Page 16 of Minding the Minotaur
“C’mon,” Clem says, nudging me. “Don’t stand around, it’s not good to draw attention.”
Heads down, we walk swiftly across the cracked pavers to the nearest apartment block and Clem presses one of many buzzers next to the battered entrance. A moment later, a male voice crackles over the speaker.
“Yeah?”
“It’s Clem.”
“What the fuck?”
“Just open up, will you? I’ve brought someone who needs your help.”
“Who?”
“A friend.”
Another curse, but the buzzer zaps, and we’re through.
We climb the dirty stairwell, until a door with scuffed paint opens and a guy stands there scowling at us, a cigarette hanging from the side of his mouth. He wears a black shirt and scruffy jeans over lean hips. His arrowed cheeks are hollow, but his eyes are the same vivid green as Clem’s. They dart from her to me and back again.
He removes the cigarette from his mouth with long fingers. “You shouldn’t be here.”
“Whatever. This is Sammy.” Clem barges past him and I follow her into a cramped living area, housing a small messy kitchen and a threadbare sofa and coffee table. There’s a full ashtray of cigarette butts, and the whole place smells of smoke.
“Why in flaming fuck’s name have you brought her here?” Jax’s scowl deepens as he follows us in.
“She’s my friend. And she needs a job.”
He puts the cigarette to his lips and drags slowly, staring atme through narrowed eyes. “You’ve come to the wrong place,” he growls on the exhale.
Suddenly, Clem plants both hands on his chest and pushes him into the room, until he falls backward onto the sofa.
“Listen to me,” she says, standing over him, hands on hips. “I saved your sorry ass when you nearly carked it, covered up all the lies in the hospital, so now you can help Sammy. She’s my best friend and she lost her job today. So, return the favor, okay?”
Sprawled on the sofa, he takes another slow drag of his cigarette, sending smoke spiraling up toward the cracked ceiling. “What kind of job?”
“Something in the Labyrinth.”
His mouth slackens momentarily, then he lets out a hoarse laugh, followed by a hacking volley of coughs. “She’s clearly nuts, your friend.”
“And you’re nuts for smoking, idiot.” Clem wrenches the cigarette out of his fingers and grinds it into the ashtray. “You’re not going the way Dad did.”
“Ah, shut it, will you? The cough is just ‘cos I had a cold.”
“Dumb bastard!”
“Nagging bitch!”
I blink. This is not the kind of language you hear in Sparkle. It’s not the kind of language Clem uses when she’s dutifully working through the DeVines accounts, neatly compiling figures in her perfect handwriting. Typing out statements. But oh boy, it’s clear there are two sides to my bestie. I’ve always known that, but never as much as I do right now.
“You’ve got contacts down there, so use them,” she demands.
Jax leans forward, pushes Clem aside, and reaches for the pouch of tobacco on the coffee table. But Clem is quicker, clamping her fingers around his sinewy arm. Jax curses. Clem scowls at him.
These two are clearly used to fighting dirty.
I always wanted a brother or sister.
But now, I’m not so sure I missed out on much.
