Page 12 of Antihero

Devine’s concern was legitimate. He had greater influence than most nation-states, his power a threat to those in highest power. Evan had been tasked by no less an authority than the president of the United States to execute him, and he nearly had. Ultimately he’d determined that while Devine was a brilliant narcissist and world-class mind-fucker, he was not someone Evan could dispatch in good conscience.

Yet.

“What’s the young woman’s name?”

“I don’t know.”

“You don’t know the name of the young woman in your bed?”

“I did at some point. There’s a lot going on in here.”

“Give her the phone.”

“Okay. Okay.” Sounds of Devine moving.

A new speech was droning on in Evan’s other ear: “—the thing with Stojack was, he was always there, you know? No matter how down-and-out you were. No matter if you’d fucked up six ways from Sunday—pardon, ladies—or were at your worst with your missus or outta yer head with, dunno, shell shock or trauma or whatever they call it nowadays, he didn’t judge. He never—”

Evan unscrewed the earpiece, narrowed his focus.

“She won’t take it,” Devine said.

“Try again.”

“Here. Here. Just take the phone. Take it.”

A moment later came a feminine voice, hoarse and weak. “Hullo?”

“Hello. What’s your name?”

“Monica,” she drawled. “Like Santa Monica.”

“Are you free to leave?”

“What? Yeah, course.”

“Are you safe?”

“Yeah. But you should get here, maybe, if he wants you here. ’Cuz shit’s crazy.”

“Did he hurt you?”

“What? No. No. He’s, like, aggressively considerate. Wanting to make sure I don’t do anything I don’t want to do. But I don’t feel like it’s about me at all. It’s not. It’s about him.”

“Generally.”

“And it’s exhausting. He won’t stop talking. He just won’t stop talking.”

“You saw something bad happen to a girl?”

“I can’t—I don’t really know for sure. I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Why not?”

“Listen, man, I’m not feeling good and I can’t really think straight right now with your friend vrooming around—”

“Give me that back. Give it back.” Devine sounded winded. “Her perspective isn’t the useful one here. It’s been two hours and—I can’t find the handle. I can’t find the handle.”

“Devine,” Evan said. “Why are you calling me?”