Page 93 of Two for Joy

Chad’s ex liked glow-in the dark license plates. The Porsche was different, newer than the one he’d shoved Chad into, and a different color, but still Neil insisted on a glow in the dark plate.

He’d found the right house, but needed to get inside. The gate was taller, armed with a nasty set of spikes, but the walls it was attached to were less sinister. No barbed wire or spikes, Romeo just needed the help of the trees to get over them.

He landed as silently as he could, but the jolting movement sent pain crashing through his head, and into his cheek. Romeo fought off a tidal wave of nausea as he staggered towards the door. He hoped Neil was well stocked with painkillers.

The front door wasn’t locked, Romeo winced, expecting it to creak and announce his presence, but it didn’t. He stepped inside the house, leaving muddy footsteps in his wake. He could hear breaking glass, blaring guns, then some Hollywood-style one liner.

Neil was sitting in the living room with his back to Romeo. The lights were low, Romeo could smell coffee, and spied the cup on the table along with some expensive take-out box.

More guns, and a ridiculous knife throw. The Hollywood hero was shirtless for no obvious reason, covered in sweat, and ripped with muscles. Tall, dark and handsome, ticking all the boxes. He had the villain pinned out on a pool table. The villain with a scar down his face, missing teeth, messy hair.

Romeo rolled his eyes. “So cliché…”

Neil went from lounging in his chair, to sitting up stiff as a board. Romeo didn’t give him a chance to turn, he rushed up behind him, tightened his arm around Neil’s neck, and choked him until he passed out.

He laid Neil out on the floor, used the duct tape to bound his ankles and wrists, then stuck a strip across Neil’s face. He couldn’t ignore the pounding headache any longer, abandoned Neil on the floor, and went to search his kitchen for painkillers.

He found some in a basket in the cupboard, downing the white pills of relief with some water. His stomach gurgled, and he remembered it had been far too long since he’d eaten anything.

He wrinkled his nose, then grimaced at the smell of his clothing—stagnant water and mud. Before he could eat, he had to change. Romeo flashed a look at Neil, unconscious on the floor, and reasoned even if he woke, he wouldn’t be able to wriggle to freedom, then headed upstairs.

Neil had a taste for the finer things in life. His walk-in closet was the same size as Romeo’s cell. He ran his hand along all the shirts and pants kept in clear plastic bags. He picked one, threw it down on Neil’s bed, then unzipped the coat he’d borrowed from the shed. He climbed out of his stinking jumpsuit and flung it on Neil’s crisp white sheets. Neil’s clothes were tight, but made of a pleasant material, soft and cool against Romeo’s skin. He found shoes in the closet, a size too small, but dry, and free of mud.

When he stepped into Neil’s bathroom, he froze, then approached the mirror with caution. He didn’t look like himself, covered in filth, half his face double the size it should’ve been and shiny with tightness. He looked like a boxer after he’d gone twelve rounds in the ring, then snorted.

If Justin hadn’t had lost his temper and got banged up, he might have made it pro.

Romeo thought of his mugshot, no doubt on every news channel, and doing the rounds on social media. The police would say he was last seen in an orange jumpsuit, not the stylish and very expensive suit he’d borrowed from Neil. The public would be looking for a handsome man dressed in orange, not an ugly one in a suit.

Romeo washed his face, and hair in the sink, then patted himself dry. He couldn’t do anything about his cheek, he only hoped that eventually it would stop hurting, or he’d become accustomed to the pain.

****

Neil’s fridge was full of odd healthy take-out foods that smelled as if they were turning bad, but Romeo couldn’t be picky, he had to make his visit to Neil’s a fleeting one.

Neil started to stir, his eyes fluttered, he looked around, worked out where he was, and who he was with, then started to wriggle, shouting beneath the tape over his mouth. Romeo ignored him, microwaved his plate of food, then headed towards the sofa when it was done. He had a glass of wine in his other hand, ready to wash the odd-looking food down.

“Hope you don’t mind.”

He sat down on the sofa, putting his glass on the side table. Neil stopped fidgeting, and instead twitched his eyebrows, muffling something under the tape. Something soft, something tragic. Romeo suspected he was begging and tucked into his food while he watched.

It hurt to eat with his swollen cheek invading his mouth, but he managed it, chewing gently, and swallowing small mouthfuls. It was slow going, but his stomach appreciated it.

“I’ve been out almost twenty-four hours, but this is the first moment I’ve had to be still, to take stock.” He rested his feet on Neil. “To relax.”

Neil looked up at him with wide eyes, his chin was wobbling, and he was puffing air out through his nostrils.

“I’m gonna sit here, let my food go down, and have a nice glass of wine. If you behave, I might not kill you … understand?”

Neil nodded, then lay completely silent on the floor. Romeo smiled at him, then finished the rest of his meal. He took a big gulp of wine, then clutched his cheek.

“Did you hear that I’d escaped?”

Neil nodded.

“I’m not looking my best, probably a bit different to my mugshot, a punch to the face will do that to you.”

The skin was hot, and tight under his fingertips. His face felt heavy, like someone had stuck something to it.

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