Kairos - Blood (MxM) | Book 2 | ✅

12.Smells Like Home

I hadn't realized how heavy and unnecessary the many food casseroles I had prepared were until I stacked them together and carried them to a cab.

'Take a taxi to Huntington and Mills crossroad.' Jack's message read.

A residential area in the not-so-nice suburbs unfolded before me. My lips parted in a smirk as I got out of the cab.

Kids yelled and ran throwing a raggy football. Bam! Some teens swung a bat at someone's metal fence. A woman stuck out her head through the window waving a fist and spitting curse words at the ruffians.

Yeah, I was home. Every detail, even the chemical fragrance spouted by the nearby industrial area, reminded me of the house I've lived in until my parents had passed away.

A cigarette was in order. As I lit up, two thugs playing at pushing one another off the sidewalk were headed right at me.

"Got one for us, man?" one of them asked with a mischievous grin tainting his otherwise youthful appearance.

"Sure," I answered and opened my pack to him.

Law of the street. According to the rules, I was in their territory and if I misbehaved they got to rob me blind and kick my ass. On the other hand, the more I behaved, the more they'd ask of me until I was robbed and ass-kicked anyway.

The grinning thug took a cigarette. Leader. The other one took two, staring like he couldn't wait for me to challenge him for the extra cig. Muscle.

I marveled at my understanding of their actions. I supposed I had written enough stories set in their world that I knew a few things if not directly at least indirectly.

Despite my swift insight or because of it, cold tendrils spawned across my spine and numbed my limbs. Fear took its due and put my feet into motion.

Puffing at my cigarette, I sauntered past them mumbling a generic goodbye, "Later."

Where the heck was I going? I was supposed to wait for Jack to pick me up at the crossroad.

"Got any booze too, mister?" one of them asked.

Chilled to the bone I let my footsteps falter. They weren't going to leave me alone. Did I want to play along or hiss them away? I looked up at the gray sky and took in a deep breath. Show no apprehension. Just like during my first lectures in front of hundreds of students - I could do this.

With a smile, I turned and walked back meeting them halfway.

"Got food. Want that?" I held up my plastic bag.

Eager hands dipped into it and took out two casseroles. Leader had top choice. Four left. Should be enough for Bill.

The bold and greedy guy moved to grab the entire bag. Fucking Muscle looking to show off.

"Not all of it, stupid," I said without thinking.

Muscle gaped at me then shot a glance at Leader.

Leader shrugged and handed Muscle one of his casseroles. "You from around here?" He asked me struggling to peel off the lid.

"Visiting."

Leader got to the rolls of minced meat and veggies. With a sniff, he smirked, "Nice." He dug in and nodded in approval.

Muscle tried out his treat - cheese and tomatoes folded in pastries. "Damn," he mumbled with a full mouth.

"Glad you enjoy it," I said plainly.

"Smells like home," Leader said quietly to himself.

I took a whiff but felt only the chemicals in the air. Yeah, it did smell like home.

A dark vehicle approached at a snail's pace. With tinted windows and an impeccable gleam, it was a gangster car in a rundown neighborhood. Subtle, Jack.

It stopped beside me under the confused stares of Leader and Muscle.

"That your ride, man?" Leader asked lowly.

"Yeah." My shoulders shrugged as punctuation.

Their eyes widened. And it hit me — in their world, I had just become someone they'd follow and wish to emulate.

"Got to go. See you around," I uttered and stepped on my cigarette.

They just about pissed their pants as I got in.

And I just about pissed my pants too. The driver was a stranger. No sign of Jack.

"Mr.Finley," he said with a nod by way of greeting.

"Person I've never met before," I uttered with a half-smile.

He smirked a bit and put the car in motion.

"I'm Henry. Mr.Fox said you'll be riding with me for the next days. Is that all right with you?" He was a surprisingly well-spoken gangster.

"Yes. Sure, Henry. Call me Steve."

"Mr.Fox speaks very highly of you and I doubt he'd approve of me taking such liberties."

"I approve. Mr.Fox can take it up with me." I bristled.

"Very well, Mr.Fin- Steve."

My gaze slipped to the tainted window, watching the outside world.

'Mr.Finley' reminded me of Jack. Having anyone else call me that was strange. Wasn't this just a precious predicament? I longed to hear Jack say 'Steve'but loved hearing him and only him say 'Mr.Finley.' Even in anger. Even with disgust. Come to think of it, has it ever truly been disgust making Jack say my name that way?

***

The car stopped in front of an old factory building. As I was fiddling with the seatbelt, Henry jumped out and moved to open the car door for me. Was he a chauffeur or a gangster with manners?

Once outside, I took in a deep breath. The chemical stink was stronger here.

All right. What was I expecting? A hospital?

I walked under Henry's guidance, taking a turn and down some stone stairs to a demi basement.

There was no hospital for gangsters that got shot, I pondered. Not unless they wanted to recover in jail and spend the rest of their life between bars.

At the end of a corridor, a couple of guys stood by a rusty metal door. They nodded in greeting. I nodded back.

Who did they think I was? Who did I think I was in this strange roleplaying venue where everyone got to be a shady character with ties to the underworld of the local mafia?

Henry opened the door for me and I stepped in, expecting an ambush. Paranoid much, Mr.Finley?

But I had an excuse. The dimly lit, decrepit place seemed haunted and mean all on its own, without the addition of dark suits, with steel eyes peering at me.

I and my escort were walking along another eerie corridor. Clank-clunk. Other doors and locks echoed in the building.

I indulged in studying Henry in more detail. He had an impressive built and height, but soft and classical facial features, like an actor of the film noir genre with hooded eyes and a strong jaw. I pictured him on the Silver Screen playing a detective, snapping lines at other characters, squeezing dames in his arms and aiming guns at gangsters. All in all, a nice distraction from my surreal surroundings.

We eventually reached what I assumed was our destination. A larger, better-lit room where a red-haired wrinkled woman in plain white clothes grabbed my attention. She sat on an armchair with a newspaper spread across her lap. Tired bug eyes lifted from the printed text and fixed on us.

"Hey, Henry. Hey, you. Hm, I forgot your name, but Mr.Fox said something about a visitor."

"Steve." I waved like a dumbass.

"Bill's through here, Steve." Her gaze returned to the newspaper in her lap.