Page 25 of The One Decent Thing

The bouncer eyed me speculatively as I pulled out a cigarette and my lighter. He was a huge, muscle-bound dude, like most of the guys who worked jobs like that, maybe even a couple of inches taller than me. Definitely more built, with upper arms that strained the sleeves of his black t-shirt almost to bursting, although he had more padding, too. The light-brown dome of his shaved head glistened in the glare of the floodlight set above him on the wall.

“You okay, man?” His voice was just as deep as I would’ve expected, but it was more pleasant, too. “You just went in.”

And yeah, that was a little hint of suspicion. Had I sold a bunch of drugs, gotten in a fight with someone, groped a girl and run out ahead of security? He was probably considering at least those possibilities.

Honesty was the best bet. “Haven’t been out for a long time, and the noise and the lights hit me wrong.” I took a drag, and then belatedly waved the pack in his direction.

He shook his head. “Not until my break.”

A gaggle of club-goers approached, three girls and two guys, all of them tapping away on their phones. What was the point of going out? I rolled my eyes and caught the bouncer’s slight smile as he checked their IDs and waved them in.

A couple of cars rolled by, music thumping out of them, and one stopped to vomit out more happy-looking twenty-somethings, who went into the club down the block.

I was starting to feel really, really fucking stupid, but I couldn’t make myself move. Back into the club, and I’d just freak out again, probably. Back home? Sebastian was there. And I was so fucking pissed at Sebastian that I had to stay away until I’d cooled down. I knew he’d been drunk, and was insecure and stressed, but that was some shady, fucked-up shit he’d thrown at me.

“You’re not actually supposed to smoke this close to the door.”

I startled out of my thoughts and turned to look at the bouncer. “Sorry, man, didn’t know.” I pushed off the wall to move down the way a little, or maybe start walking who the fuck knew where, but he held up a hand.

“It’s cool. Just if anyone asks, you still didn’t know and I was too busy to tell you yet.” He frowned at me. “Haven’t been out clubbing in a while, or haven’t beenoutsidein a while?”

The sweat on my back and forehead went ice cold. He knew. He fucking knew, just by looking at me, by exchanging ten words with me. If the cops were already on the way —

“Don’t panic, man, I ain’t called anyone on you. You haven’t done anything as far as I know. I don’t want any trouble here, but…” He trailed off and looked at me expectantly, like I was a kid in a grade-school play who’d temporarily forgotten my lines.

“I won’t be starting any,” I said dutifully, and he nodded, satisfied. “It was too much in there. Thought I could handle it, but…” I shrugged and tried to smile. Probably looked as pathetic as it felt, though.

He gazed at me, head tilted a little, for a long few moments. “I did two years for being an accessory in a robbery. What were you in for?”

I blew out a long stream of smoke in a whoosh, my head spinning a little. I’d heard from guys on the inside that when you got out, you were sort of in a special club. Other guys who’d done time would smell it on you, practically, and they’d either avoid you like the plague or they’d treat you like you shared something.

This was my first time getting to see that first-hand, and it was unnerving as fuck. But — my heart had slowed down, and I got it. Because this dude got it, more than someone like Sebastian ever could. And maybe if he heard me out, he wouldn’t be quite so worried about me the next time I tried to get into his bar. If I ever got up the courage, anyway. The thought of taking some pretty, sweet-smelling college girl to bed, maybe in her cute little apartment with her roommates out in the living room chattering and watching TV, felt like a vision from a different universe right then.

“It’s gonna sound bad, but it wasn’t — quite what it says on the box, you know?” He nodded, expectant, and I pushed on. “Kidnapping.” The bouncer’s eyebrows shot up. “I know, I know,” I went on quickly, “but it was such a weird…” A couple walked up, pulling out their IDs. The bouncer checked them quickly, but every second throbbed in my throat as I held in the rest of what I’d been about to say. The instant we were alone again, I said, “I was nineteen, he was seventeen, a guy I went to high school with. He ran away from home, I gave him a place to crash for the night, and his parents pressed charges. They threw out his testimony when he tried to speak up for me. It was…it was really fucked up. But that’s what happened.”

“And that was how long ago?”

“I did four years. Got out a couple of weeks ago.”

“You on parole?” He reached in his pocket and I tensed up, but he was only pulling out a little piece of paper — a business card.

“Nope. Served my whole sentence.” He held out his hand, and I automatically reached out and took the card.Rick Jones, Aeon Loungewas printed on it in plain black type, with a logo, the club’s website, an email address, and a phone number.

“Huh. Overcrowding and everything?” I wondered if he was trying to poke a hole in my story, or if he was simply curious.

“Parole got denied.” I hadn’t been told why, but I was pretty sure Sebastian’s parents and their shark of a lawyer had taken care of that without a whole lot of trouble. It was honestly just as well. Even though it’d meant spending an extra two years inside, getting out a completely free man was better in some ways than the halfway houses and constant surveillance that went with being released on parole.

He shrugged. “All right. Fair enough. That’s my card,” he said, gesturing at it where it was still clutched in my sweaty hand. “I’m Rick. I co-own this place with my buddy.” Seriously? He owned the club and he chose to be out here wrangling the drunks? He smiled at the look on my face. “Paperwork’s boring as shit, man, that’s Johnny’s gig. You can’t run a place without keeping an eye on it from the ground, you know?”

“Can’t say I do,” I said ruefully. After a beat, I realized how fucking rude I was. “Sorry. Aidan.”

Rick gave my hand a firm shake. “That’s a real white-boy name you got there, Aidan.”

I grinned at him. I’d heard that a lot in prison. “My roommate’s name is Sebastian, dude. Aidan’s not so bad.”

Rick nodded, smiling a bit. “He an ex-con too?”

“Nope.” I paused for a second, but I figured — Rick was as good a test-case as any. At some point, people were going to learn about my history with Sebastian and our current situation. I had to be prepared for their reactions, which I expected to range from disbelief to horror, with maybe a brief stop in between for some disgust. “Actually, he’s the guy I ‘kidnapped.’” I made the air-quotes and everything, and then felt like a total tool.

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