I took Hazel’s hand. As I grabbed my jacket and sunglasses out of the locker, I overheard Hazel as she picked through the dusty remains. “Shit. Where is it?” she muttered.
“What’s up?” I asked, closing the door on my locker.
“Nothing,” she said. She slammed hers closed too. “Let’s go. Now.”
I didn’t feel bad about leaving a mess. The only thing I felt bad about was my friend, who would probably never be able to suggest a hire again. But I had warned him that we might be out quickly, and he didn’t care.
Hazel had her arms crossed, shaking her head to herself as the waitresses scoffed. I held her close, guarding her, protecting her, reminding her that I was there for her. Reminding myself.
He won’t be there forever.
I loosened my grip. The stalker was right. I had to remember that my ultimate goal was to prepare Hazel for any dangers that lay ahead. In case I wasn’t there.
There was a chance that the stalker was still around. Based on my memories of the ID photos from the Afterglow, as long as the person wasn’t disguised, I could find them. I grabbed Hazel’s hand. She glanced up at me, waiting for an explanation, but I pulled her in different directions, seizing the doors of restaurants and stores, hurrying through casinos, searching for the suspect. For anything.
But there was no one. Every face was another tourist or local trying to make a quick buck in Sin City. Nothing was out of the ordinary.
We walked down the center of Fremont Street, the zip line whirring above us. An Elvis Impersonator was singing and gyrating on a stage to the side. Poorly dressed superheroes posed with drunk bachelorettes, and a small audience had gathered around a musician playing the steel drum. But none of it distracted Hazel. She looked around, biting her nails.
“You were looking for him,” she said. “He’s here.”
“How do you know it’s a man?” I asked. We kept walking towards the car, parked in a small lot off of the main street. “It could be a wo—”
“Grant!” she yelled, hitting my arm. She pointed to the side. “He’s here!”
Oliver in his signature top hat came barrelling towards us. A toothpick of a man charging forth like a bull.
I put an arm in front of Hazel, blocking her.
“What do you want?” I asked him.
“What the fuck do you think?” Oliver asked. “Step aside. This is between me and the cunt.”
I clenched my fist.
“I swear I wouldn’t have left the coke out if I had known. I would have taken it myself—”
“You act like youleftit out. Yougaveit to him. Like Eric told you to.”
“Oliver,” I said in a gruff voice.
“She doesn’t even have tits, man. And that cunt is probably worn out, the way she ran through Dean and the rest of our group.”
Words were words. I wouldn’t fight him for an insult. But damn it. I wanted to punch that sonofabitch in the jaw.
“Shut your fucking mouth,” I said.
“Or what?” He stepped closer. “What’re you going to do? Defend your sloppy seconds?’
Suddenly he swung his fist to the side, aiming for Hazel. She gasped and I shoved her out of the way. He came after me next, his fist flying, and I dodged, ducking at the right time, angling myself so that when I straightened, my fist came full speed, smacking into his eye full force, knocking him to the ground.
My knuckles hurt. It had been a long time since I had punched someone that hard.
“Shit,” Oliver yelled as he held his eye. “Mother fucker.”
A crowd had formed around us. Some of them had phones out, recording us. We couldn’t finish this here.
I held out a hand. Oliver glared at me, then took it. But as he tried to get up, I stayed in place, keeping him low to the ground.
