13. LEO

I didn't know what it was about him, but he made me feel something. Maybe it was my brain connecting all the things he'd done and said last night while he was drunk, or maybe it was because he was now being nice to me. He wasn't shouting or snapping his fingers anymore.

After I finished getting dressed, I made my bed and stuffed Tuffy between my pillows so that nobody would see him if they sneaked a visit to my room.

Samuel was at the door, almost like he was waiting to knock or open it. "You're ready," he said. "Good. Good. It's almost time for us to leave. Do you have everything?"

I didn't have anything to have with me, so I didn't know what he meant. I stared blankly at him, surely, he got the message.

"Your phone," he prompted. "We'll need it to talk to communicate. Since I will have to leave you at the tailor later, ok?"

He trusted me. I grabbed my phone from under my pillow.

"And the notebook," he said.

"It's in the kitchen, I think."

He looked less impressed with that. He didn't like uncertainties. He liked solid fact. And I could appreciate that. I liked facts too, like, the answer to questions. I wanted to know if he meant anything he'd said last night, or was he just drunk?

I liked to think that he got everything out of his system last night when he was drunk, but something told me it probably wasn't even the start of his grieving. I'd almost told Susie everything after I'd been triggered by what I'd found. And he didn't even know.

We rode the lift in silence. The notebook pressed against my chest as my eyes darted to view his feet to see how wide his strides were and how fast he was going. It almost felt like I was sizing him up as a mark. The faster someone is, the more focused they are in where they're going, an easy target. People walking slower tend to be more aware of themselves. It was one of the things I looked at when stealing from people on the streets. But I couldn't turn the voice off inside me that was giving me the thumbs up to try something.

Pausing, I almost tripped over my feet in front of him.

"We're meeting him here," he said.

A nice café, it wasn't one of those chain shops, this looked rustic almost, like a café frozen in time. Wood panelled walls, windows with half-scratched decals, and table menus with pen on them.

"You own this place?" I asked in a whisper as we sat at a table.

It was busy, mostly people coming in for take-out cups of coffee.

Samuel smiled. "Of course," he said. "Not me, personally, but the family; the firm."

My eyes wandered around, tracing the counters, corners, and all the spaces between people. I was curious as to what they were selling here besides the coffee and from the menu, the selection of breakfast foods.

"Why do you look so—" he began, his eyes narrowing as he stared at me, forcing me to make eye contact. "—so scared?" he asked. "Like you're looking for someone to jump out at us with a knife."

I didn't want to answer that question, mostly because that was a real fear. I'd seen what he'd done to that man. Nothing was impossible to me anymore. "I'm just thinking."

"What do you want to drink?" he asked, spinning the menu around. "You look like a hot chocolate with whipped cream and marshmallows to me."

For once, he might've been right. Maybe he remembered what he'd said to me last night. I hoped he did, I wanted to talk about it again. "Ok."

He reached into the inside jacket pocket and pulled out the chocolate bar I'd seen yesterday. He placed it on the table. "I'll go order."

"What's that?" I whispered.

"You know what that is."

My body tingled and my throat became tight. "I—"

"A man is going to come in, he'll have a bird tattoo on his neck. He'll place a flash drive on the table. I want you to offer this to him," he said, standing, he buttoned a single button on his jacket. "Can you do that for me?"

I didn't have a choice, but he wasn't lying when he told me this wasn't for him. "Sure."

Samuel walked away into the small wave of people talking and making their orders. I opened the notebook on the table and made notes to calm myself. I started with the date, and then I noted where we were. I drew a picture in the margins of the page, smiling faces. They were basic shapes; lots of circles, building blocks together to create a sitting teddy bear.

A rough grumble came at side of the table. A large man with a tattoo on his neck. He placed the flash drive on the table. "For you," he grumbled.

"This is for you," I said, sliding the heavy bar along to him.

"Where's Sam?" he asked. "I thought I was meeting Sam."

"Um, I—" I didn't know there would be any talking involved in this. I thought it was a simple trade. "He asked me to give you this. It's—it's all there."

He chuckled. "Tell Sam it's always a pleasure." He grabbed the bar and stuffed it into his pocket before turning and leaving.

I looked around for him, but he wasn't anywhere in sight. He wouldn't have left me here alone. Or maybe he would.

A couple minutes later and Samuel arrived at the table with a large mug, the top of it, covered in cream sprinkles, and marshmallows. In his other hand, a smaller cup with his coffee. He smiled, placing the mug in front of me.

"I see he's been," he said, taking the flash drive and tucking it into his pocket. "What did he say?"

"Pleasure doing business, or something."

He grinned. "Are you sure he didn't ask where I was?"

"Well, yeah, he asked, but I didn't tell him anything, I just said you wanted me to give him this when he arrived." And I hoped that was the right thing to say. I didn't want to get anything wrong here.

"Good, good." He reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out the glossy silk handkerchief. "Use this." He leaned over the table and stuffed the corner of the handkerchief into my shirt, acting as a bib for the drink. He smiled, sitting back in his chair and looking me over. "You want me to get you anything else?"

"You're being nice," I blurted. I hadn't meant to, that was supposed to exist in my mind. "I—"

"No, you're right," he said. "I am being nice. You work for me. I trust you completely. Why wouldn't I be nice to you?"

I paused, looking away from him and down to the cup. I scooped up a small amount of cream with a finger and licked it clean. He couldn't stop watching me.

"There's a spoon," he said, sliding it across to me. "Use it. You'll get your hands all sticky doing that."

I wanted a better answer. He wasn't just being nice to me because I worked for him. He had no reason to be nice to me, even now. I thought he was going to make working for him hell, but he was treating me with hot chocolate, buying me food, giving me the freedom of having a phone back.

"Last night," I began, taking the spoon to scoop the cream and marshmallows. "You got really drunk."

"Is that relevant?" he asked. "To anything."

"No, I—"

"Then why are you bringing it up?"

"Because you said some things."

"I say a lot of things. I do a lot of things. Did I in some way offend you?" He stared directly into my eyes, glaring deep into the depths of my soul. "I would hate to have in some way made you feel sad."

I knew that was a lie, there was just something in the way he spoke that told me he wasn't telling the truth, or at least not being completely honest with me. "It's ok," I said. "I had to take you to your room. You like—pulled me on top of you. It's—"

A slight grin appeared, lifting the corners of his mouth. "I can't say I'm surprised by that, considering you were the one who actually touched my leg and hinted at going down on me," he said. "Or maybe I read the situation wrong."

My back straightened. I didn't think he would've remembered that.

He filled the silence of my thoughts with more observations. "Yesterday was a one-off. I drink, not to excess, and never to the point of blacking out. And if you must know, you're not the first to try that. People see me, they want what I have, and I'm giving you a taste of it," his soft voice broke through all the noise as it touched me directly.

I didn't know how to respond. He was being strangely upfront and honest about everything. "You—you also mentioned that you knew about me." I didn't want to push, but I was a pusher, I always did that to people.

"Listen, I know more about you than you might think," he said. "I'm sorry I got drunk and let a little of that slip. It won't happen again. Now, that's enough questions. I want you to drink your hot chocolate, and I can drop you off at the tailor. Understand?"

I nodded.

"Tell me, verbally, that you understand."

"I understand."

I didn't know what he meant. He knew more about me than I thought. It was ominous, and I was slowly learning that he probably wasn't someone I should push with questions. He wasn't an ordinary guy. He was part of a mafia, and clearly, his family had businesses everywhere, and he wasn't afraid to kill someone. He didn't flinch, not once when that blood came out of that man's throat.

Finishing my drink in silence, only getting a little of it on the handkerchief he'd made me use. I knew our dynamic, but I pushed at the boundaries, and I tested things. But he wasn't the first man who appeared angry to everyone else and smiled at me. Those were the dangerous ones; those were the men who could switch up on you in the blink of an eye.

I almost felt lulled into a false sense of security when he allowed me to ask questions. He did, once more, allow me to ask questions as we walked to the tailor.

"Will all of this be added to the debt I have to work off?" I asked as we reached the area known for its expensive suit shops and tailors.

"This is a gift," he said. "More than that. This is how I want the world to see you. Not as Leo, the pickpocket in his—tracksuit, but Leo, in a luxury suit, stitched to fit him like a glove."

I didn't see what was so wrong with the one I was wearing now, but I supposed it didn't fit me like a glove, there was a little bagginess in the shirt, and the sleeves were just a little too long for my arms. But I'd never complain about small things like that, I was just grateful I'd kept it clean.

"I'll leave you here," he said as we reached a storefront with suits on mannequins in the window. "My number is in your phone. Text me when you're finished."

"Wait."

"Charmaine is great, she knows you're coming," he said.

"But—"

"I'm not holding your hand while you go inside."

I didn't want it holding as much as I wanted him to go in before me and make the introduction. I was out of place going into fancy shops like this. I'd only ever walked by them, and now, I had to go in and act like I was one of them.

This was a test, clearly. And I could do it.

Samuel had already walked off just as I opened the door. There was no going back. I had to commit to the part. I was part of this world now, part of the people who had tailored suits.