Pent Up

by Damon Suede

  “Bauer, what the fuck are you doing? Where are we going? I thought you were a prisoner.”

  “I have been. I was. But you fixed that, too, by charging in.” Andy dropped to his knees and rifled through a drawer. “If I don’t have to fight him, then we can walk away free and clear. No time to shower. Get dressed.”

  Ruben knew what his face had to look like. Blood and bruises and worse. “Andy, he tried to kill us.”

  “No. He tried to convince us. That—” He pointed at Ruben’s body and face. “—was just a conversation. He’s a crappy negotiator. We aren’t prisoners. It’s my mom’s house.”

  “They attacked me.”

  “An intruder. With weapons. C’mon. And you look fucking scary.”

  My bull’s-eye face. Ruben’s fingers fumbled with the buttons, still fuzzy on Andy’s plan but closing the cotton over his battered torso. “Then why are we in the basement?”

  Andy laughed. “This is my room. Was. Or it’s where I slept when I came home from boarding school. Privacy.” Shrug. “I was fifteen. Place to jerk off and get high. Without having to listen to him fight with the air.”

  Ruben looked at the boxes piled everywhere.

  “Storage now. I just….” He shook his head. “I brought you to my room because I didn’t want you anywhere else.”

  Ruben touched his back. “He’s not your dad, he’s your enemy. Even if he— He didn’t raise you. He’s just a problem we’re going to solve.”

  “Jacket should fit.” Andy lifted a navy blazer out of the closet and eyed the tiny gold shield on its lapel. “His Columbia pin, even.”

  Ruben accepted the jacket numbly. “I thought you were in trouble.”

  “I was. I’d screwed up my mother’s life, left her with Tibbitt when I knew better, and then poked the mangy bear for twenty years. I’m trapped in that goddamn penthouse spying on the city ’cause I’m too afraid to live in it. Then I’d lost you. I was—” Another headshake and a frown. “Over and out.” He snapped on the overhead light.

  Sure enough, posters on the wall and battered textbooks revealed themselves. A boy’s room buried under junk.

  “You hungry? C’mon.” Andy flipped a keyring. “We’re going to brunch.”

  Upstairs, they walked through a very plush suburban mansion. The rooms were dimly lit, but Andy knew the way.

  “Are we stealing one of his cars?” Ruben shook his head, woozy still and struggling to keep up. “Jesus! What are you talking about?” He jammed the shirttails into his pants. “Stop. Stop!”

  A garage with two Jags, a Range Rover, and a Mercedes convertible. A half million dollars in automotive arrogance lined up like candy in a rack. Andy pressed one of the keys on the ring, and lights glowed from the Mercedes. “Good choice.”

  Ruben’s voice echoed inside the garage. “They took you! They trashed your place? Blood, Andy.”

  Andy opened the door, but waited. “That is my stepfucker’s idea of a conversation. He wants to show me how serious he can be. I’m only here because I wouldn’t give him Apex and let him terrorize everyone he hates. Now I can.”

  “How?”

  “Well, not the way he wants it.” Andy gave the barracuda grin and climbed inside. The motor purred to life. “Now I’m serious.”

  Ruben popped the door and did the same, sitting his sore body on the buttery leather. “Fuck but I love that.”

  Andy turned.

  “That shark thing you do.”

  “Yeah?” Andy held out his hand.

  Ruben took it. “Sexy as hell. You don’t know.”

  As the garage opened, Andy inched the car back in the swift arc of an expert driver on familiar turf.

  “I wish I could be that ruthless.” Ruben laced their fingers.

  Andy nosed up the driveway, his eyes on the road hard as porphyry. “Practice.”

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  ALL PRAYERS get answered. Most of the time, the answer is no.

  Andy drove like the map was burnt into his brain, barely looking at the road. Twenty-four minutes later they pulled through gates that said Scarsdale Golf Club.

  “I thought this was a country club.”

  “It’s both. Same diff.” Andy rolled his eyes. “Don’t judge.”

  “Why stop now?” Ruben rolled his sleeves down. His bruises looked even worse against his dark skin. “Andy, I look like a convict.” He glanced over. “And you look like something convicts use to clean the john.”

  True enough. Andy’s black eye had hit that “oily rainbow” stage. Butterfly tape held an ugly tear on his forehead together up to where his hairline was matted with blood. His arm hair was gummy with tape and showed raw stripes where it had been ripped free.

  Andy nodded at them. “Good, huh? We turn up with war wounds; my stepfather has to answer a lot of questions.” He squeezed Ruben’s hand, then downshifted into second as he approached the valet stand. “The worse we look, the better this goes.”

  Ruben drummed the door with his fingers, scowling.

  “I’d ask you to punch me just to get things flowing again, but my face hurts too much.”

  “Stop. I’m not gonna hit you.”

  “We want to make a terrible impression.”

  Ruben chuckled. “Ow. It hurts to laugh. That Walrus asshole got my ribs good.”

  “With the mustache? Ernie. That was payback for the other night, I expect. You almost fractured his jaw a couple weeks back.”

  Ruben stopped talking. Andy knew their names. Of course he did, they worked for his stepfather. He’d known them all along. Even the mugging that first day, Andy had known.

  Shrug. “Ernie’s a claims adjuster. No genius, obviously.”

  They glided to a halt under a porte cochère.

  On cue, a scrubbed teenager trotted out in a melon-pink knit shirt with a logo over his pec. As soon as Ruben climbed out, he stepped back. “Whoa, man.” He scratched at his neck and eyed Ruben with uncloaked fascination. “Jeez—”

  “We’re here for brunch.” Andy tossed the keys. “Bauer.”

  To his credit the kid caught them, almost without looking, but he eyed Andy’s injuries. “Uhh. You guys need any, y’know umm, help?”

  Andy smiled. “Just the car.”

  “Uhh, sure.” The kid backed away from them all the way around the Mercedes. He didn’t climb inside.

  Ruben raised an eyebrow. “There a problem?”

  The boy swallowed and scratched his neck again. “Nah.” Nervous headshake. “It’s…. You both look like a TV show, is all? Uhh. Have a great brunch.”

  The car pulled away.

  Andy nudged Ruben and steered him toward the entrance. “Remember: if he pisses himself in the car, it’s not our car.” His eyes shone fever bright. Was he enjoying this? “Let’s go make a deal.”

  Retaliation. Retirement. Relationship. How could Andy protect himself and his mom? Would he actually give up his business? And how did Ruben factor in?

  The old man wanted into Apex so he could take out his enemies. Financial assassination. He wanted to use Andy as a weapon, a hitman. The only way to get Andy out was to make him radioactive.

  They passed through a silent lobby. Some overfed white folks stood in clumps.

  Andy veered left. “Clubhouse.”

  Ruben muttered, “What are you… what do you need me to do?”

  “Look scary. Let him assume anything. Everything.”

  They’d reached a large sunlit dining room. Ruben scanned the space, not knowing what he was looking for. “Wolf tickets.”

  “You been talking to Hope, Señor Oso.” Andy grinned and nodded. “That’s the one: sell him some wolf tickets.” He smoothed his ill-fitting blazer.

  They walked into a sort of lounge overlooking the pool and the green, featuring a bar on one wall and a gigantic curved sideboard piled with meat, fruit, and a freestanding omelet station. A handful of middle-aged couples clustered at low tables around the room.

  Ruben asked, “And what are y
ou gonna do?”

  “Win.”

  There. Andy focused on a man in his late sixties, shortish with a receding hairline, nursing a Bloody Mary alone.

  He saw them and stood. “Andrew. You look terrible.” Tibbitt perused Ruben’s injuries without making eye contact.

  “We came for brunch.”

  “You can’t afford attention any more than I.” His gaze flicked to the scatter of other grayish suburbanites.

  “And to do some business. My partner.” Andy turned. “Ruben Oso. From Colombia.”

  Tibbitt swallowed that. “They do business down there?” The older man regarded Ruben with the mercy of a polygraph. “Only things I know come from Colombia are emeralds and cocaine.”

  Ruben clenched his fists but kept his face still. “He’s filthy rich. I’m just filthy.”

  “This club is filled with minorities who swear they’re victims.” Tibbitt exhaled.

  Anger made Ruben’s voice louder than necessary. “And prisons are bulging with numbskulls who swear they were framed.”

  Andy put a calm hand on his arm.

  Tibbitt wiped his mouth with a napkin. “You shouldn’t have come here with him. Your mother is outside.”

  Ruben ignored Andy and made the threat clear. “I’m not going anywhere, pops. Or else we’re all going. I’d love to take a fire extinguisher to your face.”

  Three tables over, a young couple with a toddler looked up nervously.

  “Jesus.” Tibbitt looked ready to shit himself.

  Andy patted his back. “Ruben. I got it.” He held a chair for Ruben and then sat himself. After a long moment, Tibbitt sat stiffly.

  Ruben breathed and watched the stream of pastel idiots migrating to and from the buffet loaded down with waffles and pineapple. Keep it together. This was Andy’s show. None of his business.

  The old man thought Ruben was just hired muscle. That was something. Long as he didn’t know about their relationship, this stupid plan might work. He would let his resting thug face do the talking.

  The old man tapped his glass and frowned at Ruben’s lapel. “I’m to believe you two met at Columbia?”

  Ruben didn’t say anything, but Tibbitt took the silence for assent.

  Tibbitt huffed. “Light is the glory of life. Life in the dark is misery, and rather death than life.”

  The fuck?

  Andy answered casually. “He means the motto.”

  Ruben looked down at the pin.

  Tibbitt frowned. “No one goes to church anymore.”

  Andy’s tone stayed goofy and noncommittal. “Ruben does. He goes to church a couple times a week.”

  Ruben gave his best Aztec asshole, heavy-lidded, hawk-nose, shadowy glare. Retaliation would be his part in all this. Tibbitt took a swallow. “You must be a sinner.”

  “’Cause I’m brown? I’d lay off, puto.”

  Andy coughed. “Look, uh, I don’t want any more trouble, Herb.” On cue, he went into his goofy, clueless routine. “The Apex Fund is only one part of—”

  “Don’t be such a pussy, Bauer.” Ruben set the bait. “He’s halfway to the pen.”

  Tibbitt muttered, “Mr. Oso, I don’t take kindly—”

  “You’ll take what I give.” Ruben scowled, kept his voice just low enough. “Kidnap. Assault. Attempted murder. Extortion.” A drop of spit arced across the table. He bared his teeth. “Man, you’re such a tool, they ought to sell you at Home Depot. I would like nothing more than to shove that chair up your ass sideways in front of all these nice people.” He raised his chin at Andy. “He’s the only reason I haven’t, but he’s the reason I will.”

  Tibbitt stared at the spittle as if it were a rattlesnake. “Another suitably juvenile bit of posturing.”

  “Try me.” Ruben sat forward and growled now. Time to play. “You think we’re joking? By the time the feds get to you, they’re gonna need a wet vac to clean you off the wallpaper.”

  Nearby someone gasped, and dropped silverware clanked. The other diners had begun to eavesdrop.

  Tibbitt swallowed and flushed a greasy salmon pink as if he’d shat his pants.

  Andy hissed, “Oso.”

  Ruben spoke directly to the old man. “You got some balls.” If nothing else, Ruben knew how to look like a criminal. “Mr. Tibbitt, I got enough legal problems without you adding to ’em.”

  “I’m willing to let you take a leadership role.” Andy glanced at his stepfather. So that’s the play. They’d appeal to Tibbitt’s ego and prejudices and leave him holding the bag.

  Ruben popped his neck. He could play this part. “You got no idea, boludo. If this is the bullshit way you people do business, I want out.”

  In the pause, Andy encouraged him, a slight nod.

  “And if I’m out, then Andy’s out. We’re partners. Yeah?” He raised his eyebrows at Andy. “And playing around in this white-bread sewer feels like a waste of his talents. He’s working with me now.”

  Tibbitt looked to his stepson. “What is he saying?”

  Andy took his hand under the table and squeezed. Ruben flushed.

  Tibbitt sighed. “You’ve been disrespectful, to me and to your mother. After all I taught you, all I’ve done.”

  “¡Gilipollas!” Ruben ladled contempt over them. Andy had only taught him a few curses. “The two of you dancing around. Fucking Wonder Bread pin dicks.”

  The brunch crowd gave him a few disapproving looks, but not enough to make Tibbitt take the bait. Retaliation, retaliation.

  Exasperated, Ruben glared at Tibbitt and pounded the table with his fist till the silver jumped. “Hump his mom, cheat your partner, and trash his place. Please, can I play with Apex?” He snorted.

  Andy sat straighter but didn’t interfere.

  Tibbitt seemed genuinely startled. “Andy, you let him talk to you like that?” So far so good.

  “Sir.” A teenage waiter stood by the table. “Is there a problem?” All of a hundred and thirty pounds and ready to piss his pants.

  Ruben ignored him and glared at Tibbitt. “Did you see that on cable, jackass?”

  Andy smiled at the waiter and made a joke of it. “Family dispute.”

  “He gave me….” Tibbitt’s voice was level, considering. “No choice.” His hands settled on the tablecloth. “I had a rough spell. I’m just trying to recoup some of my losses.”

  Ruben didn’t sit back. “Tibbitt, you disrespect us again, and I’m going to make a fucking warning out of you, one slimy chunk at a time in front of all your neighbors here.” He let his face finish the thought. Aztec asshole.

  The old man swallowed.

  Andy scolded and smiled. “Ruben, I don’t think that’s helpful.” The waiter looked dubious till Tibbitt nodded. All in good fun.

  “Let me be clear.” Ruben thought of Andy’s sharkiest moments and rested his dead gaze on the old man. “Apex no longer interests me.” If he could sell this to Tibbitt, they’d be home free. “So it no longer interests him.”

  Tibbitt went for it. “It’s the least you can do. Lord knows you can afford it.”

  Andy said, “I don’t want my mother involved. This is between us, and she’s no part of it.”

  Tibbitt exhaled. “Your mother trusts me to make the financial decisions.” From his tone, he could have been talking about a golden retriever or a potted plant.

  Ruben frowned. If someone spoke about his mother like that, he’d have hauled them out back, but his mother would beat him to it. What kind of family was this?

  “What do you care where he invests his money?” Ruben turned.

  Andy said quietly, “I don’t want him bankrupting her.” Ruben could see the rage simmering and the gears grinding.

  Tibbitt shrugged. “Music to my ears. One less thing to explain.”

  Andy nodded, eyes narrowed. “Then here’s my offer. I’ll give you a fifty-fifty split, but I retain control of the company.” And there was Andy’s retirement. So far so good. “A silent-but-deadly partner. All holdings, accounts, and
shares split. But the assets and the liabilities in your name alone. I don’t want my mother at risk because of our business bullshit.”

  Poor Hope. Ruben hated the idea that she’d invested all that time, gotten her degree, and now Tibbitt had cut in line. She deserved better, but she also didn’t need the crooked bullshit attached to her career. Andy was making a serious offer, and he knew why.

  “We’ll own Apex together,” Andy finished.

  Tibbitt’s eyebrows floated toward his hairline. “What guarantee do I have?”

  “My business with my most lucrative fund ever, and I’m giving you half of it, old man. What better guarantee can I offer?”

  “How do I know you won’t bring in some other greaseball thug to scare me off?” Tibbitt pursed his lips.

  Andy kept his gaze directed at the floor. “I’ve known Ruben—”

  “For about five weeks. Yes. Noted.” A mortician’s sniff of competent displeasure. “This is what comes of sending my bastard to prep school. Pretensions to justice and—” A sniff at Ruben. “Low-hanging fruit.”

  Ruben kept his face still.

  “I wouldn’t say that, Herb.” Andy coughed. A dark smile as his shark fin broke the surface. “I didn’t hire Ruben.”

  What?

  Andy lifted their hands onto the table. Ruben let him, shock making him jittery.

  Tibbitt huffed. “Andrew, we have business to—”

  “And he certainly doesn’t work for me. Hell, he doesn’t even do what I tell him half the time.” Andy smiled softly, teeth knife-bright. “Ruben and I are together. Whatever you want to say to me, you say to him.”

  Tibbitt slowed. He stared at their linked hands as if at rattlesnakes fucking. “You think you can scare me off? You can’t embarrass me.”

  Andy snorted. “Understatement of the decade.”

  Ruben blinked slowly and raised his voice. “We’re not the ones making a scene, Señor Tibbitt. We didn’t injure ourselves. I don’t even like brunch.”

  Silence.

  “Don’t be ridiculous.”

  Andy kissed Ruben. Right on the mouth in the middle of the Scarsdale Golf Club. Grabbed the back of his head and mashed their mouths together.

  Ruben rolled with it and gave a show. As the kiss deepened, silverware clattered around them and some low comments. They had an audience now. Finally they pulled apart.