Erin

 

My phone rings again. What is this, the tenth time today? It can only be one person.

 

Slash.

 

Slash has been calling me pretty much nonstop. And then, all of a sudden, yesterday, it stopped with a single, cryptic voicemail where he told me I should get out of town. And I’m thinking to myself, Who the fuck is he to tell me what to do? Where does he get off? He told me some shit was about to go down, but he didn’t elaborate. And, of course, he told me to stay the fuck away from Marcelo. The guy sure has a one-track mind, that’s for goddamn sure.

 

I take the phone out of my pocket to reject the call, but that’s when I see the number. It’s not Slash. Actually, I don’t know whose number that is, so instead, I swipe up to take the phone call and bring the receiver to my ear.

 

“Hello?” I ask, interested in who might be on the other line.

 

“Is this Erin?” a man’s voice asks.

 

“Yeah, sorry, who’s this?” I say, only after I say it realizing that I probably shouldn’t have immediately confirmed that it was me.

 

“It’s Marcelo. How’s it going?”

 

“Marcelo?” I ask, a bit perturbed. “Uh… how did you get this number?”

 

“I have my ways,” he tells me cryptically. “So listen, do you have a few minutes to swing by the Red Club? I was wondering if we could talk.”

 

“Talk? What about?”

 

“Well,” he says, taking his sweet time getting to the point, “the thing is, I’ve got a potential job for you to do.”

 

Wait, what? What could he possibly have for me? And a job? He’s calling it a ‘job’ now? That’s a little bit disturbing. I’m not sure I’m ready to be a full-fledged member of his or any other crime family. Besides, Slash did say to keep away from him. But then, what the hell does Slash know, anyway?

 

“What… what kind of job?” I question him.

 

“The kind I really need to talk to you about in person,” he says gently, almost invitingly. “Look, I know this isn’t really your scene, but I also know your mom is sick, and you could use the money. It would be great if you could just swing by the Red Club when you’ve got a few minutes. Do you think you could do it today?”

 

“I’ve got an early shift at my job, but I get off before the dinner rush. I could swing by and meet you on my way home. Will that work?”

 

“Sure, it will.” He sounds almost eager to see me. “I’m really happy. And I think you will be, too. See you then.”

 

He hangs up the phone, and I’m left holding my own phone in my hand, feeling rather dull. Does he have a thing for me? He certainly sounds like he does. And what could he possibly have to talk with me about? All I know is, there’s only so far I’m willing to go. I got lucky with Slash that first night, and selling pills is all fine and well, but if he thinks I’m going to be sucked into a life of crime, he’s sadly, sadly mistaken.

 

Still, he’s not wrong that I could use the money, especially given my new predicament. I need all the money I can get if I’m going to carry this baby to term and raise it. I’m honestly wondering if I should tell Slash, but even if I should, I’m just not ready to do that yet. Besides, the last thing I want is for my son or daughter to be caught up in a life of crime, especially the one I’m increasingly finding myself wrapped up in – which I’ve managed to do all by myself, without Slash really influencing anything.

 

My shift is a busy one, so the day flies by. By the time I’m ready to get off, I’m in a bit of a pissy mood. The tips today were almost universally terrible, so I’m only walking out after a six-hour shift with about $60 – not exactly the kind of money that’s going to help me raise a baby.

 

As I pile into my beat-up car, I can’t help but think how much more receptive I’m going to be to Marcelo’s offer, whatever it is, after a day like today. I just can’t stand the idea of having to keep scrounging and begging for tips, as if that’s going to help me pay off my mom’s debts and take care of a baby. That wouldn’t even cover daycare!

 

I sit there in the front seat and let myself sob a little bit. This sucks. This really, really sucks – what I’m being driven to do. But after a couple minutes and a few more muffled cries, I wipe my eyes, screw up my courage, and turn the car engine over. I’m going to the Red Club to see Marcelo. Hopefully, he’s going to offer me something I can definitively use to make some actual cash.

 

I hope he’s not hoping to pimp me out.

 

Again.

 

When I get to the Red Club, I slowly pull myself out of the car and walk in. Marcelo is already seated at the bar. Cooper’s there, along with some rather large, hulking guys flanking Marcelo. I’m not really sure what to think, but Marcelo’s never been threatening before, so I see no reason to worry, at least not right now.

 

“Hey, darlin’!” Marcelo beams. “How’s it going today?”

 

“Honestly? I’ve had better days.”

 

“Aww, what’s wrong, sugar?” He invites me to sit down at the bar with him. “Let me get you a drink. You like whiskey, right?”

 

“No, thanks,” I reply, concerned a bit about the baby and not wanting to invite any unwanted attraction to myself in the presence of these huge bodyguards or whatever they are. “So, you, uh, you wanted to talk?”

 

“I did.” He takes a sip of his own drink and puts the glass down on the bar. He then reaches into his jacket and pulls out a stack of bills. “Listen, this is five thousand dollars right here. I’m willing to give it all to you for any information you have on Slash’s whereabouts.”

 

“Slash’s… whereabouts?”

 

“Where he is, Erin. I need to know. I need to get to him. He… took something from me, and I need to get it back. I also want to say that I wasn’t exactly thrilled with how we left things the other day. I feel that I may have been rude. For that, I apologize.”

 

“No need to apologize,” I say, waving my hand dismissively towards him. “I just don’t want to get in the middle of anything between you and Slash or anybody else. And I can assure you, Slash and I are not together.”

 

“You’re not?” he asks, feigning surprise. “But why not?”

 

“No offense,” I tell him, swallowing hard, “but this lifestyle is… it’s just not for me.”

 

To my surprise, he laughs – a hearty belly laugh that echoes throughout the room. “Now, darlin’, that’s something I can drink to.” He slams his hand down on the bar. “Cooper! Get this lady a drink, and let’s toast to what I’m hoping will be a beautiful business relationship.”

 

“No, really,” I say, putting my hand over the glass Cooper has given me. “I really can’t.”

 

“Come on,” Marcelo insists, “just one drink. It’s on the house, right, Cooper?’

 

“You bet, boss,” Cooper agrees.

 

“No, I can’t, I – I just can’t,” I repeat.

 

“What? Are you pregnant or something?” Marcelo jokes.

 

For a moment, I consider telling him the truth, but then, surprising even myself, I just laugh. “Pregnant?” I say in a more forced tone than I intend. “Me? No way. I’ve been… that was my first time, remember? And no one gets pregnant their first time.”

 

Marcelo arches an eyebrow. “Holy shit… you are pregnant, aren’t you?”

 

I look down at the ground and don’t answer, but I know my silence gives me away.

 

“Well I’ll be goddamned,” Marcelo adds. “That makes this all the sweeter. Not for you, of course, darlin’, but for what we’re about to use you for.”

 

Suddenly sensing danger, I look up at Marcelo. “Use me for?” I ask, an undoubtedly frightened look on my face. “What do you mean, ‘use me for’, Marcelo?”

 

Marcelo doesn’t answer me directly. Instead, he turns to the two goons standing behind him. “Frankie, Roadhouse, do your thing,” he instructs them.

 

All of a sudden, the two big guys are flanking me, wordlessly motioning for me to get up.

 

“What – what’s happening?” I ask as the room starts to spin around me.

 

“Look, really, it’s nothing personal,” Marcelo tells me calmly, as Frankie and Roadhouse force me to my knees. “It’s just that I know Slash has a thing for you, and right now, you’re the only way I know of getting to him.”

 

“But I barely know him!” I say, tears stinging my eyes. “Honestly! I only ever slept with him that one time. And I ended it a few days ago. Whatever you’re looking for, I just don’t have it.”

 

“Ah, but you see,” Marcelo says, with the simplicity of a supervillain in a comic book movie, “we need a way of getting Slash to see reason. He took something from us.”

 

“What?” I demand, even though I’m in no position to do so. “What did he take from you that’s so precious, so important?”

 

“He and his cronies took some drugs from us, like the ones you brought me a few days ago. As you can imagine, we’re in a business, Erin, and it’s not nice when one business steals from another. But Slash has been laying low since the incident. We haven’t been able to find him. So, we’re going to use another route. We’re going to use you.”

 

“Why me, Marcelo?” I plead. “Why not just scope out his apartment or do whatever it is you do with the Savage Hearts? Why do I have to be a part of this?”

 

“Because this is how it’s done!” Marcelo shouts, his eyes bulging and the vein in his neck throbbing. “I don’t want a war with the Savage Hearts – a war we would almost certainly lose, or at least one that would devastate us as much as them. And they don’t want one, either, if I know their president, Jerome – and believe me, I know him very, very well. So, we have to do this another way. The only way I can get back what’s mine is to take something that’s his. And like it or not, little lady, you are his.”

 

“I’m not,” I say, now crying a little bit. “I’m not his. I swear. Marcelo, please. I’m pregnant. I need good food, prenatal vitamins, maybe medicine—”

 

“That makes it all the better, don’t you see?” he informs me. “Does Slash know you’re pregnant with his child?”

 

I shake my head. “No. I haven’t talked to him since I found out.”

 

“Ooh, this is just too perfect then,” he says, an evil look on his face. “Frankie, take her phone, would you?”

 

“But – I can’t – my mom—”

 

“Your mom will be fine while we hold on to you, Erin,” he says, and it almost sounds like he’s trying to reassure me. “You will be cared for while you’re our… guest. We’re not monsters or savages. We are human beings, and you will be treated as such. But I’m afraid you’re going to have to stay with us until your man comes and finds you.”

 

“Please, Marcelo,” I beg him, “don’t do this. I’ll—” I swallow hard, knowing that what comes next may lead to my very undoing. “I’ll do whatever you want. If… if you know what I mean.”

 

Marcelo laughs maniacally. “Oh, come on, Erin.” He grins down at me. “You mean sex? You want to have sex with me?”

 

“If – if you want to. If you’ll let me go. If that’s what it takes, I’d rather—”

 

Marcelo puts a finger on my lips to shush me. “Shh,” he murmurs. “Erin, don’t worry your pretty, freckled little head about all this. I don’t want to fuck you. I have no interest in fucking you. You’re not really my type. No, I’m planning to use you to get to Slash, no more, no less. And as I’ve said, while you’re a guest at the Red Club, you will be treated fairly. Roadhouse, take her to the basement. Frankie, go out and get some food for the lady. And some – what were they called? – prenatal vitamins from the pharmacy. We want this young woman to feel comfortable, don’t we?”

 

“Yeah, boss,” Frankie replies.

 

“Now, Erin,” Marcelo continues as Roadhouse holds my arms behind my back and walks me towards the steps leading to the basement, “I want you to know, for real, there’s nothing personal about this. I’m so sorry it had to come to this. But you may want to reconsider who you, shall we say, go into business with from now on.”

 

“I already am,” I say, fuming. “I should have never trusted you, Marcelo.”

 

“Oh!” He laughs. “That stings me. I’m so sorry you feel that way. But I’m going to let it go. Do you know why, Erin?” I shake my head. “Because I like you so damn much. There’s a sweet innocence about you that we don’t often see here in the Red Club. Good girls don’t come around here very often.”

 

“I’m not a good girl,” I tell him. Not anymore, at least, I continue in my head.

 

“Well then, maybe I’m wrong about you. But whatever. Roadhouse, take her away. Erin, I’ll send Frankie down with the vitamins and some food when he gets back. You be a good girl now, okay?”

 

I try to struggle as much as I can against Roadhouse, but it’s no use; he’s got at least a hundred and fifty pounds and about eight inches on me. He takes me down the stairs to the basement, which is more of a cellar, windowless and damp. There’s a small single bed set up, but that’s all. It looks desolate.

 

Roadhouse lets me go, and I sit down on the bed. “I’ll be upstairs,” he says gruffly. “Don’t you dare try anything because even if I don’t want to hurt you, I will if I have to. Get me?”

 

I nod.

 

He marches back upstairs, and I watch him go. The door closes, and I’m left with a single halogen light bulb as my only source of light in this hellhole. I sit on the bed and sob, wondering when my life went so very, very wrong.