by Marie Wathen
“The fuck?” Nothing pisses me off more than pushers bringing kids into this perverse world. My blood boils hot. “Is your kid all right?”
He nods. “Little shit got his ass tore up for going back there, but yeah, he didn’t get into anything that night.”
“Damn, man, that is just…fucked up.”
“Luckily, his fucked up plan got foiled, and APD busted his ass, jamming him up with a hefty bond. It’s rumored that he has some major backer willing to bail his ass out. The point to all of this is that he will be sniffing around for a new hook up. He is a junkie in the worst way. He actually believes that everyone should just give him his drugs for free.” He scoffs, “Asswipe! The X would be his obvious next choice since he hasn’t worn out his welcome with anyone in your organization.”
“I appreciate you bringing this to my attention, Minder,” I state, placing hand on his shoulder, “Makes me sick to hear that about the kids. I will put the word out within our groups, and if I get the slightest inkling that he’s up to his old tricks, we’ll deal. What is this douche bag’s name, and who the fuck would make his bond?”
“Don’t know his real name, but the mental case’s street rap is Mad Hatter,” he replies with a smug smile, and I shake my head agreeing with the label he slapped the guy with. “And, everyone is tightlipped on his fairy godmother’s identity.” He slaps my arm, and then opens the door. “Well, boss man, I’m going to find the wife and head out. See ya.”
Zeke stands in the hallway, his back leaning against the wall across from us. “Come in,” I say, and he enters the room, closing the door behind him.
“Is everything chill, Lieutenant?”
“Not really,” I answer, turning around and staring at the back wall window, which overlooks the stage. “Do you know if Decks has hired any new pushers recently?”
“None,” he says confidently.
“Keep your eyes open for anyone joining up with one of his traps,” I order, “Then report back to me immediately.”
“Do you have a name boss?”
“Mad Hatter is his street name,” I reply. Zeke is like a wannabe sleuth, and his skills are impressive thanks to his enigmatic contacts. I trust his instinct without pause. “I know how much you love a good challenge.” I face him, catching an arched eyebrow and smirk. “Let Bales know too, and notify me the moment you identify him.”
“Roger that,” he answers, twisting around and exiting the room.
Following behind him, I stroll up to my seat at the bar, noticing that the place is much busier now than it was before I went back to speak with Minder. I catch the bartender’s eye, silently expressing my need for a new drink. I speak to a few people lingering beside me and after a couple of minutes they move away to sit at a booth across the room that becomes available. Something inside me sparks and I feel a draw, tugging at me. Downing my drink, I push the empty glass forward and tell the bartender to close out my tab. Between everything going on with Lourdes, this new shit that Minder brought to my doorstep and my increased anger, I feel like things are crashing around me. Maybe I need a vacation.
Turning to face the band, I notice Angel sitting two seats down from me. An involuntary hiss leaves my lips. Seeing her here bothers the hell out of me, especially after basically telling her to get lost last month. That was a crude way of trying to protect her from this life, but I don’t think that she is the type of woman who would do a damn thing, if I asked nicely. Finding her here tonight assures me that she isn’t easily intimidated by my asshole approach either.
With her attention riveted on the band, I take the time to check her out. Her looks are so striking, the kind of sexy that inspires poetry, or a hot rock ballad. Tonight, her hair is braided and draping over her right shoulder. At the moment, I am grateful to the big guy upstairs for the sweltering heat. Thanks to the hot southern June night, she is wearing a white halter top, exposing her sexy smooth back and the edge of her full breast, which means she isn’t wearing a bra. Sex with her was fucking unbelievable. My one regret is not properly getting my hands or mouth on those beautiful tits.
In a short pair of frayed edge shorts, also white, she sits cross legged, one long tan leg bouncing to the rhythm of the fast tempo song. The movement makes her boobs jiggle, and I feel the movement all the way to my balls, rushing heat through my body like a projectile while my mouth waters with an all consuming desire to sample them. Will her siren call ever end?
Forcing my attention away from her remarkable form, I scan the room for her boyfriend, Rad. He is sitting at a booth with Murph, Jude, and Natalie. Immediately, Decks drops into the open space beside Natalie. He leans forward, speaking into her ear and then his eyes lift up toward the direction that she points–toward Angel. Studying him, I see his body tense and he licks his lips. Looks like Decks wants a taste as well. A feral growl bubbles up out of my chest. Thankfully it is muffled out by the band, so no one can hear me getting territorial about a woman who isn’t mine. I am truly bothered by that fact too. Dammit, that shit came out of nowhere. The past few weeks, I have been thinking about her daily, but I push that shit out of my head as fast as it comes–most of the time. There are moments that I linger on the memory of our night together, when I’m alone.
Shaking those thoughts off, I watch Decks standing up and crossing the room, situating himself in front of her. A sick feeling hits my gut. My hands grip into painful fists. The urge to leap across the cheap barstool separating us grows by the second watching him raking his dark eyes over her exposed flesh. I fucking hate him being so close to her, invading her space, but especially for making a frown bend on her luscious lips. She should always only have a smile on that graceful mouth. He blocks her view of the band. Without looking at him, she tilts her head, settling her attention on the Zill again. When he shifts to obstruct her view again, I smile at the annoyed grimace that she nails him with as she finally meets his gaze. Brushing a hand over her bare shoulder, he leans in closely, his mouth whispering against the shell of her ear. From here, I see her shudder. Her fists, lying on her lap, clench and unclench repeatedly. She shakes her head, one hand coming up to press against the outside of his shoulder, pushing him away. He wraps long fingers around her thin wrist, drawing it up and opening her hand where he places a kiss against the inside. What feels like an eternity later, she smiles, but it is completely fake. I have seen her real smile, and that is definitely not it.
After a couple of beats she successfully shoos him away, like the pest that he is, and then spins around toward the bartender. Her face morphs again, but this time it is etched with anger as she turns up her glass, draining the contents. I will her to look over at me, a crazy tension building in my muscles. I want her to see me, and not want to distract her gaze away, as she had with Decks. Her eyes rake upward, smiling at the guy pouring her a refill into her glass of whiskey, and then she places a couple of singles into his tip jar. Bringing the rim of the glass up to her lips, she cuts her eyes two chairs over. As she sips the warm liqueur, light coloring moves along her cheekbones, and her haunting eyes hold me captive, as they did the first time that she looked at me.
The moment freezes. A story begins to reveal itself in this suspension. I have been a lot of things in my life, a son, a brother, a respected man, and currently a piece of shit. With her, I see something new. Some unexpected role assures me that for her, I could be everything, I could be more, but there is also something else reflecting back. Her mysterious eyes are telling me that she doesn’t need that from someone like me. Too bad that it must be that way.
Again, my mind flips back to the night we were together, and how desperately I wanted her away from me, protected from this vile business. I never expected to see her again, but the truth is that I am happier now than I have been for the past month, seeing her tonight.
Stepping down from my barstool, I move to the empty chair between us, watching her eyes follow my every move. With a predatory smirk, I stand beside her and say, “Hello again, Angel.”
She continues to stare, wordlessly. “Mind if I sit?” I ask, and again, she doesn’t respond. Glancing toward the booth, which holds a blend of our friends, I say, “You decided to ignore my warning and are hanging around after all.” I know her eyes are burning a hole through me, I feel the heat scorching every inch of my body. “I’ll only tell you once more that it isn’t safe for you to be mixed up with Decks’ crew. People get hurt, disappear…” I shift my attention back to her, finding that gaze burrowing through me just as I suspected. I harden my look on her. “Or die.”
Her eyes blaze, as if she finds my suggestion absurd and offensive. “You’re not telling me anything that I don’t know already,” she replies, refusing to break eye contact with me. “I’m here with my boyfriend. No one would dare fuck with me. Everything is cool, so the real question here is why do you give a shit what I do?”
“Clearly, your boyfriend is a dumb fuck. He is nobody, just a lowly pusher for Christ sake. He can offer nothing in the way of safety for you. And, flaunting you as part of Decks’ crew is reckless. Keeping you around guarantees that danger will seek you out faster.”
Elegantly, and in a slick move, she leans back against her barstool, crossing her arms and setting her eyes on me, as well as her barely-contained passion. “Let me assure you, Blues, I guarantee that I can take care of myself, with or without Rad backing me up.” Her hand snakes out from its tight binding, gripping her tumble and bringing it up to her lips. I think I might see a slight shake right before she drains it. “Now, please, go back to your girlfriend, so that I can enjoy my drink, privately.”
She is deluded by his peacock-ing around here, like he is some force to be reckoned with. I don’t trust Rad to keep his own ass safe, so I absolutely despise the fact that Angel could place such trust in him. The fact that she is trying to make me think that she believes the shit flowing from her sweet lips is true, irks the hell out of me even more.
Chapter Six
Finishing up a short set with the band at Holidays, I stow away my saxophone and tell Zeke that I’m stepping out back for a private smoke. As usual, he nods. Bales sits in the black SUV parked at the far end of the parking lot, directly facing the back door.
My fingers are still vibrating from playing and the left corner of my upper lip itches like hell. I rub a knuckle against it and then pull a long drag from my cigarette. I really need to quit these damn things. Best thing about them though is one of the reasons why I haven’t truly committed. Lourdes hates it when I taste like an ashtray. I smirk at that thought. A few couples push their way through the rear door while I lean against the cool brick wall, needing a few minutes alone–away from the queen bitch.
Lourdes has really been laying the shit on heavy recently, like she thinks I’m going to propose soon. “That will be the fucking day¸” I mumble before hearing a loud car pulling into the side parking lot near the back. Fucking great! Every damn time that we hang out at the club now, Rad shows up, and of course Angel accompanies him. She refused to heed my warning. I swear to Christ that seeing them together, and knowing that she is in danger grates on my last nerve. Also, the fact that he’s fucking that sweet pussy after leaving here crushes me.
Since our most recent encounter, I’ve been watching her, learning things that she tries to keep a secret from others, but she can’t hide from me. She loves being playful with Natalie on the dance floor, but she doesn’t like dancing with Rad, or any man for that matter. Decks’ ridiculous flirting is one thing that really gets on her nerves. On more than one occasion, she has proclaimed that she is Rad’s old lady, effectively avoiding his relentless pursuit. For which I am astoundingly grateful. I loathe her being with Rad, but I would probably ruin everything if she were to start dating that asshole. She is very inquisitive. Her eyes watch every person in the club, surveying them like it’s a job. And Kentucky whiskey is her favorite drink, something we have in common.
On the few occasions that we’ve made eye contact, she looks at me like she vaguely remembers our last conversation, and that one night together in my bed. One night that has been a reoccurring daydream of mine for three long motherfucking months. Staring at the sway of her hips, I get so caught up in remembering the way that she felt in my arms. The desire to take her again is so potent that I avoid any private moments with her and never sit at their table.
A car door slams. “Goddamn it, when I tell you not to do something, I expect you to fucking obey,” Rad thunders, slamming his door too. So hard, it quite possibly jarred the frame. Crushing out my smoke, I lean away from the wall and take two steps toward them, remaining hidden in the shadows.
“Oh, you son of a bitch,” Angel challenges back, her fists slamming against her thighs fiercely as she spins around to face him. “I am not some stupid ass girl that you can boss around. I don’t give a shit about how you think things are supposed to be, and I’m getting sick of faking our amazing relationship in front of all these motherfucker at this godforsaken club.” The fuck? I glance over my shoulder, hoping that Zeke hasn’t stepped out and overheard this shit. They may take a bullet for me, but I know where their loyalty lies–to the man who signs their fat paychecks.
“Son of a bitch? Really?” Rad snaps back, catching up with her and lowering his voice slightly. “I wonder how my mum will feel about you calling her that.”
“Leave her out of this,” Angel demands, stomping away from him and heading toward the front door.
He catches up with her and captures her arm, holding on aggressively. “Don’t make me regret my decision about us, Angel.”
“Get your filthy paws off of me, and if you lay your hand on me one more time, I swear I will rip your fucking balls off, Rad.” He drops her like she just burned his hand with that remark, but he looks pissed. She storms away, rushing inside the club. After staring after her for a minute, he follows.
What was that shit all about? Could their relationship be an act? Or is it dysfunctional, like most couples barely scraping by in this lifestyle? More importantly, has Rad hurt her? If I ever find out that he has struck her–other than the night that Jude told me about when she was targeted by Lourdes–I will kill that motherfucker and hide his body so that no one will ever find his pulverized remains. Being a mob boss has afforded me such luxuries as to know this kind of shit. Even though I have never done it, I won’t hesitate cremating his ass.
Pulling another cig from the box, I strike the lighter and then hear my phone ring. “Yeah!”
“Hey man, I’m in trouble,” Jude says, chuckling.
“What happened now?”
“The house was busted. Murph and I are sitting in county lock up. He believes that my one phone call is to Nat, so he’s going to call Decks. Let her know that I’m okay, will ya?”
“Shit,” I grumble. “I have that damn transport out of Texas lined-up and waiting.”
“There’s always Minder.”
“Right,” I agree, and then say, “Sit tight. We’ll see how Nelson wants to play it this time. Hopefully, you’ll be out soon. Most likely, Natalie will need to post your bail. I doubt the old fucker will give two shits about either of you.”
“I know and I’m cool. No one here knows me, so my cover and the job are still secure.”
“Talk soon, brother.” I disconnect and stare down at the Smartphone in my hand, like I’m willing it to produce the answer to this trigonometry problem and resolve all of my issues. Out of the blue, pure genius pops into my head.
***
Two days later, I leave my office after nine o’clock at night, heading toward the address that my assistant text me earlier. Pulling up to the small dwelling, I shake my head and feel disgusted at the sight laid out before me. How in the hell can Rad allow Angel to live in this shithole?
After knocking on the door and getting no response, I turn to leave, but then hear a familiar tune coming from around the backside of the house. Intrigued, I reach the chain link fencing and open the gate, allowing myself into their backyard. No damn sec
urity either? When I turn the back corner, my heart rate accelerates and I tug on my tie, hoping to alleviate some of the tension. Angel is sitting in a Jacuzzi tub on the patio, her head angled back and eyes closed while listening to jazz and enjoying her favorite dark liquor. Her expression is serene, and I really hate breaking this private moment, but I must speak with Rad tonight. I feel like a peeping tom watching her from the shadows. I know that it’s wrong, but my damn feet won’t move me any closer. It seems like I’m no longer in control of my own body. One look at my raging erection will surely tip her off, too.
Calm the hell down.
“That’s an interesting song choice,” I tell her, stepping up onto the cement patio. She twists around, searching behind her and then stops suddenly before turning back to face me.
Her seductive eyes aren’t just glowing in the firelight from the hanging wall sconces, they are blazing with aggravation. “What the hell are you doing?” She reaches forward, switching off the music swiftly. The water splashes over the edge, water-logging my feet, and she blushes because of it. Of course, my mind flashes back to the night we were together, and I remember how I brought out that magnificent tint in a much more enjoyable way.
“Oh, I’m enjoying the sights and sounds on this cool September evening. “All Blues,” by Miles Davis? Nice selection and I am flattered that you’re still thinking about me.”
