Page 42 of Gatsby's Starlet
I straightened, taking a better look at her. “You okay?”
“Yeah,” she said, nodding fast. “Just… went for a walk.”
Didn’t look like a walk.
She glanced over her shoulder like she was checking something—or someone—then forced a small smile. “I’ll see you later.”
And just like that, she was gone.
I stood there a second longer than I meant to before another shape moved out of the dark.
“You’re out late,” I said when Devil stepped into the low light, already knowing this night wasn’t done with me yet.
His eyes cut toward me, unreadable as always.
Before I could stop myself, I added, “You with Tillie?”
The look he gave me could’ve peeled paint. “Why the fuck would you think that?” he snapped. “Someone runnin’ their mouth?”
“She just came from the same direction as you,” I said, shrugging a shoulder.
He let out a short breath, more annoyed than anything. “She was probably entertaining one of the guys back there. I was at the house.”
Of course he was. That place might as well have been a shrine.
“I was gonna talk to you tomorrow,” he went on, already shifting gears, “but since you’re here, I want cameras put up around the house. Front, back, wherever you think they need to be. Someone’s been lurking.”
That got my attention. “You see anything?” I asked.
“Not yet,” he said. “But I feel it.”
Yeah. That was enough for me. “Could be someone thinks the place is empty,” I said. “Trying to get lucky.”
“Not gonna happen,” he muttered.
No, it wasn’t. Not if I had anything to do with it. “When you need it done?” I asked.
“Soon as possible.”
“I’ll grab what I need first thing in the morning,” I said. “Have it up by tomorrow night.”
He nodded once, already reaching into his pocket, pulling out a key and pressing it into my hand. “Call me when it’s done.”
“Yeah. I will.”
He didn’t say anything else, just turned and walked off, disappearing back into the same dark everything else seemed to crawl out of tonight.
I stood there for a second, letting out a slow breath. So much for keeping things simple. Between Horse losing his shit, Tillie acting off, and Devil thinking someone was creeping around his place, the air felt heavier than it had a few minutes ago, like something was shifting under the surface and nobody had caught up yet.
I headed inside after that, not running into anyone else for once, and by the time I hit my room, I was more than ready to shut the world out. There was something about your own space, your shit, your walls, that settled things, even when everything else felt like it was starting to tilt.
I dropped onto the bed and reached underneath, pulling out the album I kept hidden there, flipping it open without thinking too hard about why.
First page. My mom. Standing at the stove, wooden spoon in hand, caught mid-motion like she might turn around any second if I stared long enough. It was the only picture I had of her. Only thing she left behind when she walked out like none of it mattered.
I stared at it longer than she deserved before turning the page. “Timothy Evan Calloway.” Black and white newspaper article. An accident, and it didn’t say what really happened. Didn’t say he was drunk out of his mind, passed out behind the wheel, took himself, and some woman he picked up that night, straight into the ground.
Didn’t say any of the shit that actually mattered. I flipped past it. Didn’t need to sit in that tonight.
