Page 30 of Hello, Listener
“Damn it. You’ve got a point. But what about the family?”
“The victim’s family? People still get shit from the families of victims from thirty years ago. Just another perk of this business.”
“Fine, you asshole. I guess we’ll cover it, but if I lose any business because of this, I’m out.”
“You supply most of the bars in the city. I think you can afford to lose a few.” I laugh, looking down at my phone.
“Whatever, you prick. Shut the hell up before I change my mind.” The corners of his mouth turn up into his beard.
“So, it’s settled then.” I stand up and walk towards the kitchen. A bowl of mint chocolate chip ice cream is calling my name.
A Night In
I am going fucking stir crazy in this apartment. It has been days since I left. The Neon Rose is still considered a crime scene until the police find more information about the body.The body.It’s weird calling him a body. His name has been released: Ruben Ara. To us at The Neon Rose, he’ll always be known as “the neck tattoo guy.”
Thinking about him with a family makes my stomach turn. Watching his wife and kids crying on the news makes me angry. I want to yell through the screen and tell them how much of a skeeze he was. Just thinking about the ways his dark eyes followed my every move when he came into the bar still makes the hairs on my arm stand on end, feeling his fingers graze the top of my hand when I handed him his last Old Fashioned.His last.I wonder if he knew it was going to be his last drink. His last trip to The Neon Rose. His last conversation with his “favorite bartender.” I question how he felt when he knew that night was going to be it for him. Curiosity consumes my mind to know what his final thoughts were right before he knew he was going to die.
Stories around the city say he suffered from head trauma. And by around the city, I mean Jace. He keeps me informed while I refuse to leave my apartment.A fucking killer walking around the city this close to my apartment? No, thank you.I couldn't imagine how it would feel to have your head bashed into the side of a building. I bet that it would fucking hurt until you just black out, and then you’re just… gone. The terrifying feeling that you have your life in someone’s grip, not knowing what will happen next. The thought of knowing that your life depends on someone else. Gently, I caress the back of my head at the notion.
The police found a trail of blood from a crack in his skull, after whoever it was smashed it against the brick. That’s what killed him, the impact of the brick against his head.Damn.I have so many unanswered questions. Why did the killer choose him? What did it sound like when the killer smashed his head against the wall? Was there an echo throughout the alley? Wouldn’t we have heard it next door? Why did he kill him the way that he did? Was there a real reason why he did what he did?
There had to be.
There was too much passion in it. It had to be more than just a guy wanting to get his rocks off on a random unsuspecting guy.
All of that happened while I was just a few feet away on the other side of a wall. While I was mixing and pouring drinks, he was getting thrown against the wall of the boutique in the alley. I was cleaning whiskey glasses, and he was getting his skull smashed in. As I cleaned the bar, his fingers were being removed. At the same time Jace was mopping the hardwood floors, Ruben’s eyes were getting plucked out by a man hiding in the shadows. To think, I walked right past his body on my way back to my apartmentwithout a fucking clue. The thought sends shivers down my spine, and goosebumps cover my arms.
I stare at the tiny screen of my television and watch the news. It’s playing on every channel, and it’s displayed on every one of my social media feeds. The only thing I can do is watch and try to retain all of the information that my mind can hold. There is no use trying to block it out.
It’s so close to home. I need to know more information. Why did the killer choose him? There had to be a reason. Maybe he was followed. Maybe it was just a bad time for poor Ruben, and the killer just chose an unsuspecting patron leaving the bar at late hours. I have so many questions and no one can answer them.I wonder if Alan has any ideas.
Alan and Lee have been sending me messages since Ruben’s body was discovered. Both of them make sure that I am safe inside my tiny box. Lee insists that I don’t leave, and I haven’t argued. Staying in my safe zone with Artemis is number one on my list. Never in a million years did I think I would be on a first-name basis with the two guys I had been daydreaming about for months. I wonder what they’re doing right now.
Is Alan staying at home thinking about new episode ideas? I imagine him sitting in his studio, writing down lists of ideas with a large cup of coffee. Maybe a gray cat at his feet. I picture him in his office clothes. Maybe his black glasses are sliding down the bridge of his nose. I wonder what the rest of his house looks like. I bet it’s huge with large windows. Maybe a large kitchen, similar to Lee's.
Lee.
I wonder what he’s doing. Is he alone right now? Does he think about the night we had together as much as I do? Would he ever want to see me again? I could always ask him.Maybe he would come over if I asked him.
I glance around at my tiny apartment. It looks so small compared to his penthouse. The walls are a dingy white, stained by cigarette smoke from the previous renters. My kitchen is nowhere in comparison to his. I could onlydreamof my countertops holding me up like his sturdy granite ones did that night.
Moving the sheer curtains in front of my black loveseat, I peer out my tiny window into the view beyond. Lights twinkle in the distance, but it's pretty dark in the buildings next to mine, except for a few windows.It looks like my neighbors and I had the same idea.
“Well, Artemis, it looks like another quiet night for the two of us.” He looks up at me through his heavy lids as he lies in his white plush bed in the corner of the living room.
I look down at my phone and search through my notifications. There aren’t any new texts from Alan, Lee, or Jace. An exaggerated sigh leaves my lips as I make another attempt to aimlessly scroll through my several social media feeds.
Nothing is scratching the surface of good entertainment. I need a laugh, a thrill, or something. I need another feeling other thannumbness.
With that, I reach for my earbuds from my purse. I press play, and Alan’s voice echoes through the speakers.
It’s ten o'clock at night, and I am sitting in my car parked outside Thalia’s apartment. I have been parked here with my lights off for maybe half an hour. I check my phone and I have heard nothing from Ashley.What a fucking surprise.I stun even myself by sitting in my car outside Thalia’s apartment.Fuck. What am I doing? I’m making sure she is safe.You can never be too careful. She posts her whole life on Instagram, even the view of the lights of the city from her apartment.
By simply watching her story, I can tell that she’s just a few blocks from Times Square. With a bit of research, I can determine its general area. It’s hidden in the shadows of the city and not the best neighborhood, might I add.She’s doing what she can on a bartender’s wages.
I can’t help but peer up into her window, observing as she opens her sheer curtains and looks out every so often. She turns her head and surveys down either side of the long strip of road, as if to see if something drastic may happen. She’s like a bored animal at a zoo trapped in her enclosure. She paces back and forth–out of boredom, I assume–going from the kitchen to the few steps it takes to get to her couch. I see her slouch down and put the tiny speakers in her ears.
If someone were to break in, she wouldn’t even notice.
