Page 43 of Things We Tell Ourselves

Fourteen

A black SUV takes them into town. Sacramento feels a lot like Los Angeles until the driver brings them into a run-down area of town. As they pass a dilapidated warehouse, glass still littering the sidewalk in front of it where the windows have been busted out, Camille gives Wade a curious glance.

“Where are you taking me?”

“Don’t worry,” he says with an amused curl to his lips, watching intently. “I didn’t fly you all the way out here to leave you stranded in the bad part of town.”

“Great, now I’m picturing that happening.” She turns to the front of the SUV. “Excuse me, driver. Where are you taking us?”

The man, wearing the same black suit Buck wore when he picked her up from the airport, keeps his eyes on the road, remaining silent.

Camille sighs, sitting back to stare up at the ceiling. “Can you still make collect phone calls these days?”

“I’m fairly sure. Why?” Wade smirks at her. “You didn’t bring your cellphone?”

“Like I would tell the guy who’s about to leave me stranded.”

He stares at her a moment.

“No,” she admits, “I left it at your mom’s. Hey, how do you make a collect call anyways?”

Deadpanned, he examines her. “You really are in trouble.” He stares out his window. They pass an alley, and he says, “you’d fit nicely in that dumpster.”

“Alright,” Camille exclaims, glaring at the driver. “You can pull over. I’ll take my chances on foot.”

“I’m kidding,” Wade chuckles.

Camille glares at him. “Are you?” she asks, her cheeks giving way to a grin of amusement.

He shrugs. “Doesn’t matter now. We’re here.” He looks out of his window as the SUV slows.

They drive up to a nicely kept wooded lot, the road coming to a T ahead of them, where they take a right; a park of some kind on the left. Camille leans across to see out of Wade’s window, where there are more dilapidated buildings.

Camille sits up in her seat. “Excuse me, sir,” she insists to the driver, who glances at her through the rearview mirror. “If he’s paying you to ditch me on the side of the road, I’ll double the amount for you to ditch him instead.”

The driver arches an eyebrow at her. “How are you going to pay me ten grand if you didn’t even bring your phone?”

Camille frowns. “Oh, you heard that.” She plops back in her seat, Wade chuckling beside her. “I know you’re not laughing at me,” she snaps, cutting eyes at him, “when you’re the one paying this guy five thousand bucks just to drive us around.”

“He’s messing with you,” Wade assures her, lowering his voice as the car slows to a stop in front of an old three-story, red brick warehouse.

At least this one has all of its windows, she thinks. There’s dark tinting on every window on the first and second floor. The brass awning covering the front doors looks brand new.

A homeless man sits against the brick wall, just under the awning near the double doors. He pops up when he sees them. To her amazement, Wade smiles as the man walks straight up to the back passenger door and opens it. Camille recoils in fear that they’re about to be mugged, but the homeless man extends his hand toward the building.

“Welcome to The Hive,” he says in a deep voice. He looks past Wade to Camille and nods at Wade. “Didn’t know we’d be seeing you tonight, boss.”

Wade steps out, extending his hand. “Last minute change of plans,” he answers, shaking the man’s hand. Wade glances up at the building. “How’s it been?”

“Word’s gotten out,” the man tells him, staying at the door as Wade steps onto the sidewalk. “By my count, we’re close to capacity tonight.”

The man offers Camille his hand as she cautiously climbs out. She takes his hand, smiling at him politely. Looking closely, his clothes have the embedded dirt and grim of a typical person living on the streets, his jacket frayed at the seams, but when she looks down at his hand holding hers, it’s clean. Even his nails look kept up. As a matter of fact, there no hint of body odor coming from him. His skin looks prematurely wrinkled from exposure to the elements, but upon looking him in the eyes, he has youthful, bright hazel eyes instead of bloodshot and tired.

“Welcome to The Hive.”

“Thank you,” she replies, noting the flash of his surprisingly white and intact front teeth.

He shuts the door behind her. The hint of a security badge peeps out from under his worn jean jacket with a bold “H” across it, reflecting in the streetlights. She follows Wade, watching as the man hurries over to the front passenger window and grabs something from under his jacket. Pulling out a vehicle tag with a matching metallic ‘H’ on it, he leans in the open window to hand the tag to the driver. He directs the driver to the alleyway past the building.

---