All the Inside Howling (Hollow Folk #2)(85)

“Pretty much,” I said. “Speed it up.”

Grumbling, Becca did as I asked, and the footage accelerated. Twice employees emerged from the club to dump garbage. One of them was Remy, and I watched her for anything that looked out of the ordinary. As far as I could tell, though, Remy seemed perfectly natural. There was no sign of the trouble she had described inside the club.

Then, when the digital timestamp showed 23:07:33, River staggered through the door. In the high-resolution video, I got what felt like my second real look at him, even though it was at a bad angle. He was tall, he was ripped, he was blond. But his hair was curly, and he was always smiling, that huge, searchlight smile, and every inch of him was cocky. He was wearing that arrogant self-assurance like he’d paid ten grand for it and wanted everyone to know. Becca had said he looked like me, but I just didn’t see it.

Catwalking after him in high-heels, thin and pretty like the cover ripped off a Cosmo, came Hailey Van Hoyt. She wobbled on her heels, and as she caught herself on River’s shoulder, her face pointed straight at the camera. There was no mistaking her.

“Well,” Becca said. “That’s interesting.”

“He never said she left.” The words popped out before I realized it.

“What?”

“Nothing.”

“Who never said she left?”

“Never mind.”

Becca paused the footage. “You talked to Emmett.”

I shifted. Kneeling was damn uncomfortable, and I was trying to ease the pain in my back. Finally I had to say something, though, so I said, “It’s not like that’s a crime.”

“Why isn’t he with Hailey? What did he say?”

“Nothing. He wanted to talk about—” Damn it. I really was tired. Tired and hurting, and my head felt like it was stuffed with shredded newspaper and Elmer’s glue.

“He’s jealous.” Becca said the words like they were balloons: tiny, then swelling with helium and pulling her voice up a register. “He’s jealous of Austin.”

“He’s not jealous. He just likes screwing up whatever he can.”

“Did he—”

“Can we watch the rest of it?”

Becca gave me a frown that must have weighed as much as a small pickup truck, but she clicked the mouse and the video rolled forward. River dropped back against the corrugated metal wall of Jigger Boss, dragging Hailey with him. Although there wasn’t any sound, her drunken laughter was obvious as he tussled with her, planting a line of kisses up her neck as she pretended to push him away.

“Jesus,” Becca said. “That’s worse than Star Trek acting.”

“What’s wrong with Star Trek?”

Becca opened her mouth to answer, but at the limit of the camera’s wide angle, a shadow moved. It resolved into a man in torn jeans with dark hair cut raggedly at his jaw.

“That’s the man from the bus,” Becca said.

“DeHaven Knight. He told me about this, in the jail. He thought I was River, he said I promised him a pack of smokes if he did something.”

“What?”

As we watched DeHaven approach, River pushed Hailey behind him and puffed up his chest. When DeHaven took another step forward, River rushed him, grabbing a fistful of DeHaven’s shirt and shouting into his face.

“He’s not afraid of him,” I said.

“River lived on the streets for a long time. He’d probably been through worse and learned he needed to act tough.”

“Or he really is tough.”

Whatever the truth was, DeHaven cringed and backed away, although River continued to shout, jabbing his finger towards DeHaven as Dehaven crouched and scuttled back. This went on for almost a minute before River’s posture changed, hands on his hips, his face thoughtful. He said something, dug a packet of smokes out of his jacket and showed them to DeHaven. They spoke, and DeHaven nodded, and River slipped out of his jacket and tossed it. DeHaven caught the denim and slunk away like a shadow dragged by a torn-up alley cat.

“Why did he give him his jacket?” Becca asked.

“I don’t know. I think we need to pay DeHaven a visit and find out.”

River pressed Hailey against the corrugated metal, one hand sliding up her skirt, the other plunging below her neckline. Hailey threw her head back in passion, her hand running through River’s curls to tug at the collar of his t-shirt.

“God, it really is worse than Star Trek,” Becca huffed.

“I don’t get it. Do you hate Star Trek? Is that a thing?”

“Don’t worry about it,” she snapped. Then, her voice softening a degree, she added, “Geez, I really am a loser. He ditched me for Hailey Van Hoyt, and all this time I’ve been so upset, sick to my stomach that something bad happened to him. What a joke.”

I thought I should pat her shoulder, or maybe hug her. When I lifted my hand, though, she shot me a look, and even though I’d never seen Star Trek, I knew that look qualified as a death-ray.

“I guess I should be glad Lawayne sent this to me,” I said, trying to divert that death-ray. “But I already knew that River had spoken to DeHaven. I already knew about their deal.”

As River led a giggling Hailey into the darkness, Becca moved the mouse to close the video. I grabbed her wrist, though, as a shadow drew forward on the far side of the camera. For the second time that night, DeHaven emerged into the camera’s view. This time, his face was in plain sight. His lips were twitching. Not nervous tics, not tremors. Huge twitches, like someone had stitched those lips with marionette strings and was playing herky-jerky. Even without audio, I knew what he was saying: bagga, bagga, bagga. DeHaven’s nightmare word. Without seeming to notice what he was doing, Dehaven balled up the denim jacket and dropped it in the Dumpster. Then, skirting the wall of Jigger Boss, he slipped into the darkness, following the path that River had taken.