Love ya - Chrys
Chapter 6
“My brother’s an ass! That looks nice.”
“No, g’day? Nothing like that?”
Chrys looked at her girlfriend with
innocent puppy eyes. “I said that looks
nice.” She paced around the room. Chrys didn’t even bother going upstairs to
the apartment. She stormed out the back
door of the restaurant, circled around the front of the building and ran across
the street to Skin Junkies Tattoo. She
hoped Spencer saw her, but the blinds were down.
Sloane put her concentration back into the
tattoo she was putting on a man’s bicep.
The Australian had started to work at the tattoo parlour last summer and
both women fell for each other. Chrys
had been in relationships with both sexes through her twenty-six years. She still wasn’t certain which way she would
end up going and sticking with. The last
time she dated a man he ended up being a killer. She was happy with the way things were in the
moment.
“I know you’re dying to tell me, so go
ahead. Why is your bro an ass?” Sloane’s accent was thick and lovely.
“He just is. He thinks the restaurant’s all his, so he
does what he wants.”
The hum of the tattoo machine mixed with
the dance beats coming from a phone hooked up to speakers. The room had white walls with copies of
Sloane’s work tacked all over. Chrys’
chrysanthemum tattoo was in the top right.
In the corner behind the artist was a black and turquois toolbox just
like the giant ones you would see in a mechanics garage. Two shelves held every colour of ink you
could imagine. Sloane looked up. “He is the owner, isn’t he?”
“Whatever.” Chrys’ arms flew out at her sides. “That’s not the point. It’s called The Alcrest Gastropub. Alcrest.
I’m an Alcrest. Maybe not in
blood but in name I am. I should get a
say in what goes on there as much as he does.”
“But he’s the owner,” Sloane tried to keep
her smile hidden as she worked on her art.
If asked the guy in the chair, who looked
like he would never be caught in a tattoo shop let and was confused to what was
going on, would have had a difficult time deciding which one was better
looking. Chrys had the girl-next-door
look going for her while the tattoo artist had an androgynist beauty augmented
and enhanced by several tattoos on her body.
“Whose side are you on, Sloane?”
“I’m not on anyone’s side. He’s your brother and at that restaurant he’s
your boss.”
“Probably not after tonight.” Chrys went over what happened across the
street. “And I just left. He probably doesn’t even know I’m not coming
back. I don’t care. I don’t need the money or anything.” Chrys couldn’t stand still. She felt her phone vibrate in her back
pocket. It was probably going to be
somebody at the restaurant. Where are
you? Are you coming back?
“Did you tell him about your other job?”
“No!
God no. He’d kill me if he knew
where I was working. He’s always
downstairs before I leave, so I don’t even think he knows I go to work every
day. There’s no reason he should be
upset about my job. It’s not like its
illegal or anything.”
“Tell him then.”
Chrys didn’t speak another word about
it. Spencer would insist she quit and
she had enough of him running her life.
She was independent and hated anyone telling her what to do. She had to do something if all she was doing
was waitressing. The dancing – she had
gone about as far as she could in this city teaching a few nights a week at the
Elizabeth Frances Dance Studio.
Roller-derby – she wasn’t much into it any more. Modeling and acting – she wasn’t really into
those either. The thing that gave her
the biggest rush lately was investigating murders and strange occurrences. Her new boss gave her the information on the
dead bodies, but she did tell her brother she wouldn’t look into it and she
didn’t feel right going back on that.
Even if he was a dick.
Chrys bent down to look at the design
developing on the arm. It was a dragon’s
body almost tying itself into a knot. “Do
you want to go clown searching tonight?”
“Alright.
I’ve got another hour here if you want to come back.”
“Shiny!”
Chrys knew her brother was probably busy. Especially since he had become one of those
chef’s that insisted on doing everything himself. The street out front had a few cars and the
parking lot in the back was a third full.
She wouldn’t have to run into him if she took the back stairs. She quickly changed her clothes and gathered
the dogs to take them for a walk.
She carried Breeze, her Chihuahua, down
the stairs while Spencer’s bulldog, Bullet, took each step one at a time
pausing on each step before attempting the next one. As soon as they all hit the ground Breeze
took off to the end of her leash. Bullet
was already panting and trudged along beside Chrys. She took them into the side street behind the
restaurant. The area was residential
with a few streets of businesses. It was
probably not the best place to have the restaurant, but The Alcrest and most of
the small businesses had been there a long time. Sooner or later it would be over for
them. She hoped for later.
As the street lights came on she headed
for home. The only time she stopped was
to give someone directions. It was a
much different neighborhood than what she worked in. That place was not safe at night. Her home neighborhood was fine.
Chapter 7
“Can you give me a hand? I’m trying to find 435 Sc-scoble Avenue.” I don’t smile. People worried about finding where they need
to go don’t smile. “I turned somewhere
and I’m lost.”
If you drove a mini-van you were less
intimidating. If you only rolled the
window down half-way you were being a little wary. You had to be unassuming. You had to make them think you were being
cautious of them. A baby on board
sticker never hurt.
“Sure.”
The woman turned away from me to point.
My ruse worked. “Go down here to
Pearson and turn right.”
I don’t listen. I look.
I’m aware of how she moves. She
has muscle and good reactions. She’d put
up a fight. I see the scar on her upper
arm and her misshapen right earlobe. I
see the curves of her body. I could
easily stun her now and get her in the back of the van before anyone would
notice. The one dog would yap. The other is fat enough to make a good steak. If I left the dogs someone would notice. Someone would call the police. A search would start. That wasn’t how I played the game. She isn’t who I want anyway. She wouldn’t scream. And I’m not a fan of dark meat.
“I think to get to 435 you hang a left on
Scoble. Pretty sure.”
She doesn’t recognize me. Yesterday she looked at my ticket, gave me
her best welcoming smile and told me to climb on board and have a seat. She looks right at me and doesn’t see through
my human camouflage. It’s always the
pretty ones who can’t see. That’s what
makes them easy to take.
“Thank
you. N-nice looking dogs. Have a nice night.” Now is the time to give her a smile and an
awkward wave.
I drive away and in the rear-view mirror
can tell she doesn’t look at the license plate of this simple family vehicle. She doesn’t even think twice about it. Why should she? It’s just a nice night in a nice
neighborhood.
