hair. The ducks were doing duck gymnastics and wing flurries to get at the bread. And Grimm was the most persistent man, ever.
“What are you doing?”
He eyed me, warily. “I’m going then?”
I swallowed, thought about saying more about everything and blanked out.
“I can’t say...anything.”
Grimm went to rise, hand on the grass, those big male legs gathering under him, biceps tattoo rippling in the sun. Automatically, I did a swift appraisal.
He wasn’t stirring me quite like he had before but that was only natural after everything that’d happened. Jeans and a plain brown T-shirt, cinched-back blond hair, and he rocked it. And he was leaving.
“Wait. Please.”
“Sure.” He waited, threw more bread. “Listening. Look. Like I said. If you need help. I can do it.”
“This is...” I waggled my hand, then half-covered one eye while I tried to think. “Beyond you. You’re a librarian.”
I’d said that easily. Could I sort of circle the subject, hint at things? But then what? Could he shoot Reuben for me? Go to jail? Hah. No. I didn’t want him arrested, or beaten up, or killed, if he failed. Like I might be too, if I ever confronted Reuben with the gun.
And I’d deny any wrongdoings by Reuben and his men to the cops, if they asked me directly. Doomed. I’d be Reuben’s fucktoy until he cast my aside.
“Shit,” I muttered.
“Violence was all around me when I was growing up, Zorie. My brother...did bad stuff, had some of it happen to him. If you’re in a hole, I know people who know people.”
Mouth agape, I thought that through. Grimm knew bad people? And he’d been a bouncer, which led to nightclubs. Depending on where, that could mean he’d been around crime. Or so I gathered. What was he talking about? Drug dealers? Biker gangs? Prostitution?
Maybe he meant he knew the ice-cream-van man? I was out of my depth here too.
A willy wagtail, eye cocked, long-feathered tail twitching, hopped across the grass chasing worms. The ducks quacked.
The day was too damn bright for this.
Did everyone around me have a sordid past?
I curled forward and buried my head in my hands. “Even if you could do something about...whatever. I...can’t talk.”
“Whatever?” He muttered something else and yanked up a stalk of grass, then twirled it, idly. “I think I’ve established there’s something. You’re here. You want me here. But I need you to talk. At least you aren’t saying, I’m fine .”
“True.” I lowered my hands to peer over them at Grimm. Yes. I wasn’t saying that. I’d edged closer to the real topic than ever before.
Skirt the topic. How?
“Graffiti. Haiku.”
He stared at me directly now, maybe thinking I’d lost it. So much for secrecy and pretending they weren’t talking to each other.
“One question. One, Grimm.” I took my keys from my shorts pocket and began to scratch at the paint on the seat then said quietly, “I’ve never vandalized before.”
After a few seconds he looked out over the small lake again. “Lost me. I don’t understand. Is this a strategy to defeat your lack of talking?”
Too direct. My tongue tangled.
Go around.
“The sky is blue. Yes.”
“What the fuck?” Grimm muttered. “So that’s a yes.”
A statement, that. He was catching on. Lucky I had a librarian and so he’d hopefully read some strange books.
“We need a dead letter drop. Invisible ink. A code book.”
“Not... Uh.” I wanted to tell him it wasn’t just the need for secrecy stopping me. Resistance was growing in my head. I massaged my temples. “No. Fuck.”
All the mind wrestling I was doing. I was stuck. The world squeezed in whenever I tried to elaborate.
“Graffiti, hey? I hear conflict, stress, in what you’re saying. How you’re saying it. I’m probably nuts. But, hypnotism? Has someone made you unable to talk?”
The man was a goddamned genius.
I stared, feeling bug-eyed, and wondered if I was going blue. With all the messing about I was
“What are you doing?”
He eyed me, warily. “I’m going then?”
I swallowed, thought about saying more about everything and blanked out.
“I can’t say...anything.”
Grimm went to rise, hand on the grass, those big male legs gathering under him, biceps tattoo rippling in the sun. Automatically, I did a swift appraisal.
He wasn’t stirring me quite like he had before but that was only natural after everything that’d happened. Jeans and a plain brown T-shirt, cinched-back blond hair, and he rocked it. And he was leaving.
“Wait. Please.”
“Sure.” He waited, threw more bread. “Listening. Look. Like I said. If you need help. I can do it.”
“This is...” I waggled my hand, then half-covered one eye while I tried to think. “Beyond you. You’re a librarian.”
I’d said that easily. Could I sort of circle the subject, hint at things? But then what? Could he shoot Reuben for me? Go to jail? Hah. No. I didn’t want him arrested, or beaten up, or killed, if he failed. Like I might be too, if I ever confronted Reuben with the gun.
And I’d deny any wrongdoings by Reuben and his men to the cops, if they asked me directly. Doomed. I’d be Reuben’s fucktoy until he cast my aside.
“Shit,” I muttered.
“Violence was all around me when I was growing up, Zorie. My brother...did bad stuff, had some of it happen to him. If you’re in a hole, I know people who know people.”
Mouth agape, I thought that through. Grimm knew bad people? And he’d been a bouncer, which led to nightclubs. Depending on where, that could mean he’d been around crime. Or so I gathered. What was he talking about? Drug dealers? Biker gangs? Prostitution?
Maybe he meant he knew the ice-cream-van man? I was out of my depth here too.
A willy wagtail, eye cocked, long-feathered tail twitching, hopped across the grass chasing worms. The ducks quacked.
The day was too damn bright for this.
Did everyone around me have a sordid past?
I curled forward and buried my head in my hands. “Even if you could do something about...whatever. I...can’t talk.”
“Whatever?” He muttered something else and yanked up a stalk of grass, then twirled it, idly. “I think I’ve established there’s something. You’re here. You want me here. But I need you to talk. At least you aren’t saying, I’m fine .”
“True.” I lowered my hands to peer over them at Grimm. Yes. I wasn’t saying that. I’d edged closer to the real topic than ever before.
Skirt the topic. How?
“Graffiti. Haiku.”
He stared at me directly now, maybe thinking I’d lost it. So much for secrecy and pretending they weren’t talking to each other.
“One question. One, Grimm.” I took my keys from my shorts pocket and began to scratch at the paint on the seat then said quietly, “I’ve never vandalized before.”
After a few seconds he looked out over the small lake again. “Lost me. I don’t understand. Is this a strategy to defeat your lack of talking?”
Too direct. My tongue tangled.
Go around.
“The sky is blue. Yes.”
“What the fuck?” Grimm muttered. “So that’s a yes.”
A statement, that. He was catching on. Lucky I had a librarian and so he’d hopefully read some strange books.
“We need a dead letter drop. Invisible ink. A code book.”
“Not... Uh.” I wanted to tell him it wasn’t just the need for secrecy stopping me. Resistance was growing in my head. I massaged my temples. “No. Fuck.”
All the mind wrestling I was doing. I was stuck. The world squeezed in whenever I tried to elaborate.
“Graffiti, hey? I hear conflict, stress, in what you’re saying. How you’re saying it. I’m probably nuts. But, hypnotism? Has someone made you unable to talk?”
The man was a goddamned genius.
I stared, feeling bug-eyed, and wondered if I was going blue. With all the messing about I was
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