My lips tilt up in the slightest smile, not altogether fake, designed to put her at ease. “I’m here to see Robert Zallow.”
She’s good, not flinching at all at the name, no increased breathing, not a single tell. The lack of reaction is what tells me that it’s a practiced response. Most people, when they’re confronted with a strange request, will at least narrow their eyes a little in confusion.
Myra doesn’t. “Don’t know anybody by that name. If you’ll excuse me . . . have a good day.”
She makes no attempt to hide her movement to close the door this time, but there’s no way she’s getting the door closed past my shoulder. I lower my voice, dropping the soft tones.
“Let’s not play coy. I’m here to see Mr. Zallow. I’m willing to sit on your couch like a proper guest while he comes home, or I can meet him in a less . . . pleasant situation.”
I let her imagination fill in the gaps. I find that people are much more creative than I am with threats. Myra’s no exception, coming up with ones specific to her own fears. It’s a twisted joy of mine, watching her eyes flicker as her own worst-case scenario filters through her mind, wondering if I can make it come true.
I wait as she swallows once and then opens the door and gestures with her chin toward what looks like a living room. “Won’t you come in, Mr. Angeline? Would you like a drink?”
Her voice is pure saccharin, fake politeness with an undercurrent of fear. I step inside, taking in the small home with a glance. A couch and single chair take up the living room space, likely once fluffy, but now the lumps are apparent. There’s a tear in the fabric, but someone’s already mended it with secure if ugly stitching.
The television sits on a wooden cabinet, locks already in place on the doors though the baby likely can’t even sit up yet.
It shows care, forethought, and attention to detail, along with an intention to stay here long-term.
I go over and settle into the chair, unwilling to offer the entry my back, and resume pleasantries.
“Thank you, Miss Cole. Water would be lovely.”
She disappears into the kitchen for a moment, and I hear the faucet turn on and off before she reappears, handing me a plastic cup emblazoned with a BBQ joint’s name on it.
Her hand is steady, though her eyes are twitchy, watching for any threatening movement.
I feign taking a small sip, though I doubt she has poison handy. Still, I didn’t get to where I am by being careless. Resting the drink on the arm of the chair, I gesture to the phone on the couch, a small smile on my lips.
“Feel free to call Robert when you’re ready.”
She bends down to grab the phone, choosing to stand rather than sit, keeping herself close to the back-door exit. Smart lady.
It’s a pity she’s running with an Eagle Raider, though a woman like her being with Zallow is already perhaps a more valuable recommendation than I’d previously received on his character.
She picks up the phone and dials quickly, whispering harshly when the call’s picked up. “Sorry to bother you at work, but there’s someone here to see you.” She pauses a second, and I presume he repeats her words because she says again, “Yes, here. Sitting in your chair in the living room. Says his name is Dominick Angeline.”
I see the moment the questions in her eyes turn to terror and watch as she takes two steps back, getting closer to the back door.
“Miss Cole,” I say, raising my voice simply to make sure that it comes through clearly on the other end of the phone call, “if I’d wanted to harm you, I would have already. I merely wish to speak to him.”
I hear the yell as the phone slips from her ear, and on the other end, a deep voice promises, “I’m on my way, baby.”
There’s a soft buzzing tone as the line disconnects, and I imagine that right now, Robert Zallow is probably setting a personal best sprint time out of whatever job he’s working at, rushing home to come in like a saving knight in shining armor to rescue his woman from the big, bad dragon.
That’s me.
But not now.
Though I can be monstrous, dangerous, and threatening, today is merely about setting boundaries and expectations. If Robert Zallow can behave like a gentleman, this should be nothing more than a polite but professional conversation.
Five silent, frozen minutes later, the loud rumble of a Harley being driven to its limits breaks the tension. I can feel Myra’s relief at the return of her man. Apparently she’s just as entwined in this apparent fairy tale where he’s rushing in to save her.
Odd how those childhood stories are so deeply ingrained in our psyches. I suspect that it steers more of our behavior than most people are willing to admit.