Page 22 of Sink or Swim

Maurice slaps his hands on both knees and stands up. “Come on. Get your jacket. We’re going out.”

I sputter, “W-What, now? It’s late, isn’t it?”

He arches an eyebrow and looks down at his Rolex. “It’s ten. Since when are you an ‘in bed by ten’ kind of guy?”

“I don’t know, ever since my employer tried to off me and let me wash up on the docks three months later?” I spit out. My words are like venom and linger in the air for a few, uncomfortable moments. He’s out of his mind if he thinks I want to hang out like old times after everything. And he should know better.

He nods, pointing at me. “Yeah. Good point. But this will cheer you up. I guarantee it. We’re going to Risque’s.”

Groaning, I stand up and go over to the coat rack to grab my jacket. Because when Maurice wants to go to the strip club, nothing—and I mean nothing—will get him to back down. Maurice has always called the shots as far as entertainment goes. New movie opened and he wants to see it? We’re going. Risque’s is hosting free shots nights? We’re going. The man wants to bet on some horses? We’re going.

“I’ll get the rest of the guys ready,” he says, then starts up the stairwell. “It’ll make you feel better, I promise.”

Yeah, like hell it will.

The strip club did not, in fact, make me feel better. If anything, it made me feel worse. It made me miss my giant lizard woman even more than I already do, and that’s saying something.

Normally, I’d never pass down the opportunity to have a thong-clad ass shoved in my face. But tonight, I turn down every single woman who approaches me for a little VIP time. Maurice is irritated with my rebuffing, of course, and tries to pay every woman in the joint to suck my dick. Nothing against the lovely ladies of Risque’s, of course. They always did the trick in the past when I was feeling lonely and horny. But all I can think about is Oona and her thick thighs. Her elegant, strong tail and the way she’d wrap it around my leg to pin me in place. The way she tasted when she’d position herself over my face.

Maurice grumbles into his vodka tonic and grinds out, “At least let one of them give you a blow job. Get your mind off things.”

I sigh as the bright lights of the club start to give me a migraine. I’m still not used to being awake this late, for one thing, and to have pulsing club music throbbing in my head isn’t helping. Normally, Oona and I would be curled up together in her bed, trying not to push each other out of it onto the floor. Her tail would curl around my middle protectively, possessively, as I’d rest my head on her collarbone. And then I’d fall asleep to the sound of her chest rising and falling in slow, rhythmic beats.

“No,” I say again for the tenth time. I haven’t touched my rum and Coke, either. “You know, most people would let their friend rest after they survived an ordeal as shitty as mine.”

Maurice’s eyes narrow as he takes another pull of his drink. “Just trying to help.”

“Help less,” I snap, then I’m on my feet before I know what I’m doing. Did I really just snap at Maurice, a man who could make me a red stain on the floor in the blink of an eye? The man who I’ve seen turn men into piles of pulp on the carpet?

Maurice works his jaw as he watches me grab my jacket. He doesn’t say a word when I nod to the rest of the guys, who are eagerly receiving lap dances from the strippers. Doesn’t say anything as I sling my jacket over my shoulders, head out onto the street, and start the slow walk back to headquarters.

When I finally get there, it’s after midnight, and I have to buzz to get in. Maurice opens the door and steps aside, allowing me to slide past him in the darkened hallway. We don’t say anything to one another for a long, torturous moment while I hang up my jacket and loosen my tie.

Then he inhales deeply, and his booming voice sends a chill down my spine when he says, “You shouldn’t have left.”

I chew my bottom lip, unsure of what to say to that. So, I say nothing, not wanting to piss him off more than I already have.

“You shouldn’t have left. I’m sorry I pushed so fucking hard. I just … I really missed you. We used to have a lot of fun, before. Thought maybe this would loosen you up. Get you back on your feet.”

I scrub my hand through my hair and turn to meet his eyes. “Look, Maurice. It’s not like I don’t appreciate you trying to help.” A lie. I’m glad he’s alive and doing okay, of course, but I’m not sure how we can go back to the way things were. If we even can. It’s not that I wish him ill, but I don’t wish him well, either. Not after everything that’s happened. “But I need time, man. Time and rest.”

A strip club right after I swam across the channel with my girlfriend? Seriously? Who does that? Maurice, apparently. But he also thinks I’ve just been lying low somewhere in the city for the past three months. He has no clue I’ve been roughing it out in a tree house with a lizard woman. And I’d like to keep it that way, too. Don’t need a bunch of humans trying to hunt her down to turn her into a sideshow attraction or sell her to the highest bidder or force her into a lab somewhere. The thought of any of those things happening makes my stomach curdle.

Maurice nods and lumbers past me, drunker than he’d ever let on. He reeks of alcohol, cheap perfume, and cigars. He catches the corner of the hall with his side and lets out a grumble before heading off to sleep off his liquor on the sofa. Just like old times.

“We’ll talk again in the morning,” he slurs.

“I won’t be here,” I say, and I mean it. I’m not staying. I’ll go to a hostel if I have to, or sleep on a park bench somewhere if it keeps me out of the mafia for another night.

Maurice jerks upright on the sofa and hiccups. “What do you mean, you won’t be here?” he asks.

I linger in the doorway, about to turn back. “I don’t want to be apart of any ‘family’ that tried to kill me.”

“Nick…” Maurice starts, but I shake my head, already reaching for the door handle.

“Stop. Just stop it,” I hiss. “You’re incredible, you know that? You sat on that fucking boat and watched them throw me into the lagoon. You tried to drown me. And when I come back soaking wet, your first response is ‘welcome back, buddy, let’s go to the titty bar?’ Fuck you.”

Maurice’s throat bobs up and down, then he runs his palms down his face, like he’s trying to sober himself up.

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