by Tara Brent
Her shot glass is empty and she holds it out for a refill. The amber liquid slides into the glass as smooth as her mocking voice. “It might be dangerous for some, but not for you, Jax. Derrick always said you know how to show respect and that’s what’s kept you safe.”
I scoff downing a shot myself. I don’t let people drink alone. “Covering my ass has kept me safe. Not everyone ends up in a penthouse with a straight job. This wasn’t simply good luck.”
My beginning was as bumpy a ride as any other small-time crook. I made deliveries when I was a kid for my father’s associate Mr. Harrison. My dad would hand me a brown paper bag and tell me to go down to Sal’s Meat Market on the corner to drop it off. My orders were simple—go straight there, no stopping along the way, and never talk to strangers. I’d run down the street faster than the wind as I sailed past all obstacles in my path. I was a dumbass kid eager to please, and I cringe at the number of times I almost got hit by a car that I hadn’t noticed. But I always delivered the bags quickly and I never lost one. I was twelve when I finally realized there was a shitload of cash inside. For years, I handed Sal a paper bag of cash and got a fucking ice cream sandwich in return.
The other kids in the neighborhood weren’t as obedient as I was. Well, there was one and that was Vincent Stewart. It became an unspoken competition between us, running the money down to the butchers to see who could deliver the most bags. Eventually, we wised up, and instead of glaring at each other, we started talking to one another and asking Sal for a few dollars instead.
I look at Brandi and wonder how much Derrick is cheating her out of.
“Look,” I say, “I got to head out. I have a lunch date.”
She laughs. “We watched the live stream in the back office. We have a pool going on the results.”
I stop and stare at her. “On what results? Nobody knows what the end result will be.”
She grabs her purse off the couch. “Betting is on how many you’ll sleep with.”
I cringe. Maybe I should take offense at that. “It’s a publicity stunt for Max’s sister.”
Brandi shrugs. “She’s cute. Maybe...”
I cut her off fast. “She’s clean and staying that way.”
Brandi shakes her shoulders like she’s blowing me off. “Princess in the tower is she? Can’t be sullied by the likes of us.”
Rooted to the spot, I give her a hard look. I don’t like the bitchy petty shit talk, and Brandi’s downcast eyes alert me that she knows she’s just crossed a line. “She’s a good kid. You know some of us are born bad, and others of us can never go wrong.”
I step close to Brandi and place my finger under her chin. She lifts her gaze to mine, and I see hope in those brown eyes. My heart sinks down as I realize my foolish mistake. I can’t just be friends with the opposite sex.
She pushes my hand away gently. “Maybe the good ones are just clueless.” She rings for the elevator, as I take the massage table out of her hands.
“You could get out,” I reply.
She shakes her head. “I’ve been promised things.”
The side of my mouth turns into a twist. “Greed ain’t a pretty thing.”
She stares coldly at me. “Isn’t it called ‘ambition’ when you’re a man?”
I laugh shortly. I’ve just been schooled. We get on the elevator but don’t speak as we descend to the parking decks below the first level. Brandi’s eyes are on me, but I don’t turn my head. Greed. Ambition. Whatever she wants to call it that price is too high for me to pay, so I leave her alone.
“What’s the name of that app?” she asks.
“CuteMeet,” I reply.
She laughs. “If I sign up, Jackson, would you swipe right?” She stands in front of me, her chin tilted toward me as her lips part.
I shake my head. “You know I don’t play on company time.”
The elevator door opens, and we walk out heading toward our cars when I see Max getting out of his. Brandi gives him a fleeting glance as she walks toward her Honda Civic. Max has blinders on and barely sees her. I told him about that. He has to lose that tunnel vision if he wants to get laid. He only notices her after Brandi taps her horn and pulls off.
***
Sal’s Meat Market is long gone, and an upscale Japanese French Fusion restaurant has taken its place. If there were any naysayers left to deny that the neighborhood had changed, this restaurant was the best proof that progress has left them behind in the dust. The owner Tad Garrett has kept the worn red brick exterior labeling it quaint, but the entire interior has been gutted. I could barely remember what the inside looked like while I stand in the upscale restaurant with towering fig tree plants in every dimly lit corner. I look over at Vince who rubs his chin staring at the changes in the old place.
“Maybe we should have bought it and developed it ourselves,” he says thoughtfully.
“I don’t know why you don’t buy a place where I live,” I reply.
Vince shrugs his shoulders. “I find it weird living in a hotel.”
I roll my eyes. “It’s a multi-use building,” I reply, “I don’t know how you still live at home. Don’t you want to take a woman home?”
He refuses to look at me when he answers. “I date.”
Smiling, I shake my head. “I mean more than being seen in public at a restaurant.”
Vince has always been a bit too competitive. He focuses on business more than his social life. He’s worse than a workaholic. If he called himself a workaholic that would’ve meant he knew there is a problem. But work is his soulmate. When his father passed away, Vince was the one that was able to bring money home to keep the six of them in that huge old house. He paid the bills while his mother fell apart and kept them going until one day she wondered how a fifteen-year-old boy was able to pay all the bills with a paper route. She didn’t want to know, and he would never tell her.
But our lives changed after Vince and I flipped our first house. We were lucky, but some people didn’t want us to go clean.
“How’s the app going?” he asks when we see Maya’s Toyota pull up out front.
I shrug my shoulders. “Maya’s happy. The publicity stunt is working like a charm. She says they gained 10,000 new follows on Insta, and the app only covers the Northeast.”
“She mentioned the West Coast,” adds Vince.
“What about the West Coast?” I try to sound casual about it. But I’ve always been interested in what Maya does especially since she arrived back home from NYC. When we were kids, I looked out for her because she was Vince’s little sister. Bridgetown wasn’t up and coming back then. It was rundown and dangerous, where people did sick things they thought they’d never do to make money. Well, some of them would have even if they had options. But we looked out for Maya; she wasn’t going wrong with the rest of us.
“They may expand the app to all the major cities,” replies Vince losing interest in the conversation. “Listen, Derrick called me.”
I cut him off with a warning glare. “It’s upstairs. You have a keycard to the penthouse.”
“Last time, when I came by to pick it up,” he replies under his breath, “I wasn’t expecting to see Maya there.”
Vince is fishing for reassurance that I wouldn’t touch his little sister. I’m good enough to be his friend and business partner but never good enough to be with his sister. I sigh and shake my head. It would be cruel if I kept him thinking the wrong thing out of spite.
“Nothing is going on with your sister,” I reply. “Or will ever happen between us. I don’t want to lose a friend over a woman. Any woman.”
Looking at the ground, Vince shakes his head. “That’s not what’s bothering me. He wants me to take over for you when you quit.”
Fuck. I bite down on my lip to keep from going off. “No,” I growl in a low voice, “then forget it. I’m not quitting, so you get saddled with this shit.”
Sticking Vince with laundering cash isn’t a clean break. It would still have to go through our
business. We never ask where the money comes from but I can guess. I just keep my guesses to myself. The seaport was closed to commercial traffic, but that didn’t mean no one used it. The money would come in, and we would clean it through the maintenance companies we used to make our listings look presentable. The money is disbursed through payroll. Ten dirty twenty dollar bills were hard to trace.
Vince taps my shoulder as Maya enters the restaurant, and our conversation will have to wait. Even if I were okay with talking business around Maya, I can’t. My gaze is fastened to her curvy hips underneath a clingy knit dress that sways with every step. She never wears that much makeup, not that she needs it with that lively smile. She looks at me, and I feel like the room has just disappeared. It’s only us as she walks toward me, giving me that look that makes me think I’m the only man she would say yes to if I dared ask.
I feel a sharp punch on my shoulder and turn to see Vince glaring. He lifts his shoulder and without saying it, he wants to know what I think I’m looking at. I shake my head slowly. He’s been tagging along each time I meet with Maya. She used to be the one to tag along. Now, it’s her big brother keeping a close eye on me, or maybe on her. No, Maya’s not interested.
“What’s up?” she says to me, “Why are you frowning, Jackson? I interrogated this woman. She sounded normal over the phone.”
“Nothing’s up,” I reply, “I’m trying to convince your brother to move away from home. A grown man living at home is a deal-breaker after the age of twenty.”
Maya laughs, and for a moment, I feel like I’m here with her and not with Vince. Her whole face brightens as her eyes catch the light and sparkle. She’s got that sweet little nose. I used to pinch it when we were kids. I’m surprised she can breathe through it. She shakes her waves off her shoulder and places her hand on mine.
“He’ll never leave home,” she deadpans. “He’s cheap and who will watch us?”
“I never understood that.” Smiling, I take a step closer. “You’re perfectly capable of taking care of yourself.” I look around. “You certainly have this together.”
Maya’s eyes widen along with her smile. “See, Vince, I’m a grown-up.” She looks back at me. “Well, I might be looking for a place soon.”
“Where?” Vince asks quickly. He does nothing to conceal his disapproval. We both stare at him like he’s got to calm the fuck down. I really don’t get the constant breathing down her neck. I might understand if Maya were off the rails—involved with the wrong people and never settling down. You know, like me.
“I can’t do this right now,” her hard tone pushes back. “I’m working.” Maya walks off to talk to her crew while they set up the equipment for the feed. I watch her for a moment longer until I can sense Vince’s eyes boring holes through my back.
“She’s an adult, Vince,” I reply coolly.
“Just as long as you remember she’s my sister,” he replies. Maya is too busy to notice the tempest swirling a few feet from her as she checks the audio for the feed. The guy she’s talking to is a hipster with his thick beard and plaid shirt. He laughs at something Maya just said. She has a snarky wit especially when it’s aimed at Vince.
“She’s not interested in me,” I scoff, “I’m an old man to her.”
Vince gives me a curious look that I can’t read. It twists his mouth, and his eyes widen as he looks toward the door. A brunette a lot younger than Maya walks into the restaurant. She’s not bad looking but she’s loaded down with piercing. I’m into the random few but if I had a magnet, she’d come sailing across the room. Her face lights up when she sees me, and I wish I had some secret hand signal to communicate with Maya when the date needs to end fast.
Vince smiles and greets the woman then looks in my direction. “He’s right over there.”
***
The date was a disaster. I knew it would be. Katie had no table manners, I’m not posh but I learned a few good tips like using a fork and not your fingers. The next time some wise ass asks me why I’m still single, I’ll give them the link to this feed. Mercifully, Maya finds a reason to end the date right on time. Katie extends a greasy hand in my direction but I opt to wave goodbye from a distance.
Maya looks at me with a tiny smile on her face. We stand together as one of the crew ushers Katie out the door and back onto the street.
“Well, you picked that one,” I say to her.
“No I didn’t,” she replies, “It was on your list. You have the whole day in front of you. Any plans?”
I grin at her. “One day, I’ll suggest something.”
She smiles but it’s not that innocent smile as her gaze lands on my lips. “I’m just waiting for a suggestion.”
I look away as I clear my throat. “I have to go somewhere.”
“Another date,” she scoffs.
“Business meeting this time,” I reply.
“Oh.” She looks embarrassed, and the easy back and forth we usually have is forced. I don’t like this awkwardness between us. But neither one of us wants to dare and take the obvious next step.
“I have a date later,” I reply playing the whore again.
She smiles. “I knew it.”
***
A few weeks ago, I had my dad moved to a private facility. His cancer had gotten worse, and staying home wasn’t a safe option. He needed twenty-four-hour care. I told Vince a little bit of what was going on. I tried to downplay it, not make it sound as bad as it was. I don’t share emotions easily not even with my close friends.
“I’m glad you came,” my dad’s voice is ragged as he stares at the television mounted on the wall.
“I always visit in the evenings,” I reply.
His voice is soft. “I know you’re busy.”
I rub my hand over my face. This visit isn’t for me. It’s about him. “How are you feeling?”
“The same.”
His eyes don’t seem to be focused as he stares blankly at a rerun of some dumb show we never watched. The weight of everything presses me down in the chair. I told Vince that dad wasn’t doing well but I didn’t go into details. He persisted until I finally told him where to visit. I look over at a stack of puzzle books on the bedside table. No doubt from Vince. I gather he visits in the morning when I can’t be around.
“Lost in thought,” he asks quietly.
I start. “I thought you had dozed off.”
“The medication will do that but I don’t feel so bad today.” His hand pats the bedcover in a wide circle, and I realize he wants the remote. I look around for it on top of the sheet, and find it underneath his arm. His arm is so thin. My dad was a robust guy. The size of him alone would stop a fight before it started. There used to be more of him until cancer wasted him away.
I turn my head sharply silencing my thoughts. Dad despises weakness. I know he’d beat it out of me if he could. I point the remote at the screen and start flipping channels waiting for him to tell me to stop.
“Shut it off,” his voice sounds like gravel under someone’s shoe.
My finger freezes as I watch a woman wash her head and then swing her shiny hair across the screen.
“Jack, turn it off,” his voice is louder but not stronger. He doesn’t have it in him, but I tense up as if he could reach out and grab me. I always listen to my old man. I turn off the television and stare at the dull gray screen. The sounds from the hallway flitter into the room. Someone is coughing while a machine beeps and the nurse shouts down the hallway about a medication left on a dinner tray.
“We need to talk.” He takes a deep breath. “I wasn’t the best dad to you.”
“Dad,” I try to stop him.
“Jack, let me speak while I have the energy. I may not have it later.”
I’m quiet while he gathers the strength to say something I’m not sure I want to hear.
“I was a shit dad. But my dad was worse,” he says, “Your grandpa was a real terror. You wouldn’t have wanted to know him. But I knew I had issues because your mother
told me so. Your mother was an angel to both of us. One look from her, and I knew I was fucking up again. She had the patience to explain to me that hitting a kid because I fucked up was rotten. She didn’t want to be with someone who was rotten.”
A tear leaks out from his eye. I watch as it streams down the side of his creased face to his pillow. That tear is for mom; she’s the only thing we had in common. How much we loved her kept us together. I’m not surprised to learn now that she’s the reason why he even tried to be a decent man.
“Your mother threatened to leave me if I hit you again,” he continued. “Oh, I gave you the worse whipping. Do you remember why?”
I clear the lump from my throat. “I drank scotch in the backyard.”
He makes a sound and if the corners of his mouth hadn’t lifted up into a twisted grin, I’ve had called the nurse for help. “You thought it would make you a man to drink my best liquor,” he says, “but all it did was make me mad. I used to mark the bottle to make sure no one drank it. Your mother would never drink it, so it had to be you.” He tries to laugh again at a memory that send chills through me even now. I remember how he looked half-crazed as he raised that belt, and I clung to my mother knowing it was going to rip my ass apart.
“She wouldn’t let me hit you after that day,” he continued. “In fact, she told me if I did she’d leave me. I stared at her as if she had struck me herself. I stared at her hard eyes and knew she was serious. Your mother never made an idle threat. She was done trying to teach me how to be a loving father. She was going to find someone who would love her son.”
I gripped my hands together. “I was also your son.”
Dad’s laugh morphs into a hacking cough, his eyes widen as he shakes and the phlegm works loose in his throat. I get up and turn him onto his side. His body is lighter than the thin sheet and I easily turn him in an effort to stop his body from racking back and forth. The nurse runs in and pushes me away as she checks him but Dad catches his breath. I step back and my gaze can’t look anyway as I watch what’s left of him struggle for another breath. The nurse shouts his name.
