Page 8 of The Love Scam
She blinked, neutral. “Okay.”
“It makes sense if you know the background.”
“I think it’s nice that when you weren’t poor anymore, you treated other people.”
“Thankyou,” he told the kid, then glared at the woman. She was infuriating, standing there all calm and judgmental, judging him calmly with her judge face. “Look, let’s just go sit down and you can tell me—”
“Nope.”
God, she was infuriating! “Nope,what?”
“Nope, we can’t just go sit down.”
“Why not?” he (almost) yelled.
“Because of that guy.” She pointed, and he turned and beheld a man wearing dark trousers, black belt, shiny black shoes, white shirt, dark blazer, name tag on one lapel (Matteo), small gold letters (Sicurezza)on a pin on the other. He was polite, he was professional, he spoke terrific English, and he made it clear that people who barfed and then drank half the lobby water could not linger in the bar scraping tomatoes off bruschetta unless they were paying guests.
“Well, you’re not,” she said once they’d been politely escorted back out to the sidewalk. “Guy hadda point, you gotta admit.”
“Iknow.”
“You’re kind of a bum.”
“Why?”
“How should I know? Poor work ethic?”
“No, I mean why do you— Do you find everything funny?” he managed through gritted teeth, his temples pounding with every syllable. God, was this how Blake felt when they argued? How could he stand it?
“Naw.” Again with the smirk. “Just stuff you do, I guess.”
“I don’t think you’re funny,” the kid said earnestly. At onepoint, she’d dropped the woman’s hand and was now clutching Rake’s. He found it oddly flattering. “It’s just, funny things seem to happen to you. A lot. Y’know, because…” She gestured at his (still) dripping clothes.
He blinked, sighed, and shielded his eyes from the spring sunshine. “I woke up in Venice, which is not where I was yesterday. I have no memory of the hotel. I lost my wallet. I don’t know what I’m doing here.”
“Yeah, I know.” She nodded at the kid. “We both do.”
“You know?”
“I mean, I got that. It’s basically all you’ve been bitching about since they fished you out of the canal. Speaking of, don’t take this the wrong way or anything—”
“Oh, this’ll be good,” he snapped.
“—but you’re kinda ripe.”
“Of course I’m ripe!” he all but screamed. “I fell in that cesspool of ail Canal Grande!E sto incazzato!”
“What?”
“It’s Italian for ‘pissed off’! I’m also a polyglot, which my twin brother thinks is a polymath!”
“Okay.”
From the kid: “Why does he think—”
“Blake thinks he’s so smart, but you know what?”
“Naw, but I bet you’re gonna tell us.”
