Page 62 of You're so Bad

“Couldn’t you have pressed charges?”

“I’m the one who started it.”

I pause, then ask, “What other jobs have you done?”

“Photographer’s assistant. Checkout clerk. Bartender. Muscle.”

“Muscle for who?”

“You don’t want to know,” he says. “Second time I changed my name was when I left that one.” I feel him watching me again. Waiting for a reaction.

“And you were a thief?”

“Since before I was old enough to know what I was doing, but I left that behind a long time ago. Mostly. I walked off with a hat from the movie set last month. The costume guy gave me the go-ahead, but I would have taken it anyway. Took an old book from the estate we were filming at too. And I saw Burke’s parent’s car parked at the Grove Park Inn, so I nabbed the key from the valet stand and took the old broad’s purse. I kept the cash, but I had a fun little fire with the rest of it. I liked thinking about them having to call in and cancel everything. Everyone knows that’s a pain in the ass. I figured it was the least I could do after they drove me out of town.” He pauses, then adds, “I didn’t tell Burke.”

“Why were you at the Grove Park Inn?” I ask, latching on to the detail for reasons I can’t wrap my head around. It’s a fancy hotel that looks like a gingerbread house turned to stone, and it has over-priced restaurants with admittedly fantastic views.

From my peripheral vision, I can see Leonard giving a littleoh, Shaunashake of his head. “My weed dealer works as a valet there.”

Huh. “Who would’ve thought?”

“It’s the people who stay there who’re rich, Tiger. Not the staff.”

My mind shifts back to Burke’s parents. “You’re the one who figured out that they were responsible for that building collapse.”

“Yeah, and I ran away instead of taking them on. Burke’s the hero in that story.”

“Why’d you run?” I ask, because I’ve been wondering. This was the part of the story that played along with him being a sleaze and not caring about other people, but I’ve gotten to know him well enough to know it doesn’t fit. Not quite. There must be more to it.

“Becausethat’s what I do. After I told them what I knew, they dug up dirt on me. They told me no one would believe someone like me, and they were right. So I took their hush money. But they couldn’t just leave it at that—they hired someone to keep an eye on me. Do you know how paranoid you get when you have someone following you around after you’ve nearly been killed half a dozen times?”

“How’d you find out they did it?”

“I told you. I’m good at telling when people are lying. I knew they were up to something, so I listened where I shouldn’t’ve. I poked around. I went to see the guy they pinned it on in jail, and after I talked to him, I was damn sure he didn’t know anything but the inside of a bottle. That’s why they hired him. Perfect patsy. I have a thing against people who pin their sins on patsies.” He huffs air. “But not enough of a thing to take a stand against them. You want to know something?”

“Maybe not.”

I can feel him smiling, although it’s not the kind of smile that has any happiness behind it. “I lied about how I met Burke and the other guys.”

“Oh?” I glance at him, but he’s staring straight out the windshield now, like it’s the only way he can say this.

“I knew Burke was rich. He was a mark. I wasn’t planning on sticking around in Asheville. I was gonna get some money out of him and move on.”

“But you didn’t.”

I steal a glimpse of him again as he reaches up and rubs a hand along his stubbled jaw. “I liked him.” He swears under his breath. “I liked all of them. And then he got me a job, and I figured why not? Maybe I’d found somewhere I could stay.”

“You ever tell him that?”

He throws a wry glance my way. “What do you think?”

For a second I’m stunned silent. Why would he tell me something he hasn’t even told his best friend? Of course, it’s not exactly the kind of thing you’d want to tell a friend, but he has even less of a reason to share it with me.

“Maybe youshouldtell him.”

A grunt is my only answer.

“Why are you telling me all of this, anyway?”

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