Page 61 of Riot House
“Hah! What makes you think Pax is an addict?”
“He looks like that guy out of that movie with the Scottish junkies.”
“I don’t think you can accuse someone of being a drug addict because they have a shaved head and they bear a passing resemblance to a young Ewan McGregor.”
He grunts, clearly of a different mind. “You want more?” He thrusts the Johnny Walker at me.
“It’s the middle of the afternoon, man. Despite what you might think of me, I’m not a degenerate.” Laughable. The lie is just so fucking laughable that evenIgrin like a piece of shit when Patterson holds his belly and roars. The things he’s seen me do. The states he’s seen me in. Jesus. “I have a question for you, Pat,” I say, leaning forward so that the edge of the bar digs into my ribs. “You’re a married man, aren’t you?”
If Pat had any eyebrows, they’d be up around his receding hairline right now. “Yeaahhhh?”
“That big lady with the mustache? The one who cleans the toilets? She’s your actualwife?”
His eyes, already so set back into his face, practically disappear as he glowers at me. “Are you looking for a smack boy?”
“No, no! No offense meant.”
“Oh, well, in that case, none taken!” There he goes with that sarcasm again. He’s a fucking pro.
“I just mean…how long have you been married to the lovely Mrs. Patterson,” I ask, changing tack.
“Seventeen years.”
“Shit. How…how the hell did youdoit?”
“Do what?”
“How did you convince her that you weren’t an evil, heartless piece of shit in the first place?”
Patterson rocks back and forth on the balls of his feet, chuckling merrily to himself. This time, he doesn’t seem to be mocking me with his laughter; he seems genuinely amused. “Oh, lord, Wren. God, you crack me up sometimes.”
“I’m being serious.”
“So am I. Oh god.” Gathering himself, he plants his meaty hands on the other side of the bar, bracing himself like he’s preparing to lay some serious wisdom on me. “The key to convincing a woman that you’re not an evil, heartless piece of shit, Wren,is to not be an evil, heartless piece of shit.”
Well, I can see that I walked myself right into that one. Even so, a lick of fury rises up my back, tingling between my shoulder blades. It’s in my nature to want to punish the guy for such insolence, but now there’s this nagging voice in the back of my head, asking how I would be acting if Elodie were here, and I don’t even know what to do with myself anymore. “Duly noted,” I say tightly through my teeth.
“I never thought I’d see the day!” Patterson caws. “You pompous Wolf Hall asses come in here, reeking of privilege. You play at participating in society like normal folk, but you’re so like those fancy, expensive cars you all drive—too low to the ground, no room for more than one person inside. The moment you hit a bump in the road, or you’re asked to think about carrying even the slightest burden, you’re bottoming out and struggling to carry anything at all.”
“Your metaphor’s falling apart, Pat.”
“Doesn’t matter. Look, heaven help whoever this girl is ifyou’reinterested in her, but this shit is simple. Don’t be selfish. Don’t be a dick. Put her needs before your own. Jesus, what the fuck am I…” He shakes his head. “Why am I even bothering?”
I leave Cosgrove’s feeling even more confused than when I went in. It all seems straightforward, and I know that Patterson’s speaking the truth. In order to get Elodie to trust me, I need to make a few changes. But for the life of me, I can’t figure out how the fuck I’m going to alter my very genetic cod—
whhaaAAAAT THE FUCK?
I stop dead on the sidewalk, the wind whipping at me, tugging on my clothes, but I barely notice the cold. I can’t be seeing clearly. There’s just no fucking way…
Across the other side of the street, in a deserted parking lot on the other side of high chain link fence, two people stand at arm’s distance, talking animatedly. The tall guy on the left gesticulates, using his hands to make his point. The girl—much shorter, dressed like she’s about to clock on for her shift at a strip joint, a sheet of black hair hanging down her back—laughs, shoving him playfully in the chest.
I’m crossing the street before I even know what I’m doing. There’s no entrance to the parking lot from this side of the road, it must be on the other side of the lot, but that doesn’t stop me. In one jump, I’m halfway up the fence. A second after that, I’m vaulting over the top of it, jumping down, landing on the ground with a bone jarring rattle that makes it through ankles, knees, hips, back, and ends with my teeth crashing together so hard that I nearly bite off my fucking tongue.
They see me.
But only when it’s too late.
My fist launches into Fitz’s jaw, connecting with an almighty, satisfyingcrack. He goes down like a sack of shit.
