Kane/Toews 41. “You did all of this for me?” :)
41. “You did all of this for me?”
Jon uses his left hand to unlock the door, holding tight to Kane’s upper arm with his other. A door slams shuts further down the corridor. They can hear the TV on in the room behind them badly covering the sound of a couple loudly fucking.
Kane lets out a low whistle between his teeth. “Lovely place, you’ve taken me to. I see what you want now.” He waggles his eyebrows at Jon and fakes a moan.
“Shut up,” Jon says, and gives Kane a rough shove into the room. He stumbles, but rights himself quickly, grinning at Jon over his shoulder like he got one over him.
Jon deadbolts the door behind them.
“Oh, would you look at that,” Kane says, looking around the room with wide eyes and a hand on his chest, before turning back to Jon. He flutters his eyelashes. “Jonathan, you did all this for me?”
The room is a fucking dump. Small double bed with a threadbare duvet, old smelly carpet and stained curtains. The wallpaper is faded and ripping in places, the moulding yellowed and dusty, there’s a small table by the window with two metal chairs. The whole place smells like mildew and sweat.
“Only for you, honey,” Jon says, shoving Kane in the chest so he can pass, drop the grocery bag on the dirty counter beside the microwave.
He busies himself filling the cup noodles with water in the small bathroom–cracked and rusty mirror, dirty toilet, but no window and that’s good–and when he comes out, Kane’s on his back on the bed, wiggling into the mattress.
“That’s the stuff,” he says, eyes closed. Jon doesn’t comment, just puts the noodles in the microwave, then settles himself in one of the chair.
He’s got a good view of the parking lot, wet and dark and shiny with the neon lights of the motel’s sign reflected over it. It’s a good spot. When the microwave dings, he stands up, gets the noodles out, sticking a plastic fork in both, then drops one of them on the bedside table. Kane doesn’t react.
Jon rolls his eyes even though Kane can’t see him, turns on the bedside lamp and goes to turn off the flickering overhead light. He takes off his jacket, drops his gun on the table beside his noodles, then sits back down to look at the parking lot.
He’s halfway done with his noodles when Kane speaks. “You should just leave me,” he says, voice uncharacteristically serious, and when Jon looks over at him, he can see Kane staring at the ceiling.
Jon snorts. “Not gonna happen, buddy.”
Kane shakes his head. “They’re gonna find me. They–there’s no helping that.”
“No, not–” Kane interrupts. “Not them. Who the fuck cares about them. I mean, the–” He waves a hand in the air, “others.”
Jon slowly puts his fork down, left hand covering his gun. “Who?”
“They’re gonna find me,” Kane says, raising himself on his elbows to look at Jon. The light from the lamp makes him look young and ugly and sad. “And they’re gonna kill me and everyone who stands in their way. That’s you, by the way, and–” His mouth twists. “And you’re a good man, Toews. You don’t deserve to die like that. Not for this shit. Not for me.”
Jon stares at him. For the first time since this thing started he sees fear on Kane’s face, and for a moment he feels it too, something heavy and dark in his chest. Only for a moment, before he shakes it off. Just one more of Kane’s trick.
He picks up his fork again. “Eat your fucking noodles,” he says, turning back to the window, the black night, the flashing ‘no vacancy’ pink neon light.
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