Page 52 of Surface Scratch
“Sorry about the wait, guys, I was making tea,” called the voice of their host from the kitchen.
Caleb stiffened as Ichtaca reappeared, walking slowly through the doorway as he blew the steam away from an overfilled floral teacup. His jet-black hair was pulled back in a ponytail that revealed a hairline a few years into receding and a weathered face that seemed like it was used to long days of hard labor under the sun. He was tall and stocky, imposing in a way that dwarfed the teacup in his hand.
He sipped the milky tea before putting it down on what looked like a crocheted coaster and sitting down slowly, his eyes taking them in before his gaze lingered just a little too long on Ophelia’s cleavage.
Oh God, she was right. We’re all pigs.
“I got this great horchata chai up in Chicago a couple weeks ago and I am addicted to it,” he said. He had a warm smile, but something about it made Caleb’s unease grow.
“Do you always do business out of an old folks’ home, or is this just how you like to decorate?” Ophelia asked.
His laugh was sharp. Forced. “No, nothing like that. This was my abuela’s place. She left it to me when she passed, and I’m sentimental. I couldn’t get rid of these hideous couches even if I wanted to.” He cleared his throat. “So, what can I help you folks out with today?”
Ophelia leaned forward, her elbows resting on her legs as she used her arms to accentuate her chest. She flashed a smile at him—a convincing one at that—and said in a disturbingly sweet voice, “Ichtaca, I was hoping you could help me with a weird request.”
Caleb’s skin crawled. Not only was enough of her chest exposed that he felt like he was committing a crime just looking at her, but the way she spoke sounded wrong to him. A part of him wondered what Andrew would think if he could hear her flirt with that voice—he had, after all, once referred to her as a sociopathic robot with big hair.
“Ugh, call me ‘V.’ Ichtaca is what my mom calls me when I’m in trouble,” he said with what appeared to be a valiant attempt at a suave smirk.
“Okay, V, I need your help with something,” Ophelia said. She curled a strand of her wild hair around one finger, stretching it out and twirling it. “A few weeks ago I was partying at my friend Diana’s house and my phone was stolen by one of the older girls there, and a bunch of my friends had stuff stolen from them as well. I guess at some point the older girl dropped her wallet, so all I have to go off is this fake ID to get our stuff back.”
She pulled the printout of the ID from her bra, making zero attempt to cover herself as she did so. V’s eyes had been locked on her chest the entire time, so there was no way he didn’t see her breast as she retrieved the piece of paper. Caleb had to squeeze his leg harder, the anxiety flooding his muscles and making him want to move. If Ophelia’s voice and demeanor were unsettling, V’s gaze was downright disgusting. Caleb was surprised the guy didn’t drool on himself.
She unfolded it and handed the paper to V. “She had four guys with her, so I think they were stealing things as well. I just want to know if you know who they really are so we can get our stuff back. My dad is going to kill me if he finds out I lost my phone,” she said, her mouth forming a dramatic pout. “I promise I won’t tell them where I got the information.”
V sipped his tea as he took the paper, looking almost like he didn’t want to tear his gaze away from the underage bait sitting across from him. When he finally managed to look at the paper, he coughed against his cup as though he was startled by the sight, splashing tea onto his shirt and his lap. He set the paper and teacup down.
“This is who stole your phone?” he asked, bumping his fist against his chest to keep from coughing again.
Ophelia nodded. “Yes. Her and her mean friends.”
Caleb gulped, his Adam’s apple bobbing dramatically as the silence lingered in the room. His eyes wandered back over to the display of pictures and candles, his cheeks flushing with secondhand embarrassment—though whether it was for Ophelia or V was unclear to him.
V wobbled his head back and forth as though he were weighing the options in his head. “Let’s say I did keep that information handy. Even if I did, I don’t think I could help you with that, ma’am.” He said the words to her breasts.
How hard do I need to scrub myself to get all the creep off me?
“We’ll pay you,” Caleb blurted out. He wanted to get out of there as soon as he could. The combination of dread and being skeezed out by V’s gaze was chiseling away at the brief dopamine rush from the car ride.
“I was wondering if you could speak,” V mused, his lecherous gaze falling on Caleb and seeming no less intrusive. “I don’t think I caught your names.”
Ophelia piped up before Caleb had a chance to respond, her voice still dripping with enough false sweetness she could probably become the mascot for an aspartame company. “This is my bestest friend, Caleb, and I’m Ophelia.” She reached into one of her outer coat pockets, pulling a wad of cash from it that was held together with a hair tie. She fumbled with it, intentionally splaying out the countless bills before she peeled off five hundred-dollar bills and set them on the table in front of her. “A hundred dollars for each name. I’ll double it for their addresses if you have them.”
V eyed the money on the table before darting his eyes back and forth over them. Something in his face changed just then, like a barely there crease had formed between his eyebrows. Maybe Caleb was imagining it? Ophelia’s body language didn’t change at all, and she always seemed fairly astute at reading people. Maybe it was just him.
“A thousand each,” V countered. He lifted his teacup again, a smirk forming across his face as his eyes once again locked on Ophelia’s chest.
So he’s a creepy and greedy.
“Done.” Ophelia pulled the wad of cash back out of her pocket and tossed it on the table. “Like I said, we need our stuff back.”
That seemed to snap V out of his creepy fixation her. His face became suddenly serious, like he had only been amusing himself by entertaining them up until that point. “If I check that cash, will it all be real?” He reached across the coffee table.
Caleb batted his hand away, surprising himself with the action. “Sorry, but we need to see if you actually have the information before you can touch this,” he said.
Great idea, slap the hand of someone who probably knows every major criminal in the county.
V glared at him. “Okay, fine. I’ll go get what I have, but you’re letting me check that for counterfeiting before I let you walk out that door,” he said. He eyed them for a moment longer before excusing himself.
