Hugo Marston 05: Hollow Man by Mark Pryor

Author:Mark Pryor [Pryor, Mark]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Mystery Suspense
ISBN: 9781633880870
Publisher: Prometheus Books
Published: 2015-08-06T07:00:00+00:00

Tristan holed up in his room. I watched the eleven thirty news by myself, and the shooting already was the lead story. The footage consisted of a lot of flashing red-and-blue lights, and nothing of the crime scene. The reporter spoke in that excited calm reporters are taught, that earnest intensity, and gave the same few details three different ways: two bodies, both shot and declared dead at the scene. APD homicide detectives on the scene. No suspects in custody. No indication of motive or gang activity. Rinse and repeat.

When the weather guy appeared at 11:53, I got up to make myself a sandwich, my stomach reminding me I'd not eaten since lunch. I was halfway through it and an episode of The Simpsons when someone knocked on the door.

I did a mental inventory of my evening, the one I'd agreed with Tristan; basically, we'd spent the evening at the apartment. The building didn't have security cameras in the parking lot, so if anyone said they'd seen us drive out, it'd be their word against ours. Otto had potentially complicated things a little with his presence, but that was unavoidable. I hoped this wasn't him on a return visit.

Tristan was quiet in his room, so I went to the door and looked through the peephole. I smiled as I opened the door.

“You keep showing up,” I said.

“Oh, I think you know why I'm here.” She wore black jeans and a white tank top, that luscious hair falling all over her shoulders, and I itched to run my fingers through it. She breezed past me and stood in the middle of the room, checking the place out, a clutch handbag under her arm. “And, if you don't like it, you can kick me out, I guess,” she added.

“No, I forgive you.” I pointed to the sandwich on the coffee table. “I was just having dinner. Care for anything?”

“Water's fine. Thanks.”

“Absolutely. Have a seat.”

“Is anyone else here?”

“My roommate. In his room.”

She cocked her head and said, “Then let's go to yours.”

I was the one to knock people off their game. I did it with charm and wit and by being overly, overtly forward. I didn't trick girls into bed, I basically told them where things were headed and either they went along or I moved along. James Bond–style. Girls didn't lead 007 by the nose, not even into the bedroom, so I hesitated, not so much wary as unaccustomed.

She raised an eyebrow. “Like I said, you can kick me out.”

Given the two options, I made up my mind and left my sandwich for later.

My room was a good size, but I'd put a single bed in there intentionally, a simple wooden frame with a headboard of slatted pine. It was something a poor student would have, and a discouragement to anyone wanting to stay overnight with me. For the first time, I regretted not having something larger.

“It's like a little boy's room,” she said.

“Glad you like it.”

She smiled finally, and looked at me.

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