Free Your Number by J. Joseph Wright Page B

them?”
     
    Angelle and Dean both turned to each other silently. Dean nodded. Angelle said, “There are…signs.”
     
    “What signs?” Charlie sounded nervous.
     
    “Before your number is up, you start to see things, strange things,” Dean lit a cigarette.
     
    “Crazy things,” Angelle’s eyes got wide. “Demons and goblins and-and a symbol.”
     
    Charlie kept his mouth closed. With his eyes, he demanded more. Dean took a long drag from his Camel, leaned forward, and, using a credit card, began playing with the powdered cocaine. After a few swipes, he finished his design, two lines intersecting two other lines at oblique angles, a perfect:
     
    #
     
    Kate cocked her head. “That’s a Twitter hashtag, isn’t it?”
     
    “It’s also the number symbol,” Dean said. “This symbol is found, in one way or another, at the scene whenever someone is killed by the death number.”
     
    Kate stood and forced Charlie up with her. “I’ve had enough of this. Come on, Charlie. Take me home, okay?”
     
    Angelle sprang to her feet. “We’re just trying to warn you. You and your sister are in danger,” she glanced at Charlie. “And so are you. You know it, don’t you?”
     
    Charlie scratched his scalp, mussing his already purposefully unkempt hair. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, Angelle. But that isn’t your real name, is it?”
     
    “No,” she said flatly. “Of course not. And you shouldn’t be using your real name, either.”
     

    “It’s too late,” Charlie took Kate’s hand and led her to the stairs.

2.
     
     
     
    Charlie stared at the limousine floor, listless, his Academy Award lying on the seat like a dead man. Kate wanted to hug him, he looked so sad. She knew, though, that when he got into a mood, the best thing was to leave him alone for a while. So she sat. And she sat, until she couldn’t handle it anymore.
     
    “Charlie?” they sped along Sunset Boulevard toward La Brea Avenue. “Is something wrong? Was it something I said?”
     
    His eyes closed slowly. “No, I…” he pinched the bridge of his nose. “I guess I shouldn’t have done that coke.”
     
    She moved the Oscar, it was heavy, and slid next to him. “I didn’t want to say anything. You okay?” she rubbed his neck.
     
    He said nothing for a few miles, just sat watching the cars sweep past. Then, just when Kate thought he would never speak again, he opened up.
     
    “I’ve seen the sign.”
     
    Kate, at first, had no clue what he meant.
     
    “What? What sign?”
     
    “Remember what Dean and Angelle were saying? The number sign? The death number?”
     
    Kate sat back and giggled. “You don’t believe that crap, do you? They were loaded. Probably got off on scaring us. Did you see the way they were acting? I mean, seriously? These guys are Academy Award winners? Please.”
     
    She expected at least a little grin. Instead, he got gloomier. He clenched his jaw. Kate saw the muscles twitching in his cheek. It scared her into a straight face.
     
    “Charlie? Knock it off, okay? You’re freaking me out.”
     
    His stoic mood saturated the limo. Even the driver seemed depressed. Then, just like that, he flipped a switch. His grimness evaporated, and he flashed that trademark Charlie Monroe million-dollar smile. “You know what? You’re right. It’s nothin’,” he yawned and put his arm around her. The old yawn and squeeze. Nice one, she laughed.
     
    “What’s so funny?” he squinted.
     
    “Nothing.”
     
    When they got to Kate’s tenth floor apartment in El Royale Tower, Charlie made the requisite play for her panties. Having been burned several times by guys who said they were, ‘friends,’ Kate wanted to take it slow and smart.
     
    “No,” she said, plain and clear. “You’re drunk and high, and I don’t want to. Take the spare bedroom,” and he plodded, tail between his legs, down the hall.
     
    After a cup of lemon tea, Kate slid out of her navy blue evening