Like You (Perfectly Flawed #1)

by Dunning, Rachel

  He nods.

  "And if I'm not working a shift and I hear about a girl getting hurt, you're gone."

  He nods.

  Better the devil that you know, I say to myself. Even this scumbag is better than some of the trash that's worked here in the past. At least this guy is willing to change...

  Maybe Alicia had a point. Maybe, after five years, I do have a bit of a reputation here. Maybe by people just thinking I'll be here if they screw up, they'll keep their act together.

  And that was the idea I had this morning... That's what I wanted to find out.

  Maybe by me spreading the word to the managers—all the managers—that I can get them fired with one call, I won't even need to be here personally.

  I ask the boss if he's willing to have me on call.

  He doesn't like it too much. Says he prefers me being here directly.

  I tell him that's too bad and he says, "Fine. Fine! On call is better than nothing!"

  I tell him that I can spread the word to the girls that I'm back. I think to myself that I'm actually gonna spread the word to the managers—maybe even via Mr. Cream Suit here—that if they don't step up, one call and they're history.

  I tell the boss it'll cost him because, technically, I'll be on duty every night.

  So he tells me he'll put me on a retainer. Half my usual cut if I'm not actually on shift, and the same cut if I am actually present on the floor.

  I tell him no. I want the usual cut when I'm on shift. And twice the usual cut when I'm actually here.

  He moans. Finally, he agrees.

  I put the phone off.

  What I don't tell him is that I never plan on being on shift again. I just plan on popping by and checking in on things, making sure people know that I have leverage over them. That I could get them fired if I wanted to.

  There's only one snag.

  There are two bosses on this road.

  Before I go on across the street, I rest my elbows on Cream Suit's counter and lean forward. He looks a little nervous. I ask him, "Is Alicia the only one who got hurt last week?"

  "Who?"

  Oh, brother, don't piss me off...

  "Alicia," I say slowly, "the girl with the blue eye."

  He thinks carefully. My muscles are tensing up. The motherfucker doesn't even know she got hit?

  I feel my fists tighten.

  He's still thinking. "Is she a black—?"

  Pam! I nail him in the eye! He falls back with a crash! I head over to the other side of the counter. My chest is heaving. I wanna put my foot on this dude's face and stand on him.

  Axle, relax! Re-fucking-lax!

  I breathe slowly, decide not to break this punk's neck. I enunciate. "A—li—cia, yes, she is a black girl. You remember her now?"

  Cream Suit nods ferociously from the ground, almost huddled up in the corner.

  I speak slowly again, "Is she the only one who got hurt last week?"

  He starts nodding again. I cock a suspicious eyebrow and crack a knuckle.

  "No," he says, "there was one more. She...she..."

  "Yes?"

  "She got slapped."

  "Where?"

  "Here, in the brothel—"

  I slam my hands to his lapels and lift him off the ground! I hold him close to my face. "No, you idiot, where on her body!?"

  "Face, face. Just her face."

  "Did her nose bleed?"

  He shakes his head. I feel him tremble underneath my hands. The dude might pee in his pants if I don't chill out soon.

  "You're sure about that? Because I'll go ask Alicia."

  "I am sure. She was slapped—"

  I flat-hand him, hard. He falls and his cheek hits the counter. Blood from his nose trickles onto it. "Sorry about that. I didn't mean for you to bleed. You see, I'm a firm believer in two-eyes for an eye. Two of your eyes. Do you understand what I mean?"

  He nods.

  "Now, if you'd done something like, I don't know, gotten one of the dudes to stick something in some hole a girl didn't agree to, I'll stick a fucking pole in the corresponding hole of yours. Twice. A fat pole. Then I'll twist the fucking thing til you scream. Get me?"

  He nods again.

  Tough guy act over. I decide to play it friendly with him now. Being all tough guy without repercussions sounds great in theory, but it never works unless you're the Terminator. And I'm not the Terminator.

  I pick the dude up by his lapels again, dust him off. He's been taught his lesson. Time for communication now.

  I grab a tissue from the counter and give it to him.

  "Now, you are...?"

  "M—Musa. My name is Musa."

  "Musa, you know who I am. Now, we can be the best of friends, or we can be the worst of enemies. So far, I'm treating you like something in the middle. You treat the girls right, we'll be best friends. Which is it gonna be?"

  He stutters a bit but doesn't lag in the slightest before he answers.

  He chooses friends.

  "Good man," I say. "Two girls hurt means you have two strikes, one more, and I won't be so kind next time. Understood?"

  "Understood."

  -2-

  I go across the street to one of the brothels operated by the other boss. Emeryk is there but he's smart enough not to make any jokes about me this time. He must have run out of money to pay people off to beat me up.

  Hitting that Turkish punk made my blood rush. I'm trying to chill out but I want so badly to crack Emeryk's head open.

  I keep my cool.

  It helps that Emeryk is behaving for now. Because if he weren't, I might not be able to control my rage.

  Again.

  "I want your boss's number."

  He says nothing.

  "Punk, I want your boss's number."

  He gets brave. "You no call me punk. You the punk—!"

  My fist clenches.

  "Why you want his number?"

  "Because I have a proposition for him."

  "And if I no give to you?"

  "I'm working over across the street again. Your place is gonna be a little empty tonight because of it."

  "Place empty anyway if you work across street. Even if I give you number."

  "Not if I tell your boss I'll be working for him as well."

  He ponders this, slowly, cogs turning. I hear the creaking in the walls.

  "Punk, I'm gonna work for both sides. Get it? I'm gonna control the street. Technically, you'll be working for me."

  "So why I give you number?"

  "If you don't give me the number, news will spread that I'm back on duty next door and this place will lose business. You'll lose your job. If you do give me the number, you get to keep your job at least for one extra night because business is still up. Provided you play by my rules."

  The cogs creak once again. He gives me the number. I assume that means he understood. And to think I only had to repeat myself once.

  I call the other boss. Explain the deal to him. He's so freaking ecstatic that he offers me twice the amount of what Kama's owner is offering me to work for him exclusively.

  I tell him it's not an exclusive deal.

  He takes it anyway.

  After the call, Emeryk says, "If you make me lose job, I come to your place again."

  My nails dig into my palms. Choose your battles, Ax. Choose your battles...

  I start walking out.

  I'm almost at the sidewalk. I'm almost ready to pat myself on the back for being the bigger man.

  But then Emeryk makes a fatal mistake.

  Fatal mistake.

  He opens his mouth, but instead of insulting me, he says, "Or maybe I come and break in your beautiful girl—"

  He doesn't have chance to finish.

  Before he can blink I've got him in a corner with several of his teeth on the ground and five guys holding me back while I swing my legs trying to kick him just one more time after having laid my fists into his face God knows how many times!

  His bo
dy is a red-soaked mass at the bottom of the wall.

  I tell the dudes holding me back that I'm cool, I'm relaxed. I won't kill the fucker if they let me go.

  They let me go.

  I stroll over to Emeryk's bloody pulp of a body and kneel down next to him. "Fuck with me all you want, prick. But when you get out of the hospital, I'm gonna come and fuck you up again. And again. And again. Unless you send Gen flowers today with a message saying, 'I love you, Axle.' OK? Let me write that down for you." I grab a piece of paper and write it down. "Understood?"

  He nods.

  "Understand me well, fat boy. You even look at her funny and I will KILL you. Do you understand? Kill. I will fucking kill you. Do. You. Understand?"

  He nods very clearly. Spits out some blood.

  "Try me," I say.

  I slam another one in his fat stomach. There's so much blubber I don't even think he felt it. I put the piece of paper in his pocket. "'I love you, Axle.' Don't forget."

  Just before I exit, I turn and say, "You know, fat boy, maybe you should consider renting a room here yourself. A lot of men would be willing to pay good money for a fat boy like you. You'd make a lot more than you're making now as a manger. It's tough for a fat boy in management. I'll put the word out for you."

  I look at the guys who pulled me off Emeryk. They're mostly laughing. It's up to Emeryk to press charges, but I don't want that shit on my plate because I don't want Gen to worry about it.

  I call the biggest one of them over and tell him I might have a job for him beating people up. I ask him if he's interested.

  He says he is. I get his number and tell him the job is up if he and his friends can keep their mouths shut to the cops about what happened here.

  "Cops?" says the dude. And the way he says it, I realize I had nothing to worry about in the first place.

  Hookers have blocked the entrance. I know most of them.

  I stroll past them.

  They've got my back. Just like they had my back the night I beat the crap out of that guy who was getting funny with Alicia. I'm pretty sure their story will be that Fatso here fell off a ladder.

  A big ladder.

  I pull Alicia aside and tell her to spread the word and tell the girls I'm working both sides of the street now. I tell her to relay that they shouldn't favor one place over another because of me, but that they should choose whichever place they're most comfortable with. If I'm not here personally, doesn't mean I'm not working.

  "You starting the business after all?"

  "Like I said before, I'll think about it."

  She nods.

  Before I disappear, I turn back to her and say, "Hey, Alicia, you have access to a computer?"

  "Ax, I'm a hooker, not a poor person."

  "Internet?"

  She puts her hands on her hips and taps her foot. Looks at me very unimpressed.

  "Good. You know you can finish high school and college online, right? I'm doing it right now. We could be study partners. It's not that expensive."

  She stops tapping her foot. Smiles. "I'll think about it."

  "If I start the business will you sign up and complete a college degree?"

  "Sure."

  I can tell she really doesn't believe I'll do it.

  -3-

  I'd sort of already thought about it. Even before I came here today. Although I hadn't considered bringing others in like Alicia suggested. I just wanted to see if it was true that I really did have some sort of influence on the street.

  But influence isn't enough. Alicia was right about one thing, these guys listen to muscle. And if the muscle is not on the street, it might as well not exist. On call or not.

  I call the boss and then the other boss and tell each I have some guys I want them to hire and that I want a commission for it, in addition to my own cut. Each one complains, each one bitches, then each one sees that it's better to have actual men on the ground—answerable to me—rather than someone on call, and each one agrees.

  Good. Because I need to know the money's in place before I make any promises.

  I ask around and find the addresses and locations of each of the mercenaries that were at my apartment to get a bit of action at my expense.

  I start with the tough-guy that got into an argument with Emeryk about whether or not Batman could take me down. The Croatian.

  As with every other Eastern Bloc resident in this area he's here to make money. He needs work. No one's hiring...

  "I'm hiring," I say.

  He starts listening.

  I tell him I get regular work at the Red Light District. I tell him my clients are the girls. If they complain, he's out. If they don't, he's on for as many nights as he can manage a week.

  He likes it.

  "Of course," I say, "if you ever try kick my ass, I'll break your fucking balls. And I'll fire you."

  He's suddenly very apologetic. It's amazing how sweetly money can talk to a person who needs it.

  I ask bad boy here to accompany me over to Batman's apartment. It's a dingy spot with off-green and gray walls. It looks like it belongs behind the Berlin wall, not ten minutes from the banking district.

  Then again, the Red Light District is also a ten minute walk from the banking district. But I think that's because the bankers want it there.

  Batman opens the door and starts running the second he sees me. Mr. Croatia next to me catches up to him. Looks like he's taking his job seriously already.

  Like I said, money talks.

  He sits Batman down. Batman reminds me his name is actually Konrad. I say, "Batman, shut up when I'm talking."

  "I shut up."

  I tell him no hard feelings if he kicks the ass of anyone who gives the girls shit. I tell him I'm not technically his boss, but I get a commission for his work. I don't have the time or the desire to officially start a company and get wrapped up into the red tape that will give these bozos rights and take all of my own rights away by making them employees.

  Batman is a little slow on the uptake but eventually Mr. Croatia gets through to him.

  In the end, he smiles, showing me a missing tooth. I remember picking that same tooth up and throwing it in the trash after I got back to my apartment and cleaned up the blood.

  Karma. I know about that shit.

  With Batman and Mr. Croatia at my side, we corner the last one that was at my place. He's also in. I call up the big dude who pulled me off Emeryk. He's in as well.

  They ask about Emeryk. Wouldn't he be interested in getting on board?

  I tell them that Emeryk said something very mean about my girlfriend. I use simple English because we're all of a different native tongue here and I want this to be fully understood. I tell them that, as a result of it, Emeryk is missing a few teeth of his own and probably has a ruptured spleen as well. I tell them that, if they can prove to me that he ever again says anything else mean about my girlfriend, I will personally pay the guy who takes another tooth out of his mouth a hundred-Euro bonus out of my own pocket.

  They seem to get very excited about this.

  I make a mental note to keep some money aside for this. Something tells me these boys are gonna go wild on it.

  I relay the news to Alicia.

  Her mouth drops. "You're kidding, right?"

  "I'm not."

  "Will you pay for my college?"

  "I won't. If I pay for you I'll have to pay for the rest of these girls. I'm not a charity. And I want you to set an example."

  "You tricked me."

  "You tricked yourself."

  I see her face light up. That's the face that gets me, the one that I saw the night I kicked that scumbag's ass for her. It's an innocent face. She's better than this. She's so much better than this. She just needs to believe in herself.

  I remember someone else telling me the same thing.

  "We good?" I ask.

  "We good."

  We touch knuckles, and I leave.

  -4-

  "Have a good da
y?" Gen asks as I walk in the door.

  "It was OK. Same ol', same ol'."

  "Thanks for the flowers, by the way. They're beautiful."

  I look at the bouquet on the counter and see that Emeryk outdid himself.

  "My God, what happened to your knuckles?"

  "I got them picking your flowers."

  She scowls at me. I shrug innocently.

  "Are you in some kind of trouble, Ax?"

  "Not anymore."

  She wraps her arms around my neck and tip-toes up to kiss me ardently. "Flowers get me horny, did you know that?" She eases her hand down into my pants and fondles me and I can't help the deep groan from escaping me.

  "I didn't know that. But now I'll never forget it."

  CHAPTER 42

  -1-

  G.

  Dec. 24, 2013 — Tuesday, almost midnight

  "So how does it feel to be a rich and famous photographer?" Thomas asks me. He's sitting on my black leather couch, laid back, as if this were a penthouse in Manhattan or something. In his hand he swirls a fat glass of red wine.

  Karolin sits next to him, her head on his shoulder, caressing his forearm.

  "I'm not rich, and I'm not famous!"

  I look out the window-walls of my new apartment behind him and stare at the river, the golden lights beyond it. No snow has fallen yet for the year in Frankfurt, but it's misty and foggy outside. Like a dream...

  The apartment doesn't do much to counter the comment that I'm not rich. Even though I'm not. The Hunter just decided to get me set up more comfortably after a bit of publicity.

  Brooke sits on the carpet, her back to the couch on which Thomas and Karolin are seated, legs stretched out. "Uhm, excuse me!" she cries. "The very definition of famous is having an article written about you in the New York Times!"

  I blush. They've ragged me endlessly about this since that photo of Thomas and Karolin in the brothel, the one with him looking despondent and her counting the dough, got some media attention while The Hunter was hyping it for the gallery opening in January. The shot went viral and soon I had US reporters calling on me asking me why I live in Germany and just plain digging into my life.

  Mostly, however, they wanted to know how a woman got into a brothel to take shots because, according to their sources, that just wasn't possible without some serious leeway.