The 25 by Ace Bryant

Author:Ace Bryant [Bryant, Ace]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Bear Notch Road Press
Published: 2018-08-10T16:00:00+00:00

{ 17 }

It’s Complicated

Gina sits down and takes a huge gulp of her margarita.

I ask her to tell me everything.

“I was standing at the mirror,” she says, “when a woman walked up to the sink next to me and started washing her hands.

“I could see from her reaction that she knew who I was. I figured she recognized me from the news. I tried ignoring her, hoping she’d get the message. But she didn’t. She asked how I was doing. I said, ‘OK,’ and then she said she was a friend of Danny’s. I told her it was nice to meet her. That’s when she told me her name was Donna.

“She could tell from my expression that I knew who she was—and that I wasn’t crazy about seeing her—so she started in right away.

“She said, ’Danny wanted me to try to convince you to come to one of our meetings. He felt like, if you did, you’d understand what we are fighting for.’

“I told her I wasn’t particularly interested in finding out what they were fighting for.

“Then she said, ‘Really? Your brother gave his life for our cause, and you have no interest in finding out why?’

“I didn’t know what to say to that.” Gina continues. “Then she just handed me the envelope.

“‘Look,’ she said, ‘there’s a meeting on Saturday. The information’s in here. If you don’t show up, we won’t bother you again.’

“I said, OK.

“Then she said, ‘But I hope you come. And you should bring your boyfriend, too.’

“Then she started freshening up her makeup. She didn’t say another word until I left.”

“Did you open the envelope?” I ask.

“No.”

“Do you mind?”

She shakes her head.

I pick it up, examining it front and back. There’s nothing written on the outside. Inside, there’s a folded sheet of paper with a few hand-written words on it.

Brew, Salem, MA 10 AM. Ask for Marcel.

I show Gina the letter.

“Have you heard of this place?” I ask.

“No, but I’m guessing it’s a bar,” she says, pulling out her iPhone. Then, after fiddling with it: “Actually, it’s a coffee shop.”

She shows me the Yelp page. Brew looks like any number of Starbucks clones—albeit with a witch theme.

“What did she look like?” I ask.

“She was tall and kind of buff. Blonde hair, about shoulder length. I think she had a brown coat on.”

“Was she still in the bathroom when you left?”

“Yes.”

“I wonder if she’s still there. Mind if I take a look?”

“Not at all.”

I return to the front of the restaurant. The hostess is at her podium, wiping down menus with a cloth.

“Did you see a blonde woman come out of there?” I ask, gesturing toward the short hallway off the lobby where the restrooms are located.

“No,” the woman says, “I don’t think so.”

I walk to the women’s room and lean my head against the door. I can make out the sound of running water coming from inside. Then I hear the spigot turn off, followed by the rip of a paper towel dispenser. I take a few steps backwards.

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