“You brought a date,” he said, a smirk on his face.
“Oh, no, I just… first day working with me, my treat,” Tara said. “You two can talk. He told me you two would talk.”
“Tara—”
“No, it’s OK,” she said to me. “I’ll see you tomorrow?”
I nodded. Tara smiled. A brief hesitation came as it looked like she wanted to hug me, even kiss me. But neither of us did anything, only making jerky movements before Tara yanked herself away, leaving behind a Guinness beer that she’d had two, perhaps three sips of.
“Who was that?” Cole said.
“Just a friend,” I said.
Cole arched an eyebrow at me and chuckled.
“Not a date.”
“That’s what they all say.”
“They all?” I said with a chuckle. “No, for real, I can’t. Doing anything with her, that would be bad news.”
Cole laughed again.
“Yeah, I said that about Lilly too. And Axle said that about Rose, and Lane about Angela… but you’ll see.”
He took a seat across from me. Cole nodded to the bartender, rested his feet in the booth, and put one arm on the table.
“You, uh, you want Tara’s beer?” I said. “Can’t let it go to waste.”
“Nah, you can take it with you when we go upstairs.”
“Upstairs?”
“You don’t think I’m going to talk to you here in a public place, do you?” he said. “Why do you think I avoided talking to you at the gas station? I just had to make sure you’d show up. I’m taking you up to my place. You don’t have any weapons on you, right?”
“Nope.”
“Good, because the complex won’t let you,” he said. “Well, not officially.”
He stood up from the booth.
“C’mon. I’ll make sure there are no cops nearby. But take your beer. Can’t let it go to waste.”
* * *
“Going upstairs” was so close to being literal that had there not been a grocery store between Reapers and the high-rise condo complex that Cole lived at, the two could have very well been the same building. I kept my arms tucked close to me, but the security guard by the entrance seemed to not mind my carrying the beers. Cole led me to an elevator and took me up to the top floor.
“What is it, exactly, that you do?” I said.
Cole folded his arms and shrugged.
“My wife’s an actress,” he said. “I used to do some work in small-town California. I consider myself retired now, though I suppose if you had to label me, you could call me a biker.”
I smirked. I couldn’t help myself.
“I didn’t think bikers lived like this,” I said.
“You’d be surprised what kind of money is in that world,” he said. “Although, to be fair, I had a bit of a windfall about a year ago.”
