I walk up to the guy. The smell of tobacco fills my senses. I tamp the instinct to take a deep inhale and savor it like I haven’t had a drag for almost a decade. Mostly because I haven’t. Also,thisElliot is still a smoker. One who often forgets to bring his own pack.
“Can I bum a smoke?” I ask Drew, a hesitant smile on my face.
“Yeah, sure,” he hands me a cigarette and holds out his lighter. I take a big puff. My first in seven years. The things you do to make people like you. If I weren’t going to murder this guy in cold blood, I’d have felt like a peer-pressured teenager.
I lean back against the wall beside him.
I turn my head to the side, then up to look at him. “I’m Elliot, by the way.”
He nods. “Drew,” he says. I detect a slight southern accent.
“I know,” I say.
“Oh yeah?” His posture remains laidback. Why wouldn’t it? A mere human half his size isn’t a threat, not when you have no compunctions about killing them.
“Oh, yeah,” I wink at him.
“What do you want then, Elliot?” he turns to his side, shoulders leaning against the filthy wall.
My gaze lingers on his. I smirk at him. “What do you have to offer me, Drew?”
He laughs low. “Don’t play with fire, boy. Tell me what you want or leave me the fuck alone,” he smirks. A little short on patience, this Drew.
“You’re no fun,” I whine. “Alright, I want you to take care of me.” I bat my eyelashes at him.
“You trying to party or sleep?”
“Let’s say party,” I say.
He nods. I put my hand inside my pocket and then sneakily transfer the money into his jacket.
Before I can even register, his hand moves into my jacket pocket, then retreats just as quickly. “Now fucking leave,” he grumbles, looking ahead, dismissing me.
I still smile at him before begrudgingly dropping the cigarette and crushing it under my shoe, instead of poking Drew’s eyes with it. Just a few days, and he won’t be this smug anymore. Just a few days, and he’ll never hurt anyone anymore.
I head towards the back door of the club, a little put out by the fact that even the sleaziest people don’t suspect me of being a cop. Can’t you be a little uncertain? Would asking a few questions be that much trouble?
Then the loud music kills my brain’s ability to think as soon as I enter the club, which is good, because now is not the time to be insecure about my height.
I order a drink at the bar and sip it slowly. “Are you looking for company?” A man slides up to me and stands close, too close.
I look him up and down. Tight leather pants and a leather vest. In this weather. In a sweaty club in downtown LA. I pointedly look ahead, deciding complete disregard is what he deserves.
“Yeah, whatever,” he says and slinks away.
I wait for another fifteen minutes, accepting this as punishment for every time I’ve been mean to another person. Yes, I know it’s my default setting. Yes, this still feels like too much just for that.
The music is making my brain vibrate to a tune I’ve never heard before nor would want to hear again. The sweaty bodies brushing against me every few seconds send shivers down my whole body. A man staring at me from the corner makes me too aware of myself.
I wouldn’t wish this on my worst enemy. If this really is a punishment, I’m going to need to learn to smile more.
When I'm finally back in my car, I take a long breath free of sweat and alcohol. Small blessings. Then, I call Sam before starting the engine.
“He didn’t even ask me if I was a cop,” I complain as soon as he picks up.
Sam sighs. “Don’t worry, dude. I’m sure deep, deep inside, he was trembling with fear. That’s why he didn’t ask any questions,” he says with mock honesty.
“I could be a cop. Doesn’t take much to be one,” I grumble.
