Page 152 of Long Way Down

“Right.”

Her phone buzzed – a long, proper buzz from a call, rather than a text, and she said a silent thanks for the break in their stilted dialogue.

She frowned, though, when she saw the name on the screen, one that belonged to a recently-programed number: Dana Brown.

~*~

Benjamin – Ben – said he was “desperate” for a green tea, and left them at a window table while he went to buy one. Pongo dragged the chairs into position so that Ben could sit with his profile toward Contreras, looking all conspicuous and cop-like a few tables away, which put him and Kat sitting shoulder-to-shoulder on the same side of the table.

“Cozy,” Pongo remarked.

“Are you going to keep doing that?” Kat growled under his breath.

“Probably. Mav says it’s a compulsion and I can’t seem to make it stop.”

Kat rolled his eyes and lifted his cup to use as a shield for his mouth. “What’s your read on this guy?” he asked, quietly.

“Dunno. Kinda sweaty. Kinda big enough to beat a girl unconscious. He’s not giving me rapist vibes straight off, though.”

“Hm.” If that was agreement or doubt, Pongo didn’t get to find out, because Ben returned, arriving with a vocal, blown-out breath, a scrape of his chair, and a fussy arranging of his jacket off the back of it.

“Okay, sorry about that. Thanks for waiting.” He scooted his chair in with an awful noise of its metal feet across the tile, attracting the scornful glances of the students sitting at the next table. He was tall, and obviously self-conscious about it if the way he curled forward was anything to go by. He wrapped both hands around his paper cup and offered them a crooked, though genuine-seeming smile. “So. Nick and Karl.” The fake names Pong had given him over the phone. “How did you hear about Eyes Ahead?”

Here was the part that was going to prove difficult for Pongo. He was an expert at putting people at ease, spinning stories until they settled down into their chairs and starting smiling and nodding along. Save Dixie, he could get a person off their guard within a matter of moments – and even she’d come around, hard nut to crack though she’d been.

But he didn’t seem like someone who needed to sit in a circle and talk about his urges to act out violent fantasies. He lacked that stone-faced, shifty, uncertain quality that hinted at a threat lying beneath the surface.

That was why it was Kat who cleared his throat and said, in a voice rougher than usual, “A friend recommended it. Said it helped him a lot.”

“Really?” Ben perked up, smile widening. “It’s always good to hear that a member felt helped enough to share us with others. Do you mind if I ask who it was?”

“Tobias Santini,” Pongo said, a name Dixie had texted and told him to offer.

“Oh, Tobias!” Genuine like and warmth suffused Ben’s pink face. “He’s wonderful. Been a member for years, and always happy to help guide new members through their initial meetings.”

“Yeah, he’s…swell,” Pongo said.

“He’s brought us several members, over the years. Coworkers and classmates. He’s really helped us grow.”

“That’s…good.” A little frantically, Pongo realized he was not at all equipped for this particular acting gig. He was trying to mimic Kat’s expression, drawing on all his silent dinners spent across from Toly, and thought he was failing. What was he supposed to do with hishands? Would an angry rapist-wannabe put them in his lap? Or press them flat to the table?

“Well,” Ben said, swapping a look between them when nothing else was forthcoming. “If you’re here, I’m assuming it’s because you’re interested in attending a meeting?”

They both nodded.

“Good! Well, we meet on Tuesday nights, like I said over the phone. Room 15 at the rec center. We take turns bringing refreshments, and once a month we have a movie night.”

Movie night? Pongo cleared his throat. “What sorts of movies?”

“Our members find it helpful to watch movies that depict – certain acts. Of all types. Afterward, we discuss how witnessing a fictionalized version of events made us all feel. For some, it’s a kind of release all on its own, like a vicarious experience. For others, it creates frustration: being able to see without participating. Our members experience a range of impulses, each with his own tolerance and levels of self-control.

“The ultimate goal, though,” he continued, elbows spreading across the table, warming to his topic, “is to work on honing that self-control. Having impulses, wants and desires isn’t a crime – it’s whether or not we act on those desires that determines our fates.”

It was an effort to keep his expression even. A darted glance to the side proved that Kat looked extra-blank; his top lip twitched, and Pongo imagined he wanted to sneer.

“Okay,” Pongo said, “so, other than watching movies, how else do you help members with self-control?”

~*~