Page 25 of Grind
So maybe he wasn’t the most refined kind of man and definitely needed a shower, but right now, Ezra didn’t need a guy in an Armani shirt. He needed a guy who could wield a baseball bat if need be.
“Okay, fine, just be on time,” Frank said, leaving Ezra bewildered.
Did he understand correctly? Paul was cominghere?
His hand squeezed Frank’s as the other man’s eyes narrowed. “You’re already on your way? What if I was away?” he asked, and while his voice remained steady, there was a twitch to his brow.
Shit.
Shit. Shit. Shit.
“Jag might have not been here— Okay, he’s always here, but he can be hard to find! I gotta get ready.” Frank turned off the phone, but while he hit the steering wheel with one hand, the other remained on Ezra’s. “Paul’s coming with a car for me. I couldn’t say no, it would have been suspicious. Here’s what we’ll do. I’ll call Jag, and he’ll take you to a safe spot for the time being. His boyfriend will hide your vehicle.”
Ezra gave a shuddery breath. “A car? What? At night? What might be possibly—” His voice died when he met Frank’s gaze with a terrible realization drilling at the back of his mind. “There was an unfamiliar vehicle at his home. It must have been the dead guy’s! Frank, he might send suspicions your way!”
As soon as he said that, he felt like the biggest idiot. Frank was bound to know there was something shady about the car. After all, he was receiving it at night. From a murderer.
“I’ll deal with it,” Frank said in the voice of someone who’d handled far worse shit in his life. His hand slipped out of Ezra’s grip, and he was already calling Jag as he left the car.
Every bit of Ezra’s body weighed a ton, and he hugged himself, staring at the single-storey home in front of him. The motion-activated lamp, which switched on as soon as Frank’s firm, bulky form moved toward it, only showed so much, but it looked like a place where one might find used needles in the sofa.
Wasthiswhere Frank spent the majority of his week? How could he afford Ezra’s services when he lived in this dump? His mouth dried when he lifted his hand to take in the Rolex. The grimy pieces of Frank’s life were falling into place, shedding light on things previously unexplained. The junkyard was only a front. For a fence.
Oh, this was bad.
Ezra’s teeth clattered as he hid his face in his hands, feeling trapped between a lesser evil and death. His mother warned him that he’d have to deal with shady people in this line of work, but he’d assumed he wouldn’t need to touch any of it, and dirty money was worth just as much as clean cash.
What next? Would he be kidnapped and moved to some illegal brothel, where he’d get hooked on drugs due to the bleakness of his life?
Movement in the corner of his eye distracted him from that terrible future, and even Frank flinched as a man dressed like a sci-fi warrior emerged from the darkness.
“Why didn’t you answer your phone?” Frank barked.
“I figured it would be faster to speak in person,” the freak said in that weird, gravelly voice.
Frank frowned and approached his… friend (?), but then gave his shoulder a shove. “Why were you close enough when I specifically told you to stay away?”
Jag shook his bush of hair. “Safety reasons.”
Frank threw his arms in the air. “I don’t have time for this, but wewillhave a chat later.”
Ezra had met this stranger at the gate. He’d appeared out of nowhere, asking for passwords, as if this was Fort Knox, but back then he’d stayed in the shadows. Now that he and Frank stood under the lamp, Ezra saw an outfit composed of mismatched junk and pieces of ripped fabric. It was as if a relatively talented child was attempting to dress as a character from some post-apocalyptic fantasy game, but this guy, Jag, surely wasn’t a cosplayer. One way or another, he was involved in Frank’s illicit business.
“I need you to take him to one of your dens east of here. Make sure he’s safe, don’t leave him behind or test him, understood?”
Jag frowned and his gaze landed on Ezra. Half of his face was sharply illuminated, while the other drowned in darkness. “Why?”
“I don’t have time to explain this. He’s important, and Paul is coming here any minute, so he can’t be found.”
Jag approached the car like an apprehensive cat.
Was Frank for real? This Jag person looked exactly like someone Ezra would cross the street to avoid. But then again, if the choice was between his company and certain death, was it really a choice?
Also, why the fuck would JagtestEzra?
Choked up, he waved at Jag, who approached him with a pinched face, as if he was never taught that one ought to hide emotions among strangers. He opened the door on Ezra’s side.
“Let’s go,” he said, but then frowned, and leaned in to… smell Ezra.