Chapter Eight
Snake
I didn’t want to come out with Bruno and Salvatore to the bar tonight, but I did, figuring it was the best way to get my mind off Jess. That stuck up bitch thinks she can say no to me? I’ve never had a woman talk to me the way she did. In fact, if she was a man, I’d sic Bruno on her, or knock her out myself.
But no, she’s a chick, and a hot one at that. I wish I could forget about her, but her resistance only makes me more determined. I want to strip that pantsuit off of her, and feel her submit as I run my tongue all over her body. I want to pull her hair as she deep throats my cock, messing up that neat little bun of hers. How fucking sweet would that be, to see her attitude dissolve while I commanded her body. I’d tie her to the bed, use my fingers and tongue to make her come over and over again, to make her beg for more. That would serve her right.
“What’s with you?” Bruno asks, after returning with a fresh round.
I shrug off his question, take a swig of cold beer, and look around the bar. This is another one of “our” places, something that can’t be searched for on Yelp. It’s down a flight of stairs in the basement of an old building, and requires a membership to get in. Tonight, like most nights, it’s full of wise guys and working girls. I scan the available pussy, but no one appeals to me.
I came here to forget about Jess, but I still can’t stop thinking about her. My thoughts alternate between her squirming naked beneath me, to her by my side, the two of us rising to the top, the king and queen of the criminal underworld. That’s the kind of woman I need, a badass who doesn’t flinch at danger, who can handle this life I’ve chosen. Too bad she’s a frigid bitch.
And I’ve been thinking about those credit cards, and I’ve started to form a plan. If my numbers are right, we stand to make a lot of cash. Maybe a payday will help melt some of Jess’ iciness, and I’ll get my chance.
Salvatore sips his beer, looking around with that cold stare of his. “This place is crawling with Lombardi’s. Look at them.” He gestures to a trio of greasy haired wise guys wearing suits that would be perfect for middle school picture day. One of them bends to snort a line of coke off of the bar. “They think they’re hot shit because the Mariano’s have fallen on hard times.”
“You think we need to worry about them?” I ask.
“They could try something,” Salvatore says. “Try to kick us while we’re down. That’s what I’d be thinking if I was one of them.” He scowls towards them with a gaze so cold it could cut steel.
“Easy,” Bruno says. “Monty says not to start any shit with them. Focus your mind on all the delectable ass.”
“I can’t afford any of these women,” Salvatore says, then looks at me. “Thanks to you.”
“Since when do you need to pay for it?” Bruno asks.
Salvatore gives us a sideways smile. “I don’t. Just when they’re on the payroll, they’re more willing to experiment.”
“Experiment?” Bruno’s face crinkles in confusion. “What kind of shit are you into?”
“Power. Pain,” Salvatore says, calmly.
“Sick fuck,” Bruno says, laughing.
“I tell you what,” I say. “Take your pick. Put it on my tab.”
Salvatore looks at me with suspicion. “What the hell are you talking about? Don’t take on debt you can’t pay back.”
I crack my knuckles. “It’ll be fine. I’ve got something in the works.”
“Like what?” Salvatore says.
I lean forward, keeping my voice low. “Easy money. Low risk. I have the credit card numbers of thirty million people.”
“How the hell did you get that?” Bruno asks.
“I made connections with the right people. I’m playing the game. Tell me what you think of this. I’m thinking set up a shell company, something with a generic name. Make a small charge to a few million cards at a time, and rotate the rest out in batches. No one gets charged two months in a row, so they don’t notice. And if they do notice, it’s only a few bucks, so they won’t want to go to the hassle of calling the credit card company to contest it.”
Bruno and Salvatore listen carefully as I talk. When I finish, we sit in silence for a few moments. I can see in Salvatore’s glassy eyed stare that he’s mulling it over.
“Shit,” Salvatore says, finally. “That could work.”
I slap my hand against the table in celebration. “Could you put in a word for me with the capo? Get him excited about the idea before I go to him.”
“Sure. I’ll talk to my old man.” Salvatore’s attention has already drifted to a woman by the bar. “But first, I’m going to tie up that blonde over there, and make her my slave for the night.”
Salvatore gets up and strides over to the blonde. I don’t understand how she’s not freaked the fuck out by the way that guy looks at her. His eyes are laser focused on her, like he’s a lion looking at his next meal. But she’s a professional, so she’s receptive of him. They chat for a few moments before heading upstairs to the private rooms.
“Tell me the truth,” Bruno says. “How did you get that racket?”
I turn back to my beer. “Like I said, I made a connection with the right person.”
“Who is he?”
I sigh. Bruno’s going to find out sooner of later who I’m working with, so I might as well tell him.
“You remember that brunette number I snuck away with at the fight?”
“Yeah, I remember,” Bruno says. “The hot lawyer lady, or librarian.”
“She’s neither of those things,” I say. “She works at ShopSuite. She’s got some hoity-toity title up there. And she’s got access to every credit card number that’s ever been through their system.”
Bruno swings his massive arm up and rubs his face. “Jesus, Snake, what do you know about this girl?”
“Enough.”
“You’re not thinking with your cock, are you?”
I sip my beer and look at him out of the side of my eye. “Not exclusively.”
“Are you sure you can trust her?”
“Mostly,” I say, cocking my head. “Do you have any better ideas? If you do, I’d love to hear them.” Bruno is silent. “That’s what I thought. I don’t know how many more months the boss will let me come up empty handed.”
Bruno doesn’t have an answer to that, so he changes the subject. He’s tells me about the other night when he had to “talk to” a bar owner who was late on dues. This particular bar is located on a block where the Mariano’s have long provided protection in exchange for financial compensation. Apparently, the owner is new, and didn’t understand how things worked.
“You should’ve seen the guy’s face when I walked in,” Bruno says. “He’s some fucking investor, claiming he’s running a legitimate business. All I had to do was smash a barstool against the bar, and he was taking out his checkbook.”
“You’re a master of conflict resolution,” I say, clinking my beer against his.
Our toast is interrupted by a sharp, piercing scream coming from upstairs. Bruno and I look at each other for a second.
“Fucking Sal,” I say.
Bruno and I jump up from the table. The Lombardi’s are already way ahead of us, and they get to the room before we do. When we walk in, Salvatore’s surrounded by the greasy scumbags. He’s shirtless, with his pants and belt undone. One of the Lombardi’s has pulled a gun on him. Salvatore holds his hands up, talking to them calmly. The blonde he picked up is tied to the bed, completely naked. Bruno unties her, and throws her a sheet to cover herself with.
“You okay?” Bruno asks her.
She shrugs, then lights up a cigarette. “He wanted me to scream, to resist.” She takes a long drag, then points the burning end of the cigarette at Salvatore. “I still better get my fucking cash.”
“You will,” I say, then walk over to the Lombardi’s. The guy with the gun turns it on me. I don’t so much as flinch. “You heard the lady. She was just doing her job.”
The guy doesn’t lower his gun. He squints, like he’s considering whether to shoot me or not. He’s trying to scare me, but that’s not going to work. I take a step forward, so the barrel is inches away from my chest.
“You really want to spill blood here?” I say. “We’re all just here for a good time. Save it for the street.”
I knew the guy was fucking bluffing. He lowers his gun, but stares at me for a few tense moments. I feel Bruno behind me, getting ready to pound some ass. The Lombardi eventually backs away. One of them spits at my feet. Bruno starts for him, but I hold my arm out, stopping the beast.
“Easy,” I say to Bruno, then turn back to the Lombardi. “We good here?”
“We’re good,” that scum says. “For now.”
Salvatore stares after them as they leave the room, then turns to us.
“Thanks for the backup, boys,” Salvatore says, with the calmness of man who didn’t just have gun pointed at him. He flits his eyes over to the blonde. “Now, if you’ll excuse me.”
“We’ll leave you alone,” I say. “Just fucking keep it down.”
*
Jess
The frozen dinner spins around in my microwave. I can hear it popping and bubbling as the steam escapes the package. This isn’t my idea of a good dinner, but I don’t have the time or patience for anything else.
The microwave dings. I reach inside and remove my entree. Some of the sauce gets on my hand, burning my skin. I drop it on the counter, cursing. While I run the burn under some water, my mind travels to an alternate dimension, where Jake is still alive. There, I’m not battling food that’s been nuked in the microwave. I’m chopping vegetables, roasting chicken and potatoes, maybe baking my own bread. I’m preparing a meal for Jake and I, and our family.
The vision dims. I turn back to the oozing, piping hot excuse for food on my counter. This is my reality. I take it to the table, where I’ve poured apple juice into a tumbler glass. I’m well aware of how pathetic this is. The glass of apple juice looks just like the scotch Snake had offered me at his apartment, but I have to find comfort where I can find it.
I can only stomach half of the frozen dinner. After cleaning up a little, I go to the bathroom and draw a bath. I feel a little guilty for doing something as indulgent as soaking in a tub full of water, but there’s not much else I can do. My plan is in motion. All I have to do is wait.
I sink into the hot water, hoping to clear my head, at least for a little while. It works. I close my eyes, letting the tension release from my muscles. Just because I’m avenging Jake doesn’t mean I can’t enjoy myself once in a while.
But my mind quickly moves to the plan, to the details I’ve already spent hours obsessing over. From there, it’s a short jump to Snake. When I first think of him, my body tingles with anger. I clench my hands into fists. I can hardly wait for the next opportunity to tell him off, to put him in his place. I almost hope he tries to fuck me again, so I can shut him down, again.
I can see it now. He’ll give me that look, and move in close. He’ll put his hands on me like I’m something he owns. Maybe I’ll let him grab my ass. Maybe I’ll let him kiss me. He’ll press against me, like he always does, showing me he’s hard.
My inner thighs clench. I sit up abruptly, realizing that I’m not fantasizing about turning him down, I’m fantasizing about him. I bury my face in my wet hands. Snake is hot, there’s no use denying that, but it shouldn’t distract me. And if he knew who I really was, what I was really after, he’d want to kill me, not fuck me.
I get out of the still warm bath, and grab a towel. Crouching beneath the sink, I pry open the air conditioner vent. There, I find a photo album that contains the only evidence of my life before. While flipping through the pages, I can barely look at myself. In every photo, I’m smiling broadly, my face covered with loads of makeup, and my wavy hair straightened. I’m usually holding an alcoholic drink of some kind; cocktails, wine, a champagne flute. Who is that? Is that the real me? I feel like I’m looking at a dead woman.
I get to the photo of Jake and me. I’m beaming, holding my hand up to show my brand new engagement ring to the camera. It was a princess cut, three carat diamond. I remember at the time thinking it was a little small, and a little plain. There were no other diamonds or stones beside the main one. I want to pull myself out of the picture and give myself a good slap.
I look into Jake’s shining, blue eyes. My throat chokes up with tears, but I want to slap him too. He’s not without fault in this whole mess. I run my finger over his handsome face. As long as I live, I’ll never forget what I saw in that medical examiner’s office. He didn’t look like Jake. With his head, soft and bloody, he barely seemed human.
“Accidental death,” Dr. Stone, the medical examiner, had told me.
I feel the rage rising up inside of me again, fresh and raw.
My cell phone dings from the bedroom. I go in there to get it. It’s a text from Snake.
Tomorrow. 8pm. I’ll pick you up.
A cold smile creeps over my face. I’m close, so close. Soon, this will all be over. After I do what I need to do, I don’t care what happens to me. Taking the phone with me, I go back to the air conditioning vent. I reach my hand farther inside, and feel the small vial I’ve hidden there. I press it against my palm for a moment, then put it back into place.
My cell phone rings again. It’s already eight o’clock. I answer.
“Hi, Dad. Yep, everything’s great.”