by Neal, Xavier
Before I can concur, his lips softly touch mine, looking for compliance. Giving it with soft pushes of my tongue I get wrapped in the false security we've created around us.
Things like this built on hopes and ideals never last as long as romantics like us plan for it to. That scares the shit out of me. But guess what? I've lived enough of my life not taking risks, suffocating under the rule of fear. I'm not doing it again. No more of that bullshit.
Merrick
“Won't eat a waffle, but will eat the hell out of a waffle cone,” Jovi teases from beside me on the bench outside the ice cream shop. “That doesn't make sense to me.”
I wrap my arm around the edge of the bench and she leans in closer to me. “Doesn't stop you from eating my ice cream does it?”
Jovi sticks out her tongue playfully before taking a lick of the cone we're sharing.
Fuck. Me. That tongue she has...that fucking thing is dangerous as shit. At first I thought she was fucking with me when she implied she'd never given head before, but one roll of that thing and I didn't fucking care. It was so good, I came and wanted to keep coming for hours. Talk shit about me all you want for coming a little fast, but I have been jacking off to that scene twice a day since it happened. That shit's good.
With a smile I lean over. “You've got ice cream on your face.”
“Where?”
My tongue dart out of my mouth to slowly lick off the chocolate drop from the corner of her lips. In the process, she tilts her lips towards me, donating them to my tongue. Thrilled at another chance to have her tongue with mine, I slip it in her mouth, hand gripping the cone to the point of possibly crushing it.
Did I mention her mocha skin is as smooth as the ice cream we're eating? Tastes better though.
After exiguous whimpers come from my girlfriend, I lightly pull my lips away from hers, having another swipe of the melting treat in my hand, loving the head in the clouds look that Jovi has.
You see that right? She looks high...I fucking love it.
“So,” she sighs once her brain kicks back into functioning. “Tonight....dinner? Movie?”
Knowing not to act anything other than absolutely fucking cool, I shake my head. “Can't. Have to work for a bit. How about tomorrow? I can take you to my favorite little nacho spot.”
“You're always eating nachos.”
“I love nachos. Chips. Beans. Cheese. Meat. Dip that shit in sour cream and more cheese, what the fuck isn't there to love about that?”
Jovi giggles and I realize the sugar rush from ice cream can never fucking compete to the one I get from this girl. “You're weird.”
“You're strange.”
Not missing a beat Jovi says with sass, “You're picky.”
“You're perfect.” The compliment closes her mouth and I have another lick of ice cream in victory. Afterwards I smirk. “I win.”
“This round,” she huffs and checks her cell phone. “Why do you have to work late at night?”
“We have a couple of private jobs for higher clientele that require a little extra time. It happens occasionally. Couple times a month. It's not a big deal,” I lie.
There's no way I can tell Jovi where I'll actually be. And wipe that skeptical look off your face. I'm not cheating on her. I would never cheat on her. She's fucking amazing. I just can't tell her where I'm going because...it has to be kept secret. But don't we all have secrets?
Accepting the answer at face value, she smiles. “I understand. I'll just wrap up a little more of my project tonight then and free up my evening for you tomorrow.”
“Exactly,” I say before changing the subject. “Speaking of, how many more photos do you think you need?”
“Maybe one more photo shoot and then you can paint me. I've got three weeks on the project left and then it has to be turned in the last week for finals. After that it's just a few weeks and...” her voice trails off not wanting to discuss the subject.
“And then I'm driving hours to come visit you baby,” I speak up and the words make her smile in relief. “Now, do you want any more of this thing? It's making my fingers sticky in the wrong way.”
Jovi giggles and denies the offer. I stand, toss the cone in the trash, wipe my hands, and hold it out for her to take. “Come on. Let's get you back to campus before your next class.”
She grabs her bag from beside her feet and slips her hand with mine. With similar grins we head back towards my car in a sweet silence.
It's weird I know, but I don't feel I have to talk every minute she's around. Just being in her presence is enough. Fuck. Is this what Romeo sounded like too? If I start talking about seeing a friar, nut punch me.
**
Two sharp pounds on my bedroom door let me know Madden is ready to go. I finish tucking in my long sleeve black shirt and open the door. With the same grim expression he always has when it's time for this kind of work, he gives me a nod to acknowledge my status. I nod in return and head for the living room where Destin is set up behind the computer prepared to change traffic lights, redirect cops, and track our whereabouts.
On my way over to Drew who is sitting at the kitchen table I call over to Destin, “Green light?”
“Almost,” he answers as my other brother opens the two briefcases on the table.
Spreading my fingers wide I allow him to replace my fingerprints with the fake ones.
If you were thinking we were low class criminals, you were very mistaken.
He repeats the process for Madden, before handing me my pure white mask I wear while I drive. What most people only see during masquerade parties or Halloween, I've turned into a symbol of fear and intrigue. I hold the object in my hand and continue to admire the blankness of the face that the police can't catch.
How Drew does this kind of shit I'll never understand, but he's always made my masks. And while they look creepy and suffocating from the outside, it's molded to gently become one with my face to point sometimes I forget it's still on.
“Knoxie is downstairs with Daniel,” Drew says handing us ear wedges. “Green Light.”
Ugh. I hate putting this shit in my ear. Swear it feels like a wedge of cheese ground inside.
Madden pushes his wedge in his ear. “Triple D!”
Destin looks up and shoves his piece in his ear. I look over to see Drew doing the same.
Disapprovingly Madden gives me a stern look.
“I'll put it on in the car.” His eyebrows raise. “You know how much I hate these things.” Madden rolls his eyes and I say to Drew, “You can make a mask that fits my face so naturally but can't make an ear piece that doesn't feel like you've broken off a block of cheddar and wedged it inside?”
“Bitch. Bitch. Bitch baby brother.” Drew shakes his head. “Get your head in the game.”
“My head is fine. Better if it wasn't full of fucking cheese,” I playfully remark and Madden elbows me. Taking the hint, I say, “See you on the other side Triple D.”
“Safe drive.” Destin turns back to his two laptops hooked up on the coffee table.
“Safe ride,” Drew echoes.
Without another word we exit and take the stairs to the inside of the garage where Knoxie is leaned up against the edge of one of the work stations, dressed in her tight black jeans, tank top, and tennis shoes ready to work like the rest of us.
Before Madden can question her she flashes him the keys and points to the ear piece already in place.
See. No one likes to listen to Madden bitch.
He slips the keys out of her hand, tugs on the edge of her shirt where her stomach is peaking out, and gives her a short grunt that makes her smile.
I don't speak caveman. Do you?
“Ghost,” Knoxie says to me grabbing my attention before I have a chance to open the door. “Don't let 'em see you.” I wink and she continues, “Glove compartment has the location. You're bringing home a Hot Tottie tonight not a present. Last of Triple D is already waiting.”
Translation? Tonight we're swapp
ing this car for one that The Devil is having delivered. If we were picking up a present, it would be some sort of drug he needed brought back to him. Why can't he move his own cars? I try not to ask questions, but what I've gathered is when he we pick up a present its always him being brought whatever product it is he is pushing, and when we bring him Hot Totties, there's typically money and the car is acting like a giant packaging distraction.
The two of us slide in the car and Madden hands me the keys. Before starting the cherry red Ferrari, I run my fingers around the steering wheel, caressing her the same way I would a canvas before painting.
Crime is an even more delicate art form than the others.
As soon as I start her up Madden, says to me our traditional warm up statement. “What's the way of the McCoy?”
“Finish first on the road and last in bed,” I answer and slip on the mask.
Knoxie lets up the garage door and I back out slowly, as Madden pulls out the location.
Besides navigation, Madden's job is muscle. Once upon a time he did my job, but when The Devil found out I could out race him, he couldn't resist twisting Madden's arm into letting me take his place. To say I hate this, would be a lie, but sometimes late at night I wonder what life would be like if I would've never begged to be a part of this lifestyle. Don't tell anyone, but I fear that I'll never be able to get out...
“Triple D I've got an address. You ready?”
“Do it.”
Madden reads off the information and I pull out on the street. Destin begins doing his part, giving me the route he wants me to take to get me to the exchange on time and unseen. Shifting into Ghost mode, I take off, aware of the small window that's given to us.
The Devil never allows a reasonable amount of time for any fucking thing. Between the amount of heat on us and the type of business he does, the less amount of time with weak points exposed the better.
I weave in and out of traffic, the engine purring at me in approval as I take more daring choices than my brother approves of by his heavy sighs.
Some are for purpose. Some are fun. If I'm gonna commit this kinda crime, I told myself I wanted to do it with a little signature swag.
Reaching the 110 mark, I fly down the highway increasing the speed to make sure to stay on time and decrease the chance of being seen.
“Triple D?” Madden questions over the ear piece.
“Clear for the next 16 miles.”
Pleased with the answer, I push the car a little more, a little harder, a little forceful.
Hey, it's what they're made for.
The two of us follow Destin's directions until we arrive in the swap location in an abandoned parking garage with 2 minutes and 25 seconds to spare.
Not my best work, but not my worst.
Knowing the drill, I park and wait while Madden gets out to make the actual exchange. I watch him head over to the two men standing beside a white Lotus Elise that's got my hands gripping the wheel tightly in excitement to get behind it. Words are exchanged and I stare on prepared to put the back-up plan in motion if anything goes wrong.
Both of us have thin bullet proof vests under our shirts, but that doesn't mean they won't aim for somewhere else. Overly cautious? Maybe. But I try to remind myself there may be codes in the criminal world, but obviously we're all on this side of the law for a reason, ya know?
As soon as Madden has the keys in his hand, he gives me the signal to exit the vehicle. I do so cautiously, both hands raised indicating I'm not armed and make my way to the other vehicle just as slowly. Once we're switched, I slide in the front seat, start her up and peal out before second guesses can be made.
The real trick isn't in the amount of time it takes to get to the exchange, but the amount of time it takes to get back.
I've got no plates. No stops allowed. An unregistered, unmarked car typically carrying money or drugs, going car crashing speeds. If I'm late, and The Devil is feeling generous he takes a larger cut of our pay, if he's not he'll take it in your blood. How do you think the other drivers ended before us? If I'm caught by the cops, that's it. Everything falls on us. There's no proof or evidence it was him. All the heat is on Madden and me. Sounds like a really fucking shitty deal doesn't it? I'd agree right until those millions started adding up.
“Red and Blue on location. Green two exits before.”
I don't answer knowing I'm not supposed to speak during the run.
With this mask on I am to be invisible. Not seen. Not heard. Just fit into my name.
Following the instructions, the other route is clear of most cars as it should be at 3 in the morning. I pull the car off, taking an older road that through a couple more back turns will lead us up to The Devil's compound. As soon as it's in sight I feel an immediate relief flood over me, the adrenaline that was in overdrive, downshifting.
I pull around back into the garage designated for cars, the ones that are for play and the ones that are for work. Once we're stopped in the space that faces his elevator doors, which lead up to the guest house, I kill the engine and wait. Around us to the left in the pristine room are three muscles cars, a black '65 Shelby cobra, a black '69 Camaro, and a black '70's Challenger. On the right are his current sports toys that constantly rotate. He's got his red Lambo Gallardo, his blue and white Viper, and a brand new crisp black Aston Martin I wanna take out.
Sometimes he brings me his new cars to see how they ride before he decides on keeping them or ditching them. Man with too much money if you ask me.
“Oooo,” The Devil says the minute the elevator doors open. “Look. At. That.”
Madden and I slide out of the car, hands in the air to prove we aren't gripping weapons, and he has his two guards lower theirs.
See. Always worried about getting killed in between jobs. Even by the ones who employ you.
“How's she ride Ghost?” He questions, strolling closer towards me, hand sliding in his suit pants pocket.
Dragging the mask off my face, I enjoy the brief moment of the cool air hitting my cheeks. With a deep breath I reply, “Like a pro.”
The Devil doesn't look like you would probably imagine. He's tall. Thin. Tan. Always cloaked in a suit reminding me of a CEO of a fortune 500 company. He's not that much older than Madden in his mid 30s, but people sell their souls to this man who can get them damn near anything they dream of.
“I'm gonna plate her tonight. Wanna take her out tomorrow? See how well she plays with others?”
I wet my lips and imagine the look on Vinnie's face when I show up with her. “Yeah. Sounds good.” When the keys transfer from my hands to his he says, “Trouble?”
“No sir,” Madden answers.
“Good,” he nods eyeballing the vehicle. “Boys, check her.” His guards do as they're commanded at the same time he says, “McCoy's your payment is waiting with Vicki on the way out. Your ride is waiting out front. Ghost,” he tosses a look back at me. I raise my eyebrow and he says, “She'll be in the garage in the morning. Enjoy your evening gentleman.”
Madden and I take the elevator up in silence.
We don't typically talk on these things. Sometimes I think it's so I can focus, other times I know it's because he enters a tunnel of self-loathing for getting me mixed up in this.
On the first floor, we take the long hallway until it leaks into the large living room where we see Vicki in her red dress, holding a large envelope for payment.
Destin doesn't like the idea of just having the money wired. He's overly concerned with the idea of money being able to be tracked wirelessly. So we get paid in cash, keep some for spending, the rest gets deposited through computer magic to some bank account in Switzerland courtesy of a little help from Bankman. Basically, our asses are always covered. Can never be too careful in this business.
Madden takes the envelope and Vicki coos touching the top of her chest. “Want a bonus Madden?”
“Nope,” he answers opening the door for me to go through first.
“One of these
days,” she argues.
On the other side of the front door is Knoxie expressionless. However that changes when Madden gets a little closer. It's obvious her own peace is put back in place even if she would never admit it.
The three of us get in and Knoxie drives us to one of the secured location we use around the city to dispose of the evidence. We strip out of the clothes, underwear included, the fingerprints, and toss them along with the mask and the directions into the pit that Knoxie lights on fire burning away the proof as we change, only keeping the vests since they are practically untraceable.
