Catriona started the truck. “I know back in your time it was probably dangerous for men to be like Brian, but it isn’t like that now.” She paused. “At least it isn’t supposed to be. Some people still aren’t nice.”
Broch shrugged. “The boy ah ken wis an odd but good lad. Made me a fine cloak once, fer nae reason, and gave it tae me—” Broch turned to her, his expression wide.
Catriona smirked. “What?”
“Och. Ah juist realized how come he gave me the cloak.”
Catriona laughed.
Chapter Six
Tyler’s eyes fluttered opened.
I’m dead.
He surveyed the largest room he’d ever seen. Things were coming to him slowly. His brain felt like it was made out of wet socks.
Wall. Glass. Light. Sofa.
Tilting back his head, he squinted at the lights above him. The ceiling had to be thirty feet high. One entire wall was glass, but from his vantage, he could only see sky and the very corner of what he assumed was another building.
My shoulders hurt.
He tried to move his arms, but found them pinned behind him. Looking down, he traced the edges of the object beneath his butt.
A chair. I’m tied to a chair in a palace...am I on set?
He scanned the room for a camera and a crew. Maybe he was filming a movie and he’d blacked out—
“Look who’s awake.”
A girl with latte-colored skin walked in, her hips twitching inside tight black leather pants. As she shut the door behind her, Tyler caught a flash of what looked like a hotel hallway.
Front door.
He realized he’d missed the chance to scream for help.
The girl came into focus once more.
I know her.
Dez.
Dez had been in the alley.
The poker game...
He swallowed. “Where am I?”
Without answering, Dez strode across the room. He stretched his neck to watch her place a plastic bag on a marble island behind him. His bound wrists kept him from seeing much more.
Something moved in the main room and Tyler turned forward again. A man strolled through an archway across from Tyler, fifty feet from where he sat. This new man sported slicked steel-gray hair and wore a cream-colored suit, lending more credence to Tyler’s first theory—that he’d died and gone to heaven.
Did I—? No.
His bound hands and the presence of Dez blew sizeable holes in any heaven hypothesis.
The man didn’t look like God, either. At least none Tyler had ever imagined. He was small, with a nose a little too large for his face. He wore a large gold and diamond ring on his wedding finger.
God wouldn’t be married, would he?
Tyler couldn’t tell if the man was happy...maybe amused? The corner of his mouth curled in a permanent smirk.
The cat who ate the canary.
That’s what his mother would call this man’s expression.
Tyler sighed.
I’d love to be at home with Mom right now.
Mini-god nodded at a plump chair covered in gold and cream cloth. Dez appeared from behind Tyler to move the chair into position, parking it in front of him.
The man sauntered to the chair and sat facing him. He crossed his legs and picked at one of his fingernails with his thumb.
Tyler couldn’t take the silence any longer. “Who are you?”
The man looked up from his nails. “You dahn’t know me?”
He shook his head. Was that an accent?
The little man sniffed. “Should I be offended? After all, you have one hundred and sirty-seven dollars of my money. ”
Oh.
Now Tyler knew he wasn’t in heaven. He was being punished for not paying his gambling debts.
That made more sense.
“You’re the Frenchman?”
Alain shrugged one shoulder. “You can call me zat. Many do. Or you can call me Alain.”
Tyler nodded and tried to keep from crying by thinking positive thoughts, like all the self-motivation books he’d read before getting his big break had told him to do.
Okay. Good. Alain seems reasonable. The French are super civil, right?
“You invented democracy, right?”
Tyler didn’t mean to ask the question, but thanks to high school history, it was the only thing he knew about the French and the words had tumbled from his mouth like he was in the middle of an oral exam.
Alain squinted at him and then scowled at Dez. “Why ees ’e talking about democracy and not my money?”
Dez shrugged. “You know us Americans. We’re all crazy for democracy.”
Tyler tried to get his thoughts in order, but his mind kept drifting to his arms. His shoulders burned.
“Mr. Alain, I want you to know I’m going to get you your money. Every cent.”
Alain nodded. “I know you are.”
“Right. So, I guess what I’m saying is, message received. Loud and clear. You didn’t have to do this. I would never have not paid you.”
“I know this too.”
Tyler nodded. “Right. Good. So we understand each other.”
Alain crossed his hands on his knee. “You are new to ze games. I do not know you. Ziss ees necessary so that you know me. You understand?”
Tyler laughed, his nerves pushing what he’d thought was a chuckle into an ear-shattering guffaw. “Absolutely. You can’t let any old slacker lose money and think they’re going to walk away.”
“Exactly. I’m glad we are on ze same page.”
“Me too. So, I’ll find my way back. No problem. I have to be on set Monday. I’ll have your money to you by Friday—”
Alain clucked his tongue. “Friday? Oh no. I don’t sink you want to wait until Friday.”
“I need to—” Tyler stopped, his brow knitting. Something about the way Alain said that last bit didn’t feel right. “Wait. Why?”
“Eet’s a lot of words.”
