Red Ink

The Wolfe Approaches

Two: The Wolfe Approaches

Waking up with a wicked hangover is never fun, yet, Wolfe forgets it every time he takes that first sip of liquor and doesn't stop. But a Wainright is never seen alone.  His trusty head of security and long-time friend, Tiger is always with him. He has often depended on Tiger to do the right thing, even if Wolfe insists otherwise.

However, as his eyes open to slits, he calls Tiger a "Bloody bastard" for not closing the drapes in his bedroom. New York City that summer morning is as bright as ever. He reaches for his mobile on the side table to check the time, but doesn't find it there. Whoever put him in bed was smart enough to leave him water and a package of seltzer on the table. He vows never to drink again as he gulps the fizzy drink.The pounding in his head is unforgiving.  He opens his eyes to the light, muttering expletives as his eyes adjust to the brightness. 

When he sits up, he realizes that he's still in yesterday's clothes. Tiger must have dumped him in bed. Claire provided the seltzer. He's sure of it. After rubbing the sleep off his eyes, he runs his hand over his overgrown stubble, reminding himself to schedule a visit to the barber for a clean shave. With his face covered by his hands, a fleeting memory enters his mind. A beautiful woman with fiery red hair and beautiful green eyes makes the friend in his pants stir. Is she from a dream?  Wolfe palms the bulge over the fabric of his trousers.

"There's no time."  He looks out the window, and then down to the strained hard on.  "Up and at 'em, Wolfe," he orders himself, trying to rid his mind of whatever allure the vision brings. It takes him a few tries to regain balance in the spinning room, and then pads to the bathroom to take a much-needed shower.

****

"Have you seen my mobile, Claire?" he asks while he descends the stairs and walks towards the modern kitchen where his housekeeper, an older woman in her late-fifties, is cooking.  The fragrant hits him and makes his mouth water.

"Sorry, dear. I didn't see it on your table last night. Maybe Tiger forgot to leave it," Claire tells him, pushing a plate of pasta on the kitchen island towards his way.

The digital clock on the wall oven catches his attention.  "Is that the time? Bloody hell. I've been out that long?"

Wolfe is disgusted with himself for sleeping in. It has been a while since he has done anything like that.  He fears that must have been thoroughly smashed the night before. While in the shower, he tries to recall what happened to him. He remembers going to Club Sin with a couple of business clients, getting right pissed with whatever was placed in front of him--shots, spirits, wine. A woman in a red dress caught his eye at one point during the night. Clear as day, he reals her making her way to where his group sat. She isn't the woman in his dreams. He briefly recalls talking about tattoos, and then leaving the club with the her. The rest of it is not clear, and he hopes Tiger can fill in the blanks for him. First and foremost--where his mobile is.  His days are ran by that piece of technology.

"Glad to see you alive." Tiger's voice booms in the open space.

"Have you seen my mobile?" Wolfe asks his head of security, not bothering to look up from his plate.

"That's what you think is more important? Hey, Claire. Can I have a plate of that too?" Tiger sits next to Wolfe, and waits for the plate from Claire.  He mouths a "thanks" to the woman who acts more like a mother to Wolfe rather than the dependable employee.

With a forkful of pasta halfway to his mouth, Wolfe smirks at Tiger. "What did I do?"

"You mean, what did you almost do?" Tiger pierces pasta with his fork, keeping a serious face.  "You almost made a permanent mistake."