Stephanie Bond - Body Movers - 3 Men and a Body

He walked into the now-familiar office and nodded to the now-familiar surly woman behind the check-in desk. “Wesley Wren to see E. Jones.” He scanned the waiting room as nonchalantly as possible. The Carver had once sent a man here to remind Wesley that he was behind on his payments, and the thug had punctuated the message by snubbing out his cigar on Wesley’s hand. That wound was still pink and puckering. If he didn’t find a way to get out of debt soon, his entire body would look like a strip of badly cut meat. Thankfully, though, no one in the room seemed to care he was there.

The old bat at the window sniffed. “You can go on back.”

He walked to E.’s office door, adjusted the sleeve of his shirt so that it didn’t emphasize the bandage underneath, and rapped.

“Come in.”

He swung open the door and miserably pondered the tightening of his chest when Eldora Jones lifted her green-eyed gaze to his.

“Hello, Wesley.”

“Hi.”

“Have a seat.”

He did, across from her desk. She wore a white buttoned-up blouse that might have been prim if not for the curves it clung to.

“How are you?” she asked. Her voice sounded friendly, but he’d been meeting with her long enough to know that even an innocuous question was usually leading somewhere.

“Good.”

“Why did you miss our appointment yesterday?”

He shifted in his chair. “I … was with some guys, lost track of time. Sorry.”

“You couldn’t call?”

“Battery on my phone died.”

“Your sister was really worried. She was afraid you were hurt.”

“I’m fine.” He smiled and lifted his hands, but the motion pulled the tightened skin under the bandage. The sudden pain took his breath away and made his arm jerk involuntarily.

“Did something happen to your arm?” she asked.

“Bicycle accident,” he said, continuing with his lie. “I scraped it.”

She studied his face with a half smile, her green eyes saying she didn’t believe him. “Sounds as if you were lucky. You could’ve been hurt much worse.”

He nodded. “Yeah.”

“You do realize that missing your scheduled meetings is a violation of your probation?”

Wesley wet his lips. “Thanks for letting me reschedule.”

“Next time you won’t get off so easily.”

He nodded.

“But I’m glad you’re okay,” she added softly.

He glanced up sharply at her tone. She sounded as if she … cared. But E. averted her gaze, cleared her throat and opened his file folder, back to business.

“I heard from Richard McCormick. He said he was very impressed with your computer knowledge when the two of you spoke. He said if your community service work goes well, he might even consider hiring you.”

Wesley knew it was meant to be a compliment, but he had no intention of toiling away in a cubicle for city wages until he keeled over. “He seemed like a nice enough guy.”

“When do you start?”

“Monday.”

“Is that going to be a problem with your body-moving job?”

“Nah, Coop’s cool with my community service. He said he’d work around it.”

She made a couple of notes, then closed his folder. “Is there anything else you’d like to talk about?”

“Thanks for the concert tickets. I heard Elton was great.”

“Yeah, the show went on after they took your sister to the hospital. I’m glad she’s okay.”

“Thanks.” He fidgeted. “Did your boyfriend enjoy it?”

A little wrinkle appeared in her forehead. “Leonard? Yes, he enjoyed the concert.”

Wes’s mouth watered. He wanted so badly to tell her that the concert wasn’t the first place he’d met Leonard.

E. sat back in her chair. “Are you gambling?”

“No.” Not at this very moment, anyway.

“Still hanging out with that drug-dealer friend of yours?”

E. had intercepted him on an errand Chance had asked him to run in exchange for money Wesley owed him. Wesley hadn’t known for certain what was in the gym bag, but he’d had a pretty good idea. E. had allowed him to take the bag back to “where it came from,” without any repercussions.

“He’s not a bad guy,” he said of his friend Chance.

“He’s going to land you behind bars … or worse.”

Wesley wiped his hand over his mouth to keep from telling her that her boyfriend, Leonard, was also keeping company with his drug-dealing friend. “I’ll take that under advisement,” he responded, standing. “Are we through?”

E. pressed her lips together, then gave a curt nod. “I’ll see you next week. Take care of that arm.”

Wesley left the building in a foul mood. By the time he rode to Chance’s condo, his arm was throbbing.

His chuffy friend grinned widely when he opened the door. “Dude—you’re alive!”

Wesley howled in pain when Chance pulled him into a choke hold hug. “Watch my arm, man.”

“What happened to it?”

Wesley set his jaw against the pain, leaning over and holding his arm. When he could talk again he said, “My loan officer decided to take a pound of flesh.”

“Is it broken?”

“No. I don’t think that would hurt as bad.” Although Carlotta might argue the point.

Chance dug into his pocket. “Here, dude, take a couple of these.”

Wesley stared at the white pills suspiciously. “What are they?”

“OxyContin. It’s great stuff, man. Will make you feel good fast.”

“Thanks.” He took one and swallowed it dry.

Chance dumped the rest into Wesley’s hand. “For later, dude. If you want to feel like you’ve just been laid by the woman of your dreams, chew it. Want something to drink?”

“Soda, if you have it.”

“Coming up. What the hell happened to you?”

“I went to try to patch things up with The Carver.”

Chance’s eyes bulged. “Dude! Are you suicidal?”

“I thought it was the best thing to do, under the circumstances. He was going to come after me eventually.”

Chance cracked open a can of Mountain Dew and handed it to Wesley. “So what did he do to you?”

“Cut me up a little.”

“Really? I always wondered if the rumors were true. Did he use a bowie knife?”

“Switchblade.”

“Cool.” Then his friend blanched. “I mean—fuck. That had to hurt like a son of a bitch.”

“Yeah.”

“And he wanted twenty-five grand?”

“Yeah. A fee for pain and suffering, he called it.”

“Sorry I couldn’t help you out, man.”

“That’s okay. I got it.”

“Where?”

“Friend of the family.”

“Sweet. So does that clear your debt with The Carver?”

“Hell, no. Like I said, that was just a fee to let me keep breathing. I still owe the guy, like, twelve grand. But I’m making payments.”

“I’m glad you’re back. I have an economics exam next week. Think you could take it for me?”

Chance’s sense of self-preservation was more keen than anyone’s he’d ever met. “Sure. Meanwhile, I need a game. Can you keep your ears open?”

Chance grinned. “Sure.”

“I’ll need a bankroll. Same deal as before—you pay the sit fee, we split the winnings?”

“Deal. I’ll make some phone calls right now. Have a seat, man, and let the drug kick in.”

Wesley walked into the living room—a bachelor’s dream of black leather furniture and oversize electronics. Predictably, the large flat screen was showing porn, this one of a homemade variety. What the film lacked in quality it made up for in candid angles. Wesley switched the input to the latest Xbox gaming system and pulled up Poker Smash. He settled into a chair and played a few hands. The adrenaline and the caffeine helped to speed the painkiller through his system. He glanced around at Chance’s toys, conceding that his friend lived a charmed life.