Stone
Gamblers are predictable. They borrow money; they lose the money; they show up at my door again. Predictable, stupid, and doomed.
Alfie Moore was no different. Predictable, stupid, and doomed. The man didn’t have a single redeeming feature about him, except for the new depths he allowed himself to sink to, which, I suppose, was a loan shark’s dream.
I wasn’t a real loan shark, though. My money came from my investments, human or otherwise. Alfie Moore was a personal favor. When my father had been alive, Moore had been the estate manager for Thorn Hill, the crumbling gothic manor I now lived in.
Perched up on the hill. It overlooked the town and had a long, intimidating driveway that kept the rabble away. Not even Jehovah’s witnesses dared the winding path through the dark woods to my door.
I had let the staff go when I took over the estate. I didn’t need snooping townspeople in my business, except Samuel, who was different. The secrets buried in the gardens of Thorn Hill needed constant tending. I couldn’t be without Samuel.
Tonight was the last night Moore had for payback, and he was avoiding my calls. How predictable. It was raining outside. Gray afternoon was shuffling into a stormy evening, and it was perfect weather for a drive. Let him avoid me in person.
I donned my overcoat and glove, just the one as I usually did, and left my lair.
I drovethrough town and stopped across the street from the bookstore that Moore ran. Considering his rate of money borrowing, the joint seemed to be more of a charity than a business. The old bastard never had a penny to his name. Who made money selling books nowadays? The shop was a relic, just like its owner.
As I shifted in the seat to settle in and wait for Alfie to leave, the door to Joanie’s bookstore opened, and he stepped out. The cover of darkness would be better for a brief lesson in respecting the terms of a loan agreement, but the gray sky would suffice well enough. I just had to follow him wherever he was going.
I started the car and idled at the curb, watching as Alfie went in and out of the shop, ferrying boxes. What the fuck was the man doing? Skipping town with books in tow? That didn’t seem likely. Besides, I’d heard he had a daughter, though I supposed she’d be old enough to live on her own by now.
Alfie paused in the doorway, opening a huge, yellow umbrella and holding it out for someone. I waited impatiently as another figure stepped through the doorway of the shop.
I felt the air grow still and the sounds of traffic faded as I watched her. She was dressed in a pink puffball of a gown, like a princess from a fairy tale who had accidentally wandered off-set and ended up in the real world. She didn’t belong here. That was my gut instinct.
She was wearing elbow-length gloves, white and dazzling against her olive skin, and her hair, dark and rich as midnight, tumbled in waves around her shoulders. She was laughing. I couldn’t make out all of her face, only the bottom portion, but it was enough to know that she was the most beautiful woman I’d ever seen.
The umbrella dipped, hiding her from view, and my hands tightened on the steering wheel, the fine leather covering my ruined left hand creaking. Alfie had his arm behind her slim waist, drawn in tight in her corseted dress, and was guiding her toward his car. The rundown banger of a vehicle wasn’t good enough for this vision to ride in, I thought scathingly as I watched them. The damn umbrella blocked my view until she was in the car and gone from sight completely. Alfie hurried around to the driver’s seat and got in, pulling out quickly as though he was late for something.
I realized my hands were clamped like manacles on the expensive hand-stitched leather wheel and pried them off with effort. This car was my current favorite of the toys that sat in my enormous garage. It wouldn’t do to mark it.
I followed the taillights of Alfie’s car.
As I drove, I realized that my urgency now had nothing to do with shaking Alfie Moore down and getting my money back, or at the very least, making him understand it wasn’t a gift. No, that had lost its importance now I was faced with the mystery woman on his arm. I had to know who she was, and I had to know now. She looked so young to be his daughter. Young, but old enough.
He parked in the lot of the local theatre. Brightly colored signs and posters were tacked up, fading in the drizzle, a paradox of hope and youth running its ink onto the gray concrete of reality. They got out and headed inside. Again, all I could make out for sure was that dress. A marshmallow dress.
I wanted to eat the woman inside it.
The instinct was suddenly, startlingly strong, yet, undeniable. It had been a long time since I’d had a woman. I’d had nothing but the comfort of my hand since I’d withdrawn from society. I hadn’t always been a reclusive rich man, living in a mausoleum on the hill. Once, I’d been a prince of the city, rich, daring, handsome, and wicked.
That had all ended the day that father had died. The evil old demon.
I rarely thought about the old days. It wasn’t wise to dwell.
Alfie disappeared inside the theatre, and now that the mystery woman was out of sight, I could focus on the rest. I looked at the posters. A beauty pageant. How quaint. All ages could apply. Small towns were where good taste went to die.
A line had formed to the front doors of eager spectators. I’d bet my life that the only people paying for tickets knew a competitor personally. An older sister who’d never fulfilled her dreams of being the prettiest of them all, giving it one more chance. A young girl pushed to the front by a bossy mother, desperate for her kid to be the chosen one, special, above all others.
Yes, it seemed only relatives of those competing now stood in the cue for the rundown theatre.
Relatives and me.
I had to see her face.