Read Story: SEASON 1 EPISODE 116

Introduction:

"Marcus gets out of a jam and reconnects with Helen."

My eyes were glued to the gun halfway out of the stranger's coat pocket. The handle and chassis reminded me of some Ruger, like something from a World War II movie, but updated. As he continued drawing it from his jacket pocket, I noticed how the barrel appeared much longer than it should have been. Was that a suppressor? Over the din of the coffee shop, the likelihood of hearing anything coming from the bathroom would be incredibly low. He could put one in me and be on the street before anyone else could walk into the bathroom. Was he a professional? Who hired him?

Was he the one who killed Colin Gerrard?

I looked back at the stranger's face, memorizing the man who was about to kill me. Besides the scar and a slight bend to his nose suggesting he'd broken it, nothing else jumped out at me, yet something about him tickled the back of my mind with a sense of familiarity. Had I seen this man before? The things my brain decided to focus on during a life-and-death experience were bizarre.

Speaking of life-and-death situations, this would have been a perfect time to get a return on my investment in hiring Chloe and the Johns. What were the odds of me getting attacked the moment they were occupied with Jacob? He couldn't have been involved in this, could he?

I opened my mouth to say that he must have mistaken me for someone else when the door squeaked open and in walked none other than Carla Tanaka.

The gunman's face Immediately twisted into a grimace, and he shoved the Ruger back in his pocket. He turned, brushed past Carla, and disappeared out the door before either of us had a chance to react. She stepped aside to make room for him to leave, looking slightly confused at what appeared to be a strange encounter in a public restroom

I breathed a sigh of relief, and Caria looked back at me. She must have read my expression as enthusiasm for seeing her again because her look of confusion melted into a conspiratorial smile. "Marcus! Fancy us bumping into each other like this!"

"What're you doing in here?" I asked her, still trying to recover from the fact that a man had almost pulled a gun on me. Seeing Carla in the men's room only added to the shock and confusion

She took a few steps toward me, her hazel eyes filled with conspiratorial desire. "I just wanted to make sure you were alright after what happened back there."

"I'm fine," I lied. "Sorry... just a little shaken. That was my brother. He was asking me for money and... hey, you know this is the men's bathroom, right?"

"I do," she said, her body language suggesting she didn't give a fuck, "But I hated how our conversation ended and saw an opportunity. I have something for you."

She held up a piece of paper between two fingers, her hazel eyes fixed on me. If looks could fuck, Carla would be molesting me right now. She closed the distance between us, her large, firm breasts brushing against my chest. I stepped back and bumped into the toilet partition, and she followed me, keeping the distance between us at a minimum. Her eyes flickered to my lips and then back up to meet mine, and she pressed the piece of paper in my hand as she leaned in to press our lips together. Still reeling from the fact that a stranger nearly pulled a gun on me and now was being seduced by a married woman in the bathroom of the Strange Mudd, it took me a moment to respond.

She moaned as she massaged her mouth against mine, her tongue flicked at my upper lip. Thence she pulled away, and her eyes slowly opened as her sultry smile returned. The fingers that had pressed the plece of paper into my palm lingered, exploring its contours for a moment longer before slipping away.

"My phone number," she whispered. "I meant it when I said I'd love to get to know you more." She reached up and brushed my cheek with her fingertips and then slowly backed away. "Call me."

Then she left the bathroom.

I stared at the door as it slowly closed behind her, then looked at the plece of paper in my hand. Sure enough, there were ten digits scrawled across it in a feminine hand. I swallowed. Carla Tanaka was aggressive... and hot.

She was also married to a powerful man with strong connections.

Allowing his hot wife to kiss me in a public area was bad enough, but there was no way I was hanging onto her phone number. I glanced at the trash can, considering whether I should throw it out. Why keep it? It was nothing but trouble. She was nothing but trouble. Was it worth the complications when I could snap my fingers and have someone like Bobbi or Erin take care of my needs?

Then it hit me that I hadn't been alone in this room before Carla entered. With the possibility of the gunman returning, I pocketed the phone number and left before giving him that chance.

I emerged from the bathroom, stormed through the small alcove that hid the entrance from view, and entered the common room. Chloe was crouched beside our table, picking up her coffee cup; neither Jacob nor the three Johns were anywhere to be found. I could still feel the tension from the altercation between my bodyguard and brother, but it was already dwindling like a stretched rubber band slowly returning to its resting state. A few people still stared at Chloe, and a couple of patrons spoke to each other in hushed tones. However, Carla returned to her seat, scrolling her phone as if nothing had happened.

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Dillon approached Chloe with a mop in hand as I closed in on her, keeping my eyes peeled for any sign of danger. "Where are the others?" I asked her.

She looked up at me and said, "Jacob wanted to go after you, so John and Ray escorted him out. The other John went around to get the car. I assumed you wouldn't want to stay here." She seemed to notice the look on my face because her brow furrowed, and she narrowed her eyes at me. "What?"

"We need to go," I said, keeping an eye out for any sign of the gunman.

Knowing something was up, Chloe followed my orders without hesitation. She gathered her stuff off the table while I turned to Dillon, pulled out my wallet, and retrieved several hundred-dollar bills. "Hey, man. I'm sorry about this. I didn't know Jacob would be here." I shoved the bills in his pocket as discretely as possible.

"No sweat, dude. I remember him being a drama llama."

"Thanks," I said. "Give some of that to your coworkers, Keep the rest for yourself... for the trouble."

"Sure thing," Dillon said, tugging his pocket away from his pants to eye the wad of cash.