I will sit in this cafe until the story is done. Writing of late has become a chore as I'm unable to find enough alone time, Mary crowding me at every moment. Teenagers suck the energy from you, the buzzing sound of constant questions spilling from her into my brain, choking thought. I escaped with help from George and Saul and I don't intend to waste this opportunity.
Sipping at my third coffee of the early evening, I scan the other customers in hope of finding inspiration. One man stares, the rest ignore my presence. He appears to be of college age, but not a student, wearing a leather jacket with thick, greased black hair.
"Hello," I say, smiling. No response, but he continues to stare. He looks out of place in the cafe and I wonder why he is here. Is he following me? I turn and feel a small flutter of panic in my stomach when I do not see Saul anywhere in sight. When I spin round again, the man slides into the seat opposite me and I grip the table, readying for what may come.
"Ella Thomas," he says, mouth twisting into a smile. So, either he is following me or in the very least knows who I am.
"Who wants to know?" I wink at him.
The smirk leaves his face and he pulls a photograph from inside a jacket pocket and slides it across the table towards me. It's the man I met at the bar a few weeks ago and lured to the mansion.
"Are you a cop?" I ask. I can't think of any other explanation even though he doesn't look anything like a cop.
"No, nothing like that. I need to find this man. Can you tell me where he is? My source tells me he was last seen leaving a bar with you."
Something tells me the man Mary killed must be important. Or rich. "I swear I didn't do anything to him."
Grabbing my phone, I send a text to Saul and gather my notebook and tablet. Without waiting for him to answer, I hurry towards the exit, knowing he will follow. Glancing over my shoulder, I see him a few steps behind me. I don't see Saul or the car waiting outside and run along the sidewalk, making no pretense of being casual in getting away from him.
Within moments I feel a hand grip my upper arm, stopping me and then pulling me into a dark spot against the building. The man pushes me into the wall and I can smell cheap after-shave and alcohol.
"Not such a threat outside your mansion, are you," he says.
One hand finds my phone and I dial Saul with a tap of a button while the other hand grips the knife in my purse. I make no effort to fight in his grasp and he eases his hold on me.
"Why are you looking for that man?" I ask, flicking the lever to release the switchblade.
"He was my boss. I heard he was killed by the butcher of Vegas and I had to find out for myself."
I can't help smiling that he knows me, though I'm still not sure how I feel about being called a butcher. "Would you care to join me at my mansion for a drink?"
"No, I'm not stupid like my boss. I've read about you. If I don't touch you, I'm safe." He smiles with satisfaction and takes a phone from his pocket. "I intend on having a different sort of fun with you."
"Mister, you have it all wrong," I say, giving him my best smile.
"How is that?" he asks.
"First, I didn't kill your boss. And second," I begin, taking the knife from my pocket. "Don't believe everything you read."
I swing my arm and bury the knife in his neck, stepping back to avoid the spray of blood, which spurts in thick streams onto the sidewalk. At that moment, a car screeches to a halt at the curb and I see Saul waving at me to get inside.
Sipping at my third coffee of the early evening, I scan the other customers in hope of finding inspiration. One man stares, the rest ignore my presence. He appears to be of college age, but not a student, wearing a leather jacket with thick, greased black hair.
"Hello," I say, smiling. No response, but he continues to stare. He looks out of place in the cafe and I wonder why he is here. Is he following me? I turn and feel a small flutter of panic in my stomach when I do not see Saul anywhere in sight. When I spin round again, the man slides into the seat opposite me and I grip the table, readying for what may come.
"Ella Thomas," he says, mouth twisting into a smile. So, either he is following me or in the very least knows who I am.
"Who wants to know?" I wink at him.
The smirk leaves his face and he pulls a photograph from inside a jacket pocket and slides it across the table towards me. It's the man I met at the bar a few weeks ago and lured to the mansion.
"Are you a cop?" I ask. I can't think of any other explanation even though he doesn't look anything like a cop.
"No, nothing like that. I need to find this man. Can you tell me where he is? My source tells me he was last seen leaving a bar with you."
Something tells me the man Mary killed must be important. Or rich. "I swear I didn't do anything to him."
Grabbing my phone, I send a text to Saul and gather my notebook and tablet. Without waiting for him to answer, I hurry towards the exit, knowing he will follow. Glancing over my shoulder, I see him a few steps behind me. I don't see Saul or the car waiting outside and run along the sidewalk, making no pretense of being casual in getting away from him.
Within moments I feel a hand grip my upper arm, stopping me and then pulling me into a dark spot against the building. The man pushes me into the wall and I can smell cheap after-shave and alcohol.
"Not such a threat outside your mansion, are you," he says.
One hand finds my phone and I dial Saul with a tap of a button while the other hand grips the knife in my purse. I make no effort to fight in his grasp and he eases his hold on me.
"Why are you looking for that man?" I ask, flicking the lever to release the switchblade.
"He was my boss. I heard he was killed by the butcher of Vegas and I had to find out for myself."
I can't help smiling that he knows me, though I'm still not sure how I feel about being called a butcher. "Would you care to join me at my mansion for a drink?"
"No, I'm not stupid like my boss. I've read about you. If I don't touch you, I'm safe." He smiles with satisfaction and takes a phone from his pocket. "I intend on having a different sort of fun with you."
"Mister, you have it all wrong," I say, giving him my best smile.
"How is that?" he asks.
"First, I didn't kill your boss. And second," I begin, taking the knife from my pocket. "Don't believe everything you read."
I swing my arm and bury the knife in his neck, stepping back to avoid the spray of blood, which spurts in thick streams onto the sidewalk. At that moment, a car screeches to a halt at the curb and I see Saul waving at me to get inside.