Fallen Angel

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operating in the black, it gained money-making
Fallen Angel 145
potential. Noah groaned inwardly, certain Jeremy's hard
work would be for nothing once the business rested in
Lark's less-than-trustworthy hands.
"You wouldn't happen to have a loaner, would you?"
he retained enough optimism to ask.
"'Fraid not."
Bum rides until Thursday? It appeared he had no
choice. Mary wouldn't mind. Shucks, she'd go out of her
way for folks she barely knew. Only, it'd either meant
Noah getting to work later, or Mary going in early, and
with two kids to take care of he hated to ask for two
more hours of her time each day. However, he needed to
be at the bar early to let the morning delivery guys in.
An idea crept into his mind -- he quickly discarded the
ridiculous notion. No way in hell would he trust Lark
with the keys to the bar. The laundry was one thing, not
much available to steal. The bar? Lord, he'd hate to
consider what Lark might do with the bar. He snorted,
visualizing bus schedules and mass transit looming in
his future.
"I suppose that'll have to do," he said, seeing no other
way.
The mechanic went to work disconnecting the failing
vehicle from his tow truck. Noah set out on foot,
working off a little frustration with a brisk, ten-block
walk to Thirteenth Street.
From a distance, he mistook the man leaning against
the front of his building for Lark, though he wondered
why anyone would wear a long-sleeved hoodie on such
a hot day. The temperature had to be in the upper
eighties, at only nine-thirty. He didn't recognize the
scarred face until a right hook barely missed his nose,
slamming into his cheek. Noah staggered backwards.
"What the hell?" the fist came again; this time Noah
caught the punch in his hand.
"If you ever come near him again, you're dead, you
hear me?!" Bristling with anger, nostrils flaring, Chip's
boyfriend didn't appear nearly as composed as the day
they'd met at the caf�.
Fallen Angel 146
Noah twisted the fist up behind the man's back,
pushing him face first against the wall and eliciting a
pained grunt. The guy squirmed and struggled, but
Noah, adrenaline already pumping through his veins,
bigger, and most likely more experienced at street
fighting, gave no ground. He growled into the asshole's
ear. "I ought to beat the shit out of you for what you did
to him. If it'd hold up in court and not drag the kid
through the mud, you'd be in jail right now."
The guy sounded genuinely confused. "I didn't do
nothin'. He agreed!"
"Oh, really?" He twisted the guy's arm tighter. "You
mean to say he called me to save him because he was
doing exactly what he wanted to do?"
"That little shit! Whatever he told you, he lied! He
wanted to do the video. Got off on the idea of being a
porn star."
"He asked me for help, making his the only side of
the story I give a damn about. And if he ever calls me
again, I'll make damned sure you never lay eyes on him
for the rest of your miserable life."
"Is everything okay out here?"
Noah hazarded a glance over his shoulder, finding
Lark huddled in the doorway of the Tub of Suds.
Through gritted teeth, he hissed a reply, "Yeah,
everything's fine." He released the pimp. "Get the hell
back to wherever you came from," he sneered, fighting
the urge to beat the shit out of the guy for Chip and
whoever else the bastard may have hurt.
Once released, the bravado returned, the man shaking
a finger at Noah -- from a safe distance. "Mark my
words," he spat, enunciating each word, "you will regret
this." He turned on his heel and stormed off, Noah
taking note of the car he got into, parked a few
businesses down. Did Jeremy still have a picture of the
license plate? Only when the car disappeared around the
corner out of sight did he turn his attention to Lark.
In the bright morning light, the man standing before
him conflicted with the image he'd stored in his mind.
Fallen Angel 147
Sure he saw Lark nearly every day, in passing, but he
hadn't truly seen him since Jeremy's graduation.
The lesions were gone from the man's pale,
frightened face, his hair neat and actually resembling
hair instead of straw. His eyes had lost their vacant
"nobody's home" emptiness.
In short, he no longer appeared the addicted hustler
Noah pictured him as. Changing on the outside didn't
mean he'd changed inside, though. To prove his point,
Noah asked, "Lark, have you ever stolen from me?"
Lark stiffened, face coloring. "Yes," he confessed.
Noah was taken aback by the honesty. "What did you
steal?"
Scuffing his tennis shoes against the sidewalk, eyes
following the movements, Lark replied, "Remember
Jeremy's party?"
"Uh-huh."
"I went inside to use the bathroom." Lark peered up
through his lashes, then lowered his eyes again, lower
lip caught between his teeth. "I found some twenties in
your wallet. I took them." [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]

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