Liar, page 13
“I’ll stop by the front office and grab an extra. Don’t worry about me.”
“Four-seven-two-three-three-nine,” I repeat again.
He smiles and gives me one more quick kiss. I watch as he disappears down the drive, and I know that I’m the one who put that extra pep in his step this morning. I wave as he backs out of the drive and then I close the door, leaning against it as I run through all the tasks that I need to get done before tonight.
Okay. What to do first? I need to find my phone. I spot my jacket on the bar and quickly fish out my phone. I scroll through all the recent numbers. There it is! I press call.
“Hello!” a familiar voice answers.
Swallowing hard, I close my eyes. Here goes nothing. “Derek? Hey. This is Billie.”
“Billie! Good morning. You’re up and at ’em pretty early today.”
“Yes, I had to come in to work early. Listen, I’m really sorry. But I have to leave town a few days for an assignment. Can I call you to reschedule lunch when I get back?”
He pauses. “Yeah. I mean, I was really looking forward to it. But it’s fine. No problem.”
“Great. I’ll talk to you when I get back. And, thank you.”
“No sweat. Talk to you, then.”
“Okay. Bye.”
I’m shaking when I hang up the phone. One task down. I pause, tapping my finger on my phone, trying to decide whether I should call one person, or six. I decide to start with one, Sami Longboat. I remember what she said at Gabby’s house, about not having a moment’s pause to take care of a scumbag that would hurt a woman like that. And, I remember the way she said it. I think she truly meant every word of it.
Unsure if she works late or prefers to just sleep in, I glance at the time. Maybe she’s an early riser, like me? I decide to take a chance. What the hell. Carpe Diem, right? I scroll through my contacts and find her number. My thumb shakes as it hovers above the call button. I finally force myself to press it.
“Hello?”
What the hell am I doing? “Sami?”
“Yeah. Who’s this?”
“It’s Billie. Billie Shaw.”
There’s a short silence while I’m sure she’s trying to remember who I am. Maybe this is a huge mistake?
“Oh! Billie! Good morning.”
“Good morning.”
“Sorry, this is just weird. I was actually going to call you today.”
“Really? You were?” That is weird.
“Yeah. I’m going to be over in your neck of the woods later this morning. You said your office is right off Fourth and Main. Right?”
“That’s right.”
“Well, I have to take care of some legal stuff for my mom. And, anyway, I’ll be right there by you at the lawyer’s office. So, I wondered if you might want to have lunch or something?”
I pause, unable to believe my good fortune.
“Don’t worry. Not the whole group. I just meant the two of us.” She laughs.
“Oh.” I laugh. “No. That’s actually perfect. I have something... um... something I want to talk to you about.”
“Oh? Sounds intriguing. How does twelve o’clock sound? I can meet you at Smitty’s.”
“That sounds great. I’ll be there.”
“Well, okay. See you then.” She hangs up.
Smitty’s at noon. I’ve driven by there a million times, but I’ve never actually stopped. The people who hang there really aren’t part of my clique. It’s usually just attorneys and judges and a few regular folks unlucky enough to be stuck at the courthouse during lunch hours. But, who cares? I’m not going for the ambiance, anyway.
One last call to make; I dial another number.
“Yeah.” Dave’s harsh, gravelly voice vibrates my eardrum.
“Hey, it’s me.”
“What’s doing, kid? You alright?”
“Yeah. I’m fine. Listen, I think I’m going to knock out that last sub for Albus Gray this morning and get it out of the way. You okay if I just see you after lunch?”
“Sure. That’s fine. But I wish you’d take Joe with you. He’s just sitting around on his ass doing nothing.”
What else is new? “No need. I’ll see you this afternoon.”
“You sure everything’s okay?”
“Yes. Everything’s fine. That last sub was just hanging over my head all weekend and it’s about to drive me crazy,” I lie like a pro. “I just want to finish them off.”
“Well, alright, then. But don’t linger there any longer than you have to. And, for God’s sake, Billie, don’t piss him off.”
“I’ll try not to.”
“Okay. I’ll see you later. Oh! And, stay away from Shelly’s.”
“Later.” I hang up.
I don’t know why, but I have a hard time lying to that man. Normally, it’s not a problem for me. I can lie to the best of them, and it doesn’t bother me at all. But he reminds me of my dad. I shake it off and turn to get my things together.
Okay. Keys. I need keys. I grab my jacket and shrug it over my shoulders, then pulling my hair up out of the collar and dropping it loosely down my back. No ponytail today. I can’t afford to look cutesie. I shove my hand into my jacket pocket, searching for my keys, and find everything but. My Taser, my phone, Kevin’s glasses... Ah. Kevin’s glasses. Perfect. I slide them on and spot my keys on the bar. I snatch them and head outside to get started.
On the road, I try to decide the best place to look for Albus. Odds are he’s at the gym, not because he works out, but because he deals a lot of drugs there. I’ll try there first. If I strike out, I’ll go to Shelly’s, even though Dave just told me not to. I dread it. I hate that place. I absolutely hate it. It doesn’t really bother me so much that it’s a titty bar. I mean, I couldn’t care less if a woman wants to flash her breasts for a living. If she has them, and she wants to flaunt them, more power to her. It’s the men who hang out there, the specific men who hang out there, that bother me. The Russian-mob-looking guys who sit around in booths all day, drinking and scowling like uni-balled roosters in a henhouse. They scare the hell out of me. Now, I’m not saying they are part of the Russian mob. But they are Russian, and they do appear to be cold-blooded killers. That’s close enough for me.
I can deal with them, though. I have to see Albus, and I have to see him today. He has something I need, and I’m determined to find him.
A few minutes later, I pull up at the gym, which is located on the dicey side of Roosevelt in a shabby, rundown strip mall. I get out, quickly scanning the parking lot, not really sure what kind of car Albus drives these days. I should have checked, because I don’t see anything here that stands out at me.
As I step around a couple of guys to get to the door, it’s obvious that they’re very familiar with Albus’ gym candy. Arms the size of both my thighs put together, veins straining against their taut skin, stretch marks, and heads that appear too small for their bodies—they have to be using ’Roids.
Leaving my shades on as I walk in, I spy the little creep who manages the place. I use the word “little” loosely here. Although he’s short, he’s a total muscle head. Even his muscles have muscles. And, he’s the guy to see if you want to know anything about the world of juicing.
“You here to work out?” he scoffs, knowing damn well that I’m not.
Oh, good. He remembers me. “I’m looking for Albus.”
“Well, he ain’t here. And I don’t exactly appreciate you coming around here at my place of business and harassing my customers.” He flexes at me, and I think I’m supposed to be scared.
“I’ll take that under advisement.” I turn to leave, disappointed and dreading my next stop. I see Muscle Head in the window glass, just standing there, all puffed up, and staring at my back.
Sighing, I start the car and pull out. This is probably not a good idea.
The parking lot at Shelly’s is packed, and it’s barely after nine in the morning. I walk to the door, taking off my glasses this time and hanging them on the front of my shirt as I enter. I take a deep breath as the door closes behind me, killing with it any glimmer of natural light that may have otherwise managed to seep in.
My eyes anchor on a young, curvaceous lady dancing half-naked on a large platform as soon as I walk in. She’s actually really good, and I can’t stop watching. And neither can the men huddled around their small tables, many of whom have their hands busy beneath their tabletops doing God only knows what. Others hold dollar bills in their chubby little fists, just waiting for an opportunity to slide it into her panties and cop a cheap feel.
“What can I get you?”
Startled, I turn around. “Oh. Um... Wild Turkey.”
He nods, plops a shot glass on the bar in front of me and reaches under the counter to grab a bottle. He pours it to the very top of the glass, until it’s overflowing, and then he tucks the bottle away again under the counter. I look at the brimming glass. Obviously, this guy likes me. I pick it up and slam it.
“Ahh.” I try to catch my breath, tapping my fingers on the bar beside the empty glass. “Another,” I croak.
Smiling, he retrieves the bottle, pouring the glass full again. He keeps the bottle in his hand this time. I hold the glass for a second, my eyes returning to the dancer on the stage, and then I slam it once more. The dancer wiggles and gyrates and then wraps her leg around a pole, sliding up and down as she flips her hair this way and that. She comes off the pole, her huge breasts demanding attention as she rolls her belly at the men. They whistle and wave, making rude suggestions and waving bills at her. I wonder if I could do that? I hear they make a fortune. No. I don’t have the body for it, not in the boob category, anyway.
“Another one?”
I turn my attention back to the really cute bartender. Probably a little older than me, he looks like a twenty-first century urban cowboy, minus the ten-gallon hat. Not really my type, but I flirt with him just the same. It’s always good to have the bartender on your side.
“Just one more.” I smile and hold up my index finger.
Filling up my glass one more time before placing the bottle back under the bar, he then leans against the counter and watches me intently. I pick up the glass and chug it like the others and then slam it on the bar, wiping my mouth with the back of my hand.
“You’re pretty good at that.” He smiles.
“Lots of practice.”
“You here for a job?”
“Would you laugh if I said yes?” I bat my lashes salaciously.
He chuckles. “Not at all. In fact, it might just make my day.”
Well, that boosts my ego.
“Well, I’m afraid I’m not going to make your day today. I’m actually looking for someone.”
“Father or Uncle?” He smiles.
“Baby Daddy. Maybe you know him? Albus Gray?”
His eyes flit nervously to a table near the back, and then he leans toward the bar shaking his head. “Whatever it is, let it go.”
Turning around, I search the tables for whatever ghouls have spooked my young cow-dude buddy. In no time at all, I find it. Albus sits at a table with three of the Russian goons talking intently while they all scowl at him. Fortunately, or unfortunately, not sure which, I’m starting to feel the effects of three shots of Wild Turkey, and bolster up the courage to head over.
Pausing briefly, I turn to the bartender and reassure him. “Thanks. It’s fine.”
He looks at me like I’m out of mind. Who knows? Maybe I am.
“Here.” I slap two twenties on the counter like I’m made of green stuff. I figure I’d better pay him now, in case I’m not able to make it back after I finish with Albus. Or after he finishes with me.
“Okay,” he says, wagging his head. “I hope you know what you’re doing.”
Me, too.
“Piece of cake.” I walk away, zigging and zagging through the half-empty tables, half tipsy for some reason as I make my way over to Albus and his pals.
They all look up at the time, but only Albus recognizes me. He whispers something to the others, and they laugh. Then, they all glare at me as I approach, particularly the Testiclops to my right.
“You have ze wrong table,” Testiclops informs me.
“I don’t think so. I need to speak to Albus.”
“Oh. We’re on a first-name basis, now? When did that happen?” Albus glowers at me, cracking open a peanut and throwing pieces of the shell on the floor.
Silently, we size each other up. He’s dressed in some kind of retro-looking polyester pimp suit that really sets off the gaudy hairpiece on his head. It looks like a squirrel crawled up there and died, and I almost want to laugh.
“I’m talking to you, little girl. Did I pop your cherry and forget about it or something? ’Cuz I don’t remember telling you that it’s okay to address me by my first name.”
He pops a peanut in his mouth and chews it with his mouth open. I figure he must be either drunk or trying to put on a good show for his mobster buddies. But, either way, I can tell this isn’t going to be pleasant.
“I’d like to discuss some business with you.”
Albus laughs, and the other three idiots chuckle, cutting their eyes at one another like I’m prize entertainment.
“I don’t have any business with you, honey. You’re boring me now. So run along.”
Digging the sub from my pocket, I snap it open. “But I have some business with you, Mr. Gray.”
Testiclops stands up and slaps the hell out of me before I even know what happened. He hits me so hard, I fly backward into a table and chairs stationed well behind us. Fuck! He’s fast for such a fat son-of-a-bitch. I struggle to get up, my ears ringing and stars dancing before my eyes like I’ve just been kicked in the head by a mule. I think I see Testiclops coming for me again.
“I can make this go away!” I shout, holding up the sub again, which I have somehow, miraculously, managed to hang on to.
Testiclops stops and turns to look at Albus. Albus nods, and Testiclops takes a step back, folding his arms and waiting for the word to punch my lights out, I guess. Well, if he’s trying to intimidate me, it’s certainly working.
Pulling myself to my feet, I try to ascertain whether I’ve suffered any damage to my brain or other major organs. Satisfied that at least nothing seems broken and, most importantly, I appear to still have all my teeth, I step back toward the table.
“Well, speak up, girl.”
Glancing around at the three assholes, it’s obvious they aren’t going anywhere. “Fine. I need a gun.”
“What do I look like? Smith and Wesson? Get the fuck outta here and go buy you one.”
“They don’t have the kind of I need.” My eyes hold his cold gaze.
“And what kind do you think you need?” he asks, finally.
“The untraceable kind.”
Albus stares at me, rubbing his lip with one hand and tapping his bony fingers on the table with the other.
“And you can make that disappear, like magic?” He snaps his fingers.
“I never found you.”
“How much cash do you have on you?”
With my race track winnings in my jacket pocket, I smile. “Enough.”
He scoffs and glances over at the goons, nodding. Then, he looks at me again.
“Give me three hundred dollars and make that thing go away.” He points at the sub in my hand. “Then, we have us a deal.”
“Two hundred dollars,” I argue, just for the hell of it.
He chuckles. “What’s your name?”
“Mary.”
He laughs, knowing damn well I’m lying. “Well, Mary. I guess we have a deal.”
I fold the sub back up and stuff it into my back pocket. Then, I reach my hand into my jacket pocket and pull out a thick wad of cash, peeling off two hundred-dollar bills as Albus watches, smiling.
Tossing the money on the table, I watch as he picks it up. Testiclops eyes me irritably while the other Russian gets up and disappears through a door behind the stage.
“I don’t know what you plan to do with it, honey, but I’m only going to warn you once. You ever mention where you got it, and I’ll kill you. You understand me. Right?”
Silently, I nod while trying not to piss my pants.
Russian Guy comes back to the table sporting a small bag with a Macy’s logo on it. He places it on the table with a “clunk,” and Albus pushes it toward me. I pick it up without looking and stuff it under my arm.
“Nice doing business with you.” I glare at Testiclops, and Albus laughs.
“Okay. Enough,” he says, dismissing me. “And don’t let me see you in here again,” he calls as I walk away toward the bar.
I’m tempted to fly him the bird, but my ears have only just now stopped ringing. And I don’t think I should push my luck right now.
The cowboy bartender looks up from wiping the counter as I walk past. He shakes his head like he can’t believe what I just did. I smile at him, wincing from the searing pain in my lip, and then hit the exit.
Chapter Fifteen
Damn! The bright sunlight burns my eyes like I’m three-quarters vampire or something. I squint, trying to get used to daylight again. My lip feels like it’s about to bust wide open. I grab Kevin’s glasses from my shirt, thankful that I still have them and they didn’t get crushed, and wrangle them on my face. I see very quickly that I’ve managed to get them spattered with crap so I peel them back off to wipe them. I’m surprised to see that it’s my blood. Shit. And I liked this shirt.
Climbing back into the car, I slide the Macy’s bag under the passenger’s seat before doing a rapid time check and finding that I still have almost two hours before I need to be at Smitty’s to meet Sami. A quick glance at my shirt confirms that I need to get cleaned up first.
The buzz I had going inside the club has faded a bit, but there’s no doubt that I can still feel the effects from all those shots. After debating for a moment, I step out of the car and look around. I can’t go back inside the club. That would really be pushing my luck and besides, I’d probably end up ordering another shot instead of coffee. There’s a Pancake House a little ways down the freeway, so I hike up my pants and start walking.
“Four-seven-two-three-three-nine,” I repeat again.
He smiles and gives me one more quick kiss. I watch as he disappears down the drive, and I know that I’m the one who put that extra pep in his step this morning. I wave as he backs out of the drive and then I close the door, leaning against it as I run through all the tasks that I need to get done before tonight.
Okay. What to do first? I need to find my phone. I spot my jacket on the bar and quickly fish out my phone. I scroll through all the recent numbers. There it is! I press call.
“Hello!” a familiar voice answers.
Swallowing hard, I close my eyes. Here goes nothing. “Derek? Hey. This is Billie.”
“Billie! Good morning. You’re up and at ’em pretty early today.”
“Yes, I had to come in to work early. Listen, I’m really sorry. But I have to leave town a few days for an assignment. Can I call you to reschedule lunch when I get back?”
He pauses. “Yeah. I mean, I was really looking forward to it. But it’s fine. No problem.”
“Great. I’ll talk to you when I get back. And, thank you.”
“No sweat. Talk to you, then.”
“Okay. Bye.”
I’m shaking when I hang up the phone. One task down. I pause, tapping my finger on my phone, trying to decide whether I should call one person, or six. I decide to start with one, Sami Longboat. I remember what she said at Gabby’s house, about not having a moment’s pause to take care of a scumbag that would hurt a woman like that. And, I remember the way she said it. I think she truly meant every word of it.
Unsure if she works late or prefers to just sleep in, I glance at the time. Maybe she’s an early riser, like me? I decide to take a chance. What the hell. Carpe Diem, right? I scroll through my contacts and find her number. My thumb shakes as it hovers above the call button. I finally force myself to press it.
“Hello?”
What the hell am I doing? “Sami?”
“Yeah. Who’s this?”
“It’s Billie. Billie Shaw.”
There’s a short silence while I’m sure she’s trying to remember who I am. Maybe this is a huge mistake?
“Oh! Billie! Good morning.”
“Good morning.”
“Sorry, this is just weird. I was actually going to call you today.”
“Really? You were?” That is weird.
“Yeah. I’m going to be over in your neck of the woods later this morning. You said your office is right off Fourth and Main. Right?”
“That’s right.”
“Well, I have to take care of some legal stuff for my mom. And, anyway, I’ll be right there by you at the lawyer’s office. So, I wondered if you might want to have lunch or something?”
I pause, unable to believe my good fortune.
“Don’t worry. Not the whole group. I just meant the two of us.” She laughs.
“Oh.” I laugh. “No. That’s actually perfect. I have something... um... something I want to talk to you about.”
“Oh? Sounds intriguing. How does twelve o’clock sound? I can meet you at Smitty’s.”
“That sounds great. I’ll be there.”
“Well, okay. See you then.” She hangs up.
Smitty’s at noon. I’ve driven by there a million times, but I’ve never actually stopped. The people who hang there really aren’t part of my clique. It’s usually just attorneys and judges and a few regular folks unlucky enough to be stuck at the courthouse during lunch hours. But, who cares? I’m not going for the ambiance, anyway.
One last call to make; I dial another number.
“Yeah.” Dave’s harsh, gravelly voice vibrates my eardrum.
“Hey, it’s me.”
“What’s doing, kid? You alright?”
“Yeah. I’m fine. Listen, I think I’m going to knock out that last sub for Albus Gray this morning and get it out of the way. You okay if I just see you after lunch?”
“Sure. That’s fine. But I wish you’d take Joe with you. He’s just sitting around on his ass doing nothing.”
What else is new? “No need. I’ll see you this afternoon.”
“You sure everything’s okay?”
“Yes. Everything’s fine. That last sub was just hanging over my head all weekend and it’s about to drive me crazy,” I lie like a pro. “I just want to finish them off.”
“Well, alright, then. But don’t linger there any longer than you have to. And, for God’s sake, Billie, don’t piss him off.”
“I’ll try not to.”
“Okay. I’ll see you later. Oh! And, stay away from Shelly’s.”
“Later.” I hang up.
I don’t know why, but I have a hard time lying to that man. Normally, it’s not a problem for me. I can lie to the best of them, and it doesn’t bother me at all. But he reminds me of my dad. I shake it off and turn to get my things together.
Okay. Keys. I need keys. I grab my jacket and shrug it over my shoulders, then pulling my hair up out of the collar and dropping it loosely down my back. No ponytail today. I can’t afford to look cutesie. I shove my hand into my jacket pocket, searching for my keys, and find everything but. My Taser, my phone, Kevin’s glasses... Ah. Kevin’s glasses. Perfect. I slide them on and spot my keys on the bar. I snatch them and head outside to get started.
On the road, I try to decide the best place to look for Albus. Odds are he’s at the gym, not because he works out, but because he deals a lot of drugs there. I’ll try there first. If I strike out, I’ll go to Shelly’s, even though Dave just told me not to. I dread it. I hate that place. I absolutely hate it. It doesn’t really bother me so much that it’s a titty bar. I mean, I couldn’t care less if a woman wants to flash her breasts for a living. If she has them, and she wants to flaunt them, more power to her. It’s the men who hang out there, the specific men who hang out there, that bother me. The Russian-mob-looking guys who sit around in booths all day, drinking and scowling like uni-balled roosters in a henhouse. They scare the hell out of me. Now, I’m not saying they are part of the Russian mob. But they are Russian, and they do appear to be cold-blooded killers. That’s close enough for me.
I can deal with them, though. I have to see Albus, and I have to see him today. He has something I need, and I’m determined to find him.
A few minutes later, I pull up at the gym, which is located on the dicey side of Roosevelt in a shabby, rundown strip mall. I get out, quickly scanning the parking lot, not really sure what kind of car Albus drives these days. I should have checked, because I don’t see anything here that stands out at me.
As I step around a couple of guys to get to the door, it’s obvious that they’re very familiar with Albus’ gym candy. Arms the size of both my thighs put together, veins straining against their taut skin, stretch marks, and heads that appear too small for their bodies—they have to be using ’Roids.
Leaving my shades on as I walk in, I spy the little creep who manages the place. I use the word “little” loosely here. Although he’s short, he’s a total muscle head. Even his muscles have muscles. And, he’s the guy to see if you want to know anything about the world of juicing.
“You here to work out?” he scoffs, knowing damn well that I’m not.
Oh, good. He remembers me. “I’m looking for Albus.”
“Well, he ain’t here. And I don’t exactly appreciate you coming around here at my place of business and harassing my customers.” He flexes at me, and I think I’m supposed to be scared.
“I’ll take that under advisement.” I turn to leave, disappointed and dreading my next stop. I see Muscle Head in the window glass, just standing there, all puffed up, and staring at my back.
Sighing, I start the car and pull out. This is probably not a good idea.
The parking lot at Shelly’s is packed, and it’s barely after nine in the morning. I walk to the door, taking off my glasses this time and hanging them on the front of my shirt as I enter. I take a deep breath as the door closes behind me, killing with it any glimmer of natural light that may have otherwise managed to seep in.
My eyes anchor on a young, curvaceous lady dancing half-naked on a large platform as soon as I walk in. She’s actually really good, and I can’t stop watching. And neither can the men huddled around their small tables, many of whom have their hands busy beneath their tabletops doing God only knows what. Others hold dollar bills in their chubby little fists, just waiting for an opportunity to slide it into her panties and cop a cheap feel.
“What can I get you?”
Startled, I turn around. “Oh. Um... Wild Turkey.”
He nods, plops a shot glass on the bar in front of me and reaches under the counter to grab a bottle. He pours it to the very top of the glass, until it’s overflowing, and then he tucks the bottle away again under the counter. I look at the brimming glass. Obviously, this guy likes me. I pick it up and slam it.
“Ahh.” I try to catch my breath, tapping my fingers on the bar beside the empty glass. “Another,” I croak.
Smiling, he retrieves the bottle, pouring the glass full again. He keeps the bottle in his hand this time. I hold the glass for a second, my eyes returning to the dancer on the stage, and then I slam it once more. The dancer wiggles and gyrates and then wraps her leg around a pole, sliding up and down as she flips her hair this way and that. She comes off the pole, her huge breasts demanding attention as she rolls her belly at the men. They whistle and wave, making rude suggestions and waving bills at her. I wonder if I could do that? I hear they make a fortune. No. I don’t have the body for it, not in the boob category, anyway.
“Another one?”
I turn my attention back to the really cute bartender. Probably a little older than me, he looks like a twenty-first century urban cowboy, minus the ten-gallon hat. Not really my type, but I flirt with him just the same. It’s always good to have the bartender on your side.
“Just one more.” I smile and hold up my index finger.
Filling up my glass one more time before placing the bottle back under the bar, he then leans against the counter and watches me intently. I pick up the glass and chug it like the others and then slam it on the bar, wiping my mouth with the back of my hand.
“You’re pretty good at that.” He smiles.
“Lots of practice.”
“You here for a job?”
“Would you laugh if I said yes?” I bat my lashes salaciously.
He chuckles. “Not at all. In fact, it might just make my day.”
Well, that boosts my ego.
“Well, I’m afraid I’m not going to make your day today. I’m actually looking for someone.”
“Father or Uncle?” He smiles.
“Baby Daddy. Maybe you know him? Albus Gray?”
His eyes flit nervously to a table near the back, and then he leans toward the bar shaking his head. “Whatever it is, let it go.”
Turning around, I search the tables for whatever ghouls have spooked my young cow-dude buddy. In no time at all, I find it. Albus sits at a table with three of the Russian goons talking intently while they all scowl at him. Fortunately, or unfortunately, not sure which, I’m starting to feel the effects of three shots of Wild Turkey, and bolster up the courage to head over.
Pausing briefly, I turn to the bartender and reassure him. “Thanks. It’s fine.”
He looks at me like I’m out of mind. Who knows? Maybe I am.
“Here.” I slap two twenties on the counter like I’m made of green stuff. I figure I’d better pay him now, in case I’m not able to make it back after I finish with Albus. Or after he finishes with me.
“Okay,” he says, wagging his head. “I hope you know what you’re doing.”
Me, too.
“Piece of cake.” I walk away, zigging and zagging through the half-empty tables, half tipsy for some reason as I make my way over to Albus and his pals.
They all look up at the time, but only Albus recognizes me. He whispers something to the others, and they laugh. Then, they all glare at me as I approach, particularly the Testiclops to my right.
“You have ze wrong table,” Testiclops informs me.
“I don’t think so. I need to speak to Albus.”
“Oh. We’re on a first-name basis, now? When did that happen?” Albus glowers at me, cracking open a peanut and throwing pieces of the shell on the floor.
Silently, we size each other up. He’s dressed in some kind of retro-looking polyester pimp suit that really sets off the gaudy hairpiece on his head. It looks like a squirrel crawled up there and died, and I almost want to laugh.
“I’m talking to you, little girl. Did I pop your cherry and forget about it or something? ’Cuz I don’t remember telling you that it’s okay to address me by my first name.”
He pops a peanut in his mouth and chews it with his mouth open. I figure he must be either drunk or trying to put on a good show for his mobster buddies. But, either way, I can tell this isn’t going to be pleasant.
“I’d like to discuss some business with you.”
Albus laughs, and the other three idiots chuckle, cutting their eyes at one another like I’m prize entertainment.
“I don’t have any business with you, honey. You’re boring me now. So run along.”
Digging the sub from my pocket, I snap it open. “But I have some business with you, Mr. Gray.”
Testiclops stands up and slaps the hell out of me before I even know what happened. He hits me so hard, I fly backward into a table and chairs stationed well behind us. Fuck! He’s fast for such a fat son-of-a-bitch. I struggle to get up, my ears ringing and stars dancing before my eyes like I’ve just been kicked in the head by a mule. I think I see Testiclops coming for me again.
“I can make this go away!” I shout, holding up the sub again, which I have somehow, miraculously, managed to hang on to.
Testiclops stops and turns to look at Albus. Albus nods, and Testiclops takes a step back, folding his arms and waiting for the word to punch my lights out, I guess. Well, if he’s trying to intimidate me, it’s certainly working.
Pulling myself to my feet, I try to ascertain whether I’ve suffered any damage to my brain or other major organs. Satisfied that at least nothing seems broken and, most importantly, I appear to still have all my teeth, I step back toward the table.
“Well, speak up, girl.”
Glancing around at the three assholes, it’s obvious they aren’t going anywhere. “Fine. I need a gun.”
“What do I look like? Smith and Wesson? Get the fuck outta here and go buy you one.”
“They don’t have the kind of I need.” My eyes hold his cold gaze.
“And what kind do you think you need?” he asks, finally.
“The untraceable kind.”
Albus stares at me, rubbing his lip with one hand and tapping his bony fingers on the table with the other.
“And you can make that disappear, like magic?” He snaps his fingers.
“I never found you.”
“How much cash do you have on you?”
With my race track winnings in my jacket pocket, I smile. “Enough.”
He scoffs and glances over at the goons, nodding. Then, he looks at me again.
“Give me three hundred dollars and make that thing go away.” He points at the sub in my hand. “Then, we have us a deal.”
“Two hundred dollars,” I argue, just for the hell of it.
He chuckles. “What’s your name?”
“Mary.”
He laughs, knowing damn well I’m lying. “Well, Mary. I guess we have a deal.”
I fold the sub back up and stuff it into my back pocket. Then, I reach my hand into my jacket pocket and pull out a thick wad of cash, peeling off two hundred-dollar bills as Albus watches, smiling.
Tossing the money on the table, I watch as he picks it up. Testiclops eyes me irritably while the other Russian gets up and disappears through a door behind the stage.
“I don’t know what you plan to do with it, honey, but I’m only going to warn you once. You ever mention where you got it, and I’ll kill you. You understand me. Right?”
Silently, I nod while trying not to piss my pants.
Russian Guy comes back to the table sporting a small bag with a Macy’s logo on it. He places it on the table with a “clunk,” and Albus pushes it toward me. I pick it up without looking and stuff it under my arm.
“Nice doing business with you.” I glare at Testiclops, and Albus laughs.
“Okay. Enough,” he says, dismissing me. “And don’t let me see you in here again,” he calls as I walk away toward the bar.
I’m tempted to fly him the bird, but my ears have only just now stopped ringing. And I don’t think I should push my luck right now.
The cowboy bartender looks up from wiping the counter as I walk past. He shakes his head like he can’t believe what I just did. I smile at him, wincing from the searing pain in my lip, and then hit the exit.
Chapter Fifteen
Damn! The bright sunlight burns my eyes like I’m three-quarters vampire or something. I squint, trying to get used to daylight again. My lip feels like it’s about to bust wide open. I grab Kevin’s glasses from my shirt, thankful that I still have them and they didn’t get crushed, and wrangle them on my face. I see very quickly that I’ve managed to get them spattered with crap so I peel them back off to wipe them. I’m surprised to see that it’s my blood. Shit. And I liked this shirt.
Climbing back into the car, I slide the Macy’s bag under the passenger’s seat before doing a rapid time check and finding that I still have almost two hours before I need to be at Smitty’s to meet Sami. A quick glance at my shirt confirms that I need to get cleaned up first.
The buzz I had going inside the club has faded a bit, but there’s no doubt that I can still feel the effects from all those shots. After debating for a moment, I step out of the car and look around. I can’t go back inside the club. That would really be pushing my luck and besides, I’d probably end up ordering another shot instead of coffee. There’s a Pancake House a little ways down the freeway, so I hike up my pants and start walking.
