We remain face to face, staring at each other. The hostility gradually slips out of his expression until all that's left is disbelief.

"Jamie?" he says at last.

"James," I say.

He pulls away slowly and plops back into his seat, never taking his eyes of me.

"Wow," he says. "Just...wow."

"Have you calmed down?"

He raises his hands, palms out. "I guess."

"Good," I say. "I don't want to fight. I want to talk."

"Aha."

"I'm taking you to some place. It's an empty warehouse in the port where I work. Just a quiet place we could talk without being interrupted."

"Why bother going places?" he says. "This one is pretty desolate. Just go ahead and smash my face in, maybe throw a couple of broken ribs into the bargain. That's what you intend to do anyway, isn't it?"

Ignoring him, I turn the key in the ignition.

We drive in silence. I watch him from the corner of my eye, especially when we hit the busier streets and stop at red lights. I half expect of him to try to attract attention of the pedestrians or other drivers, but he sits still, looking ahead. It reminds me of our drive home after the "Fake Drug" show. Except that back then we were talking, and now we aren't; back then I was smiling, and now I can't feel any less like it. Back then we both had a future; now it seems that neither of us does.

The gate arm rises as I press my employee tag to the scanning device by the entrance. I catch a glimpse of Bart in the booth; he raises his coffee cup in a greeting gesture. He's unlikely to ask any questions, not after I have warned him that I'd be dropping by with my date to spend some quality time in one of the deserted warehouses. I'm not the first of the guys on the night shift to do that. I wonder how much he can see as we drive past him, but with the makeup Raven's wearing, he's likely to be mistaken for a girl.

I park in front of the long brick building with dark glassless windows.

"Get out," I say, turning the engine off.

He leans forward and stares at the building through the windshield.

"This looks like a serial killer's lair," he says.

"I know this place. I sleep here sometimes, when I don't feel like driving home."

"Oh," he looks at me. "So, it's your lair? Seems even less inviting now."

"Get out. We go where I say we go, and there, we talk."

"Fine." He sighs and reaches for the door handle. "It's going to be a painful conversation, I can tell."

* If you enjoy the story, please vote or comment! It will really make my day! *