10 The Man In The Booth A Quiet Pressure Short

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Previous 09 The Warning

J.E. Nickerson

“People think they know someone because of the way they behaved. But people hide parts of themselves they never intended for us to see.”

Tom stepped into The Landing Bar and took a deep breath, the scent of alcohol and smoke clinging to the back of his throat as it lingered in the air.

His eyes roamed over the crowd. There were never enough women to balance the ratio of men.

His gaze drifted across the room until it landed on a woman in her thirties sitting in a corner booth. As she leaned forward, the hem of her dress rode up on her toned thigh, catching his eye. She was laughing, engaged in a conversation with a man Tom did not recognize.

The woman’s dark hair fell over one side of her face. She brushed it behind her ear, her manicured fingernails dragging lightly across her skin. She did not notice Tom. Her focus was entirely on the man in front of her.

Tom moved through the space between them, closing the distance with deliberate steps. His gaze remained fixed on the woman.

When he entered her space, he stopped, waiting for her to acknowledge him.

The man in front of the woman acknowledged Tom first. His gaze tightened, shifting from recognition to a cold stare that registered more as contempt than surprise.

His jaw muscles rippled beneath his skin, holding his ground without a word. He didn’t shift his shoulders or give an inch of clearance. His silence was heavier than any warning he could have spoken.

Tom didn’t drop his gaze, but the woman didn’t blink either. Her hand remained against her neck, her fingernails resting against the pulse point just beneath her ear. She let the seconds stretch out, measured and deliberate, before her lips parted in a slow, flat curve that didn’t reach her eyes.

“You’re late, Tom,” she said, her voice low enough to be swallowed by the room’s noise, yet cutting straight through it.

The man’s hand moved slowly downward, his fingers grazing the edge of the sticky table. Then he slipped his left hand into his pocket, squeezing the outline of something Tom could not see. 

Tom’s eyes stayed on the man’s hand. “I didn’t expect you to be here,” Tom said, his gaze drifting to the man’s hand.

The man did not break Tom’s gaze. “I know,” he said.

He reached into his pocket and removed a cell phone, placing it face down on the table.

He never breaking Tom’s gaze.  

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