Page 10 of Heartfelt Pain
“Hey.” I lean up against a metal worktable. Abe’s dad shoots me a toothy grin before his attention is pulled to something in the alleyway.
I survey the state of the kitchen. “You’ve already got a lot going on?”
Abe slams celery onto the table. Pretty sure that’s going to bruise. “That’s what happens when we schedule meetings at eight in the morning.”
I’d like to pour myself a cup of coffee, but Abe’s narrowed eyes make me reconsider the timing. “I’m sorry, Jane said it’d be okay.”
She might not like my cigarette habit, but Jane is easygoing.She has to be considering how her husband and son act on a daily basis.
It also probably helps that the Fujimori’s understand the importance of the restaurant. The city needs a spot where bullshit is put to the side. It’s how the really bad shit never spills over to the point that the Feds are breathing down the city’s neck.
Abe normally understands that too.
“You still not over the dead body?” I ask. It’s been a couple of days.
He slams his knife down. “You shouldn’t be either!”
Oh, my dear, dramatic friend. He’s clearly on his fifth cup of coffee so I don’t feel bad about pouring myself one.
There’s a lot of aggressive celery chopping as he talks. “You clearly didn’t read all of Ben’s messages.”
I hold the steaming mug close, inhaling the strong scent of caffeine. Ben’s morning messages always get a cursory glance. They’re normally too important to go unnoticed. But seeing as I didn’t spot any scheduling or business details, I didn’t do a nose dive.
And okay, yes. It’s because I knew what they were about.
“I know Ben texted you all my frustrations.” There’s a hard whack of the knife. “Because apparently I’m annoying when I worry away all night.”
“You don’t have to worry,” I say, blowing on my coffee. I’m desperate for a sip but don’t want to burn my tongue.
Abe throws his hands up. “Oh, right! Because finding out that there’s a serial killer who’s targeting my best friend isn’t reason to worry.”
“I mean technically he’s only after my ex’s.” I mutter into my mug, “Good thing you’re gay.”
He throws me a furious look. “Now is not the time for jokes.”
Half of my face remains covered by the coffee mug, but I lift a brow. “Have you not met any of us?”
Shit, he’s lucky, Isolde isn’t here yet.
“My concerns should be taken seriously.” Abe rubs his hands on his apron. “Unless, you’re wanting to get offed by a serial killer?”
“Maybe we shouldn’t be referring to him as a serial killer. We don’t know all the bodies are connected.”
Abe sighs, frustration and exasperation all mixed together.
“Okay, well, I’m going to go finish my coffee.” I turn to leave. I’ll shelter in my preferred booth and hope Abe takes pity on me enough to feed me later.
He stops me instead. “You know this isn’t okay? This isn’t normal.”
Isn’t it? Our world is full of dead bodies. One day I’ll be a dead body.
They say moving to the city makes you blase about a lot. Try working with various criminal syndicates. You become apathetic in no time.
“Ren.” He tries again. “This isn’t random.”
The mug is warm in my hand. The coffee and cloudy weather should make the morning feel cozy. It’s anything but. “I know,” I reply after a moment. Deep down, I’m grateful for his concern. Grateful I have friends who trudged through the rain to help me find a dead body.
But I’ve got a day full of meetings. I’ve got messages to respond to. My accountant wants to talk.
