Page 157 of Antihero

He anxious-checked his phone for B-Roll’s text—still nothing. When he looked up, he saw a guy walking past on the sidewalk. Their eyes met for a second. Taz could’ve sworn he’d seen him walk by before. He looked like nothing much, just a man-man.

Checked his phone again. He was breathing hard. His palms were sweaty. The burrito sat like a blob in his gut.

Who was he kidding? His G-rated fantasy of some Hallmark life with Any Blanca was out of reach. He knew himself, knew what he looked like, what his insides were like, a fucking useless loser the world just extracted from—his money, his time, his attention. They all just wanted to suck him dry.

Felt like there was a black hole in his sunken chest. He stared at the screen of his phone, waiting for a text he hoped would never come.

He didn’t notice the man-man enter the restaurant.

Cutting through the bustle, Evan took a high stool next to Taswell. The kid didn’t take note. He was fixated on his phone, thumbing through YouTube shorts. His other hand rested on his belly, fingers waggling in a wave pattern, and he was rocking slightly. Stimming.

Evan cleared his throat.

The kid didn’t notice.

Evan said, “Taswell Kinley.”

The kid pulled his gaze up molasses slow. Evan expected to read something of his internal life behind the dull gray eyes, but there was no light in there. Nothing but a mechanical flickering, speed-skittery beneath the surface. He was bird-boned, almost frail.

Taz said, “Huhn?”

“Anca Dumitrescu,” Evan said.

“Huhn?”

“The young woman you took from the subway. You and your friends.”

“Di’n’t happen.” He went back to his phone. “Whudev.”

Taz’s thumb hesitated, and beneath it Evan could see notifications riddling the top of the screen, piling up atop one another. Taz’s eyes looked shallow, dimensionless. The pupils jittered some more. The only light they held was the reflection of the screen.

Even after giving the names, Evan could not hold his attention. It was like the kid couldn’t bridge the gulf between whatever was happening behind those gray eyes and the reality out in front of him—the plate, the gnawed burrito end wrapped in foil, a drugged, unconscious twenty-five-year-old Romanian-American with her panties ripped down to her ankles.

Evan said, “Taswell.”

The gaze did not lift. “Hmmph?”

Evan slid the phone from Taz’s hands, dropped it flat on the table before them.

“Huh? What the hell, man? What the hell. You can’t just grab my phone.”

“Anca Dumitrescu,” Evan said.

“Huhn?”

“The young woman from the subway.”

“Wut? Dude. My phone. You grabbed my phone.”

“You raped her. With three of your friends. Finley Jacowski and Michael Macmanus are already in custody at the emergency room. You are going to join them there. Brandon Burke will be along shortly.”

“We di’int do shit. You can’t prove shit.”

“There’s video. You and your chest tattoo.”

“Huhn? I don’t…” Taswell put his hand over his mouth and dry heaved. “Don’t ’member.”

A well-placed flick of Evan’s knuckles would collapse Taz’s windpipe.