Suicide Lounge (Selena Book 3)

by Greg Barth

  “So very generous of you.”

  “I think so. And what we get out of it is, we don’t have to make headlines as we take over. Your guys take a stand, well, there’ll be some headlines. They just won’t get to read them.”

  “That it?” I said.

  “No, no, no. There’s part two. Part two is a doozy.”

  He reached out his arm, put his hand against my chest, and pushed my back against the wall of the building.

  “Hey,” I said. I would have fallen over had the wall not been there.

  “Hold still now. It’ll be worse if you squirm around.” His other hand reached down at his side. When it came back up, it held a long, fixed blade knife. The blade shone silver in the dim light. It was thick, wide, and at least ten inches long. The tip of the blade swept up in an arc that ended with a sharp point. He held the knife up so I could see it. “The second part is a visual message.” He grabbed the neck of my shirt and pulled down in a fast move. My shirt ripped away. My bra was exposed.

  He touched the point of the knife to the base of my throat. He looked me in the eyes as he let the point of the knife slide down my chest. He put the blade under my bra in the center of my chest and pulled forward. The blade cut through it and my bra fell open, the cups dangling at my sides. My breasts were bared to the warm night air and his gaze. He pushed the tip of the knife against my stomach and held it there.

  “I’m going to be nice,” he said.

  “Somehow I don’t believe you,” I said.

  “No, no. It’s true. I’m going to be nice. I’m only going to take one of your fingers. And you get to pick which one.”

  He pushed the blade against my stomach harder. “Put your hand against the wall,” he said.

  “You call this a fair fight?” I said.

  “Hell no. There is no fair. Now. Hand on the wall. Pick a finger.”

  “No.”

  “No? No? You want me to take off your nose? Maybe take an eye? There ain’t no two ways about it, girl. You’re going to walk away from this encounter minus some piece of yourself. Now that’s just how it is. I’m trying to make it easy on you, but if you want to play games with me, then you’re going to piss me off.”

  I didn’t want to lose a finger, but I was too fucked up to think my way out of it. I eased my left arm up against the wall, feeling the rough brick under my fingertips.

  “Now that’s good. That’s real good, Sweetie,” Mozingo said.

  “You really think hurting me is going to help you?”

  “That’s a fair question,” Mozingo said. “And you’d think it wouldn’t. But the truth is, it generally does. People don’t like this kind of thing. Now, if I’m going to be completely honest, though, I’d have to say I don’t really care one way or the other. I just like doing it.”

  “You’re a fucking psycho,” I said.

  “Yeah. Now you know what I know. Now get that hand up a bit higher.”

  I slid my hand further up the wall.

  “Now show me the one you can live without.”

  I curled my fingers into a fist, leaving only my middle finger extended.

  “Oh, now ain’t you just clever,” he said.

  At just that moment, the door to the apartment stairway opened, and Jackie stepped out. She was carrying a cardboard box under one arm and an overnight bag on a strap over her shoulder. She looked over at us as we all turned our heads to her.

  “What’s going on?” Jackie said. She saw the knife and said, “Shit.” She turned and ran back up the stairs.

  “Get her,” Mozingo said. One of the other men bolted up the stairs behind Jackie. I heard them stomping up the stairs. The next sounds were of her screaming and the sound of a struggle.

  Mozingo’s knife slipped back a bit, and I slid out from between it and the wall. I smacked his hand to the side, I brought my fist up and smashed it into his nose. I raised my knee and jammed it hard into his groin. He grunted and doubled over.

  I ran across the parking lot. The other guy started after me.

  I saw headlights on the road. A car turned into the parking lot, coming around back. If I could just get to the car...

  I was tackled from behind. The other guy, the smaller one, had me. He put his knee in my back. He pushed against the back of my head with his hand, forced my face into the gravel.

  “Hold her,” Mozingo said. I heard the crunch of his footsteps as he walked up to us. “Roll her over.”

  I struggled, but the men worked together to get me on my back.

  Mozingo knelt down in front of me. He held the knife over me. “I’m through with being nice. So what I’m going to do now is, I’m going to cut both your nipples off, and you’re going to eat them. Then I’m getting that finger.”

  Headlights bathed the lot in a sudden brilliance of light. A car horn blared. Mozingo looked up.

  The car door opened.

  “Let them go,” Enola said, from the direction of the car.

  “Fuck you,” the small guy holding me down said.

  There was a loud snap as a bullet flew over me. The sound was followed by the loud report of the gunshot.

  “Ow, goddammit,” the guy said.

  “Next one goes through your brain. Now let them go.”

  Mozingo got up. The guy holding me down followed him.

  I pushed myself up off the ground until I sat. The world was spinning. I scooted sideways so Enola would have a clear shot at them. I looked around and saw Jackie standing by the doorway to the apartment access stairway. The big guy was next to her.

  “You have ten seconds to get the fuck out of here,” Enola said. “Then I empty this clip on you.”

  “Give me the gun,” I said.

  “What?”

  “Give me the gun.”

  “You can’t even stand. You don’t need a gun.”

  Mozingo pointed the knife at my face. “Deliver the message I gave you. Your crew? If they stand down? They get to live. But you. Yeah, you bitch. I’m coming back for you, and I’m jamming this knife up your ass. Count on it.”

  “What is it with men,” I said. “Always wanting to put things in my ass.”

  They got in their car and left.

  Jackie walked over. She had a split lip and a swollen eye. She helped me stand.

  I pulled the pieces of my tattered shirt together, trying to cover my exposed chest.

  PART TWO

  OFF PREMISES

  TWELVE

  Selena

  ENOLA DROVE ME to the airport in her SUV.

  “So you’re just going to fly out to Vegas all alone and connect with a supplier you’ve never met?” Enola said.

  “That’s the plan. I don’t expect it to be easy.”

  “I just hope you come back alive.”

  “Like I’m going to stay alive by staying here? Somebody’s gotta do something. The local stuff we can get—even Ragus—is shit nobody wants. We’ll never last without quality product.”

  “I know there’s a lot riding on this. Just don’t get yourself killed, okay?”

  I didn’t say it, but I was far more worried about clearing security at the airport than I was about getting back alive. My new ID came from a solid source that Pete had used for years, so I was confident it would hold up. I fretted about my black cherry hair, wondered if I should have changed it to a more natural color. I worried about all the new stuff you hear about. Things like facial scan technology and all that. I was wearing short shorts and figured I could preoccupy the men with my ass, but I was afraid of some software system making a match on me. I just kept telling myself to stay calm, don’t do any of the things you’re not supposed to, like act nervous, wear a hat, talk on a phone when going through the security line. To make matters worse, I wasn’t even familiar with the process for a normal traveler. I knew only what I’d read on Enola’s computer. Of course the TSA would be watching for terrorists, not me.

  Enola pulled up to the drop-off point for my airline. She leaned over and kissed
me. “Good luck, Amanda. Call me if you can.”

  “I’ll see you soon,” I said.

  I hopped out of her truck and grabbed my bag from the back seat. I was wearing sneakers, denim shorts, and a light top. My hair was down. All I had in my pockets were my state-issued ID and a credit card, both under my new name. I had a carry-on bag with a few changes of clothes.

  I stepped into the airport and walked over to my airline’s ticket counter. I had never flown before, so I wasn’t sure what to do. A nice lady at the check-in area asked me if I’d already checked in. I shook my head. She showed me how to get my boarding pass from one of the kiosks.

  I slid my card in the kiosk reader. The lady tapped the screen for me until she found my reservation.

  “Are you checking any bags?”

  “Do I need to?”

  “No, those are fine to carry on.”

  She tapped the screen some more and the machine spit out my boarding pass.

  “Have a good flight,” she said, and smiled.

  I walked down the hall and got in line for security. I tried to act as calm as I could. I looked around at the people I was in line with. It was a mixture of families traveling together with excited looks on their faces or businessmen who looked bored. Most of the women my age traveling alone had ear buds in and were staring at their phones. I hadn’t brought a phone, so I tried to wear the bored expression of the men.

  When I got up to the first TSA guy at the entrance to the security check, I handed him my license and boarding pass. My hand trembled a little, but I didn’t speak. I didn’t want to say anything, afraid my voice would sound nervous. He looked at the boarding pass and ID carefully, scribbled something on the paper and handed them both back to me. “Right this way,” he said. He pointed me toward a security line.

  I watched what everyone else was doing and followed suit. I grabbed a tray, put my shoes and carry-on inside it, and slid it forward on the rollers.

  I stepped up to the body scan machine in my socks. When it came my turn, I stepped inside, put my hands over my head, and waited for the scan to be complete. I thought about how I would explain all of the surgical steel embedded in my bones when the man asked me to step out.

  “You’re clear,” he said.

  No explanation required, I guess.

  I grabbed my stuff, put my shoes on, and walked down the hallway to my gate.

  That was so easy.

  I felt like the hard part was done. Going to a strange city and establishing a connection with unknown drug dealers was more my thing than trying to get past a bunch of uniformed authorities. I started to relax.

  I found my gate and checked the screen that displayed flight information. It would be a while before I had to board. I went to a bookstore across the hall, grabbed a magazine and paperback, then went back to the gate and found a seat. I looked out the windows and watched as the plane I’d be boarding for Vegas pulled up to the jetway.

  A voice came on the intercom system. “Would traveler Amanda Murphy please return to security check two? Amanda Murphy return to security check two.”

  My heart skipped a beat then started pounding double time. Holy shit.

  I looked at a young woman seated across from me. My eyes were wide and my mouth was dry. “Why would they call me back?” I said.

  “Did you forget and leave something there?” she said.

  I patted my pockets and checked off the list—credit card, ID, I had my bag. “No, I don’t think so.”

  “Should probably go and check,” she said.

  I got up and walked the long hallway back to the security check area. I tried to get myself under control. I took long breaths through my nose and released the air through my mouth. Everything’s okay. You are Amanda Murphy traveling to visit family. You can do this.

  When I got to the checkpoint, I approached an older lady in a blue uniform shirt.

  “Can I help you?” she said.

  “Uhm…I’m…” I caught my breath. “Sorry. I’m Amanda Murphy. Somebody called me to come back here?”

  “Yes. Just a second.” She walked away.

  I stood there, watching her go. My heart pounded in my chest. Adrenaline surged through my body. The TSA woman spoke to a man in uniform. She pointed back at me. He looked my way and nodded his head. They both walked toward me.

  I felt like I would pass out. I’ve always experienced anxiety around people in official positions of authority. Cops, game wardens, truant officers, you name it. It’s just a thing with me.

  The guy wore a TSA cap and had a dark mustache. “Hi, Miss Murphy. I just need to see your ID.”

  “You need to see my—”

  “Just your driver’s license.”

  “Uhm…okay.” I fished my state ID out of my pocket and handed it to him.

  He studied it a couple of seconds. He handed it back then handed me a slip of paper.

  I looked at the paper. It was my boarding pass. I’d left it in the bin when I went through security.

  “You can’t fly without that,” he said.

  “Oh, thank you,” I said. “Thank you so much.”

  “No worries,” he said. “Hang onto it.”

  When I got back to my gate, the passengers were already in line to board. I got in the back of the line, handed my pass to the lady at the desk when my turn came. She scanned it and handed it back to me. “Have a nice day, Miss Murphy.”

  I thanked her and followed the others down the jetway. My heartbeat slowed to a normal rhythm.

  We boarded the plane. I stowed my bag in the overhead compartment. My seat was near the back of the plane next to the window. A teenage boy was in the aisle seat next to me. He had his ear buds in. I buckled in and relaxed, lay my head against the window and closed my eyes. Within seconds, I was asleep.

  I was only vaguely aware of being pushed back in my seat as the plane accelerated down the runway and took to the air. I remembered thinking I was on a prison bus and the road was bumpy.

  While I slept, I dreamed of being in the federal prison transport system. At one point during the dream, I shifted in my seat and my hands spread apart. This startled me, because they were supposed to be in handcuffs.

  I opened my eyes. The view before me was unexpected. I was looking out the window of the airplane from thirty-seven thousand feet at a hellish, alien landscape. I could clearly make out the terrain below through the dry air. What I saw below me was not the planet Earth, at least not as I knew it. Everything was gray and brown, the land carved up in dry rivulets. No highways, no houses. No foliage of any kind. As far as my eye could see, everything was barren. It looked like the surface of Mars.

  I sat up and looked around the interior of the plane. Most passengers were asleep. A flight attendant was passing by and made eye contact with me. “Can I get you anything?” she said. “Something to drink?”

  “Uhm. Yeah,” I said. I pointed out the window. “Have you seen this?” I said.

  “Yes,” she said.

  “Should we maybe turn back?”

  “No. It’s just New Mexico.”

  “Do people live there?”

  “Yes, they do.”

  “Oh. Looks dry.”

  “Doesn’t it? No water. No trees. Would you like a drink?”

  “Yeah. Can I get, uh...a bourbon?”

  “Yes,” she quoted me a price.

  I handed her my credit card.

  “You want something to go with it?”

  “Maybe another bourbon?”

  She laughed. “You know it’s not even nine o’clock, right?”

  “Orange juice?” I said.

  “Two bourbons and an OJ. Coming right up.”

  I watched the desert terrain below as I drank the bourbon. I’d lived my life in the Southeast. Seeing this strange land demonstrated to me just how much of the world was out there that I knew nothing about.

  The barren landscape didn’t change much as we descended to Las Vegas. I spotted a large lake outside the wi
ndow a couple of minutes before I heard the landing gear drop. At the last moment, there were houses, then larger buildings. There wasn’t much green. The lawns consisted of decorative rocks versus grass. Heavy ceramic tiles covered the roofs of the houses instead of normal shingles.

  We were on the ground waiting to deplane when the captain came on the intercom and let us know it was 112 degrees outside.

  Shit.

  I got off the plane. It was damned hot walking up the jetway, but the interior of the airport was comfortable. I followed the signs for ground transportation through McCarran International past the dinging slot machines and trendy shops until I got to the exit. I got in line behind a bunch of people waiting for taxis.

  I got in a cab and told the driver to take me to the New York, New York hotel. As he sped away from the airport, I took in my surroundings. The gray barren landscape was unnerving. I couldn’t get over the fact that I was part of a tiny, artificially lush dot in the middle of an environment that would rather suck the life out of me in an instant. The mountains that loomed in the distance looked like they belonged on the moon. I saw the skyline of the Vegas strip come into view. We passed the Welcome to Fabulous Las Vegas, Nevada sign. It all seemed so cheap and plastic somehow, a stark contrast to the terrain. It looked like it could all be wiped away in a minute. The only thing that kept death at bay was water piped in from the lake, and from what I saw from the plane, the lake wasn’t exactly full.

  We zipped around palm trees and liquor stores, then we were on the strip. A throng of people lined either side of the street, sweating, drinking bottled water, lumbering along. We passed the Mandalay Bay, the Luxor. Then there was a fake New York skyline on the left, complete with George Washington Bridge and Statue of Liberty, and the MGM Grand on the right.

  I’d heard people back home compare Gatlinburg, Tennessee to Las Vegas. Now that I’d seen both, there was no comparison. Both were fake and plastic, but Vegas was on a different scale. Its blatant gaudiness and architecture were on a level I’d never seen. Gatlinburg has the Smokey Mountains, and the lush forests make it feel safe. Vegas was a town on the edge of hell.