Stunned, Haven glanced at Carmine. “What happened?”
He shrugged, staring at his empty hand. “Beats me. I didn’t even know we had a damn phone.”
* * *
The door to the office on the second floor was uncharacteristically left open. Vincent sat behind his desk, his glasses low on his nose as he rummaged through files. Carmine stood in the doorway, watching him. “Who jizzed in your coffee?”
Vincent’s head snapped up. “Excuse me?”
“What’s your problem?” Carmine elaborated as he stepped into the room and took a seat, not waiting for an invitation. “You were fine and then suddenly it was like you swallowed someone’s bitter junk.”
Vincent shook his head. “Must you always be crass?”
“I don’t know,” Carmine said. “Must you always be evasive?”
“Only when you ask questions you really don’t want the answers to,” Vincent said. “Did you need something? I have things to take care of.”
“Well, for one, I wanna know why you took my drink.”
“I was thirsty.”
“So you drank it?”
“No,” he said. “Any other questions?”
“Yeah, why do you have Haven locked in here like she’s on house arrest?”
“She’s been outside,” Vincent said, casting him an incredulous look. “She seemed to enjoy herself at your game until you had one of your episodes.”
“One of my episodes? Is that what we’re calling them?”
“Unless you have a better name for it.”
“Whatever,” Carmine said. “The point is she rarely leaves. She doesn’t even have a code.”
Vincent sighed exasperatedly. “Why do you suddenly care?”
“Because she’s a person.”
“So is Nicholas Barlow, but you never seem to be concerned about him.”
“It’s different. Someone ought to lock him up, but she’s just a girl. She’s harmless.”
Vincent looked up again at those words, blinking a few times. “Are you suggesting you’ve never hurt a girl before, Carmine? Because I think a few would say differently.”
The room remained silent. Carmine had no response. Vincent pushed his files aside and took off his glasses, sighing. “Look, she’s locked inside because I don’t have the time or the energy to take her anywhere, and there’s no one else to do it.”
“Yeah, maybe you’re right,” Carmine said. “I don’t even have enough gas in my car to take myself anywhere right now.”
“How do you plan to get to school?”
Carmine shrugged. “Siphon the gas from your car while you sleep.”
Contrary to the tension in the room, Vincent actually laughed at that. “You probably would.”
Carmine smirked. He would.
Vincent opened his top desk drawer and pulled out the silver American Express card. “I tell you what—I’ll make you a deal.”