When Taylor leaves Poke Island, he steps off the ferry and into what he thinks is a MyRide car. But he finds himself sitting next to Nick Katanjiev.
The car is driven by a silent thug, with Adora in the front seat beside him. The doors lock and Nick forces Taylor to sip from a bottle of iced coffee.
With Taylor feeling the woozy effects of the knockout drug, Nick orders the car to stop and shoves Taylor out.
“Do not stalk my fawking woman, you hear me?”
“I didn’t. I wasn’t…”
“Shut up or I hurt you.”
Taylor shut up.
“Leave her alone, you gets it?” Nick slaps his face. “Ha ha ha,” he says. “Bulgarian hospitality.”
The car drove off, stinging Taylor’s face with a spray of dirt and stones.
They had dumped Taylor just outside Slater Salvage, the junkyard owned by the family of his former fiance.
Taylor awoke in the place of his dreams: Lisa Lange’s bed.
He realized the bed was Lisa’s when he sat up and examined the family photos, which rose amid a forest of candles and bottled lotions on the dresser. Then he noticed the giant Wiccan star hung over the bed.
When Taylor wanders into the living room, Lisa offers to give him a wake-up massage.
“I was …” Taylor says.
“I know, kidnapped. You told me. In fact, you told the whole building. Loudly. Repeatedly.”
“I don’t remember … “ he touched his face. “I got in a fight?”
“The neighbors objected to your histrionics.”
“You caused a fracas in the hallway,” Lisa said. “And it took my two nice quiet gay neighbors to wrestle you into submission. So now, I need to buy those guys a good bottle of wine and you need a massage.”
“I must have been out of my mind,” Taylor says, but this kind of thing has happened before. He sometimes become a wild man when he’s had too much drugs or alcohol.
“You’re over your head with the Bulgarian and his girls,” Lisa advises him. “They’re criminals, you’re an office worker. Okay? End of lecture.”
Taylor was just too uptight for massage, she decided. “No charge for a failed massage. There’s a robe on the back of the door.”