Fish raised both shoulders in a contrite shrug. “It means you don’t got no rights over me or Miss Bellamy.” Attempting to take another step, Fish stopped when Mick had the audacity to grab his elbow. Her protector’s gaze moved slowly down to the point of contact and then up to the man at his side. “You don’t wanna do that, man. Score’s rules in non-legal situations are pretty much the same as Beeks’ in legal ones. I do what I’ve gotta do in the present… He’ll take care of the problems later… You don’t want Score coming all the way over here to take care of you… Trust me, you don’t… But it’s your call… are you gonna be a problem?”
Mick’s hand fell away, so Fish strode out with the suitcase, down the path to the pick-up he had parked on the curb.
“Did he just threaten me?” Mick demanded. “If he threatened me, I’m calling the police… I had no idea my father’s carer associated with criminals!”
To be honest, neither did she. Well, other than the one she was related to who was doing his time in prison. Although Shyla was still in shock over Fish’s cool and capable approach, she did wonder at Mick’s attitude.
Mick’s mother had divorced Stan when their son was a child. After that, Mick lived with her. Stan hadn’t seen much of him. Shyla spent more time with him and knew him better than his own son. Still, there had been enough contact that Mick wasn’t ignorant to the care needs of his father. Despite knowing for years that Stan needed care, he hadn’t increased his visits or sent any aid.
So, in that time, Shyla could’ve turned the building into a whorehouse or a crack den. Mick wasn’t around enough to have noticed.
Fish came bounding in before she could respond to Mick. “Where’s the rest of your stuff?”
“Upstairs,” she answered, stepping back to get out of his way. “First bedroom on the right.”
Mick rushed over, but stopped at the bottom of the stairs Fish was vaulting up. “He can’t go up there.”
“I’m sorry about your father, Mick,” Shyla said, picking up his hand to stroke the back. “He was a good man. I cared a lot about him… I know that you’re hurting. I feel the same way… I can’t quite believe that he’s gone.”
Fish came lumbering down the stairs laden with the rest of her things. Somehow, he managed to carry everything at once. She would’ve needed a bunch of trips. Her new friend was a blessing. The quicker they could get away from Mick, the better.
Shyla hurried out of Fish’s path. As she went forward, Mick was forced to leap back, which gave Fish a clear shot out the front door. Although it hadn’t been her intention to circumvent Mick, she couldn’t deny being happy that he wasn’t going to search her things.
“If I find anything missing, you will be hearing from me,” Mick said, going to the door, probably to watch Fish.
Opening the closet at the bottom of the stairs, Shyla slipped her feet into the only shoes left in there that were hers. It was sort of sad to take her cropped denim jacket from its hook for the last time. As she put it on moisture dripped from her lashes to her cheek.
The building had been her home for almost a decade. After she walked out, there would be no reason for her to come back. Taking the long strap of her hippie purse, she slung it over her head and straightened it between her breasts before turning around, closing the closet door as she went.
Scanning the stairway and the hall, through to the living room, she closed her eyes and let herself breathe the air for another few seconds.
“I will need a forwarding address,” Mick barked, breaking her reverie.
Fish was on the porch, waiting for her, wearing a smile.
Dipping a hand into her purse, Shyla flicked open her sunglasses case and retrieved her oversized shades to cover her eyes. The last thing she wanted was for either of the men to see her crying over something as silly as moving out.
“If she’s forgotten anything, we’ll come back,” Fish said.
Going to the door, Mick acted as a barrier between her and the exit. “I’ll need one anyway.”
Something about Fish’s ease relaxed her. Shyla’s new friend extended an arm to offer a hand. With that arm, Fish pushed the door further open, away from Mick, giving her a narrow space to reach for the proffered hand.
As soon as he had her in his grip, Fish gave her a tug, pulling her past Mick who was forced back.
“We’ll check with Score, get back to you,” Fish said, guiding her across the porch. “Later, man!”
Dragging her down the path, Fish lifted her into the truck and then ran around to get in his own side. Even after they got on the road, Fish maintained his smile. He caught one look at her and then another.
“So, you’re Russell Tench?”
“Fish,” he said, offering her a hand so they could shake. “And you’re Shyla… Just Shyla?” She nodded wondering what people expected her to say instead. Did everyone in the world have a nickname except her? “Would you prefer Miss Bellamy? Beeks told me to be respectful like.”
“Shyla is acceptable,” she said, smoothing her skirt down her thighs. “You’re young.”
“Twenty-three. Not that young.”
“And you’re friends with Score?”
Amusement sparkled from behind his smile. He caught another glance at her. Shyla wasn’t sure about Score’s age, but he’d seemed older than twenty-three, maybe she was wrong, she’d only seen him for a brief minute.
“I don’t think I’m friends with him,” Fish said. “But I’m working on it… Beeks is my friend. Well, he’s my lawyer, and I guess we’re tight. I trust him,
