Page 17 of Prey

The bus had the right of way, so I had the opportunity to look down on the Mustang as we drove past. All I could see was the driver's shape, who seemed to be wearing a cap, but the windows’ glazing was too dark to see the features and details of his face.

Further down the road, I spotted the Mustang again at the traffic lights, turning down a road, so it was traveling in the opposite direction to the bus. He seemed to be going around in circles via the back roads. Then he appeared again, parked outside a McDonald's, and anxiety rippled down my spine.

Was he following me?

Don’t be ridiculous. He probably didn’t notice me approaching his car and was almost about to peer inside the windows. Maybe he thought I would try the handle, hoping it was unlocked, then steal his ride. Annika Kaiser might have tried to nick his car and take it out for a joy ride, but Riley Laws was quite a different girl. I missed Annika, but I mostly missed Annika's naughty antics with Gunner.

I spotted the Mustang again on the bus ride back to campus, and by the time I stepped off the bus opposite the Stop & Shop, that car was farthest from my mind. The sun was going down, and I decided to walk back to Hallen Hall rather than take another connection. By the time I returned to my little room, it was dark, and my feet were sore, but I felt good.

Naturally, I checked the walls for a new addition to the graffiti, and even if there were, I wouldn’t inform the director because she might think I dreamt it up. There was a faint scent of dope and cologne, but I left the window open a crack to let fresh air in, so it probably came through there.

Before leaving for the day’s venture, I took photos with my phone of the folded clothes in my drawers and closet as evidence to check to see if someone had broken in and looked around. It looked as though nothing had been touched, and the walls were free of accusing words, so I slid the bolt on the door, shut and locked the window, and prepared for bed under the sounds of distant laughter and squeals of delight from normal people doing everyday things.

Rather than socializing with my roommates in the entertainment room or kitchen, I stripped off my clothes, put on my pajamas, and crawled into bed to watch a movie on my phone. Jealousy stirred as the laughter and partying continued outside and down the hall. I wished I could be Annika Kaiser instead of Riley Laws, allow my hair to grow out in its natural glory of wavy blond, and discard my annoying eyewear.

The Joker was the movie of my choice on this night of loneliness because I was in the mood for chaos and vigilante justice rather than a laid-back romance. Once I inserted the buds into my ears that blocked out the atmospheric sounds of partygoers, their fun was soon forgotten. Sinking deeper into the story of a social outcast, circling thoughts of the Peeping Tom in the forest vanished but not forgotten.

Just at the Robert DeNiro scene, when The Joker pulled a gun on him, an alert flashed on my phone, startling me. Only four groups of people had my cell number – Judith, the Murphy family I lived in hiding with when…that thing happened, Gotland College admin, etc., and Shaun – puke, and I hoped it wasn’t him.

Concerned that it might be an emergency from one of my contacts, I paused the movie at the best scene, opened the message, and turned numb. I didn’t know if it was the end of a draining day or the film I was watching, but whoever sent the message was trying to scare me, and it wasn’t working.

It was a pic of a Scream mask. It had something to do with the stupid prick that tried to scare me yesterday, but how did he get my number? And why was he doing this?

10

It’s damn good to be back. I ran my hands across the maple wood desk and relaxed back into the leather chair that’s soft like butter, then opened the top drawer of my desk, took out a cigar, and struck a match as my boys watched on, waiting for me to speak. My cousin Gunner took his spot leaning against the wall by the gold-plaited framed painting of a voluptuous 19th-century woman lying on a bed with the white sheet fallen away from her left breast.

It’s the first breast I’ve seen in three years that wasn’t ripped out of a porn magazine and glued onto a cellmate’s wall. But it’s still not better than the real thing.

On the other hand, Ronan sat opposite me, looking nervous, as if he wanted to make a good impression after overseeing this place for the last three years. So far, so good. As long as there were no surprises for me because he knew how much I despised surprises. There was nothing I hated more than important information kept from me, only to be revealed when I least expected it.

Freddie and Betty stood by the nearest exit, probably because they couldn’t stay long, as they needed to get back to the club. They were smiling, pleased that the boss was back, but I knew Ronan had done a fine job because he wouldn’t move a stapler without my say-so.

All eyes were on me as I took a therapeutic pull of my cigar, enjoying the sweet, smoky flavor before blowing out the smoke. Betty stepped to the drink cabinet and poured me a whiskey, like old times, as if I’d never been away.

“Looks good,” I finally admitted, although I hadn’t been downstairs in the club yet since I came in the back entrance, eager to reclaim my office while Ronan moved back to his office next door.

“We’d need to go over a few things with you,” Betty smiled with those scarlet-painted lips. She wore the same perfume, and her jet-black hair was pulled tightly back into a long ponytail. For some reason, she always had a thing for pinstriped suits with ties. She placed the crystal glass before me and brushed fake lint off my tie and jacket before giving me a peck on my cheek and whispering, “Good to have you back, Mikky.”

We poached Betty from our Larsson club, infuriating my Aunt Sylvie, who ran that club, but we didn’t regret it one bit. Ronan updated me every prison visit about how fantastic she was for the business.

“Thank you, Betty. It’s damn great to be back,” I swallowed back my anger with whiskey, but it was less satisfying than Ihad hoped. Cheap, overly sweet orange juice had ruined my tastebuds.

“We’ll be downstairs. " Betty was masterful at reading the room, and she knew I’d want to speak to the boys alone before I attended to club business.

I waited a couple of beats for the door to close after them before offering Ronan and Gunner whiskey and cigars. Gunner took a cigar while Ronan helped himself to a whiskey. Some things never change.

Relaxing back into the chair, I was trying to get my head around the fact that it’s been three years, and I didn’t have to smell or see the concrete walls of a prison cell ever again. Nor did I have to see the faces of the prisoners. Most were lowlife losers who needed discipline and a purpose, but that world was behind me, and there was no way in the cesspit of hell I would ever go back there again. But I couldn’t get past the fact that a little traitor set me up.

Now where o where is the little traitor?

“So…” I began, signaling for Gunner to sit in the chair beside Ronan so we could conduct a meeting. “Fill me in.”

Ronan slowly shook his head. “Been running smoothly. Can’t think of any major problems that I haven't already told you about when I visited you in prison.”

“Yeah,” I focused my attention on Gunner squirming in his seat while taking another pull of my cigar, reminding me of the old days when I’d sit on the opposite side of the desk, speaking confidently with Lars, my uncle. “You visited me more than my own family, Ronan.”

“C’mon, Mikky,” Gunner groaned.

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