Page 22 of Three
“Biscuits for stalking time, che-eers!” Lori’s smile is a bit too bright as he grabs a blob-shaped burned cookie. Sari does it as well. Michael is looking at me expectantly, and since I don’t want to explain to him that I’m not going to be able to taste anything, I take one and toss it in my mouth. Some parts are hard to chew, others too soft, almost uncooked.
I make a fake noise of enjoyment that pushes a happyyay!out of Michael’s mouth. Lori sends me a puzzled look while giving his cookie a hesitant, teeny-tiny bite. His eyes widen, and he rapidly replaces his horrified expression with a quivering close-mouthed smile.
“It’s the dog’s bollocks!” he mumbles to a breathless Michael. We all frown at him in confusion. “It means it’s great!” Lori explains, making Michael beam like a disco ball before turning to hear Sari’s opinion.
“It actually tastes like a dog’s balls,” Lori whispers my way.
I shrug, grabbing another crunchy-looking blob. Barely having a sense of taste can come in handy sometimes. I kind of miss my beard, tugging on it helped me think, but not having to check for crumbs after eating makes up for it.
I see Lori wrapping his cookie in a tissue and quickly sliding it into the waste bin while Michael is not looking. “Ollie is quite busy lately, so I appointed you as my temporary bestie,” he then declares in some kind of official tone, turning my way.
Ollie is busy helping Rague with his…problem, while also studying and keeping an eye on his brother’s recovery. Lori must feel a bit left out.
“And what am I?” Michael pouts.
“Bully Boy, also known as your-hubby-bangs-you-all-the-time, which is hot to hear, but he never leaves you alone,” Lori tells him. “I need a wingman when I go clubbing!”
“I’m alone now,” Michael tries to retort, but Gremlin is right, Raph rarely leaves his husband alone and would kill anybody who tried to touch him in a club. Psychopaths cannot love, but whatever Raph feels for Michael is the closest thing to love there is—with obsession, possession, and co-dependency in the mix. But hey, whatever works as long as they’re happy.
“I’ll give it five more minutes before he comes through that elevator,” I say.
“I bet you ten bucks that it’ll be ten minutes,” Lori says.
“Fifteen.” Sari places the money on the counter.
“You and your stupid bets!” Michael throws his hands in the air.
“Before Bully Boy breaks through that elevator, tell us all about the magical Magnum P.I. who made you mow that bush on your face!” Lori places his chin on his laced fingers, staring at me expectantly.
“Hunter, that’s such a cool name for a P.I.,” Michael repeats dreamily.
“Hell and damnation! I have the perfect song from my revisited stalker playlist.” Lori taps excitedly on his phone.
Revisited?Michael mouths my way.
“Private Eye” by Hall and Oates starts playing, and a small smile tilts my lips.
“Hunter Penn. Mmm, nice website.” Lori’s words turn my eyes on him once again. “And hello, oversized, lick-worthy, porno-dream of a specimen. His picture makes all my appendages point at him.”
Michael and Sari gather behind him to stare at his phone, and they both nod in agreement. I don’t need to; I’ve already checked the shit out of it and more.
Michael snaps his fingers. “Let’s check his socials.”
“He’s not on any social media,” I say.
“No Instagram? No posts?” Lori sounds perplexed.
“I think he doesn’t like them,” I let them know.
“Odd but not impossible. Raph hates them too,” Michael says.
“A misanthrope?” Sari proposes, and Lori follows with, “How old is this guy?” He gazes at Hunter’s picture. “Plastic surgery can take off a few years, you know?”
“Maybe, and no. He knows how to use socials, he does it under false identities to attract the people he’s investigating.”
“The trust of the innocent is the liar’s most useful tool,” Sari reads from Hunter’s home page.
“I bet I can tell you the exact size of histool…humongous.” Lori licks his lips, and I’ve had enough.
