Flypaper Con: Dark Psychological Thriller - Book 4 Read online

  “I wasn’t actually charged with B and E, only trespassing.” Jane was evidently touchy about peoples’ perceptions of her criminal record.

  “Thank you, Jane.” Nick picked up a corn chip from the table’s appetizer basket and returned to his conversation with Blaire. “Bare minimum.” He shoved the chip into his mouth.

  Blaire searched her clipboard for some explanation. “They aren’t. I don’t know what could have happened.”

  Corpse put her arms over Nick and Blaire’s shoulders. “Is that the chick with the probes? I’ll show her someplace else they can go.”

  The thick man with the eight o’clock shadow sitting next to Jane stood up. “This is my fault. I’m sorry. I’m Brian, I won the Double Dawkins auction, with included a plus one. I surprised Janie with it.” He gestured at Jane. “We’ll understand if we can’t stay, I won’t even ask for the money back, but don’t be mad at Janie. She didn’t have any idea, but I wanted to support her in her dreams of fooling around with her favorite author.”

  The chip in Nick’s throat tried to go down the wrong pipe. He coughed it back up and leaned on the tabletop as Corpse whacked him on the back harder than necessary. “Don’t die, boss.”

  Blaire covered her mouth with her hand in case Jane or Brian happened to be stone deaf and lip-readers. “Your call. You want me to call someone, or…?”

  Nick straightened himself out and looked around the table. At least two of the people there would come to his aid if Jane tried to baste his turkey. Hell with it. “Sure, she can stay.” He coughed again. “Why not? Water under the bygones, or whatever. I’m sure this will in no way bite me in the ass, right?”

  Jane clapped her hands together. “It won’t, you won’t be sorry, I promise.”

  “I’m going to hold you to that, Jane.” Nick sat at the head of the table. Corpse sat to his left, pulled her laptop out of a shoulder bag and opened it. He pointed at a kid with dark, curly hair across from Jane. “I know you too. Brundlefly, was it?”

  Brundlefly looked up from his menu, his beady eyes shining from behind Harry Potter glasses. “That’s correct. I wondered if you’d remember me.”

  A waiter with a tray full of glasses of water came in and took drink orders, starting with Nick. “Just water, thanks. And yes, I remembered you, you really climbed up my ass today, thanks for that. You didn’t pay a bunch of money for the sole purpose of ruining my dinner, did you?”

  “No, not entirely.” The kid smiled, which was really only a widening of the lips. “I also did it for charity.”

  The palpable tension shattered and chuckles rippled along the table. Corpse reached across Nick and pulled the clipboard out of Blaire’s hands. “Yoink.”

  Nick sipped from his glass. “Good answer, you can stay too.” He’d hoped this would be taken as a sign of good faith; that whatever beef Brundlefly had with him would be put to rest. Instead, he stared at Nick like he had two heads. It unnerved him. He turned his attention elsewhere to escape the kid’s piercing gaze. “I don’t know the rest of you; why don’t you introduce yourselves?”

  A large, well-dressed man with a mullet reached across the table to shake Nick’s hand. “Gary. Big fan. Real pleasure.” Gary squeezed Nick’s hand like it was a competition.

  “Gary.” Corpse scanned the clipboard for Gary’s name and drilled her fingers into her keys at a rate of five per second. “You’re a big shot up north, aren’t you, home-daddy? Own a grocery chain across four states. Very swank.”

  Gary grinned. “I do alright for myself.”

  “Though, ew, you like Nickelback?” Corpse made a face and stuck out her tongue.

  Gary’s genuine grin disappeared, hidden behind a false one. Not bad, he could teach Blaire a thing or two. “Uh, sure. How did you know that?”

  Corpse leaned way out over the table, her expression cold as frost. “We see everything, Gary.”

  Nick lifted up and reached over the table to the young woman seated next to Gary. “And nice to meet you…” He waited for a response. The woman shook his hand vigorously and mouthed words he couldn’t make out. She let go of his hand and gave him a slip of paper.

  He read it aloud. “Glossaphobia.” Nick looked at the one person in the room he knew for certain was smarter than he was. “Corpse?” She was ahead of him, already on a web article. “Fear of public speaking or speaking in general.” Corpse had the look of a mad scientist, whether she was intentionally playing one or not. “Fascinating, tell us more.”

  Nick stretched his neck over the clipboard in Corpse’s possession and then relaxed in his chair. “Starla. Nice to meet you, Starla.”

  Corpse studied her screen with an imaginary monocle. “Hey, look at this, Starla’s a writer too.”

  Starla bowed her head sheepishly.

  Nick nearly always regretted it when he asked to see someone else’s work, but he did it like clockwork anyway. “What kind of stuff do you write?”

  The woman maintained her silence and motioned for Corpse to go ahead.

  “Horror, natch. Her last book was about a woman who eats people with her vagina. Coooool.” Corpse was absorbed by what she read. It was possible they’d lost her for the rest of the dinner.

  Nick chose his next words carefully. “I don’t know if this is a thing I should ask… do you have a fear of speaking in front of other people specifically, or anytime at all?”

  Starla held her hand flat and sliced at the air.

  Brian appeared intrigued on more than a purely academic level. “So you don’t talk, ever?”

  Starla shook her head.

  Corpse hunched behind her laptop and peeked out over the monitor. “I think I’m in love. What is this? Nick, is this what love feels like?”

  Nick raised his glass of water. “Well, thank you all for participating in the auction, we and the Greater Days Foster Foundation appreciate your donations and hope you enjoy your meal.”

  “Here here,” Gary said.

  Brundlefly had a look on his face like he was the only one in the room who got the joke. Nick wondered if it was too late to kick him out, but thought better of it. The hostess stood in the doorway. “Excuse me, we have someone who says she’s supposed to be here, but she’s not on the list.”

  Hellen waved at him from behind the hostess.

  Her presence threw him. Why was she there? Was she crashing? Did she get the wrong impression from something he’d said the night before? Bereft of other options, Nick waved her in. “Hellen. Hey.”

  “Sorry I’m late.” She squeezed into the room and hugged him. “Took a nap. Overslept. It was a whole thing.” She glanced around the table for an empty chair and found none. “Did you forget to tell them I was coming?”

  Nick stammered. He never stammered. Not like this. It was awful. “I do—I’m—I don’t think I realized you were coming.”

  Hellen dropped her hands to her side with a bit of well duh flair. “I said I would, didn’t I?”

  “Did you?” It was only half rhetorical. He didn’t have the slightest recollection of that.

  “You don’t even remember, do you?” Nothing about her demeanor suggested surprise.

  He winced in embarrassment at the previous night’s over-indulgence. “I invited you when I was smashed, didn’t I?”

  Hellen smiled. “Do you want me to repeat exactly what was said?”

  Nick thought it over for a second. The possibilities were endless. “Probably not, huh?”

  Her smile grew wider, the gleam in her eye more wicked. “Probably not.”

  The waitress was actively disinterested in whatever went on between Nick and Hellen. “I’ll be right back with a chair.”

  Nick addressed the table. “Everyone, this is Hellen. Friend of mine, does the Hell ‘n’ Back podcast these days. Hellen, these are the Winner Winner Dawkins Dinner winners.”

  Hellen stepped aside for the hostess, who returned carrying a chair. “Oh wow, you really called it that? I thought you were joking.”

 
; Two waiters followed the hostess with drinks and a new place setting. They distributed their bounty as Hellen made herself comfortable at the far end of the table from Nick. Brundlefly pointed at Hellen. “Hellen. From Flystrike?”

  Hellen picked up a menu and looked it over. “Formerly of Flystrike,” she corrected.

  Brundlefly’s voice cracked in places it shouldn’t. “So you’re not with Wormwood anymore? What happened there?”

  “They didn’t see eye to eye on things.” Corpse looked up from her computer for a reaction from Hellen, who didn’t give her the satisfaction.

  Nick crushed a smirk that neared his face. Too soon. “Corpse.”

  She lowered her voice and added gravel to it. “Aye aye, Cap’n.” One of the waiters approached Nick for an appetizer order. Corpse put her hand over her left eye. “Arrrrrrr matey.”

  Brundlefly snickered. He appeared to be the only one with enough knowledge of the Myiasis community to get the pun.

  Nick ignored her and pointed at the appetizer selection on a menu. “Let’s start with one of everything here. Guys, you can graze, and if you want more of anything, speak up.”

  Gary raised a glass in Nick’s direction. “That’s mighty generous of you, Nick.”

  Nick shook his head. “Nah, the hotel’s providing the food. Charitable write-off or some such. Go crazy. So…” He clasped his hands together. “…who wants to talk about what?”

  Corpse bolted upright. “I want to talk about Joint Custody.”

  Nick gestured at the others around the table. “Nobody here has seen Joint Custody; it’s not out yet.”

  Hellen raised her hand. “I’ve seen it.”

  He lifted a shoulder. “I figured you had; I meant nobody else. They’d probably want to talk about something they’ve actually—”

  Jane spoke abruptly and loudly, her best approximation of casual dinner conversation. “What’s Joint Custody?”

  Hellen turned to Jane and Brian. “It’s a low budget indie thing about a woman in a custody battle with the Devil over their son, the Antichrist. Mike Reaper, who wrote and directed it, is here this weekend. Very cool guy.”

  Jane was as excited as Nick had ever seen her over anything. “That sounds awesome.”

  He grunted. “It is. Dammit.”

  Corpse did her non-whisper whisper. “He’s jealous.”

  Hellen lifted a perfectly painted eyebrow. “Jealous? Of what?”

  Nick opened his mouth, but Corpse beat him to it. “I think he sees Mike as competition. I’ve never seen him jealous before, it’s intriguing to watch.”

  Hellen’s brow furrowed and she tapped a finger against her red lips. “Competition for what, Nick?”

  Corpse beat Nick to an answer once again. “Fame… glory… probably you. You’ve got him so twisted. You should see him whip out his phone every time I mention your—”

  Nick found his voice. “Can we talk about literally anything else?”

  Jane squealed. “Anything?”

  Nick countered. “Anything other than urethral probes.”

  “Oh.” Jane’s shoulders sagged.

  Hellen locked eyes with Nick. “I liked the previous topic.”

  Brundlefly looked up from his phone with a smile that broadcast mischievous intent. “Can we talk about Clark Abernathy?”

  Motherfucker.

  Nick rubbed his fingers into his eyes. “Brundle, Jesus.”

  Brundlefly fiddled with his phone. “There are still so many unanswered questions.”

  Nick cupped his hands and held them above the table, pleading. “There aren’t. There are no unanswered questions at all. I promise.”

  Despite all odds, Brundlefly found one. “Do you feel bad?”

  Nick sighed and braced himself. “Do I feel bad about what?”

  Brundlefly shrugged. “About any of it.”

  The waiter entered with a massive platter full of appetizers over his head. He set them around the table.

  Nick said, “I feel plenty bad about the two people he killed. Do I feel bad about him being shot by a cop while feeding me to his pet rats? Not so much. Would you?”

  The waiter placed an order of onion rings down in front of Nick. He didn’t bother to hide his revulsion at the topic of conversation.

  Corpse gasped out loud. “Starla, you naughty thing.” Nick glanced at Corpse’s laptop, but she slammed it closed before anything registered. “Get your own person to cyber stalk.”

  Starla turned bright red and then winked at Corpse.

  Brian reached into the onion rings and pulled out a couple. “You got any plans for later tonight, Nick?”

  Hellen interlaced her fingers and placed them under her chin. “Yeah, Nick, do you?”

  Nick affected a southern drawl. “I was thinking about goin’ up o’ the ol’ jumpin’ ledge. Why, Brian? What you got?”

  Brian looked at Jane, who nodded at him hopefully. “We’re having a little get together up at our room later, we thought maybe you’d like to stop by.”

  “Ooh, I’ll come whether Nick goes or not.” Gary dusted his hands free of cheesestick crumbs. They rained down on the tablecloth in front of him.

  Jane and Brian exchanged a glance. Brian was consolatory. “It’s sort of a private get together.”

  Nick was eager to shut down the idea of him partying with Plain Jane. “I appreciate that, guys, but I might have plans with Hellen… later?” He looked at her questioningly for any indication of hot or cold. Girl had a hell of a poker face.

  “Do you?” Hellen asked playfully, her arms crossed.

  “It’s okay.” Jane leaned toward Hellen. “She can come too.”

  “Oh, they said I can go. Please, Nick.” Hellen wore her satisfaction for dicking with Nick on her sleeve.

  He mouthed the words ‘no fucking way’ at her.

  Hellen patted Jane on the hand. “Sorry babe, I think Nick has other plans for me. Raincheck?”

  Brian and Jane wrapped their arms around each other to comfort one another in their disappointment. “Yes, ma’am,” Brian said.

  “I kinda wanted to know how you think up all these scary stories.” Gary shoved a cheese stick into his mouth. It didn’t deter him from talking. “I couldn’t sit on the crapper without looking down into it first for months after reading Toilet Humor.”

  Starla nodded excitedly. She could relate.

  Nick jumped at the chance to talk about absolutely anything inside his comfort zone. Writing was one of those few things. “That’s funny, I remember thinking I wanted to do for toilets what Jaws did for the ocean. But sillier and way more fucked up.” One of his favorite quotes came to mind. “You know what Hitchcock said about suspense?”

  Hellen smiled. “I know this one.”

  Nick leaned into the table, looking each guest in the eye. “He said suspense is two men sitting at a table, neither aware that there’s a bomb underneath it.”

  The dinner guests erupted in a chorus of approving murmurs.

  Slowly, one by one, the people around the table lifted up the tablecloth and peered into the unknown, afraid of what they might find.

  Nick thumped the tabletop with his knuckle. “See? Even the suggestion that something might be under there was enough that you had to look. And that, ladies and gents, is Scary Story 101.”

  Everyone around the table nodded or verbally expressed agreement.

  Everyone except Brundlefly.

  He sat quietly. Unmoving. With that damn stare of his. Like he knew something Nick didn’t. The little bastard.

  Maybe Nick’s mind was still on the Hitchcock story, but Brundlefly reminded him of a bomb, waiting to go off.

  Chapter 11

  The Winner Winner Dawkins Dinner group stood in front of the hotel restaurant and said their goodbyes and well wishes.

  Brian shook Nick’s hand until long past uncomfortable. “If you change your mind, we’re up in five-thirty-eight,” he whispered. “It’s okay if you’re not into me. I just watch.”

>   Nick forced a polite smile onto his face. “Oh, I wouldn’t wait up. Nice seeing you again, Jane.”

  Jane wrapped her arms around Nick and gripped him tight. “I’ll miss you so much,” she whispered, her lips altogether too close to his ear.

  Nick was pleasantly surprised when she kept her tongue to herself and patted her on the back. “There there. Okay.” He gently pushed her away. “Night, you two.”

  Brian and Jane walked away, arm in arm. He thought he heard Jane openly sobbing.

  Starla opened her arms to welcome Nick. He went in for the hug. “Nice meeting you, Starla. Maybe next time you’ll let me get a word in edge-wise.”

  She giggled; the first audible noise she’d made all evening.

  Corpse opened her arms as Starla let go of Nick. “Hey, don’t forget me. Bring it on in.”

  Starla bounced into Corpse and clutched her tight. She whispered something into Corpse’s ear and then skipped off in the direction of the elevators.

  Nick extended an arm. “—the fuck was that? What’d she say?”

  Corpse threw a stink-eye at him. “She said to mind your own beeswax.”

  Gary put his hand on Nick’s shoulder. “Very good to meet you, Mr. Dawkins. I look forward to the new one.”

  Nick shook Gary’s hand. “Yeah, hey, we’re sending out review copies a few days before launch. I’ll throw one your way. I should do that for all the dinner winners, actually. Well, except maybe—” He looked around for Brundlefly. The kid had ghosted. “Did Brundle leave already?”

  Gary nodded. “He picked up and lit out the second we all got up. Kinda rude, isn’t he?”

  Nick glanced around the lobby. He didn’t see the kid, but he did recognize someone else in one of the transparent elevators. The man in the dog mask. Those dark, cut out eye holes stared down at Nick from the rising glass box.

  Gary cleared his throat and Nick returned to the moment. He shook Gary’s hand again. “I’m sorry, man. Long day. I’ll get you that review copy. Have a good one.”

  Blaire was the next to excuse herself. “My work here is done. I’m going to go sleep for about…” she looked at her watch. “…a day.”