Page 4 of The Masked King

Demi?

I turn around, but she’s already walking away, heading towards the restrooms at the rear of the building.

Heart thumping, I half-fall from my stool and stumble after her. People move out of my way again, their faces blurring into one, but this time they’re avoiding me in case I crash into them. Through the doorway and into the dimly lit corridor, all I can hear is the voice whispered in my ear, “I know what you’re looking for.” All I can smell is Demi’s perfume, light with a hint of musk.

How did she find me?

Has she been following me around all this time, one step behind me while I was looking in the other direction?

Why speak to me now?

The corridor is empty. I lean against the wall, my thoughts spinning and my heart racing, and it occurs to me that Gina must’ve slipped drugs into my drink while I was preoccupied elsewhere. I fell for the classic trick: attractive woman pretends she isn’t interested, gains your trust, and the rest is easy.

I take a deep breath and start counting, as the exit door at the opposite end of the corridor clicks shut.

I didn’t imagine it. She was real.

Faster, I dodge a guy leaving the men’s restroom, my shoulder brushing the wall on the other side. I can’t let her get away. Not when she’s so close.

Yanking open the door, it bounces on its hinges as I step outside into the cool night air. The backyard is small, unlit, overgrown with nettles and knee-high weeds, two mini dumpsters pushed up against the back wall.

I trip over a metal container half-blocking the path, my footsteps heavy as I regain my balance. The yard is surrounded by a high wall with a rusty metal gate that wouldn’t deter a kitten, and beyond that, a narrow walkway separating this from the backyards of the premises on the next street.

There’s no sign of Demi.

If it was even her.

I stare left and right and wait for my pulse to regulate. Demi has avoided me for the last twelve months; if she wanted to be found, she would ride the private elevator up to my penthouse apartment and say, “I’m back. Did you miss me?”

I know her. That’s the fucking problem. I know her better than I know myself sometimes.

After talking to Gina, I heard what I wanted to hear.

I wanted someone to tell me that Demi is safe, even if she doesn’t want anything to do with me anymore.

No one slipped drugs into my brandy. I’m still lucid, even standing outside in the cool night air, I know exactly where I am and how close I came to making a fool of myself by following a stranger. This was all my own doing. The conversation stirred up feelings I’ve fought so hard to suppress, and I manifested Demi’s voice in my head.

“First sign of madness,” I mutter under my breath. “Talking to yourself.”

I turn around and head back towards the bar. I’ve still got a check to settle.

Something small and white on the back step catches my eye and I stop to pick it up. It’s a business card. I didn’t notice it on my way out, but I guess I wasn’t paying attention.

Written on the front of the card in shiny green font is the name and address of a club in Tribeca. JADED. On the back of the card, it says simply: Where fantasies come true.

2

DEMI

“Boss wants to see you.” Michelle grimaces as she passes my desk on the tenth floor of One Police Plaza, sits behind her own desk, and rolls her eyes as she answers the phone.

The boss is Detective Inspector Robert Goss, a round-faced man with graying ginger hair, wire-rimmed spectacles, and a predictable knack of spilling coffee on his shirt. Every. Single. Day. His laughter is loud. His yelling voice is louder. He’s a fair boss; treat him with respect, and he’ll do the same, but cross him, and you’ll be sorry.

“Did he say what it’s about?” I mouth, standing directly in front of Michelle so that she can lipread while she’s on the phone.

She shakes her head vigorously and gives me the shoulder.

Deep breath. I grab my jacket from the back of my seat and make my way along the grubby-walled corridor to his office.