Page 2 of Something Like Hail

Jameson Belmont

Finances

Restrooms

He was tempted to duck into that last one tohide, but it wouldn’t help. Dave would find him eventually, andNoah still wouldn’t have won the audience he sought. A shout frombehind sent him running again. He whizzed past door after doorwithout having a chance to read the signs. Marcello could be at theend of the hall. The door next to those nice plants and naturaldaylight. That made sense, right? Noah sprinted for it and blindlypushed his way inside, not having any options left.

The office beyond was on the corner of thebuilding, perhaps facing the back, because he hadn’t noticed anywindows from the street. Here they defined the room. The space waslarge, a table and two chairs off to one side, and in the center, adesk surface mostly empty aside from a framed photo and arazor-thin laptop. A man sat behind this, broad-shouldered andscowling.

“Who the hell are you?” theman grumbled.

“Noah,” he panted inresponse. “Noah Westwood. Are you him? Are youMarcello?”

Before the man could respond, a hand clampedaround Noah’s arm.

“That’s it!” Dave shouted.“You can either come quietly or I’ll break your neck. Which is itgonna be?”

“I’d go with him,” said theman behind the desk. “Dave was a championship wrestler incollege.”

As if to demonstrate this, Dave pinned oneof Noah’s arms behind his back. He ignored the discomfort, makingone last plea. This man might not be Marcello, but only someoneimportant had an office like this. “I need to speak with Mr.Maltese,” he said. “Please! It’s important!”

The man let out a heavy sigh, then held uphis hand just as Noah was being dragged away. “Hold on. What’sgoing on here?”

“Sorry, Nathaniel,” Davesaid. “This punk thinks he doesn’t need an appointment to talk tothe boss man. Thought he would bust in rather thanwait.”

“Why?” Nathanielresponded.

“I need Marcello’s help,”Noah blurted out.

“I bet you do,” Nathanielsaid, but he nodded to Dave. “Let go of him. I’ll take care ofthis.”

“Are you sure? I can stickaround and—”

“He doesn’t look verytough,” Nathaniel said. “Or dangerous. Go on. It’sfine.”

Noah gasped in relief when he was released,glaring at Dave as he left. Probably not fair, considering the guywas just doing his job, but Noah’s pride was hurting. His arm too.He turned his attention forward again. “Thank you.” He walkedcloser to offer his hand. “I’m Noah.”

Nathaniel didn’t budge. “What do youwant?”

Noah let his hand drop, since it was beingignored. “I’d like to talk to Marcello, please. I mean… Mr.Maltese.”

“About?”

Noah hesitated. He didn’t know who he wasdealing with, and that made him reluctant to speak.

Nathaniel studied him. Then he sighed,picked up his phone, and held it to his ear. “Hey,” he said. “I’vegot a kid here who insists on talking to you personally. Goes byNoah. You know him?” Eyes traveled over his body. “Red hair, greeneyes. Mm-hm. I got the same impression. What? I’m not going to…Fine!” The phone was lowered again. “Take off your shirt.”

Noah stared. “What?”

“Take off your shirt. Or atleast lift it up.”

Maybe they were worried he had a gun tuckedin his jeans. He took the shirt’s hem and lifted it, revealing hiswaist.

“All the way up,” Nathanielinsisted.

Or maybe they thought he was wired. Noahlifted the shirt to his neck, fully exposing his torso before helet the fabric drop again.

Nathaniel raised the phone to his ear. “Bodyis average at best.”