Page 136 of Faithful

There’s a strange vehicle with tinted windows parked next to my Charger the following evening when I exit the office.

The weather has remained pleasant and since it’s warm outside, I leave my coat unbuttoned as I walk to my car. The street is abuzz because it’s rush hour and everyone’s getting off work and hurrying home to their families.

I’m hurrying to nothing, to an apartment where my roommate is probably waiting for me with a bucket of popcorn or a carton of ice cream. It’s a great way to pass the time, but when it’s not with Kai, it’s pretty fucking dull.

Paying no mind to the vehicle on my right (it’s a public lot after all), I unlock my Charger’s door.

That is when an unfamiliar voice says from behind me, “Dylan?”

At the sound of my name, I spin around. My heartbeat is suddenly going berserk. The vehicle's window is down and there’s a face there that belongs to an austere-looking man in a suit. He’s occupying the front passenger seat and his eyes are communicating something I can’t quite understand at first because I’m a little shook.

I didn't sleep much last night and drank an insane amount of coffee at work to stay awake, and the jitters have finally caught up with me at the end of the day.

“Who’s asking?” I squeeze my keys in my palm.

“Why don’t you follow us?” the man says.

“Why don’t you tell me what it's about?” I say, not moving from my spot. Meanwhile, my mind is racing.

Did my father find out about the video?

Did he hire some thugs to beat the living shit out of me?

Is Kai safe?

“Mr. Heller would like to speak with you,” the man responds.

I study his emotionless face for a bit, then ask, “And he had to go all Vito Corleone?”

“Don’t make it difficult, Dylan. You know better than anyone this conversation can’t happen in public.”

That’s correct. If we’re spotted together, things could get really weird. I mean they are weird already, but I don’t want them to reach the point where I can’t untangle the web I’m spinning.

“Alright.” I nod and get behind the wheel and do as I’m told.

I follow the vehicle.

We crawl through the evening traffic until we wind up in a side street. We drive, take a turn, drive some more. Take another turn and drive some more.

Eventually, we arrive at an empty alley with windowless warehouse-type buildings rising on either side of the passageway. It’s a little creepy here with shadows falling across the ground and walls hiding the city light, but I’ve been to creepier places, so I halt a few feet behind the mysterious vehicle and wait.

At first, nothing happens. The car in front of me is just standing with the engine idling and exhaust fumes filling the space between the structures.

My knee starts to bounce.

Several minutes pass before another similarly nondescript sedan emerges on the opposite side of the alley and starts moving in our direction.

It comes to a full stop in front of the first vehicle, the door of which swings open, and the man in a suit who spoke to me earlier steps out and begins his approach. He motions for me to get out of the car.

I do as I’m told (because I’m sensing that if I don’t, the situation will become very unpleasant), leaving the keys in the ignition and the engine running in case things get ugly and I have to retreat.

When the gap between us shrinks to a few inches, he gives me a once-over and tips his chin toward the newly arrived sedan.

My feet feel lead heavy as I walk.

Once we near the vehicle, I’m nudged inside by the gentle pat of a big hand against my back. Another hand shoots out from the negative space that makes up the back of the vehicle and gestures at what I assume is the seat across from its owner. There’s no light in the car whatsoever and it takes me a moment to recognize Charles Heller.

The door closes.

---