The Bell in the Fog by Lev AC Rosen

Author:Lev AC Rosen
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Tor Publishing Group

EIGHT

When I come to, I’m in the car, and it’s moving. Outside I see neon lights, but my vision is blurry. I don’t think I’ve been out for more than a few minutes. I blink and look around the rest of the car. I’m lying on the floor in what I think is a limo, or at least is a big enough car I can lie on the floor and the man sitting in front of me doesn’t have his feet on me, though the toes of his black oxfords are banging against my knee with every bump. I look up, there’s a screen between here and the driver. I can’t see him. I don’t know if he could hear me, but he probably saw me getting shoved in the back, so calling for help won’t do much.

“Ah, you’re awake. Sorry about that, didn’t mean to be so rough,” the man says with a chuckle. I look up at him. He’s big, tall; massive really, with broad shoulders crammed into a dark suit—I can’t tell in this light if it’s black, gray, or navy. White shirt, dark tie. Very well put together. Too put together to just be the muscle for someone else, even if he’s got enough of it.

He’s smoking, a window rolled down slightly to let the smoke escape. He looks down at me, and his face is surprisingly gentle for a man who just knocked me out and threw me in the back of a car.

I sit up. My hands aren’t tied, so I rub the back of my head where I got smacked. No blood.

“If you didn’t mean to be so rough, what did you mean?” I ask.

“Honestly, I was just going to shove you in here with me, but … old habits.” He shrugs. “Instincts took over. I’ve thrown a lot of men into the back seat of cars, if I’m being honest.” He chuckles again. It’s a sound that would be sweet under different circumstances. It’s got the low depth of molasses. “I don’t mean that romantically,” he says. “Though…” He shrugs again, and inhales on his cigarette. He focuses his eyes on me, and we roll by a white neon sign that shines on him like a spotlight for a moment. Clean-shaven, green eyes, fifties, with some gray in his hair, and very handsome.

“I really am sorry,” he says. “I mean for this to be polite.”

“All right,” I say. “I’m not sure all is forgiven, but why don’t you tell me, politely, what you want.”

“Oh, I thought you knew,” he says, with a big smile. “I wanted to give you the opportunity to give me my pictures back.”

I rub the back of my head again. I don’t know this guy from the photos I found in the locker. “Pictures?” I ask.

“I heard you were giving them back tonight, and then you put on quite a show, lighting some film on fire at Shelly’s. I can’t go to Shelly’s, of course, but I have people who do, who tell me things.

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