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“When do you think I’ll be here next, son? I’ve been coming to this club every Monday and Thursday since before you were born. You do the math.”
“Okay, yeah sure. I wasn’t thinking. I have to deal with this thing, so I’ll see you on Monday, hey?”
“Well, that’s up to you. I’m here all day, regardless.” I nodded, to him and Martin as I backed out of the room. I could tell he was pissed with me—I didn’t need to be Sherlock Holmes—he was making no effort to hide it. But putting that right would need to wait for Monday.
On the drive back to Trinity Hall, I thought over everything that had happened in the past twenty-four hours. It had been crazy. The shit with my dad, and whatever the fucking deal was with Kik, and how she fitted into that. Not to mention the chemistry between the two of us, which seemed to oscillate between white hot and stone cold.
Then add in Grampsie, and his entire octogenarian world thinking I was gay. Plus whatever I was about to walk into later on with Xavier, which my gut told me was going to be a hot mess. My life was epically full, and not in a good way.
I tried, and failed to make sense of any of it, but the business with Kik was starting to stand out in my consciousness as being the most important. The more I thought about it, the more the whole deal with my dad seemed super shady, even by his extremely low standards.
The fact that he was suddenly entrusting me with involvement in the business where he never had before, was a huge red flag, as was the way the conversation had started off “friendly” and “casual”—when I knew full well my father was neither—but had quickly gotten serious and into threatening my mom and Grampsie. As if I wouldn’t automatically suspect he was playing me. That was a clear signal. Something serious was going on and he was using me, or needed me in some way. I just couldn’t quite figure out exactly what he was doing, and how I fitted into the scheme.
What I did know was that I wasn’t going to let anything happen to my mom or Grampsie, so whatever it was, and however he was using me as his unwitting pawn, I was prepared to do as instructed to protect them. If Kik was going to be collateral damage along the way, then so be it. Rather her than them.
Chapter 8
Kik
Monday
“Why the fuck are you blackmailing my father?”
He seemed to come out of nowhere again, grabbing me from the side this time, then slamming my body against the wall in the golf club corridor, gripping my neck, and squeezing hard as he lifted me off the floor. I clawed at his hands, trying to pull him away from me, but, as I already knew, he was too strong. This routine was starting to feel like Groundhog Day.
I didn’t know what to say, and I could barely breathe, let alone form a coherent sentence. I was also quite sure that whatever I said would only anger him further. I had no idea what he was talking about, because I wasn’t blackmailing anybody, but I was sure that wasn’t what he wanted to hear.
“Huh? What do you have to say for yourself? Huh? You’d better talk quick or this isn’t going to end well for you.”
That was a joke. It clearly wasn’t going to end well for me regardless. My eyes streamed water, not tears, but the side effect of being half-choked to death.
My head was a riot of thoughts, not only with ways to try to save myself, but with the repercussions if I didn’t. Dad needed me, and I owed it to him to be there. I wasn’t going to let some musclebound moron get in the way of that.
As my mind raced, I remembered something I’d seen on a crime show once, and let my body and head slacken under the pressure of his vise-like grip. I stayed still like that for a few seconds, and as I predicted, he loosened his grip a little. He took a tiny step away from me, and I seized my opportunity, rearing my knee backward, then kicking forward to slam into his junk. He cried out like a wounded animal, doubling over at the waist, and grabbing his no-doubt-sore balls.
I took the opportunity to make a run for it, heading out to the parking lot. I was going to have to find a way to explain my sudden departure to Ernie, but I’d cross that bridge when I came to it. At that point, my safety was my biggest concern. I had to get away from that psycho. It was only as I approached the car, fumbling in my pocket, that I realized my mistake. My keys were in my backpack, which was in my locker. My locker was in the club. Fuck fuck fuck fuck!
“You’re going to pay for that, but first you need to start talking. Now! Why. Are. You. Blackmailing. My. Father?” This time he refrained from choking me out, instead pressing his heavy body into mine, leaning against my car. He squashed me in place, holding my hands to either side of my body, squeezing hard enough that I thought he might either draw blood with his nails, or at the very least, stop my circulation.
“Listen you crazy fuck, I have no goddamned idea who you or your father are. You’re the one following me around, first at Rollergirl, and now here, twice, then you’re accusing me of blackmailing someone. Surely you see how insane that seems?” Like totally fucking psychotic.
“Now back off, before I start screaming, and claiming you’ve lost your mind. I’ll call the fucking cops, and take my chances. I’ll tell them you’re my jealous ex-boyfriend. Everyone would believe it too, after what went down last week. You’d have a hard job explaining that away. Now, excuse me, I have work to do, looking after your grandfather.”
“I don’t care if you have a gig taking care of the Crown Prince of Persia, or what you tell the club about me—and remember, I know way worse about you, so be my fucking guest. Now start talking, or one of us is going to jail for fraud, and it’s not going to be me.”
As much as I feared for my safety, I was also starting to get mad. We were going around in circles, and the psycho just didn’t seem to want to listen to me when I told him that I didn’t have even the faintest clue what was going on..
I crossed my arms and leveled him with what I hoped was my meanest stare. “How many more times can I explain this to you? I don’t know what you’re talking about. I don’t know who you’re talking about. I’m not scamming anybody, and I’m sure as shit not blackmailing anyone. So, I guess we have a stalemate. Go ahead and call the police. At this stage, playing the dude in jail is preferable to staying anywhere near you.” I was only partially bluffing—I was starting to think that involving the police would be the safest option.
“So, I’m just supposed to believe that this is all one big giant coincidence?”
“This what? You mean the fact that you showed up at one of my places of work, barged into the changing room while I was half-naked, revealed that you knew personal information about me, then made oblique threats to my safety, before disappearing. Then you showed up at my other job, roughed me up and made more threats, before returning a third time for more of the same?” When I said it aloud in one go like that, it really did sound insane.
“No, of course it’s not a fucking coincidence. You’re stalking me. So, like I said, let’s call the police, and see whether they think this is all chance.” I knew it wasn’t wise to rile him, but I was oscillating between terror and irritation at his antics.
“The coincidence I am referring to is the fact that you just so happen to work for my grandfather.”
“I’ve already explained that to you, and anyone, including Ernie himself, will back me up. I was working here, and when he was looking for help, someone recommended me, and that’s how I ended up also working for him. Convenient, yes, but not exactly a coincidence.”
