Page 78
Story: The Angel Maker
The owner called across.
“What can I get you, sir?”
The man didn’t look up.
“Coffee.”
His voice was as weathered as his body.
“Black.”
The owner nodded and retreated to the counter.
The man walked slowly over to where Chris was sitting and took the seat across from him, his gaze directed down at the table between them.
“So—” Chris began.
But the man held up a hand.
“No. You have your drink. You will have the courtesy to wait for mine.”
“Okay.”
Chris leaned back and waited, the two of them sitting in silence. He found himself staring at the rose in the man’s lapel. The red was one of the deepest colors he could remember seeing. Then the owner came across, breaking the spell. He put the man’s cup carefully down on the table. As he did so, Chris noticed his hands were trembling.
The old man picked up his coffee and sipped it. It was surely far too hot to drink right now, but if the temperature bothered the man at all, then he did not show it.
“So,” Chris said again.
“So indeed.”
The man still had not looked at him. But now he did—although he seemed to gather himself together a little before doing so. When he finally looked up, Chris could feel his gaze moving over his face, taking in every detail, as though the old man was looking for something there.
And whatever it was, he found it.
The blankness of his expression was interrupted by the briefest flash of anger.Hatredeven. And whatever the reason for it, Chris suddenly thought that he was in trouble. Faced with the coldness seated across from him, he felt like a child again. And while he had taken precautions by not bringing the book itself to the café, they no longer seemed enough. He was out of his depth here. And he was swimming with sharks.
But what choice did he have?
“You have the money?” Chris said.
“Yes.” The old man tapped the briefcase. “And you have the book?”
“No, but it’s somewhere nearby.”
“With your boyfriend?”
Chris stared at the old man for a second.
How did he know about James? But then he remembered how he had felt over the past few weeks. The sensation of being watched and followed. The half-glimpsed figure on the street outside their apartment.
There was the slightest of smiles on the old man’s face now. As though this was a game in which he was several moves ahead of Chris and knew all the ones ahead were about to play out to his benefit.
“Who are you?” Chris said.
“My name isn’t important. All that matters is that I am a man of my word.”
With his gaze not leaving Chris’s, the old man placed the briefcase on the table between them and unlocked it.
Table of Contents
- Page 1
- Page 2
- Page 3
- Page 4
- Page 5
- Page 6
- Page 7
- Page 8
- Page 9
- Page 10
- Page 11
- Page 12
- Page 13
- Page 14
- Page 15
- Page 16
- Page 17
- Page 18
- Page 19
- Page 20
- Page 21
- Page 22
- Page 23
- Page 24
- Page 25
- Page 26
- Page 27
- Page 28
- Page 29
- Page 30
- Page 31
- Page 32
- Page 33
- Page 34
- Page 35
- Page 36
- Page 37
- Page 38
- Page 39
- Page 40
- Page 41
- Page 42
- Page 43
- Page 44
- Page 45
- Page 46
- Page 47
- Page 48
- Page 49
- Page 50
- Page 51
- Page 52
- Page 53
- Page 54
- Page 55
- Page 56
- Page 57
- Page 58
- Page 59
- Page 60
- Page 61
- Page 62
- Page 63
- Page 64
- Page 65
- Page 66
- Page 67
- Page 68
- Page 69
- Page 70
- Page 71
- Page 72
- Page 73
- Page 74
- Page 75
- Page 76
- Page 77
- Page 78 (Reading here)
- Page 79
- Page 80
- Page 81
- Page 82
- Page 83
- Page 84
- Page 85
- Page 86
- Page 87
- Page 88
- Page 89
- Page 90
- Page 91
- Page 92
- Page 93
- Page 94
- Page 95
- Page 96
- Page 97
- Page 98
- Page 99
- Page 100
- Page 101
- Page 102
- Page 103
- Page 104
- Page 105
- Page 106
- Page 107
- Page 108
- Page 109
- Page 110
- Page 111
- Page 112
- Page 113
- Page 114
- Page 115
- Page 116
- Page 117
- Page 118
- Page 119
- Page 120