When Perfect Meets Crazy

23 - Fool me once

"Real funny," Masked Idiot grumbled, falling into step with me as I walked along the curb, making the short trek to our vehicles.

"I thought it was." I shrugged.

The tutoring session had gone well, my student was improving by leaps and to top it off, I made Masked Idiot hang around, reacquainting himself with the great outdoors for a whole hour and a half which he had to have hated.

All things considered, I was feeling pretty good about myself.

I stole a glance at his profile, silently debating whether or not to follow through with my plan.

I had stewed over it the entire time I was tutoring. He knew too much about me. Sure, I didn't necessarily think he would do anything to hurt me but something had been off about him all week. I couldn't shake the feeling something bad was going to happen.

I needed to find a soft spot to press, just in case.

I sneakily took a picture of him while I was in the Davidsons' house. It involved a lot of zooming in and improvisation but I managed it.

Explaining why I was standing at the window with my phone up wasn't a pleasant experience but I got the picture so it was worth it. As soon as I could, I was going to ask Parker to look into him for me.

Hopefully, there won't ask too many questions about why.

Now it was time for phase two.

"I have a theory I want to run by you," I informed him.

His brows rose, confused surprise colouring his features.

"Ohh-kay." He slowed his pace. "I'll do my best to help."

"Oh, don't worry about that. Your expression will tell me when I get warm."

"My... expression?" He frowned, stopping in his tracks.

"Don't worry about it one bit. I have that part covered." I flashed him an innocent smile. "It's something I learnt from my dad. It's part of the theory."

He nodded and gestured for me to get on with it.

I stopped, drew in a deep breath, schooled my face into expressionless mask and faced him.

A rich kid as an underground fighter didn't make sense for so many reasons and I definitely wasn't mistaken about him being rich. His watches that I had seen so far included a Mueller, a Rolex, three Cartiers, two Hublots and a few Richard Milles.

And those were just the ones I recognized.

That and his hefty donation at the gala pretty much confirmed the rich kid theory.

No illegal job paid that much.

Well, drug trade and armed robbery aside. Fortunately, I was willing to bet I was a better shot than he was so that cancelled out high stakes armed robber. That and I had never seen a gun on his person. It was doubtful he had one or he would've pulled it out on me already, to put the fear of God in me and whatnot.

On the other hand, he didn't have the looks of a drug dealer. His nose was too straight and his eyes too communicative for a dealer. And if despite all the reasons he couldn't be one, he was, I would've known. I would've been told.

I may or may not sort of have a contact in the drug network. A friend of a friend situation. It wasn't a relationship I was proud of or one that I formed knowingly but, yeah, I had a few skeletons in my closet before Masked Idiot rolled around. 

Anyway, the only plausible explanation left was that there was some obscure convoluted reason for his illegal activities. One that didn't involve money.