Page 69 of Demise

“How is this yours, Danny?”

“I bought it.”

“Well, I get that, but how?”

He bites his inner cheek, moving his eyes away from me. “I have money, Bexley. Lots of it, actually. Hell, I’ve been making it since I was thirteen and I haven’t bought much but clothes and this car.”

I narrow my eyes at him. “How do you have money, Danny? You don’t even have a job.”

“I have a job.”

“Where? Where is your job? What do you do?”

“I work for a guy named Moretti.”

“And what does this Moretti do?”

“Lots of things,” he says.

“Lots of illegal things?”

He shrugs. “What does it matter?”

I scoff. “What does it matter?” I widen my eyes in disbelief. “You could get in trouble. You could get caught and be sent off to prison or something.”

“I’m not going to get caught.”

“How do you know that?”

“Because I know. In this world, you don’t get caught unless you’re stupid.”

“Really?” I ask doubtfully. “And what you’re doing isn’t stupid?”

“Look, Bexley. This is who I am. This is my life. Is it dangerous?” He lifts his shoulder. “At times, yeah, but you know me. You know I love the thrill. I’m not changing for anyone. You can accept that and we can move forward, or I can take you home right now and you can forget I ever brought you here.”

I blink my eyes at him in the low-lit car. There’s a security light in the yard and the moon shines brightly through the tree line above us.

“So?” he says. “Which is it?”

“Just like that, I have to choose?”

“Yes,” he says.

And just like that, I did. I chose him. He walks around the house, flipping on lights before he goes to the hall and adjusts the heat. “I’ll start a fire,” he says. “I have cable here, so you can turn the TV on if you’d like.”

I notice the place is clean. Not dusty like you’d imagine it would be if you left it closed up for over a month.

“Do you have someone come by and clean?” I ask.

“Yeah,” he says. “I have someone come by once a week.”

“And what about the work that’s been done on it?” I ask, looking out the French doors.

Danny retrieves a log from the stack of firewood he has near the fireplace. “Samuel wasn’t the only one who was good with his hands,” he says. “I did the work.”

I’m shocked and impressed and…downhearted. Pessimistic, I didn’t know that about him. Ashamed, I assumed he only knew how to be a criminal.

I sigh inwardly, my eye catching the sight of something familiar. I blink, moving slowly toward the hall.

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