Page 52 of Coach
Being an eavesdropper was bad enough. Overhearing actual plans to maim someone?
That seemed like a surefire way to find myself strung up and missing limbs too. Or my tongue.
I eased out the back door.
Then, inch by inch, with my heart in a vice grip, I slid it closed before releasing the knob so the lock engaged.
Then I ran.
Through the alley of the pub, I avoided the eyes of the dishwashers who were having a smoke break, the skunky scent of weed filling the air, making it even harder for me to draw a proper breath. Even as a part of me wondered if I should go back and ask to take a hit to ease my anxiety.
Because… what the actual hell was that?
Who the hell did I work for?
I regretted my urge to get more exercise by walking to work as paranoia had me glancing back over my shoulder over and over again as I made my way down the main street. Konstantin or Mikhail could walk out of the pool hall at any moment.
What would they do if they saw me?
Would they assume I’d been coming from work? That I’d heard what they said?
The fears proved unfounded, though, as I turned down the road to my home without any men running after me.
Little by little, the tightness in my chest decreased.
Until, of course, I got to my door and had another thought.
What about the cameras?
What if they’d seen me in the back, listening?
“I’m so happy to see you,” I greeted Trix as she ran up to the door. “You’d protect me from the scary Russian guys, wouldn’t you?” I asked her as she pranced alongside me to the back door. “No one is cutting off my hands when you’re around, right?”
Trix snorted.
“That’s right,” I agreed, watching her sniff around the yard. “Oh, of course,” I grumbled.
The renovation sounds had been nonexistent when I’d gotten home. Almost as if waiting for me, the damn hammering started up again.
“What am I gonna do, girl?” I asked my dog as she came back in to get a late-night dinner with me. She had cooked chicken, rice, veggies, liver, and pumpkin. I had two slices of cheese, a handful of grapes, and a mini sleeve of soda crackers.
“Like I can’t just quit, can I?”
Finished eating, Trix followed me to the couch, climbing half onto my lap with a deep sigh, as if she were just as confused about the situation as I was.
I mean, quitting felt like the most sane option. I couldn’t continue to work for a bunch of violent men. But what if that triggered their suspicions? What if they checked the cameras? What if they thoughtIwas the one stealing from them?
And, of course, on a practical note, what the heck was I going to do about money?
None of the other applications I’d submitted when I moved to town had ever called. Even if they did, I’d be making roughly half of what I was making at the pool hall.
“Would it be insane to keep working there?” I asked Trix as I rubbed her impossibly soft head. “Maybe for just a couple more months? I mean… people work for shitty people every day, don’t they?”
And in a small town with limited options, what else could I do but keep on keeping on?
“I guess I could try to, you know, avoid them.”
It went without saying that I couldn’t report the break-in, either. Doing so might trigger the brothers to check the cameras. If they did that, they’d see me overhearing them.
