“I will not shut up. You just fucked off without saying a word to me, you son of a bitch.”
“I said shut up. You got a pen?”
I spot the one on the dresser beside the remaining wine glass. “Why?”
“I want you to write down my sister’s address. Use the rest of the money I gave you to call a cab. Go there and wait for me. I’ll join you as soon as I can.”
“Where are you? What’s going on, Enzo? You said you were going to explain everything to me.”
“Write this address down. It’s about a half-day from where you are.”
I grab the pen, writing on the back of my hand as he gives me the address. “You got that?” he asks a moment later.
“I got it.”
“Don’t call anyone else. Don’t tell anyone where you’re going. Get there and stay there. Got it? I’ve called her and told her you’re coming. She’s expecting you.”
“What’s this all about, Enzo?”
“I have to go see someone. I promise you, when I next see you, I’ll explain everything.”
He hangs up and I’m left holding the phone, feeling like it’s a dangerous weapon. I put it down gingerly, backing away from it until I stumble across my clothes.
I’ve gone from furious and ashamed to confused and upset within moments. He didn’t ghost me, I think. But he did leave without any notice.
I might be wrong but I thought I detected a tiny hint of fear in his voice. Fear and rage behind the cold calm way he talks, like a raging torrent of water churning away under a thick layer of ice. Sooner or later, that ice is going to crack and what’s going to come bubbling up? Will I survive it? Will he?
I get myself dressed, grab the remaining banknotes he gave me and head out to the reception. It’s the same guy who was there last night. He looks just as tired. I get the feeling he doesn’t step away very often. When he sees me coming, he sits bolt upright and even manages a sickly obsequious smile as I reach him.
“Good morning, Miss Bennett,” he says, rubbing his hands together on the countertop. “What can I do for you on this fine day?”
“I need a cab,” I tell him. “Willing to go a few hundred miles.”
“Of course,” he says, pulling out his cellphone. “I’ll have one here for you in a couple of minutes. I’d drive you myself but with my left leg the way it is, I struggle to get on and off the john anymore. Want my advice? Never jump off the top of the Brighton Mill bleachers for a bet.”
“The cab?”
“Sure, sure. I’m on it. Two minutes.”
While he rings for the cab, I go over to the vending machine by the entrance and get myself a soda. By the time I’ve done that he’s hanging up and smiling at me again. “On his way. Tony Bentham. Great guy. Doesn’t want a penny from you. Happy to do it for the scenery.”
“You mentioned Enzo’s name, didn’t you?”
He gulps. “Was I not supposed to? I’m sorry, I just thought it would help impress on him the urgency of your requirements.”
“Why are you so scared of him?”
He frowns, scratching his cheek, his mouth opening and closing like he’s a fish. “I’m not scared of him. I respect him, is all.”
“This isn’t a test. I genuinely want to know. What is it about him that’s so scary?”
“You don’t know?”
I shake my head. “Know what?”
He lowers his voice, looking around him like he thinks Enzo might emerge from the shadows and stab him in the heart at any moment. “They call him Death.”
“Who does?”