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"What was that?"
"Gotcha."
Rhys could picture Dos' grin. He rolled his eyes. "Spare me the levity, Dimwit. What did you say?"
"I tried his phone. It's disconnected."
For the first time, Rhys was really listening. He frowned. "Sounds like Shawn has trouble."
"He's about to get a whole lot more." Dos clicked off.
Rhys shook his head, amused. Dos would take something like this personally. He was Shawn's second cousin—just about the only family Shawn had left. They'd rarely seen each other growing up. Shawn's stepdad, Merv, hadn't approved of Dos' side of the family.
Rhys idly punched in Shawn's number, and listened to the annoying disconnection tones.
There could be a perfectly logical explanation—other than the obvious, of course. But, knowing Shawn the way he did, Rhys had a feeling logical wouldn't cut it.
The dumbass...
He'd never been able to ask for help—not even when Merv the Perv was beating the shit out of him. He'd preferred to put up and shut up while he tried to work things through on his own.
Rhys glanced at his watch again. Lunch. He grabbed his jacket and headed out the door.
***
Shawn whistled softly as he patrolled the long alleyside of the building. He wanted to flick on the flashlight, but that would make him a target.
So will the whistling, you fool.
He bit his lips and tried not to crunch as he moved across the asphalt. These buildings made all kinds of weird noises at night.
Get used to it. Ignore it. Get past it.
It didn't stop the dark flashlight from shaking in his hand, or his legs from feeling wobbly.
Security. He'd never felt less secure in his life.
He turned, just as a soft glow silhouetted movement behind the dirty glass. The disturbance was on the second floor, and the aged panes were too crusty to see anything clearly.
He walked down to the old office door and checked the padlock. Still secure. Obviously, they weren't getting in here. With shaking fingers, he twisted the key in the lock and undid the hasp.
Before he went in, he took out his phone and then stopped, wondering whom he should call. Police? This was low priority. They didn't give a damn if The Majestic Mill burned to the ground.
The owner? The man who'd offered him this security job half out of pity, half out of guilt? Shawn couldn't picture Arn Farnsworth coming down here in the middle of the night. He'd probably be happy if the place burned down. Then he could collect the insurance. He'd done everything he could...even hired an inept security guard...
Buildings had a way of burning down in this neighbourhood.
That's probably why he bought it...
Shawn stared at the phone a second longer, wondering whether this job was worth the price of his paycheque.
You must've thought so when you agreed to it...
And basically, that's all there was to say. He'd agreed to the bargain, and made his deal with the devil. Time to pay the price.
He walked in, down the hallway, and past the offices. Moonlight filtered erratically through the window, stained and defined by bars.
Like working in a prison...
At least, in his old office, confinement had been more amenable to the human condition.