Page 1 of Skin Game
ONE
GABE – MONDAY PART ONE
Gabe’s eyes popped open, the popcorn ceiling he loathed glimmering overhead, taunting him. He strained his ears for the sound that had disturbed him. There had been something. Maybe a branch had fallen on the roof.
“I’m never playing cribbage with Elton again,” Gabe muttered to the otherwise empty bedroom.
He didn’t know how the old man managed it, but he cheated. Gabe was almost positive. If Gabe drank these days, he would have blamed the string of losses on too many gin and tonics. But he didn’t drink anymore, and Elton had still managed to Win. Every. Single. Game.
“Cheating bastard.”
The soft light coming in through the blinds informed him it was early morning, around seven or so. The pitter-patter against the roof said it was raining. Again. Still? Big shock there. The park was coming awake too. He heard the bark of a dog and the slam of a car door, probably Bill or one of the other park residents heading off to their gainful employment. Gabe was currently gainfully unemployed, and semi-retirement had its perks—likesleeping in on a Monday. Fingers crossed Mondays would continue to improve.
Rolling over, he grabbed his phone from the bedside table and checked the time. Seven fifteen, so much for sleeping in. Then he heard it again, a soft tap-tap coming from the direction of the living room. An early morning door-to-door salesperson? Not likely around this neighborhood. The person would go away eventually. Gabe flopped back onto the bed.
His head had barely hit the pillow when yet another round of knocks started up. Who needed him so desperately? It wasn’t Casey or Elton, both of whom would have texted. Or they would have just let themselves in without waiting for Gabe to come to the door.
“The fuck. Keith, get the fricking door.”
Keith, Gabe’s rescue cat, did not deign to reply. The fluffy orange beast stayed tucked in behind his knees, an anchor. She was purring too. It was probably a crime to move her.
“How do you do it, cat? You normally weigh ten pounds, but when I need to move you, it’s more like fifty.”
Keith just rumbled louder, a hemi engine warming up.
There was another knock, a bit louder but also hesitant, as if whoever was out there was having second thoughts about showing up this early.
“They should be fucking nervous and having third and fourth thoughts too.”
Groaning, Gabe started to pull the other pillow over his head to block out the noise, but it was too late. Even worse, his curiosity was wide fucking awake now too. Additionally, since his car was parked in his assigned spot, whoever was out there had to think he was home.
Maybe the knockerwasCasey? He could be oddly formal sometimes. “You have your own key, why are you knocking?” Gabe called out. “I’m not doing anything unseemly. I save that for when you’re here.”
There was no answer. Gabe relaxed a tad; had the phantom knocker gone away? Then he heard another knock.
As if his luck would ever swing that way.
“Really?” Gabe grumbled. Whoever was out there, waiting for him to open the door, it absolutely wasn’t anyone who knew him. “Give me a damn second.”
For fuck’s sake, how often did he lie in bed in the morning doing nothing? Hardly ever. And yet, the one time he decided to revel in his false retirement, somebody showed up on his doorstep.
“Yeah, alright. I’m coming. Give me a fucking sec-minute.”
Grabbing a relatively clean pair of jeans from the top of his dresser, Gabe tugged them on. The anonymous annoyance would just have to deal with the rumpled t-shirt he’d slept in. He looked down at himself.
On second thought.
“This better be fucking worth it. This better fucking be Ed McMahon back from the dead.” Gabe peeled the sleep shirt off and dropped it to the floor, then grabbed the first shirt in his closet off its hanger, a plain black button-up shirt. Whoever wanted himthis fucking earlycouldn’t claim he hadn’t made some kind of effort. He had tried.
Maybe that was what he should have carved on his gravestone:Here lies Gabriel Karne. He tried.
Staring down at his bare feet, Gabe decided against socks. His house, his rules. Departing the bedroom, he padded the short distance to his living room area. He debated for a half second whether to peek outside and see who was so impatient to see him at the ass crack of a Monday morning but decided against it. The blinds were closed. Fuck it, the effort was too much before coffee.
Live on the wild side and all that.
Unlocking the door, he pushed it open. Cool morning air rushed inside, giving him immediate goose bumps. A girl—no, Gabe corrected himself, a young woman—hovered on the cementpatio that passed as a porch. She had a hood pulled up over her head and she was trying to appear confident, but unease lurked in the back of her gaze.
“Gabriel Karne?” she said before he could ask what she wanted.