He didn’t seem like the kind of man who was interested in art, but I didn’t want to prejudge him. Everyone was welcome in here until they proved they didn’t deserve to be here. I looked into his eyes. His bright, hazel eyes. They were full of malice and contempt like someone had angered him and he was about to let them know it.
There was something familiar about his eyes.
But, once he got halfway across the gallery room, his eyes diverted from me. They locked onto the paintings on the wall, and I relaxed a little. He was walking around the room, taking everything in as he tracked in dirt. I tried to push my preconceived notions of him to the back of my mind. For now, he seemed genuinely interested in the art on the wall, so I sat down on a small stool in the corner and watched him.
“Who painted these?” the man asked.
He was pointing to the pair of John’s paintings I kept loaning out to places for display.
“His name was John McBride.”
“Lot of pain in these paintings,” he said.
“Mr. McBride dealt with a lot of pain. Loss. Substance abuse. He climbed out of a very deep, dark hole. You’re the first person who’s ever looked at these and latched onto the pain behind them. I’m impressed.”
“Substance abuse, huh?” the man asked. “You know what kind?”
“Heroin mostly,” I said. “He was using his art to recover, taking classes to try and express himself again through a medium that brought him comfort.”
The man’s voice was gruff like tire trucks scraping over gravel rocks. I scanned his body again and noticed his fingernails. They were dirty and caked in dust and oil. I was curious about the man and about how he had come to know about this gallery. Was he looking for something? Understanding maybe? He seemed to be very perceptive of John’s work, and it made me wonder if the two had anything in common.
“How much are these paintings worth?” the man asked.
“They aren’t for sale,” I said.
“I didn’t ask if they were. I was just asking if they were worth anything,” he said.
“They’re priceless,” I said.
“Interesting.”
He continued walking around the gallery and that uneasy feeling returned. I sat back down on my seat and slid my hand back into my pocket. The man’s eyes were glossed over like he wasn’t really all there. He walked around the gallery and took in the rest of the paintings, but then he ended up back in front of that pair of pictures.
“Seen these in the newspaper,” he said.
“I loan them out to places in town so they can display them.”
“Must mean they’re worth something.”
Why in the world was this man so intent on knowing the price of these pictures?
“Like I said. They’re priceless.”
“Maybe I could take one off your hands,” he said.
“They aren’t for sale,” I said.
“They should be. You owe me a lot of money.”
I furrowed my brow as I took in his words. I owed him money? I didn’t even know who this guy was! I felt my hands beginning to tremble as the man turned his gaze to me. I figured out why his gaze looked so familiar and why his glossed-over eyes made me so nervous.
The man was high, and judging by the state of his clothes, he was also homeless.
“Sir. I have no idea who you are or what you’re talking about, but you obviously have me confused with someone else.”
“Hailey McBride, right? The woman with the small art shop in Los Angeles?”
My blood froze in my veins as a grin grew on the man’s disgusting face.
“Get out,” I said.
“I don’t believe that’s any way to treat a customer,” he said. “One of these paintings will do just fine.”
“I’m not giving you a damn thing. Now get out. Immediately.”
“It’s your fault he’s dead, you know.”
“Who?” I asked.
“John.”
I felt all the blood drain from my face as my hand grew weak around my phone. The world had stopped spinning, and I felt like I was floating in the air. I couldn’t get my fingers to move. No matter how much I screamed for them to press the damn button, I couldn’t get them to budge. The man slowly approached the cash register, his arm leaning against the counter. I could feel bile rising up my throat, tainted with the disgusting decaf coffee I had choked down this morning to try and feel normal.
“Your ex-boyfriend caused my family a lot of heartache,” the man said.
“We weren’t dating,” I said.
“Then your fuck buddy caused my family a lot of heartache.”
“We ... we weren’t—”
“Whoever he was, he stole from my family. And you meant a great deal to him. That debt, Mrs. McBride, has never been recovered.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I said breathlessly.
But I did know. I knew exactly what this man was talking about.
“My cousin wouldn’t be very happy to know of your ignorance. You know, if he was alive.”
“Your cousin?”
“You play dumb very well, but it doesn’t get you out from underneath the bus. That debt falls on your shoulders now, Mrs. McBride. I guess you should be careful with who you play ball with.”
I panned my watery gaze up to his hazel eyes as my mind flashed back to that night when I’d cowered around a corner and listened to those men beat John up and shoot him up with heroin. I’d crouched down in the darkness and listened to him gurgling on his own vomit. I remembered the night they dragged me from my bed and held me by my neck. I could remember how dirty and dingy the man smelled, but I also remembered those angry hazel eyes that looked me right in my face right before John had ripped them from me.
That was why these man’s eyes looked so familiar. He was related to the men who had tried to get me to pay for their lost drugs.
“Oh, no,” I whispered.
“Oh, yes,” the man said. “You owe a debt, and I’ve come to collect.”
“I’m calling the police,” I said. “You’ll never get away with this.”
“The police don’t care. Didn’t you learn your lesson the first time around?”
“They’ll care now that you’re here threatening a pregnant woman,” I said.
“They didn’t care all those years ago, and they won’t care now. I know you have a lot of money, Hailey. Your face is everywhere. How do you think it was so easy for me to track you down? I’ve read the articles. I’ve heard of your little tour. I found out about this beautiful establishment. All the way from Los Angeles. I bet anyone could track you down like this. Get whatever they needed from you.”
I was frozen in my spot as the man pushed off the counter. I watched as he walked back over toward John’s paintings and held his hand out. His dirty, grungy hand that was going to taint John’s hard work. It was the last two pieces I had that belonged to him. The only two pieces that hung in this gallery that had been done by him. The rest were sold the night of his showcase, minus the one I had given to Bryan that awful night.
“Don’t you dare touch that,” I said.
I had no idea where I got my voice from, but it seemed to unlock my body. I stood from the chair and reached underneath the table and grabbed my taser. It was something I had purchased when the gallery really took off. Bryan had convinced me to get something to defend myself since I had refused to hire on any sort of help. I wasn’t comfortable with guns nor did I have the power in my body to swing a baseball bat with any accuracy, so he’d talked me into getting a personal taser.
I held it out toward the man, and it prompted him to chuckle.
“I was surprised when I saw your picture on the news, though. Newspapers are one thing, but the news? That’s big-time stuff. Your ex-boyfriend would be proud.”
“We never dated,” I said through clenched teeth.
“You were something. A man never tries to save a woman without wanting something in return.”
“Guess you didn’t know John, then,” I said.
“Listen, I’m not here to torment you.”
“Then you’ve already failed at your job.”
“My cousin died because of your ex-boyfriend’s actions,” he said.
“We. Weren’t. Dating.”
“The point is,” he said as he turned his snarl toward me, “you owe me. All of it. Every single dime I lost because that damn fool intervened. Those drugs were lost in your art studio, so you’re the one who owes the debt. My family will get what we’re owed. My cousin lost his life because of that idiotic man.”
He pointed his finger at the painting as another tear ricocheted down my face.
“Recouping lost money is a serious sport in my world. And when someone can’t do it, lives are lost. The one hundred thousand dollars is your responsibility, and I’m not leaving town until I get it.”
I tried to laugh off his sentiment in order to keep strong. I wiped at the tears on my face as I pushed a laugh to the top of my throat. One hundred thousand dollars? Was this man serious? I kept the taser poised in front of me in case he chose to come any closer. I wasn’t taking any chances with this man. I knew he was serious, and I knew he meant business, but I wasn’t going to be intimidated into giving him anything.