Dead Donny

“I would have done the waiter.” Marilyn and I were back at her place. I was sitting on the couch, her animals fluttering around. They say animals can sense distress. I was all kinds of distress. I was right to stop the extra activity, but my methods, well, they were fucked up.

“Have you ever done it like that?” Why did I ask her that? I looked away from her standing in the kitchen and out the little window over the couch.

“No. Not really. But I would have done it because I don’t think we should make the brothers mad. They scare me more than the waiter. The waiter I can handle. You scared me the most today.” I winced at the comment.

“You don’t have to be scared of me. I’m not going to lay a hand on you.” Just what did she think of me? Out of control? That was something I’d never been. But it seemed like control was a full-on or full -off thing. My full-off was bad. For me control off was face punching, career ending, store room destroying bad; no wonder she was afraid.

“I was afraid I’d done something to make you snap. Something wrong.” I looked over at her and then put my hand out. I wanted her to sit next to me on the couch. Would she?

Had I become the monster so many people saw when they saw the outside package I came in?

She gently took my hand and came over, plopping next to me with her legs curled up underneath her. She settled into the cushions, not unlike her cat. Whether or not she was unsure of my current state of emotional control, she relaxed.

“You didn’t do anything wrong. But you can’t have sex with anyone not pre-approved. You can’t be passed around. I won’t allow it. Petra won’t.” She let me keep her hand in mine. I studied our two hands for a moment. Hers was white, soft, and fine, mine rough, tanned even. She bruised easily, I’d already seen.

“Lincoln, are you going to be fired again?”

“It’s probably the surest bet in Vegas right now.” I said and sank into her couch. Some of the tension left me because right then we were just two people sitting together. The next step of her life, and mine would likely be away from one another. I decided not to think about it.

Marilyn leaned her head on my shoulder and I put an arm around hers.

“I need to keep this job, Lincoln.”

“I know, doll. I know.” I was in the way of her staying employed if I kept losing my shit. It was probably best I be fired. At least, until she had enough dough to accomplish her goals. I already did, saving enough over the years to buy my ranch. I’d done what I had to do. Why shouldn’t she be allowed to do the same?

I kissed the top of her head and let her rest on my shoulder for a while.

 At about 4 a.m., I got out of there. I used the crocheted afghan draped on the couch to cover her. Before I left, I looked down at the sleeping Leslie/Marilyn. Her cheeks puffed up a little as she slept, her hands curled into each other. I reached out to stroke her cheek but stopped. My rough hands would leave a mark, I feared.

I made sure her door was locked and got out of there.

I needed to think about what was next for me. Could I persuade Petra to keep me on with Marilyn? Was that a good idea for either of us? How did my focused and goal-oriented life turn into such a mess in such a short time? Blame it on a blonde. It’s always a blonde.

I was gassing up the truck and pondering my next move when my cell buzzed. I didn’t get too many texts: Petra, a few other associates, Garrity, not many people had my number. I liked it that way.

The text was from a number I didn’t recognize.

“This is going to cost you,” read the one-line message.

Then two more texts arrived in quick succession, the first with a video attached, the second with a link to a news story. What the fuck?

I clicked open the video link, thinking it was probably going to be a clip of Rick Astley. I fucking hated that RickRolled shit.

The clip was black and white, grainy, but unmistakable. It was in the stairwell of The D. It showed about one minute of me beating the shit out of Donny Barchek. Dammit. Never in my life had I hoped a video was going to be Rick Astley, but there it was.

I clicked open the next text, and it linked to the Las Vegas Sun News online. The headline turned my blood cold.

World Series of Gambling Champ Missing - Foul Play Suspected

The article explained Donny Barchek had stunned the poker world by not showing up to two recent events. It went on to say, no one, including the companies that sponsored him, had any idea where he was.

And neither did I. But that tape. Clearly it showed me beating the shit out of him. Who had it? Who were the texts from?

The next text came.

“Interesting viewing. That will be $250,000.” The message also included instructions on where to wire the cash.

This was about 1/8th of my entire savings. But I didn’t see much way around it until I could figure out who was doing this shit and how to stop them.

They had evidence of me beating up Donny Barchek, and who knew if that was the last time anyone had seen him? So I was going to pay. Instead of calling the bluff, I was going to pay some fucking blackmailer.

The tight fibers of my life, the ones I’d pulled, knotted, and double knotted, were unraveling, and I knew the only way to stop it was to get out of town. But I couldn’t. There was a reason to stay. There was a person that kept me there, that showed up even when I tried to sleep. And so I paid.

I needed time, and that cash would hopefully buy a few days while I sorted this out and found Barchek, or, at least, found out who wanted it to look like I killed him.

Wiring money was quick and easy, and by mid-morning the task was done and I was zeroing in on a list of people who might be blackmailing me, I was trying like hell to pull the threads back into place.

That’s when I got the call.

“Abe.” It was Petra. I had no play left to make with her this time.

“You are fired.” I expected it but hearing the words hurt more than I would have guessed. I’d retired only a short time ago. Fired? That felt different.

“Yes, I suppose I am.”

“In the coming days, if you are taken in for this Donny Barchek disaster, I will disavow you completely. There are no records of you working for me. And I expect you to keep Vallin and me out of it. Keep in mind my ability to tap into that nest egg of yours.”

“Is that a threat? Second one I’ve received today.” I clenched my jaw. I was stung by how easily Petra was able to cut me off and really control me if she needed.

“No, it is a promise.”

With that, the line went dead. Petra was done with me. And I was officially fired as Marilyn’s security.