Yet a Stranger (The First Quarto #2) - Gregory Ashe Page 0,146

at her weave with one hand. “You ain’t nothing but skin and bones. Why’re you on a diet?”

“Davey likes it when he can count my ribs. He says that’s when I look best for him. Oh, Coca-Cola. That’s my favorite! I don’t know when the last time was that Davey let me have one.”

“Like a giant, white baby,” Holloway murmured to herself.

Weigel held out an unopened can of Coke, but instead of taking it, Shaw moved around the desk. “Hey, you’ve got all sorts of cool stuff back here. Do you really watch all those screens?”

“You know you shouldn’t be back here,” Weigel said.

“Leave him alone,” Holloway said. She reached out and caught some of Shaw’s hair. “Now don’t tell me Davey makes you wear your hair like this?”

“Oh.” Shaw let his expression fall. “I was, um, really bad. One time. And Davey cut my hair. It was for my own good. You know, he had to teach me a lesson.”

“Child,” Weigel said. “Why don’t you call Davey and tell him to come down here?”

“Do you want to see what my hair used to look like? It was really long. Oh, that’s a picture of a mole on Davey’s back that I think might be cancerous. And that’s a carousel horse, but the carousel’s gone, so I guess maybe it’s just a regular horse now. But out of wood. And that’s—”

“Just a giant baby,” Holloway said to herself again, both women turning away from the lobby to face Shaw, leaning closer to look at the pictures on his phone. He glanced up just once, over their heads, as North sprinted silently across the tile. Then he went back to the patter, dragging it out until North rode the elevator up and Shaw guessed that several minutes had passed.

“Anyway,” Shaw said, “I guess I’d better go see Chris. Chris Hobson. He’s my cousin; he lives in 8A.”

“Sweety pie,” Holloway said, “you got to get this Davey out of your life. He’s got some bad energy.”

“I say call him,” Weigel said. “Get him down here and let the two of us talk to him for a few minutes. That boy won’t ever trouble you again.”

“And drink that Coke,” Holloway said. “I think I’ve got a Kind bar in my purse. You’re too thin; don’t listen to that boy.”

“Drink that Coke right up,” Weigel said as she grabbed the desk phone. “What’s your cousin know about all this?”

“Oh, he and Davey don’t get along at all. That’s the whole reason I came over tonight; Chris wants to talk about it.”

The women exchanged knowing looks.

“Uh huh,” Holloway said, fluffing Shaw’s hair again. “Listen to your cousin, Max. You’re too pretty to waste on a jerk like Davey.”

“Mr. Hobson? Yes, I’ve got your cousin Max—yes, sir. I’ll send him right up.”

It took a little longer, but Shaw finally managed to extricate himself and ride the elevator up. He found the door to 8A unlocked, and when he stepped inside, North was waiting near the landline phone where he’d answered the call from the security desk and told them to let Shaw into the building.

“What the absolute fuck was all that fuckery?”

“I got a Coke!”

“You’ve got an abusive boyfriend named Davey? Jesus fucking Christ, Shaw. I didn’t say you couldn’t buy that stupid fucking cloak. My exact words were, ‘I don’t think you’ll wear it very much, so I don’t think it’s worth the money.’ And I didn’t say you couldn’t get tattoos or have your nipples pierced. I said maybe you should think about the fact that you don’t like needles and having the script of Memento tattooed over every inch of your body might be a decision you regret in a few months.”

“I—”

“And if you say one fucking word about that Coke, I’m going to lose my fucking shit.”

North’s shit looked pretty lost already, so Shaw just sipped the cola and nodded. “It’s been a hard night. Your penis. Those cutoffs.”

North’s fists clenched at his sides. Then he turned slowly and stalked down the hall.

The condo looked like it had come straight out of a CB2 catalogue: sinuously modern furniture, glass and teak, the occasional bleached wicker and white-varnished rattan piece. It even smelled store-bought, like all-purpose cleaner and artificial lavender. Sliding glass doors opened onto a balcony overlooking the park: asphalt ribbons, the arched backs of stone bridges, winter-brown grass rippling like water.

Shaw and North pulled on disposable gloves and moved quickly through the unit. They couldn’t toss the place the way they