by Sky Corgan
The guy doesn't look any classier. Tight blue jeans. Greased-back black hair. A biker jacket that's so worn it's about time to replace it. He probably can't afford to replace it. But he can afford her. I've heard that hookers around here are a dime a dozen. I wouldn't know though. I've never had to pay for sex, and I never will.
I watch Casanova and his lady friend for another ten minutes or so. Things start to get hot and heavy, and she notices my eyes on them. She sees the warning in them. Casually, she slides her hand behind his head, pulling his ear down to her lips, so she can whisper something to him. Minutes later, he's paying their tab and walking her out of the bar. She gives me a knowing look as they pass by, and a wink. It's practically an invitation. My eyes skim up and down her body, resting on the tight curve of her ass before they reach his motorcycle. The motorcycle growls to life, and they drive off into the night together.
It must be nice to have someone to share your bed with, even if it's a paid someone. It's been a while since I picked up a girl. And I've never really had a girlfriend. Not since high school, at least. Do those girls even count? It doesn't matter. I don't have time for a girlfriend. Never have. One-night stands are easier to deal with. Maybe I'll try to find one on my next night off. Monday. Slim pickings. The corners of my mouth dip into a frown. Wishful thinking. Oh, well.
The night continues without incident. It feels dull when I don't have to deal with some miscreant. Like everything I work hard for during the day is going to waste. Not only that, but I like the adrenaline rush I get from having to throw someone out of the bar. Since I don't do drugs or drink often, it's the only high I ever get. It reminds me that I'm alive. Some sick part of me enjoys the rush of thinking that any one of these guys could be hiding a knife or a gun. If they are, I get to play the hero. Or end up in the hospital.
That's happened before. I had stopped at a gas station to take a piss on the way home from work. I was in the restroom when a guy pulled a gun on the cashier. When I finished my business and went to leave, I saw that he was robbing the store. He must have just pulled the gun out, because he hadn't made it to the other side of the counter yet. I sneaked up behind him and tried to put him in an arm hold. The bastard didn't drop the gun. It went off and clipped my right thigh. Thankfully, it was just a flesh wound. They didn't even stitch me up at the hospital.
I've learned my lesson since then though. Go for the hand holding the gun. Wrestle the gun from the guy before you try to hold him down. As long as that gun is in his hand, you're in danger. The scar reminds me to this day.
I drive home and go to bed. Then I wake up nice and early and go to the gym.
Uncle Lou greets me with a smile, patting me on the back. “How's my boy today?”
“Same as everyday,” I tell him nonchalantly before hitting the bench press.
The guy is practically a father to me. The only father figure I ever had. My real father is a truck driver, which he uses as an excuse to never come home. When he's not working, he's detouring to wherever the nearest casino is. He gambles all of his money away. Always has.
My mother never saw a dime of his paychecks when I was growing up. Because of that, she worked two jobs to support us. Raising four kids on your own is a nightmare when the only work you can get is as a waitress. She was never home, but I can't blame her for it. She was just doing what she had to to get by. We all do that.
Of course, when I was younger, it was hard to understand. In the mornings, she'd leave my siblings and I with a family friend. The lady took care of a house full of children, and she wasn't very good at it. All she did was feed us at lunchtime and return us to our parents at night. For the rest of the day, we roamed the neighborhood and did whatever we wanted. That only lasted for a few years until my brother was old enough to watch us instead.
I didn't meet Lou until I was almost a teenager. He was an old man, even back then, with thin gray hair and wrinkled hands. He caught some kids picking on me while I was walking home from God knows where. All I remember was that those guys ambushed me. They were sitting out front of one of the houses I was passing by and decided they'd try to hustle me for whatever valuables I had. I was twelve at the time, and all I had on me was some loose change. They took the quarter and two dimes in my pocket and started to beat me senseless. That's when Lou pulled up in his car and chased them off.
In the ghetto, the don't-talk-to-strangers rule is number one for kids. This guy saved me though, and he had kind eyes. Besides, he didn't look like bad news. He was dressed in a pair of black windbreakers and a thick gray sweater. And his shoes looked new. They were some name brand. Gray with yellow stitching. I remember thinking that the guy probably had money.
He pulled a shirt out of the trunk of his car and wiped the blood off my busted lip. Then he drove me back to his gym and made an ice bag for my black eye. After asking me what happened, he got all worked up over me not knowing how to defend myself. That's when he offered to train me how to fight and told me to call him Uncle Lou. I've spent every afternoon at Uncle Lou's gym ever since. He's one of the best things that's ever happened to me.
I try not to feel too sentimental about it as I continue my workout. Uncle Lou is pressing seventy-five years old, but he's still at the gym everyday. He's in great shape for his age, thanks to being so active. I can only hope I look as good as him when I'm his age. That's why I have to keep at this. The better shape you're in, the better quality of life you have, the longer you live… unless you do what I do for a living.
I finish my workout and head home. My apartment isn't in the best part of town, but I don't worry about that much. I'm a big guy. There are always unsavory characters around, but they know better than to approach me.
I jog upstairs to the second floor and slide my key into the lock. The door opens with ease thanks to the fact that it's cut too small for the door frame. Anyone could bust it in with little effort, but I have nothing worth stealing, so who would bother. Most people don't have anything worth stealing in this part of town.
I kick off my shoes at the door and walk to the fridge to make a sandwich. Then I head into the shower to get cleaned up before work. The water running down my body is like my life. Rinse. Repeat. The same routine day in and out.
That's all about to change.
CHAPTER TWO
Tonight is a bit more exciting than the previous night. I get to break up a bar fight between two beefheads. It's always a lot more fun when they're almost as big as I am. Almost. That's the keyword. More effort but the same outcome.
I pull them out of the bar one at a time and toss them on the street. One of them threatens to come back with his buddies and beat my ass. I can't count the number of times I've heard that one before. They never come back though. They know better.
With the workday done, I return to my apartment, looking forward to a good night's sleep. One of the guys managed to elbow me in the ribs. I might be sore tomorrow. Who knows.
I take a shower and settle onto my bed to read the newspaper. I don't have a television. All it does is eat up more electricity, and I wouldn't have time to watch it anyway. Picking up a paper every Sunday is all the entertainment I need.
My eyelids are growing heavy, and I let the paper rest on my chest as I prepare for sleep to overtake me.
The shrill sound of the phone ringing brings me back to life in a rush. I roll over, crushing the newspaper as I reach for the phone on my end table. Who would be calling this late?
A shaky voice says my name on the other end of the line. I recognize it instantly.
“Delilah. Are you okay? What's wrong?” My entire body tenses from the sound of her crying. She wouldn't call me this late unless it's an emergency.
“I'm not okay,” she whispers. Someone must be there with her.
“Where are you? What's going on?” It takes everything I have to quell the panic racing through me. Of all my siblings, Delilah and I are the closest. That might be because we're twins. When we were kids, we used to finish ea
ch other's sentences. Now that we're older though, there's been a disconnect between us.
“I'm at my apartment. I can't talk about it. I just need you.”
“I'll be there in fifteen minutes.” I hang up the phone and spring out of bed, dressing as quickly as I can to head out the door. Within minutes, I'm in my truck, flying down the road toward Newark.
Even though we only live ten minutes away from each other, it feels like it takes forever to get there. What ifs are running through my mind like a freight train speeding towards disaster. I wish she'd told me what was wrong. I wish I knew what I was walking into.
I pull up in front of her apartment complex. It's only mildly better than the one I'm living in. Where my complex is in the ghetto, hers is on the outskirts. There are still bad elements, but not quite as many of them. Her building is newer too. The wooden paneling on the sides has recently been replaced. The paint is still fresh.
I take the steps two at a time to reach her faster. By the time I'm standing in front of the door to her unit, I feel a bit winded. My fist hesitates for half a second before I knock hard. If she's inside, she must be safe.
A goddess opens the door. Not my sister. Some blonde woman with eyes so blue they could steal a man's soul. She's wearing a short red dress that sparkles even in the dim lighting of the complex. It's covered in sequins and dips low at her cleavage. My eyes reflexively fall from her face to her chest, then quickly rise again to cover my mistake. Her legs go on for miles. Her lipstick matches the dress. For a few brief moments, I forget what I'm doing. Maybe I'm in the wrong place.
“Hello, stranger.” Her voice is like honey.
“Where's Delilah?” I don't have time for this. I need to find my sister. I need to know why she sounded so urgent.
The woman opens the door, so I can see inside. Delilah is sitting on the sofa, balancing a cigarette between shaking fingers. She doesn't even look at me.
I give the gorgeous woman a final glance before I skirt around her and let myself in, focusing all of my attention on my sister. I don't even bother taking a seat, in case there's someone's ass that I need to go kick. She didn't give me anything to go by over the phone. I don't know why I'm here.
“What happened?” It's late, and I'm not interested in beating around the bush. I need to fix this and get home, so I can be rested for the gym tomorrow.
Delilah's hazel eyes flick up to meet mine. Something has her unsettled, but she's holding back. Does the blonde woman have something to do with it? “Nothing.” She ashes her cigarette in a tray on the glass coffee table. It's a diversion tactic. She wanted me over here, and now she doesn't want to talk. She wouldn't have called me if it wasn't something bad. I don't get why she's acting like this. “I got upset over something stupid. I shouldn't have called you.” She pauses, glancing up at the blonde woman as if silently asking for help. “I tried to call you to tell you not to come, but you had already left.”
Now that the adrenaline is dying down, I'm a lot more aware of my surroundings. A lot more aware of what she's wearing. I'm not used to seeing my sister dolled up like this. The sheer black dress she has on is every bit as low-cut as the blonde woman's. It looks to be about two sizes too small, or at least smaller than anything I've ever seen her wear before. She's got on a matching pair of black heels, and stockings that have a run in them. Her dark hair is wound up in tight curls, though it's a bit messy. Her face is smeared with makeup and tears.
“Who is she?” I gesture to the blonde who is still hanging out by the door. She closed it when I stepped inside but hasn't moved.
“That's Marcy. She's my new roommate.” Delilah keeps her eyes forward, avoiding me.
“You never told me your brother was so handsome,” Marcy purrs before moving to sit next to my sister. She walks like a cat, her hips swaying seductively. It's hard to think when she's in the room.
Delilah casts a sideways glance in her direction. “Well, he's my brother. I wouldn't think of him that way.” There's the slightest hint of warning in her voice. She's never liked it when her friends make comments about me.
“So why did you call me then if nothing is wrong?” I cross my arms over my chest, tired of these games. If only Marcy would leave, I could probably get the truth out of her.
“It's just been a while since we've spoken.” It's a lie concealed in the truth. We haven't spoken in over a month. Life has just kept me too busy to call her, and I imagine it's been the same for her. Still, that's not why I'm here. I know that. She knows that.
“Let's go outside.” I motion toward the door. I have to separate her from Marcy. It's the only way I'll be able to get her to talk.
Delilah shakes her head, her hair bouncing against her shoulders. “I'm tired, Knox. It's been a long night. I'm sorry to make you come all the way out here for nothing.”
“It's not very far,” I remind her.
“I know. I just want to sleep though.”
“You're not sleeping til we talk. Outside. Now.” When Marcy begins to stand, I say, “Not you. You stay in here.”
She nods, her lips pressing into a line. The two of them look at each other, and I can feel some silent communication going on between them. Marcy's eyes are icy.
“Come on. I don't have all night.” I gently grab Delilah by the arm and tug her towards the door, trying to break whatever hold the gorgeous woman has on her. It's probably already too late. They're sharing secrets. I'm not too dull to pick up on that.
We step out onto the balcony, and I close the door behind us. The wind chills us both, and Delilah wraps her arms around herself. That dress is way too skimpy for this time of year. It doesn't help that the wind is blowing towards us. I wish I had a coat to offer her, but in my rush to get here, I didn't even think of putting one on.
“Why'd you call me here?” I stare out at the building across from us. There are no lights in most of the windows. Everyone is already asleep. “Why did you really call me here?”
“I just missed you is all.” She hugs herself a bit tighter, gazing down below at the cement.
“Bullshit. You don't call me at almost three o'clock in the morning to tell me you miss me.” My jaw tightens as if I could crush the lies between my teeth. This is ticking me off.
Her shoulders slump a bit as she leans forward on the railing. “I just started a new job. Tonight was my first night. It's not something I'm used to doing, so I didn't know how to handle it.” She sighs. “You know how it is to do something new and unfamiliar. Sometimes it's just nice to have something familiar to cling to afterward.”
“So you called me?”
“You always protected me when we were growing up. I needed to feel secure.” She shrugs. There's a distant look in her eyes, like she's remembering things from the past.
“What kind of job is it?” I glance at her dress again. The answer seems obvious, but I'm sure I've got it wrong. Delilah would never be a hooker. She's way too morally upright. Besides, she looks more classy than trashy.
“It's a stressful job.” She cocks her head away from me. I know her well enough to realize she's about to start crying, and she's trying to hide it.
“Hey.” I place a hand gingerly on her shoulder. “If it's that stressful, then quit.”
“I can't, Knox. You know as well as I do how hard it is to get a decent job. And this job could change everything for me.” She shakes her head, refusing to look at me. Her shoulder trembles under my touch.
“No job is worth falling apart for.”
“It's just the first-day jitters.” She takes a deep breath and looks forward. Somehow, she's managed to suck back the tears that were about to fall, but her eyes are still watery. “I'll get over it. I have to get over it. There's no other choice.”
“There's always a choice.”
“I can stay here and barely scrape by for the rest of my life, or I can do what I have to do to get ahead.” Her voice fills with bitter resolve. It's obvious she hates this new job. Maybe if I give her enough tim
e, she'll quit on her own.
“Well, sis, you know what you can handle and what you can't. Do what you gotta do. I'll try to stop by more often. I'm sorry I haven't been around much lately.” My breath frosts in the air as I sigh. Whatever she originally called me for, I'm not going to get it out of her tonight. There's no point in continuing to pry.
“I would like that.” She smiles weakly. “I know that you're really busy. But it does feel like we never see each other anymore.”
“That's because we don't. That will change though.” We stare at each other for several moments before she shivers. “Come on. We should go back inside. It's too cold to be out here dressed like that.” I gesture to her outfit.
“You're one to talk.” She smirks, eyeing my muscle shirt and sweatpants.
“I didn't dress to impress. But had I known you had such an alluring roommate, I would have,” I tease.
She slaps my chest. “Don't even start. Marcy's off-limits.”
“Where did you meet her anyway?”
“She came into the gas station I used to work at.” Delilah's eyes go blank. “She was always dressed nicely. We started talking, and she told me she could hook me up with a better job if I let her move in with me. We're going to be getting a bigger place soon, if this all pans out.” Her expression speaks volumes about how unsure she is.
“Everything happens as it should,” I try to reassure her.
God, how wrong I was.
CHAPTER THREE
It's been a week since I last saw Delilah, and I can't shake the feeling that something isn't right. Even though she told me she was just getting over the jitters from starting her new job, there's more behind her words. There has to be. No one calls their brother sounding that freaked out over a job.
I can't get her to talk though. All I can do is keep checking on her to make sure she's all right. I make it a point to call her between the gym and work. The few times she answers, she acts like everything is fine. I'm beginning to wonder if I imagined her frantic phone call.
