Page 13 of Something Like Hail

Noah nodded. “For real. Enoughpractice.”

Harold speared a steak fry with his fork butdidn’t bring it to his mouth. “I’m a homebody. I’ll probably be oneof those people who die in their house but nobody notices because Inever leave. That’s why I like this job. It forces me to gooutside. I get to have interesting conversations, eat at fancyplaces, and never have to pay for anything.” He leaned back andpatted his stomach. “It even encourages me to stay in shape.Otherwise I would just sit at home and… do stuff.”

“Build models?”

Harold groaned. “You saw those? Yeah, that’swhat I’m into. That and toking and watching TV. Like I said,boring.”

“Why models? And how comethere’s not a train?”

Harold shook his head ruefully. “Check youout, getting me talking about myself. I usually avoid that.”

“Don’t you have to ondates?”

“Talk about myself?” Haroldleaned across the table and whispered, “I lie through my teeth.Constantly.” After reclining again he added, “Only on the clockthough.”

“Think I should do thesame?”

Harold shrugged. “Honesty suits you better.People will respond to that. You’ll do well. I’m glad you foundyour way to us. How’d you manage that anyway?”

“How did I find out aboutyour secret clubhouse?”

Harold nodded. “Yeah. Tell meeverything.”

Noah considered him. Then he narrowed hiseyes suspiciously. “You’re only asking because Marcello wants toknow, right?”

“Busted! You’ve got afive-hundred-dollar bounty on your head.”

“I do?”

“Yup. Paid to the firstperson who discovers your deep dark secret.”

Noah smiled. He liked that, feeling it madehim more interesting. “Stop changing the subject. There’s got to bemore to you than models and your bong.”

“The devil is in thedetails.”

“My mom used to say that.Then again, she saw the devil in just about everything.”

“I’ve been on some weirddates,” Harold said, a twinkle in his eye, “But so far I’ve neverhad the devil in me. Unless you count Marcello, but that was just afinger. Or two.”

Noah tried to picture this, a french fryhalfway to his mouth. Then he put it down and started laughing.Harold did too.

The rest of the meal passed pleasantlyenough. Harold coached him about the kinds of establishments whereNoah would likely eat with his dates. Not which fork to use oranything, since clients would find his confusion endearing, butHarold mentioned which foods to avoid and taught him how to drinksparingly without appearing to do so. Getting really drunk on dateswas a bad idea, apparently.

Once the bill was paid (another businessexpense) they drove back to Harold’s place. Noah’s pulse quickenedagain as they went inside. If the meal had been a trainingexercise, maybe what happened afterwards would be too.

“So what’s next?” he asked,intentionally broaching the subject. “Naked photos?”

“Nah,” Harold said,plopping down on the living room couch. “Why buy the cow when youget the milk for free? I know a lot of escort sites show what youget up front, but people are willing to pay extra to solve amystery.”

Noah didn’t give up hope. “What about thebedroom? What sort of techniques do I need to know there?”

“You? Nothing. If you don’tknow what you’re doing, it will only feed into your image. I’vealready seen that you don’t have trouble getting it up. You’ll befine.”

Better safe thansorry?he was tempted to suggest. Before hecould, his pocket vibrated, which shocked him until he rememberedthe phone there. He pulled it out, seeing a text message on thelock screen. It contained a guy’s name and phone number along witha date, time, and address.

“First assignment?” Haroldasked, checking his own phone. “I’ve got mine for tomorrow. ChesterBurgess, an easy one. Who’s yours?”

“George Perry.”