I pulled the phone away from my ear and stared at it.
"What happened?" Tasha asked
"He's coming over."
She looked up, shocked. "What? Why?"
"I don't know! He just told me he was and hung up." I looked at her, absolutely freaking out, my heart pounding against my chest. "What am I supposed to do? The house is a mess!"
"That's what you are thinking about?" Tasha wanted to know. "Why would he come here now? Have you seen the time?"
"I have! I didn't invite him." Why was everything always my fault?
"Well, call him back and tell him not to," she huffed, falling back on the cushions again. "I was just starting to relax. Haven't we already had enough to try our nerves today?"
"I am trying to..." I said, stabbing at the call button again and again. "He isn't picking up."
"Come on!" Tasha cursed at the ceiling.
"Who's coming over?" Granny Tonks asked with interest, taking a sip from her dubious mug again.
I got up and wretched the cup from her hand. The continuous slurping was grating on my nerves. "My boss," I said, and then sniffed her mug. I almost gagged. "What in the name of God is this?!"
"Why should I tell you?" Granny said, getting angry. "Give it back!" She reached for my hand.
I stepped out of her reach. "I don't think so," I said. "I am dumping this out."
"No!" she wailed. "Do you know how much that cost? It's fresh. Only two days old!"
I didn't dare ask her what it was that was fresh and only two days old, but I think I could safely have narrowed the guesses down. I glared at her hard, then went to the kitchen and dumped the pale yellowish liquid into the sink. I poured some bleach after it and chased it all down with a lot of water from the faucet.
"One day, girl," Granny Tonks assured me when I got back, chewing furiously at the pipe in her mouth. "One day, you are going to wake up tied to a train track."
I ignored her. "Here's a new rule," I told Tasha, picking up the remaining mugs and starting to hobble for the kitchen again. "Never ever let her drink whatever she wants to."
After that there was nothing left to do but wait. I tried to straighten the things around the house but gave up after sometime. Who cared, anyways? I hadn't asked him to come. If he insisted to, he would have to contend with a cluttered place. Besides, I was tired, and Tasha and Granny didn't move a finger to help.
About ten minutes later, the doorbell rang. I looked at it wildly but then steeled myself and went to let him in, picking up a scarf on the way and putting it on my head.
When I removed the chain and pulled open the door, there was a surprise waiting for me outside.
What was it?
Well, it looked remarkably like the barrel of a gun pointed at my nose. Actually, when I zoomed out and my eyes stopped crossing over, I noticed that it was in fact the barrel of a gun pointed at my nose. And it came attached to the arm of a glowering Alexander Rodwell, dressed in rumpled jeans and a black tee.
When he saw it was me who opened the door, he rushed inside so fast my senses didn't even get a chance to register his entry. Almost immediately his arm had lifted me up and pushed me behind him as he came charging in. I was so shocked no sound came out of my lips.
Tasha gasped. I hoped Granny Tonks hadn't died.
He looked around the room. In his rush he had knocked the crutches out of my hands, and I had no choice but to grab at his black clad shoulders, which were a long way up. Somehow my body didn't seem to mind as much as it probably should have.
"What the hell are you doing?" I shrieked.
"Keep quiet, Miss Mahal," he ordered.
"But--"
"Brace yourself," he said. He grabbed one of my hands and placed it on the wall, subsequently vanishing from under my other, upsetting my balance. If I hadn't had support, I would have nose-planted.
Like a tornado floating through the apartment, he swept into the kitchen and looked around. It didn't take very long. Then he rushed towards the only other door in the room. My heart jumped into my throat when he entered there, the damned gun held up in front of him.
"Hey, get out of there!" I said. "Tasha!"
Tasha rushed forward, but was met by Mr. Rodwell at the door, who appeared to be coming back out.
"Out of my way, Miss Evans," he said. The gun was held loosely in his grip.
Tasha glared at him, her arms akimbo, not fazed at all. "What do you mean get out of your way? How dare you come into somebody else's home like this and snoop around?"
He spared her a glance of little interest. "Just like I do everything else, it seems. Effortlessly." Then he pushed past her, leaving her seething in his wake, and addressed me. "Your house is empty, Miss Mahal," he declared.
I looked at him, at a loss for words, my eyes wide open and, to my everlasting shame, I think my mouth was hanging open too. I blinked. "What do you mean the house is empty?"
"I really don't like explaining things over and over again, Miss Mahal, you know that. I mean, the house is empty. You are safe."
"I--what? Of course I am safe. Why would you ever think otherwise?"
He watched me, his eyes narrowed. A long moment passed. Then, "There was never someone in your house, was there?"
"No! Of course there wasn't."
"Then why did you call me? Do you have any idea what time it is?" He ran the fingers of his right hand through his tousled hair in annoyance.
I flushed. "I do. I wanted to tell you something but you just said you were coming over and hung up! Whatever was I supposed to do? I kept calling you back but you won't pick up." I felt anger boil in my ears. "You can go right now, for all I care. I didn't ask you to come here." I waved a hand at the door.
Something dark and angry surfaced on his face. "I do not like being played the fool, Miss Mahal."
"I did not play you for a fool. If you had heard me out, this would never have happened. I mean, why would you ever think I would be in dang--" My eyes widened. "Oh," I said, understanding now. "You thought I was in danger. Mr. Rodwell," I said, "does this sudden concern for my safety have something to do with whatever it is you are doing? You and your brother?"
"I don't know what you are talking about," he stated casually, scratching at his chin with the barrel of the gun. It did cross my mind that it would seriously hamper my plan if he blew his brains out.
"You know, Mr. Rodwell, maybe I don't want you to leave after all. Why don't you sit down?" I slid to the ground and grabbed my fallen crutches. Climbing back up, I shut the door and turned the lock. "Tasha, maybe you should make our guest a cup of tea? I have a feeling he is going to feel pretty parched after our little catching up." Wow. I was so proud of myself. That sounded exactly like what a dangerous movie heroin would say. I mentally patted myself on the back.
"Why should I?" Tasha asked, really pissed. "I am not your servant."
I sighed. Trust your friend to ruin your moment. I turned the lock again and fastened the chain.
"Because, Tasha, we are going to have a chat," I said as I turned around, lacing my tone with hidden meaning. I hoped she would get it.
Apparently not. "Still doesn't make me your servant. I am not making anything for him. Not even poison."
I sighed harder. Fine, then. "Granny Tonks, if you make him something to drink I will let you have your pipe for a night."
Granny heaved herself off the armchair. "What? Make tea for this hunk of handsomeness? You don't have to bribe me for that, honey. You need only ask." When she reached the kitchen door, she added. "Doesn't mean I won't take the refill, though."
I exhaled in relief. Finally. Then I turned towards my victim. There was a mocking smile on his face. Uh-oh. "Miss Evans," he said, a glint in his eyes I did not like at all, "you might not have noticed, but I think your friend is trying to threaten me." The incredulity in his voice made me want to jump off a cliff. Tasha looked at me curiously.
"Of course I am not," I scoffed, trying to overcome the embarrassment. This was not like a movie heroin at all. "Why would I?
He shrugged. "Oh, I am sorry, I am sure. I just thought you were. What with shutting the door and things." He waved a hand. "But I should tell you, Miss Mahal, if that is in fact your intention, I have had to escape much more serious threats than you pose in the course of my life. I think it won't be very hard for me to escape the clutches of a physically challenged person, a hyper doll and," he looked to where Granny had vanished, "an old woman," he chose.
"I am not a hyper doll," Tasha protested.
He raised an eyebrow at her. "Are you sure? Because you could have fooled me."
"You know what, Alexander," she said, taking a step forward, deliberately used his name, "you think yourself to be some kind of a mobster and mafia lord, but all you are is a spoiled rich brat!" She huffed and folded her arms over her chest, proud with her insult.
"Spoiled rich brat?" he asked, fingering his earlobe as he thought about it. "You don't know as much about me as you think you do, do you? Miss Evans, I was adopted into the Rodwell family when I was five and living off street garbage. I think I can safely say that I am not as much of a spoiled brat as you are."
My eyes widened. I hadn't known that.
"How dare you?" Tasha hissed, taking another step forward. She was tired and spent after all that had come to pass today and this didn't help her temper. Or her sense of judgement, for that matter. "I know all about your past. But that does not change the fact as to what you have grown into. Christopher has told me stuff about you, you know."
"And yet you let your best friend come and work for me. I would say that was very ill thought of."
Tasha flushed. "You would never have harmed her."
"And why do you think that? As you have so eloquently put," he stated with a twisted smile, "I am not exactly the most sought after company."
Before Tasha could reply, I interjected. "What are you both talking about?" I asked. They looked at me, one flustered with unspent wrath and the other leisurely examining the side of his gun. "And please put that abomination away, will you? There are two little girls sleeping in the next room."
He clipped the gun into its holster and regarded me. "Your friend, Miss Mahal," he said, "is talking about the kind of connections I tend to keep. She obviously doesn't approve of them."
"Your friends are mobsters and underworld lords you bought with your money," Tasha snarled.
Hmm...
"Ah... Tell me the truth. Is that your definition or Christopher's?" he wanted to know.
"What does it matter whose definition it is? What matters is that it is the truth," she countered.
"I don't really care a fig's worth of what you or Christopher think of me, Miss Evans," Mr. Rodwell shrugged. "But your insistence on proving my life dubious does grow tiresome. Let me clarify myself to you then." He held up a premonitory hand. "I do not plan to refute in the least that I have powerful connections in the less reputable world. But as I keep reiterating, these are connections. In this world of fallen bodies and only one ladder, you have to grab the strongest rung to survive." He leaned back against the back of the sofa, crossing one leg over the other. "But that does not mean I won't happily step on them to climb yet higher. That's all I am doing. Surviving."
"But throwing other people down," Tasha insisted.
"A necessary evil," he allowed. "Though I do try to throw down only those who can climb back up again. More to the point, Miss Evans, sometimes you have to get your hands dirty to catch the dirty fish. In fact, you simply cannot hope to remain clean." He held up a finger. "It is just a matter of accepting the dark in the world instead of turning your nose on it. This is street smart, not immorality, as Christopher so eloquently puts it whenever and to whomever he gets the chance."
I stared at him. So here he was, admitting it from his own mouth that he was not exactly what he showed the world to be. And admitting it quite shamelessly too, with the openness of a person who actually believes he is in the right.
"And what dirty fish are you catching, Mr. Rodwell?" I asked.
He focused on me. "Spot on with the questions, aren't you?"
"Your brother thinks we shouldn't be told whatever it is you are doing," I said. "But he admits that somehow we are involved. And you admitted as much that day in your office. So how about you finally tell us what it is that you have gotten us into?"
"It has something to do with Meli's death, hasn't it?" Tasha asked. She might not know all the facts, but she knew how to pick up threads all right. Except for when the threads come from me.
"Miss Mahal, this is neither a movie nor are you the fiery heroin who insists she can save the world and then ends up doing so." How did he find out? "This is real life. Dangerous real life, as shown by what happened to your friend. You don't need to be involved more than you actually are."
"I cannot believe this!" I positively exploded. "This is almost exactly what your brother said. But did you ever consider, even for a second, that we are not just pawns in your little games? We have lives too. I have a daughter to protect. And now another little girl. How can you both possibly think that we would be okay with being oblivious?"
"Being oblivious and seeing selective things are two entirely different states," he said.
"Don't you dare sprout that Zen-crap on us, Alexander," Tasha warned.
"Alright," I said, raising a hand to calm the tension in the room. "How about you just tell us what exactly it was that you wanted us for? That's not much, is it?"
He looked at me so sharply I almost felt like he could see all the way inside and to my darkest of secrets. "And what exactly would you do with that information?" he asked.
"Let's just say it would calm our curiosity. As it is, you won't want a distracted person working for you, would you, Mr. Rodwell? Curiosity sounds remarkably like a frivolous emotion to me. You won't want me to carry it around, would you? It could affect my work potential." I smiled at him. It felt as fake as plastic on my lips.
"You are smart when you need to be, Miss Mahal. I confess I am surprised." It was getting harder and harder to maintain the smile. He shrugged. "Alright then, I will tell you. But only to get you off my back."
"Okay," I said, not wanting to say anymore and distract him again.
He watched me with thoughtful eyes, seeming to assess what he could say and what could not. Then, he said, "It was you we actually needed, Miss Mahal. To prove something for us. "
I froze. A cold lump settled in the pit of my stomach.
***
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