Page 16

CHAPTER 16

Max

T he next day, I sit in my car outside the restaurant, Delicate Sea, staring at my reflection in the mirror. The dark circles under my eyes are unavoidable considering the last few days I’ve had. I wonder, would Ben even think I look halfway appealing in my present state?

I muss my hair and sigh. London would not be happy that I hadn’t stopped to get a quick trim before going on our first date. She always tells me, ‘ if you don’t show you care, he won’t either ’. Which reminds me that I need to reach out to her tonight. I tried giving her a call, but it had gone straight to voicemail. She hasn't gotten back to me about the mystery box and its gruesome contents and that isn’t like her.

The nerves are getting the best of me, and I start tugging at my shirt which seems way too tight around my muscular torso. It's been quite a while since I've last gone on a date—some stupid dating app London signed me up on. She even swiped right and left until she found the perfect match. The date had ended with me considering a restraining order. Never doing that again.

Better get inside before I chicken out , I think. I get out of the car and walk toward the front door of Delicate Sea, stopping to inspect my reflection one last time in the glass door. When did my skin become so pale? Normally, I am the typical light-skinned Hispanic guy with smooth skin, dark eyes and hair. Now… it’s as if I’ve aged a bit, the dark circles under my eyes didn’t help either.

The restaurant is formal and requires a tie; not something I'm used to wearing. I smile at how my outfit has come together so nicely. The monochromatic look of my black tie on black fitted shirt and suit was London's brilliant idea the last time I went out. I straighten my tie and reach for the door.

The hostess beats me to it and opens it wide. “Welcome to The Delicate Sea.”

“Thank you,” I say as I pass her into the entryway.

The cute young woman hurries over to the computer. “I’m so sorry, sir, but we are full for the rest of the evening. Unless you made a reservation in advance?” Her expression is full of doubt, like she's already preparing to feign disappointment and send me on my way.

I read the clock on the wall. “I’m actually a few minutes late. My date is probably waiting for me inside.”

A huge smile crosses her face. “Oh, wonderful. What’s the name for the reservation?”

“Benjamin Cooper ,” I say, wondering if Ben would have used his first name or put it under Doctor.

She references the list of tables and taps the screen. “Yes, he’s already seated. Can I offer you anything while you wait to be escorted to the table? Your server will be here in a few moments, but if you’d like to start with a wine, I’d be happy to bring you a glass.”

“I’m okay to wait until I’ve been seated to order, but thank you.”

“Great. In the meantime, you are welcome to rest in the entry.” She motions to the plush leather furniture to the side of the front door.

“Thank you so much.” I turn and take a seat in the comfortable plush leather chair. I close my eyes for a moment and listen to the relaxing music playing; instrumental and soothing. After a few seconds, other ambient sounds begin to trickle into my consciousness—a bubbling water feature and the soft chirps of birds brought it all together for me. It was delightful.

“Mr. Salgado?” says a young gentleman wearing a black apron over formal attire, sans the jacket, as he approaches. “Please come with me. I’ll show you to your table.”

I stand and follow. The restaurant is filled to capacity, every table utilized, even the single seaters along the back wall. Servers quickly bustle from table to table but never appear hurried. We move deeper through the establishment, past a bar in the center of the room. Back-lit bottles of top-shelf liquor fill the glass shelves. Surrounding the bar itself are beautiful light panels depicting seventeenth-century Japanese scenery, replete with cherry blossoms, geishas, and samurais. The bartenders are dressed in fancy Japanese-inspired tuxedos. Even the patrons who occupy every padded stool surrounding the bar are in fine attire.

The place is great—splendid enough to almost allow me to forget my problems.

“Max,” Ben says as he stands at our approach.

“Hi, Ben.” I rush over and give him a quick hug and a peck on the cheek.

The server pulls the large white chair from under the table. “Sir?”

I sit. “Thank you.” Ben sits as well, never taking his eyes off me.

“My name is Yamato, and I will be your server this evening. What may I bring you to drink? We have a large selection of wines and liquors that pair well with each of the menu choices.”

I smile. “I saw that as we walked past the bar. I think I’ll have a Belvedere Vodka and tonic.” It’s my favorite go-to drink when I top-shelf booze is available and when I don’t want to think too hard about it.

“Very good choice, sir.” He places the one-page menu in front of me. “I’ll come back shortly to take your order preferences.”

“Ben, this place is lovely,” I say. “It’s modern with the black and white color designs and yet has a classic old world Japanese opulence to it.”

“I’m glad you like it.” He puts the napkin on his lap and leans in. “To be honest, I rarely come to places like this.”

“Oh?”

“No… too fussy, but this is perfect for a first date out on the town.” He smiles and the dimples deepen.

“Have you ever been here? What would you recommend I order?”

Ben nods. “A couple of times, but I always seem to get the same thing, the lobster is to die for.”

“Sounds delicious.” I look down at the menu. No prices. I know what that means, I think. “I might just have the drink I ordered.”

“It’s the no-price thing, isn’t it?” Ben asks. “Pretentious, right?”

I bite my tongue not wanting to sound ungrateful for the invitation, but I wasn’t expecting Ben to buy my dinner. This isn’t the 1960s and I’m not a mooch, but there’s no way I’m going to consciously order a dinner that, with tip, costs me a full day’s wage.

“How about this,” Ben says. “I’ll buy this time, and you can get me the next?”

Seems fair. “Deal.” I smile .

Yamato approaches the table. “Here is a flight of soup broths. Each one a sample of what’s to come and each from a different region of Japan. Have either of you tried Ashitibichi?”

Both Ben and I shake our heads, and I’m very much intrigued.

“The second sample is the Ashitibichi. It is comfort food in Japan. I can swear by its powers of healing.” The waiter rubs his tummy and smiles.

“So, kind of like chicken noodle soup here in the states?” I ask.

“Yes.” Yamato nods. “But with pig’s feet. No chicken in there. Enjoy. I will be back around to take your orders in a moment.”

I watch the waiter leave. “Which one had the pig’s feet in it?”

Ben shrugs. “I’m not sure, but I am definitely excited to try them all.”

I look down at the sampler of soup and sigh. When in Rome.

Moments later. “Your drink, sir.” Yamato places the drink with a twist of lime on the table. “Might I offer a few suggestions from the menu?”

“That’d be great,” Ben says.

“Tonight, chef has prepared a sinfully divine whole lobster. The sides tonight for this menu option are garlic mashed potato, buttered biscuits, and your choice of shrimp, prawns, or scallops. The other specialty dish today are the nude rolls. They are a delicate blend of raw salmon, tuna, avocado, cucumber, wrapped in rice paper and topped with eel sauce, Tobiko Roe, and ginger.”

“Sounds amazing,” I say, handing back the menu. “I’ll take that.”

“And for you, sir? ”

“I’ll have the same.”

“You won’t be sorry,” Yamato says, tucking the menus under his arm. “I’ll check back with you in a few minutes.”

“Thank you,” I say and watch him walk away.

“Without sounding too forward, you look very handsome this evening.”

I blush. “Ben, you’re very kind. Thank you.” I can’t believe I’m getting misty-eyed. “If I’m being honest, I wasn’t sure what you’d think of my appearance today.”

“Why?” A look of surprise on Ben’s face.

I look down at myself for the briefest of moments. “I’ve looked better and the last few days have been… weird for me.”

There’s a momentary pause as Ben’s shock seems to fade and the kindest expression I’ve seen on a man settles over him. “You are such a beautiful soul, Max. Worrying about what I would think of you.” He shakes his head slightly. “It’s me who is constantly fretting over being the one you’ll find acceptable. You could never look… weird to me.”

My face flushes hot and my tummy flutters with desire. His words hit me just right and are exactly what I need. Say something , I internally beg myself not to ruin the moment. “You’re beautiful too.”

What the fuck, Max? Stop it right now.

Ben smiles and takes a sip of the red wine he’d ordered before I arrived. After letting silence fill the space between us for what seems like forever, but is probably no longer than what is perfectly normal, he says, “How are things for the new exhibit at work going?”

“Slow.” I sigh. “There is always so much to prepare for with a new exhibit. Each of the pieces has to be reexamined and authenticated. Once that is done, we have to make sure there wasn’t any damage incurred during transport.”

“Sounds tedious,” he says. “Although, I bet it’s kind of exciting too. Handling such antiquities must be surreal. ”

“You’re absolutely right and I am going to remember your words when my back starts to hurt from leaning over the examination table too long.” I chuckle. “I never got to ask you about the day you subbed at the university. How’d it go being a professor for a day? I hope the students weren’t too big of a pain in the ass for you.”

“It was fun. Glad it’s not my full-time job, but it was nice. I’d say nearly half the students stayed awake, and maybe a third of those students actually participated.”

I laugh. “Morning classes can be rough sometimes.”

He nods. “I gathered that when I heard the first of three students snoring in the back of the room.”

“Brutal.” I take a sip of my vodka tonic. “What did you do when you heard it?”

He laughs. “What could I do? The guy looked so comfortable. Hood up, face buried in his arms on the desk… drool.”

“No,” I say. “Drool?”

Ben nods and laughs. “I swear it.”

“You’re a saint, Dr. Cooper.”

“No, please. Saints have too much to live up to and they don’t have any fun. At least not that kind of fun.” He waggles his eyebrows.

Before I can say something flirtatious back to him, Yamato shows up to the table and places a red colored drink in front of me.

“Mr. Salgado,” he says, his voice trembling as if unsure of himself. “A gentleman at the bar has sent over a Negroni.” He clears his throat as the tension grows at the table. He looks at Ben and then back to me. “Would you like me to take it away?”

“No,” Ben says. “It’s fine.”

“Yes, sir,” Yamato says. “Thank you, sir.”

“Which gentleman at the bar sent it?” I ask, craning my neck past the waiter .

Yamato looks back toward the bar and then at me. “The man sitting on the far side with the white hat.”

I strain to see from my seated position. Something doesn’t feel right, but I can’t make sense of my own feelings. “I don’t see him.”

“He’s right there, sir… with the hat. Looks like an old butcher-type cap.” He smiles and walks away.

Butcher.

I fight hard to keep my emotions in check as my heart races and stomach plummets through the floor.

“Everything okay?” Ben asks. “Max?”

Ignoring him, I stand, my eyes searching. Sitting at the far side of the bar, staring right at me, is the devil himself. The L.A. Butcher. I take a staggered step away from the seat but catch my balance and snatch the knife from the table. Without a word, I rush forward, eyes trained on the twisted smile, dark, deep-set eyes, and monstrous face of the man who changed my world—forever.

Suddenly, a table of ten or more people stand, preparing to leave and obstructing not only my visual line, but also my forward movement. Careful not to stab anyone with the knife I clench, I turn sideways to slide past and through the group.

When I pop out the other side, I stop dead. The seat where The Butcher had been sitting is now empty.

“Fuck,” I whisper under my breath. Scanning my surroundings, I look for that damn white hat but realize The Butcher had been smart enough to remove it. Turning left, then right, the room begins to spin. Two quick steps and I’m at the seat where the madman had been. I begin looking for a clue, anything that’d been left behind. Had he left me another calling card? A message? I slap the knife on the bar top. “Where is he?”

The two closest people turn in my direction. Confusion on their faces, they shrug. The bartender comes over. “What can I get you?”

“Where is he?” I ask.

He raises an eyebrow. “Who?” the bartender asks.

“The man with the white hat?” I huff. “Seriously? He was sitting right here. You can’t tell me you don’t know what I’m talking about.”

“Max?” Ben says as he comes up beside me.

I flinch at the sound of Ben’s voice, every fiber of my being on high alert and agitated. That piece of shit was right there.

“Max, are you okay? What can I get you?” Ben asks.

I shake my head. “No.”

“No?” he asks.

“No… I mean, I’m okay.” I put both palms on the bar and hang my head for a second, taking a moment to breathe and reset. I straighten my back and let my arms fall to my sides. “I’m really sorry. I can explain.”

Ben offers his hand, and I take it. We walk hand-in-hand toward our table. “Only if you want to.”

We reach our table and sit. Silence falls between us, and the further my heart rate drops, the worse I feel about the scene I’d caused. Telling the first gorgeous guy you’ve been on a date with in forever, that you were held against your will by the notorious Los Angeles serial killer, only to escape after he’d carved you up like a piece of meat, wasn’t the conversation I wanted to have—not this soon in the relationship.

“Would you like some edamame?” Ben asks. “The waiter brought some to the table. Two different flavors from what I can tell.”

I shake my head and sigh. “I owe you an apology.”

“Not at all.” He reaches over and plucks a bean from the basket. “Oh, yum. This one’s garlic and butter flavoring.”

“It does look good.” I take a bean from the bowl but stop short of eating it. I put a hand to my mouth, covering an embarrassed smile. “You must think I’m crazy.”

“Not unless you tell me you saw a human-alien hybrid at the bar and wanted to catch him as part of a secret government organization,” Ben says with a smile. “Unless that’s exactly what you were going to tell me? And in that case, I will nod and pretend to have a good time until I can escape out the back.”

I laugh out loud. “I promise you I wasn’t chasing after aliens. Ghosts perhaps, but not aliens.”

Ben eats a couple more edamame before taking another sip of wine. “Ghosts, huh?”

I put the food down on the little black plate in front of me. “I wish it was that easy.”

Ben’s face falls as he homes in on my pain. Seeing Ben’s concern feels good in a way, but at the same time makes me upset. I hate feeling like a victim. I’d always told myself that if I could at all help it, once my injuries had healed, I wouldn’t fall back on them as an excuse. I sigh. The more I think about it, the more I realize, I’ve been using it as an excuse this entire time.

“I just need a minute,” I say as I stand and grab my drink. “I’m going to use the little boys’ room. I’ll be right back.” I chug the drink and set the glass back down.

“Take your time,” Ben says. “I’m not going anywhere.”

The look on his face tells me he means that in more ways than one. He would wait as long as it took tonight, and he was willing to be patient and work toward our future. Without another word, I nod and walk back toward the front entrance where the restrooms are located. When I reach the hostess station, I ask, “Are the restrooms through there?”

“Yes, sir,” she says and points toward the hallway straight ahead. “Gentlemen on the right.”

“Thank you,” I say .

Once I reach the door, I push it open and go inside. Soft traditional-sounding Japanese music plays. The dimly lit restroom, with dark wood walls, and two lines of stalls are empty as far as I can tell.

Walking past the first three doors, I lightly push on the fourth. It swings open with ease. While the stall is small and very private, the walls go a couple feet from the ceiling and floor. This place is nice. I go inside and sit on the lid. With no intention of using the toilet, I don’t bother lowering my pants. I rest my head in my hands and quietly cry. The tears stream down my face and with them so much pent-up rage and anxiety.

A few minutes later, someone else enters the restroom and chooses the stall next to me. I wipe the tears away and blow my nose. I’m going to be fine .

“Excuse me? Sir?” a man in the next stall asks.

“Yes?” I bend forward and see the bottom of the man’s black pant legs and Italian leather shoes.

“Can you believe it? There’s not a square of toilet paper in here anywhere. Would you be kind enough to hand me some?”

“Absolutely,” I say and begin unrolling a few feet of tissue, neatly folding it in two-square increments. “I hate it when that happens.”

“You know what I hate?” the man asks as I offer the tissue under the stall wall.

“What?”

The man grabs my wrist and twists, pulling me off the stool and onto my knees. “When a bitch like you gets away.”

I try to pull away, but my arm wouldn’t budge. Bile surges in my throat as my vision begins to tunnel. White, cold, fear creeps up from my scars into my lungs as I fight to breathe through my rising panic. “What are you talking about?” My words sound pathetic even to my own ears as my mind wages battle with my body which wants to flee from the restroom screaming for help.

“What am I talking about? As if you don’t know.” The man laughs and pulls harder, sending pain up my arm into my shoulder. “You might have escaped once before, but not this time. Once I bring you back… I’ll be the hero!”

What was he talking about? The pain intensifies into a pinpoint. Right where the bones of my shoulder come together, I imagine the ligaments tearing apart.

“Cat got your tongue?” The man’s sinister child-like giggle deepens and sounds both threatening and psychotic.

My fear turns from flight to fight, my breathing levels out and my vision narrows. I tighten all the muscles of my arm and clench my fist. Using the man’s leverage against him, I slide my legs around and pull—sliding under the stall to face the attacker head-on.

The man’s surprise emanates from his mouth with a cackle worthy of a horror movie. His dark eyes, so intense and filled with psychotic rage, could have burned a hole through my chest. The crazed man’s trembling sweat-covered face jiggles with effort as he tries to pull away from me. I tighten my grip on the stranger’s wrist and pull hard. Suddenly, he stands, his towering frame seeming to fill the entire stall. He pulls back his lips into a disgusting, yellow-stained, crooked smile. “I’m going to teach you a lesson you’re not soon to forget.” With his free hand, the man pulls up his own shirt revealing a red, raised scar across his belly. The ankh shape sends panic through me, causing me to struggle for breath.

The man reaches down and grabs my tie, pulling up hard. I feel my back lift off the ground and the knot tighten around my neck. I kick backwards, but my heels touch nothing, but air. After my attempts to inhale prove fruitless, I start to fight even harder as fear sinks into my bones. Soon, spots float through my visual field and the realization I am losing consciousness sets in. I roll to the right and find my left arm is no longer twisted. I pull hard as my bicep bulges, using my weight to cause the other man to stumble forward. Before the man registers what is happening and without time to react, I punch him square in the face. Pain shoots through my middle knuckle, but I smile as the nasal bone collapses under my fist with a crunch.

The man closes his eyes and screams, reaching blindly for me as blood drains from his nose and tears from his eyes. He releases me and tries to wipe the blood and tears from his face so he can see. With both hands free, I jump up from the floor and put the man in a sleeper hold. My arm tightens around his neck, and I hear his breathing slow and grow ragged. The man’s legs grow weak, and he stumbles forward, the two of us crashing through the door as the hinges snap under our weight.

We tumble to the floor, but I don’t loosen my hold. He attempts to pull at my arm, digging his nails into my forearm trying to get me to let go of him. He starts hitting my arm, hard at first, but then no more than a swat as the oxygen drains from his brain.

“Stop, dude,” I say. “Stop struggling and I’ll let you go.”

A few seconds pass, he finally lets his arms drop to his sides and his body goes limp. I open my elbow up a little to allow him to breathe with more ease. I hear him take a deep breath, the life coming back to his eyes and color to his face.

“Do you know who I am?” I ask. “We have the same scar, so we’ve clearly met with a similar fate.”

No answer.

“Why are you here? Why did you attack me?”

Again, the man remains silent, refusing to answer my questions.

“Suit yourself.” I stand and look down at the man. “Stay the fuck away from me then. You understand me? ”

Who the hell was this psycho? A realization dawns on me. He could be one of those crazy serial killer fans who play out their fantasies by attempting copycat crimes, or even one of The Butcher’s former minions.

Maybe this jerk has been the one stalking me? “You’re a fan of his? The man’s dead,” I say, although everything in my soul is screaming, I was wrong about that. It hadn’t been my imagination when I saw The Butcher sitting at the bar tonight— right? Dread creeps into my chest, the anxiety making it heavy and difficult to breathe. This attack tonight was orchestrated. The Butcher sat at the bar and sent in his follower to kill me.

I know this to be true, even if I can’t prove it.

“You’re the one who got away,” the man says in a little boy’s voice and giggles. “We won’t let you ruin everything. He won’t let you leave him again.”

Enough of this shit. “I’m going to let you get up now, but if you make a move on me, I’ll drop you. Do you understand me?”

He nods, his Cheshire Cat grin fading into a dead stare.

I take the man’s hands, one-by-one, and place them behind his head before fully unweighting his shoulders—just like I was trained to do at the police academy. Bending down and grabbing ahold of his wrist, I help the man sit and then stand. He’s tall, wide shoulders, and thick midsection. He couldn’t have been older than forty, but he sure messed up the rest of his life by attacking me. One quick call to the police station and this guy would be behind bars awaiting trial.

Stepping over the fallen stall door, I push the man through it first and follow closely, not entirely sure what I’m going to do next. How am I going to secure him while I call the police? My tie, I think. I let go of him with my left hand and begin undoing my tie. Before I’ve even tugged out the knot, the man swivels around and suckerpunches me hard across the face. My grip loosens enough for him to pull free and run from the bathroom.

I blink away stars and rub my left cheek until the buzzing stops and the deep throb in my jaw starts. I guess I’m letting him go. I stretch my neck from side to side until I feel a satisfying pop. Ah, that’s better.

The bathroom mirror is the ultimate truth-teller. No matter what I looked like going in, I’m about to exit this bathroom a total mess. Turning on the cold water, I splash my face and wipe away the blood from the cut on my cheek and nose. I shrug. “I’ve honestly looked worse.”

There’s no way I can go back to the table without making a scene. Shooting Ben a text to meet me at my car, as I walk through the bathroom door and straight out of the restaurant. A few minutes pass before Ben exits in a rush, he halts for a moment to search the parking lot as his eyes land on me and he heads towards my car. The worry on his face is sweet and without anger—a definite relief.

“What’s wrong, Max?” he asks through the open window. “Are you feeling sick?”

I shake my head and get out of the car so Ben can see my face. Within seconds, Ben glances around the parking lot. “What happened? Did you pass out in the bathroom?” He reaches up and touches my cheek. “Someone hit you, didn’t they? I’m going to call the police.” He pulls his phone from his pocket.

“No!” I say far too quickly. “Please don’t call them. I know too many people there—and this is a sensitive situation.”

Ben looks like he wants to protest but then nods. “Okay.” He sighs. “I’ll leave this up to you.”

“There’s so much we need to talk about, but I don’t have the energy right now.”

Ben clears his throat, and I can tell he wants more… he wants to know why I ran to the bar with a knife in my hand… want s to know why I was attacked in the restroom and why I don’t want to involve the police. Without a word, Ben nods and backs away a half step.

“Ben, you deserve answers, and I plan to give them to you… but” I say and look away. “Just not tonight.”

“I need to ask one thing?” he asks.

“Absolutely.”

He reaches for my cheek again and gently caresses the mark I know is there. Ben’s face wrinkles with worry. “Are you safe to be alone?”

The softness of his words and true concern for my wellbeing isn’t something I usually feel from others. Come home with me. No , I’ll be fine. My contradictory internal dialogue is battling for supremacy.

“Thank you, Ben,” I say. “Your concern means a lot to me. I’m making you a promise.”

“Which is?”

“I promise I’ll be fine tonight, and I promise I’ll tell you everything… when I’m emotionally ready.”

He half-smiles his acceptance. “I look forward to it.”

“I’m sorry about tonight.”

“Don’t be… things happen sometimes that are out of our control,” Ben says. “Next time.”

I’m glad there’ll be a next time , I think. “Definitely,” I say, reaching for him.

Ben steps into my embrace. I squeeze him tight and push my head into the nape of his neck and shoulder. Ben slowly brings his arms up and around me and holds me in silence for a few moments before he pulls away.

Ben once again caresses my cheek, softly palpating the swollen area. “Not to sound too much like a doctor but clean the wound well and apply ice when you get home.”

I nod.

A silence once again falls between us, but this time the tension is sexual. The warmth from Ben’s body tugs at me, causing me to second-guess my decision to go home alone. Ben reaches for my chin, tilting my face upwards toward his. Our eyes meet before I close them, hoping Ben will close the gap between us and kiss me.

Only a moment passes before my wish comes true. Ben’s soft, full lips press against mine. The heat between us intensifies. I part my lips, allowing Ben’s tongue to push inside.

“Sir,” a female voice comes from the direction of the restaurant doorway. “You forgot your meals!” She hollers as she continues talking towards us.

We pull away from each other, all smiles and light. Ben hurries over to the girl, takes the to-go bag and thanks her. He comes back and hands one of the meals to me.

“Thank you,” I say. “I’m sorry again about tonight.”

“Don’t be.” Ben wipes away a little wetness left behind by me on his chin.

“I’ll call you,” I say.

“Another promise?” he asks.

“Absolutely.” I get into the car and close the door. Waving to him as I back out of the parking space, I slowly pull away into the bustling Los Angeles night. Ben is truly a great guy.