Chapter 5: A Towel And A Check
The towel they gave me was white and thin and it wasn't doing much. I sat on a folding chair in the service hallway behind the kitchen, my trousers still torn open at the shin, my shoes full of water, and pressed it against the cut. The blood had slowed but it kept seeping, turning the towel pink. My shirt was stuck to my back and my ponytail dripped onto the concrete floor. Every time the kitchen door swung, warm air and noise came out and then cut off again.
I shivered. Not from pain. From being wet as the sun went down and from holding still while everyone else kept moving. My phone was still in the right pocket of my vest. The waterproof pocket. It was warm against my hip. I had tapped record with my thumb when they walked me off the terrace, and I didn't touch it again. I just kept pressure on my leg and listened to my own breathing.
A man came down the hall who hadn't been in the tuxedo. He was younger, early thirties, navy suit, no tie, earpiece cord tucked behind his collar. He carried a manila envelope and a clean, folded towel like he was doing me a favor.
"Ms. Reyes?" he said.
I didn't answer at first. I looked at his shoes. Dry.
"I'm with Mr. Whitaker," he said. That was the older man in the tuxedo. "He wanted to make sure you're taken care of. We have a car ready to take you to Mercy County ER. No wait. We'll cover it."
He set the folded towel on the chair next to me. Then he held out the envelope.
"There's fifteen hundred in here," he said, quiet, like someone might overhear. "Five for the ER, a thousand for your trouble tonight. For the dress code issue and the inconvenience. If you could just head out now, rest, no need to post anything or file anything tonight. We can talk Monday when everyone's had time to cool off. Mr. Whitaker appreciates your discretion."
I stared at the envelope. It was unsealed. The corner of cash showed.
"What time is it?" I asked.
He checked his watch. "Eight forty-seven."
I repeated it in my head and let the phone keep listening. Eight forty-seven. Fifteen hundred, five for ER plus a thousand bonus if I left and didn't post or report. Appreciates your discretion. I wanted him to say it again so the words would be clear on the recording.
"Who's Daniel?" I asked.
His expression didn't change. "Daniel's head of security. He was asked to clear the terrace. Standard."
"Standard to bring the men to remove a bleeding server?" I said. My voice was flat. I wasn't yelling. I didn't have the energy.
He smiled a little, like I was misunderstanding. "No one wants to remove you, Ms. Reyes. We want to help you. The car's right outside the service entrance. You shouldn't sit here wet."
Behind him, Daniel appeared at the end of the hall. Gray polo, black pants, radio on his shoulder. He didn't come closer. He just stood with his hands behind his back and watched.
I shifted the towel. The cut throbbed. I could feel water still in my socks every time I moved my toes.
"I'll take the ride to the ER," I said. "I need stitches."
"Of course," the aide said, and held the envelope out again.
"I'm not agreeing not to report," I said. "And I'm not agreeing not to post. I'm taking the ride because I need medical care."
He hesitated. "The envelope is for -"
"I heard what it's for," I said. I took it. Not because I wanted it, but because if I left it on the chair someone else would take it and say I never got it. I slipped the whole thing into the big pocket of my catering apron, which was still tied around my waist over my wet vest. I didn't count it. I didn't seal it. I didn't sign anything.
"We have a form," he said. "Just an acknowledgement that you received assistance -"
"I'm not signing anything tonight," I said. I pressed the towel back down. "I want a copy of your name and the time you offered this. That's it."
He swallowed. "I'm Tyler. I'm Mr. Whitaker's assistant."
"Tyler at eight forty-seven," I said, loud enough for the pocket. "Offered fifteen hundred cash if I leave now and don't post or report."
Tyler glanced toward Daniel. Daniel gave a tiny nod, like go ahead, get her in the car.
Tyler stepped back. "Car's this way."
I stood up slowly. The towel came away stuck for a second and then pulled free. Blood welled again. I folded the pink towel over and held it to my leg as I walked. My shoes made wet squeaks on the concrete. The service entrance was a metal door propped open to the dusk. Outside, a black SUV idled with its rear door open. The air had gone cool and the torch lights on the terrace glowed far behind us.
Daniel held the door while I got in. He didn't help me and I didn't ask him to.
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"Mercy County ER," Tyler said to the driver. "Direct."
I sat on the plastic seat with the towel on my shin and my apron pocket heavy against my thigh. The envelope was in there. The phone was still recording against my hip. I didn't touch either one. The SUV pulled away from the estate, and in the side mirror I watched the terrace lights get smaller while my wet clothes stuck to my skin and the blood kept coming in a slow, steady seep I could see but couldn't stop until we got there.
