Revenant

Chapter 7

I gave Nate a quick bob of my head, got a nod in return, and then walked over to the door. Just as I got within reaching distance of the handle, Shoe's thick fingers grabbed my shoulder, arresting my movement unexpectedly.

"Hold on," he said gruffly, turning me around. "No weapons. You leave everything here. I take Mister Diavolo's security very seriously."

After I giving him a 'be my guest' sort of shrug, Shoe patted me down for weapons in most of the usual places, taking his time and being as rough and obnoxious as he could while going about it. He seemed genuinely surprised that I didn't have a gun on me, which probably contributed to the fact that his search took twice as long as it should have. He made me empty my pockets and spread their contents on the top of the bar counter - a wallet, passport, handkerchief, two sets of keys, zippo lighter, a credit card holder, and a small pager.

Yes, that's right . . . a pager. I don't own a cellphone, much in the same way that I don't have a death wish. After finding out just how ridiculously easy it is to locate and hunt down someone using their cellphone, I developed a healthy aversion to the things. And that's just regular cellphones, too - don't even get me started on 'smartphones'.

"Okay," Shoe grumbled finally, "let's go."

I began to retrieve my various items so I could put them back in my pockets.

"No," he said, waving at my collection of stuff. "That all stays here."

"Well then, I guess I stay here too," I said, continuing to pick up my things.

"I'm serious!" he warned.

"So am I. We gonna play this game again?" I gave him a level stare. "I'm willing to bet a whole pile of money that Diavolo didn't give you instructions any more specific than 'bring him to me'. You've checked me for a gun - I don't have one. I'm not leaving without the rest of my stuff, and if you think I am, then we're about to have an interesting problem."

We traded dirty looks in silence. Despite the fact that Shoe didn't appear to have much of a learning curve, I began hoping that he'd eventually figure this sort of stuff out beforehand when dealing with me. This constant tough guy act was starting to become a bit of a time-waster.

"Fine," he growled under his breath. "Bring your junk. And hurry the fuck up!"

I shrugged and gathered my things, putting them into my pockets slowly, inspecting each for blemishes before I did. Then, that done, I walked the rest of the way to the door, moving much slower than if I hadn't just been asked to hurry. Upon arriving at the door I stopped.

Shoe came to a stop as well, and looked a question at me.

I indicated the closed door with my head and smiled patiently.

If you haven't already noticed, I'm a bit of a shit-disturber when it comes to dealing with tough guys.

Snarling, Shoe kicked the door savagely with his foot, causing it to explode outward and slam into the shoulder of the rather surprised thug who was waiting outside. The fellow turned and looked at the two of us, hand reaching inside of his coat as he did.

"Why, thank you," I said, walking through the open door and onto the sidewalk, my expression calm and serene.

We all got into the large gray sedan parked out front, the four of us not saying a word. During the twenty minute drive to wherever they were taking me, it was about the same. Neither Shoe nor the other two passengers so much as looked at me, though I heard Shoe mutter the occasional snide remark in tones too low for me to hear. I did manage to hear him say something to the effect of, "Wouldn't want to be in his shoes," to one of his compatriots, which got a chuckle.