Page 7 of New Year

“He said his name is Natty.”

“Thank you.” He swept his hand toward the kitchen door. “We’d better get back before Chef starts screaming for us both.”

“Yeah. Thanks, boss.”

“No more table scraps out the back door?”

“No more, swear.”

“Then let’s go back to work.”

CHAPTERTWO

A week passed with no nine o’clock appearance by Natty. Shelton wore his disappointment on his sleeve each time he returned from his smoke break without having seen him. Zack regretted that he might have scared the young man off before managing to offer help, but all he could do was pray this Natty had found a safe place to land.

Sunday afternoon, the restaurant across the street was hosting a formal event, which meant street parking was tight and very limited. Zack ended up parking three blocks away, closer to a not-so-great neighborhood Chase had warned him to avoid after dark, if possible. Tonight wasn’t possible, and after a mostly uneventful evening service, Zack locked up behind the last staff member and followed them down the alley to the street.

He watched while they scattered toward their own cars or the nearest bus stop, and then he turned and began walking. The streets here were lined with a mix of historic homes and small businesses built into those homes, mostly restaurants but also boutiques and a few law offices.

On the next block over, those homes made a dramatic shift into older brick houses and cracked sidewalks. A few stores were still open, mostly pizza joints and a cigarette outlet. Folks wandered the sidewalks in pairs and small clusters, probably college age. Even in the summer, Chase had told him, Reynolds still had a healthy population of young adults looking for something to occupy their time.

Zack walked with purpose, shoulders back, eyes always watchful. He could defend himself and had no expectation of anyone messing with him. Six-foot-three, two-twenty, fit from years of hard work and harder play, very few people got in his face. And if they did, they weren’t in it for long.

On the next block, he passed several closed storefronts in a strip mall, next to a gas station/convenience store. The place had a slightly more sinister look in darkness than it had this afternoon. Young men and women loitered on the sidewalk, most dressed to attract attention. Others probably had product for sale to the right buyer. To Zack, they were just out there earning a living, and if they didn’t bother him, their existence was not a threat to him walking to his car.

He spotted his car in the distance, one of maybe a dozen still parked on this block, which was mostly business rather than residential. As he passed the mouth of a narrow alley between two brick buildings, an odd noise stopped him cold. Not quite a muffled shout, but also not a groan. Something in between. A glance down the alley, past trash cans and a collection of plastic crates, he spotted what appeared to be two human shapes close together.

Not my business.

Then that sound again—pained. Not a cry of pleasure but fear, followed by a distinct, “Stop!”

Zack pulled out his phone and pressed 9-1-1, but didn’t hit send yet. Inserting himself into a situation that did not involve him was a quick way to end up hurt or dead. But he couldn’t ignore it. He’d ignored someone’s protests once, reassured by the person causing them that it was an act, a role-play they enjoyed together, and he’d nearly allowed a young man to be raped right in front of him.

“No!” turned into a muffled scream, and Zack stopped thinking.

He charged into the dark alley, eyes open for a weapon, and Zack grabbed a plastic soda crate as his only real option. He’d lost a lot of muscle mass in the last few years, after adopting a very different lifestyle, but he still knew how to use his height and voice to his advantage.

The two shapes were pressed closed to the wall, the shorter of the two mashed against it. He was struggling, his protests muffled by the other man’s hand over his mouth. Zack cracked the crate off the side of the building, and the attacker froze, head whipping up. Middle-aged white guy in a suit, trousers puddled around his ankles.

He glared at Zack. “Fuck off, asshole. This doesn’t concern you.”

“I heard him screaming from the street,” Zack snarled. In his mind’s eye, he was back in his old playroom, listening to Boxer yell at him about the unsafe scene unfolding, about not understanding the terror in Riley’s muted protests.

“I’m getting what I paid for outta this slut,” the suited man snapped back.

“Take the gag out,” Boxer had ordered Zack. “I want Riley to tell me he’s okay with this.” And then later, “He should be looking out for all his guests. Not just the ones who used to suck his dick on the regular.”

Never again. “Let him go. I want to hear from the guy you’re holding down that you paid to treat him like this.”

“Fuck you. You a cop?”

“Concerned citizen.” He held up his cell, showing off the screen. “Or we can let the actual cops figure this out. I’ve got nothing to hide. You?”

With a furious growl, the suited man released his prey and took a few steps backward so he could reach for his trousers. The other guy slid to his knees, hugging the dirty wall, and started to sob so violently that Suit Man fled. Zack nearly hurled the soda crate at him, but that mattered less than the traumatized man in front of him.

“It’s okay, you’re safe now.” Zack squatted, uncertain what else to do besides reassure him. He seemed average height and skinny, even beneath a dark sweatshirt and loose jeans. Light blue jeans with a black stain on the left leg. Three blocks from the restaurant. What were the fucking odds? “Natty?”

His head snapped up. A red scrape colored his right cheek and his lips were swollen. “Who the fuck are you?”

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