Still, there’s no way I’m going to a second location with Thrasher fucking Thompson. My best shot at a confession would be taking him upstairs, but that would violate the sacred space of Cece’s apartment, not to mention my body. What I need is to stall this asshole. Give myself time to plan without him pushing for sex. Ideally, I’d get him to butt-chug a bunch of Stones ginger wine, but even I don’t think I can pull that off.
“I really want fairy bread ice cream,” I blurt. “You know, from Duck Island?”
Thrasher doesn’t bat an eyelid. “Let’s go get some.”
I sigh prettily. “I’d love to, but I promised Cece I’d work tonight.”
“Fuck her.”
I cast a deliberately shifty look at the bar. “I could leave early. Maybe when the dinner crowd clears out?”
Obviously, Cece wouldn’t give a damn if I ditched my fake-shift, but implying she would sets a good precedent: I break the rules foryou, Thrasher, andyoubreak the rules for me. For example, by talking about your dodgy bookkeeping whilst I record you.
“Bail,” Thrasher says. “Need to get it done, don’t we?”
Ten guesses what ‘it’ is. The first nine don’t count.
“I want to, but I have to stay until at least eight, and Duck Island closes before then. Could you maybe…?”
Thrasher gives me a sharklike smile. He thinks he’s winning, and why not? No more trying to convince me that having sex with him will be ‘fun’ or ‘a good idea.’ Now it’s a straight-up exchange.
“Sure, babe,” he says. “I’ll head there now.”
“Yay!” I bounce in my seat. “You mean it? You’llreallyget me fairy bread ice cream?”
“If I do, can I eat it out of you?”
I dunno, Thrasher, can you die from swallowing too much of your vomit?I push the thought aside and gasp theatrically. “Daniel! You’d really do that to me?”
“Yeah, babe. Tons of girls have told me I’m the best at it.”
Sure, Thrasher. And Viggo Mortensen once told me I have beautiful eyes. Oh, wait, that actually happened, and the women who think you’re great at giving head were invented in it.
“Oh my gosh!” I squeal. “Dan!”
“Whaddya think?” He presses. “You want it?”
“Um, if you really get me ice cream… I think… yeah… you can do that to me.” I touch a finger to my lips. “Gosh, I can’t believe I said that. Tequila makes mesoeasy…”
“Good,” Thrasher says, the cold burn back in his eyes. “I’d better get going, then.”
“Thanks so much, Dan.”
“Sure.” He leans forward to kiss my cheek, bathing me in his sour breath. “I’m gonna smash your box like a piñata.”
I wish someone would smash my head like a piñata. “That sounds amazing.”
He gets to his feet with a truly terrifying grin. “Then I’ll see you soon.”
“Bye!” I call, then remember the baggie pressed against the underside of my left boob.
“Hang on, do you want your…?” I gesture vaguely at my bodice.
Thrasher pauses, then shakes his head. “Keep it on you.”
I watch him exit the bar, bile curdling in my stomach. Leaving his coke with me isn’t generosity, it’s a contingency plan. If I ditch Thrasher before he’s back with ice cream, or throw the baggie away, he can call the cops and say I’m holding, claim Stabbies is a front for drugs, get me banged up for possession, all manner of ugly things. He might be an idiot, Thrasher, but I can’t deny he’s a man of low cunning.
I stare at the tabletop. I should be sprinting upstairs to plant my burner phone somewhere strategic and hit record. But I can’t move.
