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Devour – 6

Last updated on May 23, 2021


To be sure he was out, the security guards literally dumped Emrys in front of his truck. Emrys brushed himself off and gave the guys a glare. But they were already heading to the building. He patted his pocket, panicked for a minute when he didn’t feel the paper. He stuck his hand in his pocket, and came up with the yellow sticky note with the seven digits on it. He climbed into his truck, and kissed the paper before putting it back in his shirt pocket, next to his heart.

Emrys couldn’t concentrate, probably delivering the wrong package to a few places, as he worked feverishly to get everything completed by six. He delivered his last package at seven-thirty, and was driving back to the home office, when the company phone rang.

He pulled over, grumbling, and looked at the number on the phone. It was from the city.

Emrys answered the phone, “Hello?”

“You haven’t called me.”

Emrys’ heart skipped. “K—Chris?”


“How did you get this number?”

“Your ID was on the package. I called the office and they gave me this number.”

“Oh, I’m…” Wow. Resourceful. “I’m on the way to the home office.”

“Can you meet me at Rothschild’s in an hour?”

Rothschild’s was a fancy restaurant in one of the ritzier hotels in the city. Emrys didn’t even have a clean suit. “I’m not dressed for it.”

“I don’t care.”

“I’m in my uniform.”

“I said I don’t care.”

“Will they even let me in?”

“I’ll make sure of it.”

There was no arguing, it seemed. “Yes, I can be there in an hour.” He might have a couple of bucks for the valet in his pocket, or he could park near the memorial park a block or so away.

“Good. I’ll be waiting. Don’t be late.”

Emrys hung up and drove like a demon back to the home office.

He backed the truck up into the slip and jumped out. He ran to the time clock and punched out. He heard his boss calling him, but he yelled, “Tomorrow!” and ran to his car. The Honda started with a sputter. He took off with a squeal of tires from the parking lot.

Twenty minutes to the city.

Please God, let there be no traffic.

Ten minutes into the drive, he got caught in a snarl of traffic. He took the first exit and used the back roads to get to the memorial park. He parked in the first spot he saw available and checked the clock on the car.

“Seven minutes. Shit.” The restaurant was across the park, on the other side which would take him ten minutes to walk.

He was lucky he had his steel-toed sneakers on. He got out of the car, locked it on the fly, and ran across the park.

Emrys yanked open the door and dove into the restaurant as if he was a runner crossing the finish line. The maître d’ gave him a condescending look.

“He’s with me, Gerald,” said Shane’s voice next to Emrys.

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