Less Than Nothing by R.E. Blake Read Free Book Online Page B

quickly represses in favor of his usual easy smile. He’s trying so hard to act like my answer didn’t matter, which makes me both happy and sad. Here we are, circling each other like adversaries, like chess players or gladiators. My happiness fades and is replaced by the sadness. It’s a shitty world where you have to constantly be on the defensive, but I didn’t make the rules. And I’ve learned them the hard way. If you don’t let anyone in, you can’t get hurt. Simple.
    Derek gathers his bag and guitar case and shoulders the rucksack effortlessly. He peers down the street and motions with his head.
    “We can catch the bus a block down.”
    He begins walking and then waits for me to catch up. His legs are longer than mine, and I can tell he’s deliberately slowing his pace so I won’t have to struggle.
    My mind is whirling as we make our way to the bus stop, trying to frame the questions that have been burning inside me since yesterday. We get to the steel bench, the sign so covered with graffiti it’s indecipherable. Derek glances at the oncoming traffic and checks his watch – a steel Timex on a heavy leather band, very seventies.
    We sit in silence for a few minutes, and then he leans into me. “Everything okay?”
    I decide the truth might not be the worst approach I can take. “I’m trying to figure out if you’re a serial killer or something.”
    His laughter is like bells, genuinely amused. I join him, mine both nervous and relieved.
    “How many people do you have to kill to be a serial killer?” he asks. “Is there like a number, or is it vaguer than that?”
    “Pretty sure it’s more than one.”
    “Oh. Well, huh.”
    “That’s not really an answer.”
    One corner of his mouth tugs up. “Did you ask a question?”
    “Something about killing.”
    “That wasn’t a question. It was a statement.” He pauses. “Besides, I could ask you the same question.”
    “I wasn’t the one joking about eating my former partner.”
    “Oh. Right. Do you think a lot of serial killers joke about it with beautiful girls they just met? Kind of trying to put their best foot forward?”
    An involuntary surge of pleasure runs through me. He called me beautiful! Then my inner dialogue kicks in – that cynical voice that keeps it real. Get over it, already. He’s just flattering you to butter you up before he murders you .
    “For all you know, I could be one.” I give him my most mysterious glare.
    We both crack up again. I obviously suck at being a psycho killer.
    “Then I think that cancels it out. I mean, you never hear about serial killer A killing serial killer B,” he says.
    “Maybe that’s because nobody knew the victims were killers.”
    “Good point. How did we get on this topic again?”
    “I was explaining that I’m trying to figure out whether you’re dangerous.”
    “No question I am. The only open issue is how dangerous,” he says, his smile not as reassuring as earlier. Then his face cracks and warmth moves to his eyes. “Don’t sweat it. You don’t have anything to worry about. I’m a teddy bear with my partners.”
    I’m about to say something when he cuts me off.
    “Bus is here.”

Chapter 6
     
    When we get off the bus at 17 th Street and Mission, the neighborhood is scary, even by my standards, which are pretty low. San Francisco has a number of areas you don’t want to go to, the top of the list being the Tenderloin even during the day, followed by Hunter’s Point north of the ballpark, and then South of Market at night. The Mission district isn’t terrible during the day, but once the sun drops into the ocean, the whole character of the place changes, and not for the better.
    I look at Derek as a bum shuffles down the sidewalk toward us, muttering to himself. The stink of urine is strong. Even though I’m homeless, I make a big distinction between being a street musician and a vagrant. One tries to earn a living with a skill, the other’s a beggar. It’s