by Nova Rain
“I have a feeling we’re not going to find that sweet Beamer in that lot,” Joe murmured, his eyes on rows of vehicles.
“There’s only one way to find out.” I replied, turning left and into the lot. In a matter of seconds, his prediction came true. I scanned the area for Ava’s BMW, but it was nowhere to be seen. Finding a space between a green Honda and a white Ford, I parked my Cadillac.
“Boys, we need to keep a low profile,” Joe advised. “I don’t think we should go in.”
“Then how do we talk to anyone?” I wondered, shoving my hands into the pocket of my coat.
“We wait for one of the strippers to show up,” Joe suggested, his tone calm. “They’re more likely to talk than Ava’s old bosses.”
“Old…?” I scoffed, dragging my gaze away from him. “Not really. I doubt she ever quit.”
“That’s because you didn’t see her when she did,” Joe remarked, his jaw hardening. “She came by the house with a bottle of champagne and told us that very night. She was all smiles, because she’d finally found a way out of that crap. When she left, Michelle told me she’d never seen her happier.”
“Ahem…” Bryan cleared his throat, drawing our attention. A blue Cherokee had just rolled into the lot, its female driver wearing a piece of fur around her neck. Joe strode past me and turned in her direction, blocking her path.
“Hey!” she yelled, slamming her horn. “Move out of my way!”
I tapped my fingers on the passenger window and leaned towards her SUV.
“What?!” she groaned, rolling down her window.
“Hi, honey.” I smiled down at her. “Do you mind if I ask you a couple of questions? I promise it won’t take long.”
“Are you a cop?” she shouted as I leaned my elbows on the windowsill.
“Do we look like cops to you?” I answered with a question of my own. “What’s your name, sweetheart?”
“Trinity,” she said, assuming a mellower tone. “Make it snappy.”
“I’d like to know if a brunette still works here,” I stated, attempting a serious voice. “You know her by the name ‘Peaches.’ Does that ring any bells?”
“Ava hasn’t worked here since mid-January,” Trinity responded. “She’s not forgotten us, though. She’s still the girls’ main supplier.”
“Of what?”
“Cocaine.” That single word tore any sense of relief to shreds. “Some of us need a high to go on stage. Not me by the way.”
“Thanks,” I muttered and tapped the hood of the Cherokee, before straightening myself up. “Shit!” My stentorian voice echoed into nothingness.
“This is insane,” Bryan whispered, staring at me as Joe shook his head in disapproval.
“So, she’s doing the one thing we never did,” I spoke in a weak voice, shifting my attention to Joe, “dealing drugs.”
“There’s got to be a good explanation for this,” he assumed, running his hand through his hair.
“Maybe,” I rolled my shoulders. “But if I were you, I’d remember what she did when you ran into her in Santone’s party. Return the favor, Joe. Your girl has to know about this.”
“She will,” he gave a nod of agreement. We headed back to my car in silence. None of us was in a mood to discuss this any further. I didn’t know about Joe and Bryan, but to me, this was a shock. I believed that Ava was still a stripper. The attention and the money were too sweet for her to drop out. Her current activities hadn’t even crossed my mind. I just didn’t think she was capable of doing such a thing. And how could I be? She had been criticizing me and my boys since Joe started a relationship with Michelle. Now, it was my turn to criticize her.
Chapter Five
Ava
Should I have stopped?
This simple question had been weighing on my mind since the night of Hackman’s accident. I saw his Porsche roll over in my rearview mirror. I knew what had happened to him, and yet, I had chosen to leave him out there. And, judging by what I read online, perhaps giving him first aid would have made a difference. He was pronounced dead just twenty minutes after his accident.
But, every time I asked myself that, a voice within rebelled at the thought of doing anything differently. Hackman was dirt. He was one of the reasons why I wanted to quit my job. In the three years he had been my boss, neither I nor any of the girls in “Smoking Lace” had any fond memories of him. On the contrary, we would remember his shouts, his abusive behavior and his cheapness. His moto was:
“Men have rights. Pieces of meat don’t.”
Who in the world would help that rotten bastard? Surely nobody that knew who he was, that’s for sure.
As the time for my meeting with Donny drew nearer however, those thoughts flew out of my mind. In their stead, came a desire to have some fun. It wasn’t sexual; besides, the two of us were on bad terms. I just wanted to clear the air between us. I was prepared to be honest with him, but first, he had to be honest with me. Who was Donny Falcone? What had he done as a henchman? Well, plenty of bad things, but I needed to hear details. He and I were similar, at least to an extent. I wasn’t a choir girl by any means. I never liked norms and conformities, but I wasn’t an outlaw like him. Still, a society drowning in conservatism despised anything that had to do with my line of work.
Stripper? That was a big no-no. Maybe you can do a striptease at home for your significant other, although even that was considered too bold for most women. In a club? For money? You must be a whore, because only whores get paid for using their bodies to seduce men. There was no seduction of course, but try telling them that. They’d be outraged if you even dared to defend yourself.
The view of Donny’s ancient Cadillac in the security camera feed sent me to the liquor cabinet first, and then the kitchen. Soon, a bottle of whiskey and a bottle of tequila, along with some ice were set on the table. A glance at his attire told me that he hadn’t treated this any differently than I had. He was in a pair of jeans and a red sweater.
“Good evening,” I uttered, taking a step back. “Come on in.”
“Hi,” he muttered under his breath, somewhat puzzling me. Donny wasn’t the low-key type. He was the exact opposite of that. “I’ll never get over the size of this place.” He added, looking up at the tall ceiling.
“I’m still trying to get used to it, too,” I confessed, strolling back into the living room. “What are you having? Scotch? Tequila? Something else?”
“How about some honesty for a change?” I bolted my feet to the floor at his commanding tone.
“What are you talking about?” I asked, looking back at him.
“For the past six months, all I get from you is judgment and nastiness,” he stated, his slow footsteps bringing him closer and closer to my spot. “I’d accept both if they came from a real lady, like your friend Michelle. I’ve been meaning to complain to you about all this and see if we can find a way to be in the same room without bitching about each other, for Joe and Michelle’s sake. But, last night, I found out you’re an even bigger hypocrite than I thought. Ava Rockwell, the expensive stripper, is actually a mule.”
“Have you ever stripped naked in front of anyone?” I wondered, swallowing my shock. I had to respond to this, otherwise he’d believe he was one hundred percent right.
“No,” Donny spoke in a relaxed tone, moving around me. “Why?”
“Well, if you had, you’d realize how hard it is,” I explained, putting some force in my voice. “I’ve seen girls break down in tears after their performance. They need something to get over that embarrassment. I provide it for them.”
“I get why women can feel bad about taking their clothes off on stage,” he declared, his face stiffening. “I just don’t get why you have to be the one to sell them that shit. I’ve done a lot of bad things in my life, darling. I’ve shot people. I’ve blackmailed people. I have never dealt drugs. Ever.”
“How come?” I posed the question, my face twisting into an expression of surprise.
“
I was never a fan of anything that turned people’s minds into mush,” he claimed, looking deep down into my eyes. “Don’s consider hits and theft a lot tougher than selling drugs. That’s why none of my bosses ever asked me to do that. The same goes for Joe and Bryan. In fact, our hate of marijuana was the first thing we ever talked about.”
“Good for you, but like I said, I need to help those girls,” I insisted, not taking my eyes off of him.
“Because you’re… Hmmm,” he hummed, tapping his index finger on his chin.
“I believe the word you’re looking for is ‘compassionate,’” I saved him the trouble of further thought.
“I’d believe that if you were giving that coke away,” he attempted a tighter tone, discomfort beginning to take over his expression. “You make pretty good money now. I’m sure you can buy your stripper friends a few grams a month.”
“Damn you, Falcone…” I gave a huff of exasperation, realizing that I couldn’t hide from him. “Okay.” I sucked in a deep breath and tucked some tendrils of my hair behind my ear. “I’m a bad gambler. I mean, I was a bad gambler. I quit three weeks ago. I owe a lot of money to five people. All of them are respectable businessmen. They gave me three months to pay them back. But even with my new job, that’s impossible. I’m talking about two hundred-and-thirty thousand dollars.”
“Damn…” He tore his gaze away from me at the amount. “That’s a huge debt. It’s almost what you make in two years.”
“Well, I don’t have two years,” I raised my tone slightly. “I can stall them, because those guys are reasonable, but how much more time will they give me? A week? Two weeks maybe?”
“Why don’t you go to Michelle?” He wondered, furrowing his brow. “You guys are tight. She wouldn’t leave you hanging.”
“I can’t,” I shook my head sideways, closing my eyes. “I made a promise to her I’d quit last March. I did quit, but I fell off the wagon in the summer. She’d get really mad at me if she found out.”
“Not as mad as she’ll get when Joe tells her all about the coke,” Donny’s comment sent shockwaves through my system.
“He wouldn’t,” I spoke in a shaking voice, wishing I was correct.
“Yeah, he would,” Donny affirmed with a nod. “You told Michelle everything about him, and those two weren’t even together. He ought to return the favor.”
“While we’re on the subject of honesty, explain something to me,” I groaned, glaring up at him. “You three made five million each off that armored truck heist. How is it that you and Bryan are still working for a Mafia Don? Why aren’t you in Jamaica? Or Hawaii?”
“Four million,” he corrected me. “We had to pay a little extra to Bryan’s cousin for hacking into the truck. “We’re working for Maltese, because if we disappeared, the whole organization would know who robbed that truck. And if you think they wouldn’t find us if we left the country, guess again. They would.”
“They’d kill you?” I’d been suspecting the answer before I asked him. “Why? I thought it was okay for you people to steal.”
“It is when hits are authorized by Don’s. This wasn’t,” he explained. “This was just Joe’s attempt to make enough money to buy Michelle’s life with. But…” he faltered, looking at me with sullen eyes.
“But…?” I was hanging on his lips, the change in his expression adding to my tension. “But what?”
“I have to use some of it to protect you,” Donny’s statement made my previous surprise seem tiny in comparison. I stood there, mouth agape, unable to force a single word out of my throat. “You say the guys you owe are decent. Maybe they are, but money can make people do crazy things. I’ve seen it happen. A lot. It wouldn’t surprise me if it happened again. So…”
“Shut up…” I interrupted with a murmur, tossing my hands up to his face. I cupped his cheeks and tilted my head up, because he had said enough. Donny Falcone had made my heart sing the happiest tune it had sung in a while. There was just one word in it…
Freedom.
He had offered to do something beyond noble. Beyond generous. He intended to pull me out of this horrible predicament. The moment he uttered those words was a revelation to me. Whatever he had done, this man wanted what was best for me.
I trailed my fingers across his jawline, his full lips caressing my mouth. Long, strong arms held me in a tight embrace as his tongue probed the seam of my lips. I parted them, flames of desire growing within. I felt them licking my insides, urging me to take him right there and then. On the couch. On the floor. Up against the wall or even on the living room table — it didn’t matter. But just when I released his left cheek, his next move acted like a bucket of water on a bonfire.
“No…” he whispered in a voice thick with lust, pushing me back. “What the fuck are you doing?”
“I’m thanking you,” I uttered, my mouth still trembling.
“I’m giving you the money, you pay those folks off, and that’s it,” Donny groaned, casting a fierce glare down at me. “No kissing. No hugging, and definitely no sex. Call them up and tell them where you want to meet. Let me know when you do. Take care.”
“Oh, my God…” I whispered to myself, watching him put distance between us. He slammed the door behind him while I struggled to believe the past minute or so. What he said. My reaction and most of all, his reaction. All three were unbelievable. I had thrown myself at him, and he had refused to take advantage? Why? And what on earth was that phrase all about?
“Definitely no sex.”
Did he not like me? Or was it something else?
Whatever it was, I couldn’t deal with it that night. I had to satisfy his request. Not because he had asked politely, but because I would get rid of this debt. With Donny’s help, I would no longer have it hanging over my head. What we would do afterwards was a different matter. He might have avoided me, but I had no intention of giving up just yet. We would meet each other again very soon; I would make sure of that. Then, we’d see if Donny Falcone could resist me again or if my charms would prove too much for him to handle.
Chapter Six
Donny
Bad news?
Too wild?
Sexy as hell?
All of the above. Ava Rockwell, aka sizzling-hot ex stripper and degenerate gambler.
I couldn’t care less about her promises to quit. She’d done that before and she hadn’t managed to stay away from gambling. I had met more than a few of her kind during my time in the organization. Male or female, old or young, they all had one thing in common. That insane passion. That crazy desire to beat the house and go back home with stacks of money. And while they did get lucky sometimes, none of them could avoid the old saying:
“The house always wins.”
Why? Because it was just a matter of the odds. Most of those odds are in favor of the house. In Blackjack, you win by getting twenty-one or a bigger number than the dealer without going over twenty-one. In the off chance you beat him, you’re not going to leave the table, because you think you can do that again. And again. And again. After five or six more hands though, you’re not winning. In fact, you’ve lost all the money you made when you beat the dealer the first time.
Ava had no idea about this, but my opinion about her was even worse than it was before her little confession. She wasn’t some smug chick who loved the money she made as a stripper. She was far beyond that. A legit job as Michelle’s advisor was nothing more than a front, some sort of smokescreen. Behind that, she could hide everything else, including her wildness and her addiction. It’d be a hell of a lot better if she smoked three packs of cigarettes a day. Smoking was a nasty and disgusting habit, but at least it didn’t ruin her credibility. Every now and then, I recalled the look on Thomas Santone’s face whenever the name of a gambler came up. He cringed and looked away, as if he was eager to be distracted by something else. And when he talked about them, things got even more interesting. In his mind, a gambler was total scum. He could be begging for money for his family,
and once you gave it to him, he would look for the nearest table to piss it all away.
Date someone that unreliable? Thanks, but no, thanks. I had enough craziness in my life. I didn’t need any more.
“I found them. I set up an appointment with them at Smoking Lace. Tonight. Eleven o’clock.”
Money talks and bullshit walks.
It was amazing what people would do for money. Somehow, they were all free on a Friday night and on such a short notice. I couldn’t blame them. If somebody owed me fifty grand, I’d clear my schedule, too.
When I returned to the Santone mansion, my desire to be there was smaller than the day before. First of all, I thought Ava would come on to me hard. Mainly, the task at hand sounded boring. All I had to do, was be there when she paid off her debt. Where was the challenge in that? Nowhere. How long would it take? Five minutes. Still, I couldn’t get out of this. It was my money she was giving them. I had traveled thousands of miles to steal it and risked my neck in the process, along with Bryan and Joe. I wasn’t going to trust her with it, especially after her confession.
To my satisfaction, the brunette wasn’t in the house. As I rolled into the driveway, I spotted her standing next to her BMW, facing me.
“Get in,” I urged, pulling up next to her car.
“Oh, no, mister. We’re not going with that.” She flashed me a sarcastic smile. “We’re going with that.” She pointed at her BMW.
“Whatever,” I mumbled, appreciating her suggestion. Going over there in a stylish, European car sounded a lot more interesting than using my old gal. I popped the trunk open and threw in my black sports bag, along with something special just in case.
“Two things,” I began, joining her inside. “One: you don’t count any money in public. It’s Friday night. Smoking Lace will be pretty much packed by the time we get there. I give them the bag and we get out of there. Two: you stop selling coke to your stripper friends. I don’t care how much they beg you. Tell them to find another mule. Are we clear?”
