Total pages in book: 75
Estimated words: 72945 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 365(@200wpm)___ 292(@250wpm)___ 243(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 72945 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 365(@200wpm)___ 292(@250wpm)___ 243(@300wpm)
But no Tony Cowan.
“What the fuck,” Baptist says, standing near the landing to the stairs. “We’re in the right house, right? Seriously, we didn’t stumble into some bizarro-world wormhole?”
“Shotgun blast, remember?” I knock the banister and try to think. “Did he move?”
“He should’ve told us.”
“That seems like the kind of thing he’d forget to do.”
“But the place is empty. You saw it before, it would’ve taken days or weeks to clear all that shit out. They had to have started right after we left, practically.”
“Endless money. You know he’s rich.” I shake my head slowly. Every inch of me wants to get the hell out of here. I’ve never felt so thoroughly spooked before in my life. “This is too weird.”
Suddenly, a noise from somewhere nearby breaks the tension. It’s a sharp slam like someone hammering wood. It comes again and again and again then stops abruptly. Baptist moves closer to me and grips my wrist, holding it tightly and glaring around like he’s scanning for threats.
My heart’s in my throat and the smell of Baptist so close makes sweat roll down my back and my chest judder with excitement. He’s not supposed to touch me, not supposed to get so close, but I’ve noticed ever since our conversation about Cowan and the crack debt that he’s been twice as protective as he ever was before that. It’s like he doesn’t want to let me out of his sight.
“Upstairs,” he says, sounding grim and staring at the ceiling. “There must be an attic.”
“I think I saw one of those pulldown staircases at the end of the hall.”
He nods and leads the way. I let him do it, and he doesn’t release my wrist, like he forgot he was touching me. I should pull free but I like the feeling of his fingers right now, and having him so close is keeping me from freaking out too much.
Above us, a single pull cord dangles from a square sliced into the drywall. He grabs it and yanks, and the stairs come down with a slow, agonizing creak. Once they’re set, he holds up a hand.
“I’ll go first.” Slowly, he climbs the steps, and disappears inside.
There’s silence.
“Baptist?” My chest is on fire. What if he’s getting eaten by raccoons? What if he found a ghost? Okay, there’s no ghost, but still—rabid raccoons are a real possibility.
“Come up, Webb.”
I follow him, palms slick with sweat. When I reach the top, I find him standing stooped beneath a pitched ceiling, and several feet away, standing in front of what looks like a work bench randomly thrown on top of some plywood and surrounded by insulation, is Cowan.
“Took you two long enough,” he says, scowling. “Didn’t I say to come meet me in my workshop?” He bangs a hammer against something, glaring. “And now you’ve interrupted my work.”
“What are you doing?” Baptist asks. “Your house is totally empty. You’re standing in an empty attic hammering what looks like a bunch of random pieces of wood.”
“You seem to have it all figured out.” Cowan grins at me and winks. “Lovely seeing you again, suit.”
“What’s going on?” I ask, exasperated.
“I’m moving,” he says. “Got sick of the raccoons. But my workspace is still here, and I want to finish before we get going on the film in earnest.” He holds up a small, brass object, glinting slightly in the low light as it seeps in through the roof vents. It takes a moment to understand it’s a key.
“Is that to your new place?” I ask, trying not to scream at him. This is weird, even by his standards.
“This is for you.” He tosses it over. I yelp and Baptist snatches it from the air before it can slam into my face. Cowan glares at him and shrugs. “Either one of you can hold it, I suppose it doesn’t matter. But keep that key safe. You’ll need it.”
“Need it for what?” Baptist asks, looking angry and on the verge of losing his cool.
“Now, it’s perfect you’re both here,” Cowan says, clapping hard once and changing the subject. I flinch at the sudden noise and again Baptist moves closer to me. “We have some paperwork to sign and I have some things I need you to procure for me.” He roots around in a drawer on his bench until he pulls out a crumpled piece of yellowed paper. “Here you go.”
Baptist takes it from him. “What’s this?”
“Items I need for the film. Did the suit fill you in?”
“Webb told me the film’s about an addict.” He squints at the paper. “Lionfish? Is that a real animal?”
“It’s about more than an addict,” Cowan says and sweeps past us. He disappears down the steps, yelling back at us as he does. “It’s about wanting. It’s about pure existential need divorced of image. It’s about the truth, the real truth!”