Free Crushed Ice by Eric Pete

fan of old black and whites.
    He stood there, staring at me. Confused. Like when you see someone you know, but the setting and context is all wrong. Like that person you went to high school with that graduated a year earlier, and you see them years later, but in a different city.
    Except I never went to school with his ass—and I didn’t ever want to see him again.
    Made the mistake of making eye contact.
    Caught slipping.
    He was opening his mouth to say something when I pushed the button to close the doors. For a second, nothing happened.
    â€œHold up,” he called out, flashing golden fangs for fronts in his mouth.
    I realized the elevator wasn’t closing because I’d pushed the wrong button, instead keeping the doors open longer. I quickly corrected that.
    â€œAy! Hold up, man!” he yelled, not sure what his mind was telling him, yet still getting worked up over it.
    I tried remaining calm, but my finger pounded the button like I was trying to break it. I heard his hands slapping against the doors just as they shut. A second faster and he would’ve been in the elevator with me and I might have had to do something I vowed never to do again.
    Rather than continuing up top, I pushed another button to stop on the sixth floor. Before the door opened, I removed my jacket and neck tie in an attempt to change my appearance yet again. When it got to the sixth floor, I pushed a few more random buttons. Bounding into the hallway, I spied the floor was empty. Still, the hotel’s security monitors were capturing everything I was doing. I was no fool.
    And the adjacent elevator was rising.
    I could hear its whirring gears as it approached.
    It was him. Had to be.
    He’d waited to see what floor mine had stopped on first. Should’ve stayed on.
    Nothing like running down the hall to attract unwanted attention; I began walking away as if looking for my room number, with key card in hand. I didn’t dare look back.
    The elevator doors opened. Someone stepped off.
    I kept walking. Maybe a little faster, but still walking. I rounded the corner as heavy feet roamed behind me. Searching.
    From my pocket, I fished out my cell. Not a lot in place tonight to deal with this, I called the only person I could.
    â€œNeed a favor,” I muttered.
    â€œI ain’t installing no more cameras,” the valet said shrilly, no doubt enjoying a brisk business outside.
    â€œStop talking and listen,” I said, briefly losing the “Har-lemisms” I’d used for his benefit. I saw a stairwell up ahead. “You seen the dreaded-up Haitian with Penny Antnee?”
    â€œLoup Garou?” he answered. Wasn’t expecting Fre-nch out of his mouth.
    â€œWhat?”
    â€œLoup Garou, the Haitian Werewolf, son,” he repeated. Now I knew what that pendant and those stupid gold fangs were all about. “That’s what he calls himself. Penny got his crazy ass as part of his crew. Nigga think he can rap. I just say he crazy. What about him?”
    â€œCall your girl on staff. Need security to stop him. He might be strapped.”
    â€œWord?” he remarked, sounding amused. “You wanna fuck with Penny good, huh? When you need this?”
    â€œImmediately,” I answered as I reached the stairwell and quietly opened the door. I think I’d put some distance between us.
    â€œMan, I’m in the middle of a shift. How about later tonight?”
    â€œDo that shit now,” I urged as I bounded up the stairs two at a time. “He’s running around on the sixth floor. If they hurry, they might catch him. Somebody could get hurt.” Wasn’t quite sure if it would be him or me if it came to it, but I didn’t dare show up on anyone’s arrest records.
    â€œAnother bonus?”
    â€œDuh,” I replied, hanging up as I walked out onto the eighth floor, merging with a crowd of folk on my way back to the elevators.
    One less tense ride up this time, I