While pretending to shop, the protagonist overheard a couple discussing intimate details with the store clerk, Layla. Layla seemed distressed, and after the customers left, she fainted. The protagonist used his system to freeze time and discovered Layla had a bruised eye and a fresh cut on her back, hidden by makeup and clothing. He debated intervening but ultimately decided against it, allowing time to resume and leaving Layla to rest.
Something felt undeniably off.
Layla, the woman employed at the adult shop, appeared to be a victim of spousal abuse. However, a background check I initiated through Greg, a detective friend of Tuck's, revealed a different story. Greg's wife, a frequent patron of Layla's, confirmed that Layla was not currently married; her divorce had been finalized months prior.
I couldn't quite pinpoint why I found myself becoming entangled in Layla's personal affairs. It was none of my concern, and I had resolved to avoid any needless complications until the situation with Brok and Jack was resolved. Nevertheless, my curiosity was piqued, and I harbored a hope that this would not lead to future trouble.
"Seriously..." Eleanor gasped for air. "Why on earth are we doing so many squats?"
Tessa, without missing a beat, sneered. "Look at her! She can barely move that massive backside anymore. Ha-ha!"
I was reclining casually on the sofa, idly flicking through television channels. The women had shunted the dining table aside to clear a space. Jasmine, Tessa, Minne, Eleanor, and Kim were all following along with a workout routine displayed on a phone. And who ended up being designated as the human tripod to hold the device? That would be me.
"Quit moving the phone, you useless selfie stick," Tessa grumbled, still in her squatting position. "You're making me feel sick."
"Hey," I retorted, "why don't you just place the phone on the table? Prop it up with a plate or something?"
Tessa let out a breathless laugh while maintaining her squats. "We're working ourselves to the bone to earn a living, you jobless bum. You don't even wake up until two in the afternoon, so at least hold the damn phone like a good little boy."
I exhaled a long, drawn-out sigh. "Oh, boy..."
Minne gasped, her legs trembling. "I... I can't... I'm finished..."
"Mik!" Tessa called out with theatrical flair. "Attack Minne! She's about to give up!"
Minne cried out in panic. "No, Mik! Don't! Eek!"
"Who is Kayla, by the way?" Eleanor inquired between labored breaths.
"Oh, she possesses the most magnificent posterior known to humanity," Jasmine responded, dabbing sweat from her brow. "She told us she uses this app to maintain her physique, so... we've decided to do the same."
My phone vibrated on the coffee table. I leaned forward and retrieved it. The receptionist was calling at this hour? "Hello?"
"Hold the phone steady!" Tessa protested once more.
"Hello, Mr. Marlowe. Apologies for the late call," the receptionist stated. "Two cargo boxes have just arrived. One is for your guest, Eleanor, and the other is for you."
"Ah, the pepper sprays," I mumbled. "Yes, we'll collect them tomorrow."
"Certainly, Mr. Marlowe. Have a pleasant evening."
"Thanks. Bye."
"Who was that?" Kim asked, still panting.
"The pepper sprays you ladies ordered have finally arrived," I informed them.
"Oh, good," Jasmine sighed in relief. "You should always carry one when you venture out, Eleanor."
"I... I will..." Eleanor managed, clearly spent. "Oh god... a break. Let's take a break. I've had enough."
"Only two more minutes remaining, ladies!" the energetic female instructor on the workout video exclaimed cheerfully. "Hang in there!"
Those final two minutes felt like an eternity passed. When the program concluded, I promptly dropped the phone onto the coffee table and stretched my aching shoulder. My arm throbbed from being held aloft for ten consecutive minutes. The girls were evidently taking this workout application with excessive seriousness.
I turned back and surveyed the women. They were utterly exhausted from the exertion.
Jasmine was slumped in one of the dining chairs, her legs splayed wide as she fanned herself vigorously. "I'm completely spent... my thighs are on fire," she groaned.
Tessa leaned against the kitchen counter, downing water as if she had just completed a marathon. "Holy crap, I'm dying. Why did I even suggest this foolish app?" she complained, wiping perspiration from her neck.
Minne sat on the floor near the couch, looking completely depleted. "I can't feel my legs... I'm never doing squats again," she whimpered softly, struggling to regain her breath.
Eleanor, the most voluptuous of the group, had collapsed onto another dining chair. She was fanning her flushed face, her chest heaving. "I'm too old for this... my backside is burning," she panted with a weary laugh.
Kim stood by the refrigerator, pouring cold water over her neck and collarbone to cool down. "I'm exhausted. Like, officially deceased. Someone carry me to the couch," she groaned dramatically.
Only Tessa's attire was particularly revealing, her tight red micro-shorts had ridden up considerably during the workout, creating a very noticeable cameltoe that she appeared to disregard entirely.
I pushed myself up from the couch and stretched my arms overhead, rotating my stiff shoulders.
Just then, my phone buzzed on the coffee table. I picked it up and opened the message. It was from Esme.
A picture of the two vacant pizza containers I had brought previously was sent by her. Beneath the image, she had scribbled:
’Starving.’
I rapidly typed a response: ’I’ll fetch more, have no fear.’
A thumbs-up graphic returned with remarkable speed.
I chuckled, shaking my head slightly.
"Truly," I murmured. "This young lady..."
Proceeding to the balcony, I pushed the glass door, its subtle sliding sound slicing through the room's silence. Upon entering, I secured it shut once more. The balcony was entirely enclosed by floor-to-ceiling glass panels, allowing a clear view of the cityscape while preventing the chill wind or rain from intruding. It imparted a feeling of being within a tranquil enclosure, insulated from the outside world.
Ideal.
I retrieved a cigarette, ignited it, and inhaled deeply, allowing the smoke to permeate my lungs before expelling it towards the glass. The surface momentarily misted before clearing, revealing the muted, overcast sky and the damp streets far below. Individuals scurried like insects, canopies raised, vehicles weaving through the nascent evening twilight, their headlamps piercing the gloom.
With a hand tucked into my pocket, I retrieved my phone, scrolled briefly, then selected Mendy’s contact.
