by Liz K. Lorde
I couldn't find the nerve to reciprocate. "Jane Chatworth," I replied quietly, unsure of how much he knew about my case in such a short amount of time.
"Enzo," he added, bringing his hand down to accommodate me. There was the smell of mints on his breath, and a chill moved through me. It summoned up the dark mists of my past. Memories that I didn’t want to dwell on. He picked himself up from the chair and strolled with a ghostly saunter towards the rug, giving me a clear view of his tall and lanky frame. He turned slightly to face me and placed his hands together comfortably just below his belt. "I realize it must be a bit strange," he chuckled softly to himself. "I was never comfortable with my routines being shaken up either."
"Oh," I said, "no, no." I hadn't meant to come across as rude. "I just... I wasn't expecting this is all."
"I assure you, you're not the first." I noticed some of his muscles against the sleeve of his white button up shirt. He was wearing a pair of black dress pants, and for a moment, I thought that I heard something. I looked for the noise with just my eyes, but couldn’t find anything. "Now I have not had much of a chance to go through everyone's documents. Did you want to tell me in your own words?"
A finger of relief pressed against my chest. "I'd like that."
Mr. Lambert smiled, showing me his white teeth. "Then let us begin."
***
Later in the evening, just as the sun was starting to go down, I’d arrived at the location my friend Bethany had been telling me about earlier. The parking lot was jam packed with a veritable hodgepodge of junkers, gaudy cars made out to be more than they were, a number of well-kept motorcycles and the occasional SUV. This was definitely not my territory, and absolutely not my kind of scene anymore. Maybe when I was fifteen and trying to piss off my mom.
Still, any gig that could pay the sort of money that Bethany was talking about was something that I had to look into. The high that I got from speeding and breaking the law, no matter how bad or stupid I knew it was - sometimes it felt like it was the only thing keeping me from drowning in all the pain. I had to have an escape, even if it was crude and reckless... if I ever hurt anyone, and if I lived... I wouldn't be able to forgive myself.
Right then and there I made a promise to myself for the umpteenth time to not do it anymore.
I broke promises to myself more than anyone should.
Walking through the lot of cars, I spotted a number of people coming in and out of the club; some of them hanging out and smoking a blunt. The stench of it was strong and made my stomach turn. I hadn't had one of those since my brief dalliance with a sweet, if not nerdy boy, called Simon back in college.
Looking back, I was probably the asshole. Even if things didn't click perfectly, at least he wasn't one to hurt or abuse. Thinking back on those times made my brain snap to the time that I was working under ‘The Great’ Frederik Delrin; I’d never wanted to strangle the life so badly out of a human before, and the world never seemed to be short on assholes. Working as a magician’s assistant? Not as fun as it sounds. Having to learn all those ropes and knots and sleight of hand was more useful than the minute-by-minute chew out before each show.
Cruelty and callousness, it's all I seem to see in men these days. And I couldn't be sure if it was just me being distrusting, or if that's all there really was in this wicked world anymore.
Making my way to the front of the club, I looked up to the neon-purple sign that read 'Blackstar' in a grungy kind of font. At the front of the club where people were coming in and out of, there were three men that seemed to be a part of the establishment. All of them were built like they could kill a man with a good left hook. Two of them guarded the doors closely, running wands along anybody that tried to come inside. The third man was off to the side leaning against the wall with his arms folded one over the other. He was wearing a navy blue overcoat. Had a luscious head of thick, dark brown hair; they were messy rings that swept back, though some of them had been frayed. He had a tough looking brown beard. Seemed quite thick and well groomed, not a slouch of a man in the slightest.
Wanting to start with the bearded guy off to the side, I stepped over to him, and his lake blue eyes promptly watched me as I approached. He seemed to be assessing me for every possible threat.
"Hi," I said nervously, wishing I had a piece of gum to distract my stupid head and heart.
"What's up sweetheart. You needin' something?" He didn't move from his spot against the wall, nor did he seem to relax. Perhaps a Dublin accent?
It felt like I had marbles in my throat. "Yeah," I quavered. "I was told there was a gig here?"
His blue eyes crinkled in a smile, "Plenty of gigs for a pretty thing such as yourself."
I could feel my cheeks heating and surely turning red. Mostly, I was just uncomfortable with the attention, but still. "I heard something," I started, already beginning to get tripped up on my own words. "Like there was a few grand just for trying something?" I asked, and then immediately a stone dropped to my stomach, and my eyes widened a bit. "Not, not that I want to do anything crazy or illegal," I shook my head without thinking. "I'm not looking to get naked or smuggle anything or. Or anything like that."
The man just genuinely laughed. I'm glad he thought that I was so terribly funny. "No sweetheart, nothing like that."
I swallowed absently and blinked. "Good. So is there some kind of, I don't know, criteria or test to see if I'm qualified. What even is it?"
He just smiled again, but this time it was more like a charming one sided grin. "Oh there was a test."
"Was?"
"Yep," he chuckled. "You passed," he informed me and then pointed with his head to the door. "Now follow me and if anyone gives you the creeps, you just whistle real, real loud and I'll happily fuck their day up."
The way he said that led me to two conclusions. One, that 'fucking people up' was something he did frequently. And two, that 'fuck' was a broad part of his vocabulary. "O-okay," I managed to squeak out, "I'm confused though." Was it part of this club's hiring process that all the men be ridiculously handsome? "How did I even pass without knowing it."
He brought himself off of the wall and relaxed his arms. "First tests are always the easiest," he explained. "Is the girl beautiful? If so, bring them to the back." He turned away from me and started walking in a strong, purposeful stride - like he owned the place and if anyone got to close they'd find themselves bloody in seconds. I had to hurry just to keep up with his strides, and when I got caught between the front door security and a few other people trying to get in, the man whistled loudly and instructed to them that I'm here to see the boss. They moved out of my way and continued their business, and the sounds of loud, thumping bass filled my ears as quickly as it vibrated through my body.
The Dublin Man was a number of paces ahead of me, and he turned his head to make sure that I was keeping up.
Moving through the crowd of people was no easy feat. I could feel the nerves flaring in my feet, and an impending sense of dread bloomed in the back of my head. Wisps of smoke playfully moved across the dance floor at the center of the club, along with several colored lights of red and green that pulsed with the rhythm of the music.
As I followed the guy, I moved diagonally and to the left, brushing past people and walking by tables and booths. My eyes fell on the girls working the stripping poles like it was an extension of their body. Wish I had the nerve to do something like that.
We seemed to be heading towards a corridor towards the corner of the club, which was beside a long wooden bar where an older gentlemen was polishing glasses between servicing customers. On that same wall where the corridor was, there were four private rooms blocked by red curtains.
The Dublin Man turned the corridor, and I chased after him. The soreness in my feet were beginning to make themselves known after being on them all day. The hallway itself was painted black, and the walls had a variety of Polaroid pictures pinned on them; a few of them depicted the guy that I was following and a green haired
man that I recognized as Leonardo Ligotti. I’d interviewed the man a while back when he caused an uproar in the city, claiming that he was going to bring big players in Chaos down.
My throat began to tighten and my heart tapped quicker against my breastbone. I wasn't going to be meeting him, was I? It was one thing to do it out in public, but another completely to do it on his home turf.
At the very end of the corridor, two burly men protected the door - although one of them was on their cellphone, clearly preoccupied with other things. The man swaggered up to the two and in that rough voice told them simply 'fresh meat'.
I didn't like the sound of that.
The Dublin Man turned to me as I approached, "What's your name sweetheart."
I considered for a brief moment lying, but dismissed it as a bad idea. "Jane."
"Connifer," he answered, "now don't get your panties in a twist, this won't take too long. You show him fear, and the boss won't be liking that so much. You show him spine,” he put a comforting hand on my shoulder, “you'll do just fine."
I nodded in acknowledgment, and when Connifer opened the green, frosted glass door, I followed him through. One of the goons outside closed the door for us.
Excluding us, there were four people in the room all gathered around a green table playing cards. One was a girl who was sitting on Leonardo Ligotti's lap; she was somehow even more pale than me. She had on these petite red framed glasses. Had a quiet, regal look to her form. Her strawberry blond hair was done in the style of a short bob with rich layers.
Found myself a tad envious, honestly.
The other two were mafia men sitting in wood chairs beside one another. One with long black and straight hair, another with short, frazzled light brown hair. Connifer moved off to the side and sank into a black leather couch, kicking his feet up on the coffee table and flicking through the channels on the room's massive plasma screen TV.
The men each gave me a lift of their chin, while the short and green haired Leonardo Ligotti simply appraised me with an almost sadistic smirk. It made my knees forget just how to support my weight, and in my head I had to repeat like a mantra the singular thought: You must be stronger than your fear.
The girl on Leonardo's lap waved two fingers at me, "Hey."
I was too skittish to even reply at this point, and I felt all the more like a fool for even being here.
Leonardo played with two red chips in his hand for a moment. "Well what do we have here," he snarled and cocked his head to the side, putting his cards face down next to his pile of gambling chips. He pulled the woman on his lap tighter against his body. "You looking for an honest payday? You know, you look kind of familiar." He smiled at me the way one might pluck a thorny prized rose from a garden. He didn’t seem to remember me, thankfully.
It felt like the room was slowly becoming smaller and smaller, but I straightened myself out in an attempt to seem bigger than I actually was. "I'm not so sure honest has anything to do with you or your kind."
"Don't be so quick to judge," he warned, and the woman on his lap ran her fingers through the side of his hair as if to soothe him. "It's the people that you're quick to trust you should really be worrying about." He worked his jaw for a beat of time. "You're pretty enough for the score."
"If that's all you’re after, you've got one of those on your lap."
Leonardo cackled at that. "Tabby cat? I'm not a jealous man--"
Connifer commented at that. "Yes you are."
The girl nodded with the ghost of a smile and mouthed 'yes he is' to me.
Leonardo rolled his eyes. "Alright, I am a jealous man. Can't have her doing the sort of work this calls for."
"I heard there was a payment just for trying."
"You heard that did you?" Ligotti drummed his fingers against the table, and the two men at the table quietly laughed, occasionally turning to look at me. "It's called hush money. And I'll fill your pockets--" of course the black Palazzo pants I was wearing naturally didn't even have any. The plights of being the fairer sex. "With two grand." He spun his pointer finger in a circle. "All I need you to do is go on a little date for me."
What? "You must be a philanthropist if you're giving money away for something like that."
"Oh I give my fair share back," he growled and shook his head expressively. "All you need to do is make this cat fall for you. If you can do that... well, things'll get interesting from there."
What did he mean by 'cat' was that supposed to be some kind of slang? Was I to be romancing someone in a fur suit? "I'm not so good at the whole making people fall in love with me thing."
Leonardo hummed quietly from his chest, picked his girl up with him so that he could stand, placed her down on the chair and sauntered over to me. "That's not the winning attitude you know," the words came out sotto. "You try it and you keep quiet, I'll give you two grand in cold hard cash. You go the distance? I'll make it fifty." The man's emerald eyes gleamed with mischief. "Not motivating enough for you?"
Pretty damn motivating, actually. But the doubt that I could do such a thing cloaked my body, sank deep into my bones - and if my eyes could scream with just a look I'm fairly certain they'd be saying I'm not ready. "What do I need to do?" I asked quietly, "and who am I supposed to be romancing?" The real question I wanted to ask was why, but I figured it better to not ask at this juncture.
Leonardo raised his head an inch, and his eyes crinkled with delight. "We'll arrange something in due time," he revealed. "I'll need your name and a phone that I can reach you on at any hour. Let me put it to you this way," he breathed through his nose. "This guy? He's a wealthy CEO heir son-of-a-bitch that's part of a conglomerate that's strangling this city." The smirk and delight in Leonardo's face faded. "Narcissist would be one way to describe Michael Smoak. Peddling guns to gang-bangers for the bottom most dollar would be another. His father? Part of the Big Six. And I promise you this much," Leonardo stepped closer to me, to the point of which I could smell the cinnamon and hints of whiskey on his breath. "If he takes the throne, that man's greed is going to cost so many lives they're going to have to triple funding on cleaning this mess of a city."
Just what the hell was I getting myself into.
Chapter 4
Michael
D'Agio's steakhouse was packed tonight, and I wasn't happy about having to be here. Striding to the front desk where a number of well-dressed people - some that I recognized from work - were sitting on black chairs in the lobby. I found the man who could check my reservation. He was a couple of inches shorter than me, clothed in a white button-up shirt, and he had a full head of dark brown hair moussed up into a stylized mess.
"Mr. Smoak," he said, nodding his head at me.
I was surprised this one remembered me, I only came here a handful of times in a year when I wanted to impress someone and actually have a good time stuffing my face. "Hi. There should be a table reserved for two." My eyes fell on his name tag.
"Of course sir," Rick tapped a couple of times on his sleek black monitor. "Here we are. Head to the left wing, and it looks like you've got table 66 tonight," he smiled politely at me. This did not encourage me to lose my stoic facade. "Please enjoy, and if you need anything I'll be happy to help."
"Thanks," I clipped, already formulating in my head all the ways I was going to ravish Rachel tonight, give her the best three hours of her life, and never speak a word to her again unless under business circumstances.
I made my way through the left wing of the restaurant, and already the smell of melted butter, seared steaks, freshly caught shrimp, lemon and pepper roasted Brussels sprouts, was wafting over my nostrils. There were lavishly rich couples occupying a number of the tables, and a few family's there were better off filling four to six chairs; a number of the booths taken up by people, some of the women looking my way with discreet glances - some more obvious than others. Being on the high rise, you could look out to see the sprawling city of Chaos with it's granite titans and flow of hectic traffic throu
gh the dark tinted windows. Nothing that I hadn't seen a thousand times before. If anything it just made me miss my country estate all the more.
Then there was something that I hadn't seen before.
Sitting at my table.
All my senses lit up when I saw her there. She was wearing a pretty red dress that hugged all the right places, giving me tantalizing glimpses of her curves on that petite body. I couldn't see her face yet, but for some reason I really wanted to - just what was she doing here, anyway? The way that the soft orange light of the restaurant hit her straight platinum hair made my insides dance with energy. I felt my heart quicken as I approached her from behind, taking in the smell of her natural scent and perfume. She smelled of roses and a somber rain, the likes of which sent me back to my place of worship - and to those painful times that never left... no matter how hard I tried to banish them.
In that moment I pitifully despised her, even if she couldn't have known any better.
Her neck was free of jewelry, and her tone was light as ivory. What I wouldn't give for just a sweet taste of that.
I cleared my throat behind her and watched as she jumped in a startle, turning to face me. "You're stealing my hot date's thunder," I told her, drinking in the mischievous purple of her breathtaking eyes. No doubt contacts. "Think you've got the wrong table."
Chapter 5
Jane
Crap, I can't believe that 6’3 work of art scared me like that. "I, uhm," for some reason I couldn't find my tongue. I knew from the pictures that he was good looking, and even though it wasn't like me to be taken by a man anymore, I couldn't deny his smoldering and handsome face.
For once the tightness in my chest wasn’t just from being uncomfortable.
