He let go of the blinds. The door remained closed. Really? The fucker wasn’t going to open it. “You’ve got thirty seconds to open this door before I start blasting an Oingo Boingo song and telling your neighbors you’re the lead singer.”
“Go away, Quinn.”
“No can do, bud.”
“I got nothing to say to you.”
“Fair enough. Just open up and listen, then.”
No movement. I checked my watch. “Fifteen seconds. Let’s see, should I play ‘Weird Science’ or ‘Just Another Day’?”
The door swung open, and I jumped back. Wow. Hello, Chewbacca. It was clear he’d fallen on hard times, but then, when had he ever not been in the throes of a hard time? His hair fell down to his mid back, which in and of itself wasn’t bad, but his coif had begun matting, and not in the cool way. Deodorant: needed. Toenail clippers: industrial-size needed. But that beard. Holy fuck. We might need a weed whacker for that monstrosity. Clearly I’d underestimated the project he would be.
“What do you want?” he asked.
“There’s this thing called a razor, dude.”
“I like my beard.”
“Ah, high self-esteem. Way to go. Just one question: isn’t your beard annoying in the summer?”
“No, Quinn, manliness is not seasonal.”
I laughed. “Can I come in?”
“I’d prefer you not.”
It was then I saw his red-rimmed eyes and the blood-tinged tape wrapped around his wrists and fingers. What had he been doing in here before I knocked?
“This is actually really important, dude. You’ll want to hear it.”
His expression shifted. Worry. “Grace?”
I rocked back, stunned. Why would he ask that? Did he still have a thing for my sister? Ah, shit. Maybe I hadn’t thought this through clearly.
“No. She’s fine. Great, really.”
Was that relief? Frustration? I wasn’t sure what he was projecting under all that hair.
“I’ve got things to do, Quinn. I’m shutting the door now. Say goodbye.”
“Come on, man. I drove all the way out here. Aren’t you the least bit curious what I have to say?”
“I think last time we talked, you said everything I wanted to hear. Look, I’m really sorry about what you went through, and I wish you luck, but you and me, we don’t do well in enclosed rooms.”
“All right. Then talk to me here.”
He looked behind me, clearly not wanting his neighbors to overhear our conversation, before sighing and allowing me entrance. I scanned the scantily furnished room. Tan everything. A sofa I just knew had been dragged in from the dumpster sat in the middle of the room. A TV. A tray table and half a dozen overturned buckets with a stool in the middle. That was what I was looking for. I smiled.
He followed my gaze. “I can’t afford a set.”
“But you still play.”
He looked down. “I still play.”
“Good. I need you.”
“For what?”
