Page 119 of Bad Seed
“Humph…” After patting down the outside of my thighs he reaches inward. His palm brushes against something all right, then he pats hard. “Don’t have it on you, huh?”
“Goji,” I whisper, fighting to keep my voice level.
“What?”
I stare him dead in the eye. “That’s not my cellphone.”
“Then what…?”
The mystery in my pants jerks just enough to send him recoiling back. “Fuck. Seriously, Talong?” After shaking off his palm like it’s infected, he looks again. “Seriously?” he asks again, far more interested.
I shrug.
“He’s packing…but clean,” Goji says with a grunt and steps to the side. “Take him to the study. Mr. Ato will be with you shortly. I hope you’ve said your prayers, Talong.”
Everyone’s being as gruff and disconnected as any other pool soul destined to meet with the boss, but I can sense the shift in energy. It’s just like when we had to bring in Po, no one wanting to stop and think for two seconds what it all means. Because if someone as loyal as a man like a son to Mr. Ato can get the “royal” treatment, what about them?
People probably expect old school opulence—either marble statues and gold plating or mahogany desks and red velvet—from a mob boss who owns a casino. Instead, Mr. Ato’s office has the look and feel of a Tuscan restaurant. The walls are a sandblasted brick with windows framed by loose white curtains. A mural of the sea and boats clipping on the waves fills one wall while the other holds stacks of filing cabinets. Other than the desk, the only other furniture is a bar behind which are a mess of very expensive paintings of tomatoes, potatoes, and other vegetables.
There’s an empty spot on the wall. It takes me a moment to realize what’s missing. Guilt then pride hits me in the gut far harder than anything Red could manage. Green slams me into the chair. It creaks at my weight. A nervous Red keeps flitting about the office, terrified to touch anything. Mr. Ato could be quite particular about who breathed on his things.
“Can you hold out your hands?” Green asks me.
I stare up at him confused when he unrolls the black straps for keeping people alert during theirconversation.My first instinct is to cross my arms and refuse. I’m not the one on trial here.
But I am. I hold out my hand and Green takes it.
“Ha,” Red laughs. “Bet it feels weird to be on that side, eh, Talong?”
They’re trying to pull out my fear like weep from a wound. While there is some, none of it is for me.
“Would you like to go next?” I ask, swallowing down my disgust.
Red damn near leaps out of his shoes and nervously swipes his nose. They must have been up all night hunting for me. I was up all night too but not cracking skulls and combing through traffic light cameras.
My wrist slams to the old chair arm, and Green unspools the strap. I glance to it when a quick tap echoes louder than any gong.
“I don’t think that’s necessary.” His voice drawls like the friendly old priest come to check on his flock.
Red hops to his feet even though he was standing. Meanwhile, poor Green stares at the strap he started to wind over my arm, then back to the man in the doorway. “Do you mean this?” he asks.
“For fuck’s—” Red slaps him in the back of the head. “Of course he means… Hello, boss.” He bows, then grabs Green by the collar. “Get the shit up.”
“Okay.” Green rises and fumbles back with his brother. I sit alone in the center of the room. I don’t turn my head, I don’t need to. All I can hear is the clop, clop, clop of his cane striking the floor.
“You got rid of the Demuth,” I say staring at the empty wall. For as long as I could remember that watercolor of pears and eggplants sat right behind Mr. Ato’s head.
Fingers skirt over the back of the chair nearly grazing my back. I brace myself, but Mr. Ato gazes at the wall just behind me. “I sold it,” he says with a drop of melancholy. “I couldn’t bear to look at it any longer.”
Wood smashes my face. I can’t help but cry out, my nose spurting blood. My hands lift to protect myself for another attack, but Mr. Ato’s walked toward his desk, his back turned to me. “That is for making me worry,” he says, refusing to face me. Even with my vision turning red and pain searing my skull, at this angle, he looks helpless. Like I just have to reach forward and snap his neck.
As if reading my thoughts, Green and Red both shuffle, reminding me I am not alone. I’d only get to my feet before they filled me with lead. “You fucker. You gave us quite the run around,” Red shouts, cracking his knuckles. He might go for a hit or two, but he’ll leave the rest of the pulverizing to his brother.
Or me.
I wonder if he’ll expect me to beat myself up.
Red’s fist comes flailing from the side. My hand flies up, catching it like it’s a baseball. I hold his arm taut. Even as he pulls with all his strength, he can’t break it. Slowly, I crane my head around and stare him in the eye.
