A Friend in the Dark - Gregory Ashe Page 0,23

enough to scan the spines of some of the one-dollar specials lining the sidewalk.

Analysis of Economics in Sub Saharan Africa.

DIY: Artisan Cheese Making.

Photographers Guide to Dry Plate Process.

The Agatha Christie Companion.

Rufus glanced over his shoulder. Sam was studying him, not the books. He moved away from the cheap paperbacks and started walking again, with Sam still in tow. Twelve minutes until they reached the edge of Tompkins Square, Rufus calculated. He took a deep breath of hot, humid air and cracked his neck to either side.

Focus.

First and foremost: Rufus was still involved with Sam’s investigation. And that was a problem. He’d sworn he’d go as far as Natalie’s apartment. He’d owed it to Jake to put Sam on the correct path. But then he’d been coaxed into going inside, showing his face to Natalie, snooping around (which he’d done brilliantly, but that wasn’t the point), and now here Rufus was, still tagging along.

Tagging along? Hell. He was quite literally leading the charge.

Which brought Rufus to his second concern: Sam’s unhinged line of questioning. Well, that had been obvious enough. Rufus might not have had a romantic relationship before, but his own emotions weren’t foreign. They hadn’t atrophied. Sam was hurting, more than he’d admitted at the studio or the diner. But Sam also didn’t seem the kind of guy who handled grief with tears. He was probably more like the anger, rage, punch-a-hole-through-a-wall sort of guy, if the tampons shoved up Rufus’s backside remark was any indication. But Rufus didn’t mind letting that one slide. Being face-to-face with Natalie had made the loss of Jake more real to Sam, and Rufus had had front row seats to that show.

The third point, maybe the genesis of all the current shit being flung: How to console Sam. Sam didn’t like being touched—his words—so Rufus sure wasn’t going to offer to hug it out. A few times already Rufus had noticed the peculiar shake Sam had when the city pressed too close. Rufus had been grateful when Sam hadn’t pointed out his obvious downward trajectory at the diner—that he needed food and couldn’t pay for it himself—so, likewise, Rufus wasn’t going to make Sam even more uncomfortable by pointing out those shakes that he was clearly very fucking aware of. That brief moment in Natalie’s living room, though, with Sam naked and exposed and coping with the nastier side of the human condition, it’d made Rufus feel not so alone. And if he were to part now, say fuck this and good luck, where would they both be?

Alone.

If he stayed until Tompkins Square and helped Sam find Jake’s phone, that’d certainly be enough. Whatever pickup job Rufus had been contacted to handle, the evidence would be on Jake’s missing cell. Sam would take it to the police and they’d piece together the clues like on television. And that way Rufus would have done right by Jake. He’d have done right by Sam too. Hell, Sam might even set aside his salty, grouchy attitude for thirty seconds and say something nice that wasn’t simultaneously laced with sexual overtones.

That’s not entirely fair, Rufus thought. He thinks you’re cute.

Granted, Sam had also said Rufus was suspicious and paranoid. Still. It’d been nice hearing that. Not many people thought a gangly redhead with a face smattered with just slightly too many freckles was cute.

Rufus turned down Avenue A, and a looming canopy of old trees came into view. Tompkins Square Park stood out in stark contrast against the surrounding brick and steel and stone, a reminder that for all the dirt and grime, New York City was still alive. Still breathing and still beating.

Rufus pulled his hands from the jacket pockets and pointed at a hole-in-the-wall joint to their left. The outside of the building was adorned in colorfully painted murals. “This place is Mama’s Cafe. And across the street is Queenie’s. I think there’s two more bars at the end of the block too. Avenue B is more residential—churches, schools, apartment buildings, shit like that. So I’m guessing the phone is on this side of the park.”

“You’re guessing?”

Rufus tilted his head up briefly to stare at Sam through his sunglasses. “Do I look like a mind reader?” He motioned for Sam to follow as he walked toward Queenie’s.

“Mind reader?” Sam grumbled. “Wish you could read my fucking mind right now.”

Rufus spun suddenly on his heel, causing Sam to stop short of barreling right into him. “By the way—Hiscock?”

“I wasn’t thinking about your cock. Nice try on