“I’m going to get out of these clothes,” Keely said, going for her room. “Don’t even think about leaving, Mari!” she yelled over her shoulder. “We need to work on a plan. We need to get your shit together before you disappear on me. If you do, no fucking joke, I’m going to hunt you down.”
I took a seat on their second-hand sofa, sinking into the comfort of it. I lifted my feet, dirty from walking the dusty fair, and noticed blood spots between my toes. They’d burned like hell earlier when I took a shower—the cuts on my face, too. I thought about taking out the cold pack in my bag and sticking it in the freezer but was too tired to get up.
“Mari?”
“Hmm?” I looked up to find Harrison standing in the doorway, watching me. He held a wrapped gift in his hand.
“Your birthday,” he said. “I know it’s coming up soon.”
I almost groaned. Why? Why? Why! Why did he have to be so nice when he really wasn’t? There was a reason his siblings called him Grumpy Indiana Jones. He wasn’t the nice one, but in his own way, he was kind to me, even though he knew gifts made me uncomfortable. And my birthday wasn’t until October. It was early April.
I never accepted anything from anyone, not unless I paid or worked for it. No exceptions. Besides, his mother, Catriona, would blow an important vein if she knew how he always tried to buy me things. The woman didn’t hate me, but she didn’t like me either. The only reason she made an effort to find me after I was put into foster care was because Keely refused to eat unless she did. After the third time she passed out, Catriona made the effort and found me.
“Why do you always get that look on your face when I try to do nice things for you, Strings?”
Harrison had given me the nickname Strings when we were kids.
“Harrison…” I bit into my lip, feeling it split again. “I’ve told you before. I just don’t like gifts.”
“Humor me. You can donate it after you open it.”
Fucka me. I rubbed my temple for a minute and then, meeting his eyes again, nodded. To make the situation even more awkward, he sat next to me, watching as I opened it. I held it up, not sure what else to do. “You bought me a cellphone?”
“Yeah. That way you can keep in touch with Keely. Or…whoever. I told Kee I wouldn’t say anything, but I can’t keep quiet. That fucker is going to get his day after what he did to you.”
His eyes were hard to meet, so I looked at the phone. It was the first time in a long time that I had a hard time resisting kindness. He gave me this out of a place of worry. Still. My rule was worth more than his thoughtfulness.
“You didn’t have to do this,” I said quietly. Then I picked my bag up, dug around, and handed him two bucks. “For the phone. I can’t take it unless you take the money.”
He hated to, but he did. He slipped the two bucks in his pocket.
“What did you do?”
I startled, not realizing Keely had come back into the room. I sat up straighter, almost feeling like we had been caught doing something wrong. Harrison stood from the sofa, sticking his hands in his pockets.
“Nothing, Kee,” he said. “I gave Mari a gift for her birthday, sort of.”
“Her birthday isn’t until October,” she said, pointing out the obvious.
He shrugged. “I hate being late.”
She opened her mouth to respond, but a loud knock came at the door. I looked at Keely, Harrison looked at me, and Keely looked toward the door.
“Expecting someone?” Harrison asked.
Keely shook her head. “No, Sierra said she was going to be home late.”
“I’ll get it,” he said.
I stood, standing beside Keely, while we listened to Harrison talk to someone on the other side of the door. A minute later, he came in, followed by two men in suits. It was the same two lawmen from Macchiavello’s.
“Keely,” Harrison said. “This is Detective Scott Stone and Detective Paul Marinetti.”
The younger of the two, Detective Stone, stepped up first, offering his hand. The older man offered his second.
“Ms. Ryan,” Detective Stone said, a serious look on his face. “I regret to have to inform you that your roommate, Sierra Andruzzi, was found dead. We’ve been trying to get in touch with you, but this is the first time we’ve been able to.”
Keely stumbled back, clearly in shock. She took a seat on the sofa after Harrison and I helped her sit. “She…” Keely shook her head. “She told me she wouldn’t be back until later. Her ex-boyfriend. Armino. He was at our door earlier. Mad. She broke up with him. Did he…”
“From what we’ve pieced together, Ms. Andruzzi ran to the store earlier, and that’s when she was assaulted and then murdered. It seems like she was headed back here. As of right now, we can’t say for sure. That’s why we’re here. To piece the time together.”
“I—I mean—” Keely struggled.
“We hate to ask you to do this, Ms. Ryan, but would you mind coming with us to identify the body? We cannot find a next of kin for Ms. Andruzzi.”
“No,” Keely said. “She was a foster kid.”
“My sister is not—”
“No,” Keely said, cutting Harrison off. “I’ll do it. It’s the least I can do for her.” She was visibly pulling herself together, using a reserve of strength to stand. “Let me grab my things.”
Detective Stone pulled out a business card and wrote the address to the place where Sierra’s body was being held on the back. He handed it to Harrison, who told him they’d be there shortly. I stood in the middle of the room, not sure what to do. I didn’t like Sierra, but no one deserved to be murdered.
Shit. Was it Armino?
Before Detective Stone left, he warned us that Armino might be lurking. Armino’s last name was Scarpone. He need not say any more. They were one of the meanest crime families around.
“Mari?”
I turned at the sound of Harrison’s voice. Keely stood next to him. “Come with us.”
“No,” I said. “I’d rather not.”
“You can’t disappear,” Keely said, and the pleading in her voice hit me straight in the center of my heart. “I need to know where you are. After what happened to you…and now tonight.” She sniffed, even though she wasn’t crying. Then she barreled into me, almost knocking the wind from my lungs.
“Can I stay here?” I said, barely able to take a breath. I wasn’t good with affection, but I wasn’t sure how to remove myself from her embrace without making a deal of it.
“Sierra’s old man.” Harrison shook his head. “It might not be—”
“He’s not coming back here.” I took a step back. “He’s probably long gone.”
Keely released me fully, nodding. “Yeah, he’s probably gone. Just make sure to lock the doors.”
“I will,” I said.
“Use the cellphone—” Harrison nodded toward the sofa “—to call me if you need anything. My number’s programmed in.”
After they left, I set the locks, checked them twice, and then scooted Keely’s old desk against the door.
* * *
The door to Sierra’s room was still cracked. There was no reason why it shouldn’t be, but still, it felt odd to think that she’d never close it again.
Where had she been going? What had she been going to do? She had just run out to buy something, the detective had said.
I knew it was probably the wrong thing to do, but I couldn’t seem to help myself. Opening her door the entire way, I was shocked to see that her room was impeccable. Her bed was made. No clothes on the floor. And it still smelled like her. Like maybe she had spritzed some perfume on before she left.
The only odd thing, compared to the rest of the place, were the things she had left out on her bed—a fancy black dress, a gold card with writing on it, and a few gold boxes. Shoes to match the dress sat on the floor.
I stepped in and paused. I waited. And waited. I expected her to jump out at me and scream, “I’m gonna cut you, bitch, for being in h
ere!” The scare never came, but I was still on edge. Goosebumps puckered my arms.
The fear wasn’t enough to stop me from looking around, though. The dead were not the ones to fear. It was the living.
The black dress was classy. The top reminded me of wings, while the rest seemed to be form fitting. The fabric felt expensive. I took the card from beside the dress. It seemed like an invitation. It had the date (today), the time (11:11 P.M.), and the place (The Club, New York, New York) in regal-looking black script. It stood out against the gold. At the bottom, in smaller writing, it noted that no entry would be allowed without the card.
Interesting.
On the way to the fair, Keely had mentioned that Sierra was excited about a new job prospect. Sierra had told Keely that if she got the job, she’d be moving out, able to afford more than what she’d been swinging.
All of her problems will be solved, for good, Keely had said.
I wondered if she was going to be a high-priced call girl. I didn’t voice the thought aloud, though, because I wouldn’t want to just assume something like that, but I couldn’t figure out what else she could do that would solve all of her problems for good. She was a foster kid just like me.
The gold boxes were filled with perfumes from Brazil. I opened them, sniffing. Vanilla and caramel stood out right away, and I could pick up on hints of pistachio, almond, jasmine petals, and sandalwood after I read the description on the box. I inhaled again, almost intoxicated by the exotic smell. It was a hell of a long way from the salty smell that usually followed me around. I opened the cream, rubbing a little bit on my arm. It smelled even better on the skin. Sierra even had the body wash to match.
Taking a seat on her bed, I set the lotion down and picked up the invitation again, twirling it between my fingers. The shoes were next to my bare feet. Sierra’s feet were a size or two bigger than mine.
How fitting, I thought, either too big or too small. Nothing ever fit me.
Because you can’t afford anything made for you.
Then a bunch of voices seemed to come at me at once:
Take the opportunity, Mari. You have the dress. The shoes, even if they’re too big. Perfume. The invitation. Sierra can’t make it. But. You. Can.
Even the princess you color in the books had a fairy godmother. This is your chance to have one.
You have no place to go, no money, nothing.
This might be your last opportunity.
Things are bad.
So bad.
It would be nice to have a pair of shoes that fit. A phone I can afford on my own. Bread and cheese. A warm place to sleep when it’s cold out and a cool place when it’s hot. No rats. No Merv.
Security.
The other side of the glass.
What if it means trading your body?
Could you even do something like that with a face like yours?
It’s worth the shot to survive. To live. This might be your last chance, a once in a lifetime opportunity to solve all of your problems. For good.
Can you trade what’s solely yours and no one else’s for worldly goods?
It’s not going to be offered out of kindness. It’ll be a business deal. I’ll work for it.
Was the protection of my body, my honor, more precious than things only money could buy?
It took me only a second to answer.
Not anymore.
I made my choice.
To live.
I took the body wash and headed into the bathroom, prepared to make myself look as tempting as possible.
6
Mariposa
The heels slipped comically as I stepped out of the cab and onto the sidewalk. I had used the last of my money to splurge on a cab. In New York, a cab was the equivalent of a magical carriage.
Even though the cabbie took my money and his meter ran, he watched with humor in his eyes as I tried to navigate my way from his ride to the front of the building. It wasn’t far, but far enough when my shoes constantly slipped because my feet were too small. I wasn’t sure what was worse. Shoes that made my toes curl in or shoes that made me waddle like a duck to find a natural rhythm.
Besides, I’d never worn heels in my life. Add that to two sizes too big, and what do you have? A natural disaster on legs.
I hoped that whoever would be checking me out tonight, if that was the case, wouldn’t check the bottoms of my feet. I’d taken the heels off while walking to the cab, and my pads were stained black.
A whistle from behind made me turn to look. Two guys dressed in nice clothes walked past, smiling at me.
“Hey, Beautiful,” one of them said, and then he winked at me. “You smell as good as heaven. You wanna try to be my sin tonight?”
I looked behind to make sure it was me he was talking to. It was. Heat crept up my cheeks and I turned, trying to hide my smile. It was the first time I’d smiled in a long time. And not because he called me beautiful or even attempted to flirt. It was because he said I smelled good.
The heat from outside made the golden-boxed perfume even stronger, but it wasn’t too overbearing. It made my head float in the clouds. I wanted to bathe in the body wash twice a day and slather the cream on myself morning, noon, and night.
“Dude!” The other guy said, shoving him. “What kind of pick-up line was that? Horrible. We need to work on your skills.”
As soon as the two guys passed, I remembered why I was here, and my nerves attacked again. With shaking hands, I pulled out the gold invitation from my backpack. The card shimmered in the glow of the lights from The Club.
The Club was massive, and it seemed exclusive. Streams of beautiful people were able to walk straight in, but others were not so lucky. The line wrapped around the building, regular people like me anticipating their turn in the swanky nightclub. Music blared from inside, thumping with bass, and every so often I could smell alcohol on the slight breeze.
Taking a deep breath in, I stuck the card under my arm, and then pulled out the cellphone Harrison had let me buy for two bucks. I sent a text to Kee. Harrison had programmed her number and his into the phone.
Me: How’s it going?
A second later the phone lit up.
Kee: Who is this?
Me: Me.
Kee: Me who?
I realized my mistake.
Me: Mari
Kee: I’m so glad you have a phone now. And things are going as expected. I can’t stop seeing, you know? How are you? What are you doing?
Me: I’m going out for a bit.
Kee: …?
Me: Don’t worry. I won’t be home too late, Mam. If I am, I’ll keep in touch.
A few seconds went by and she hadn’t responded. Then the phone dinged in my hand and I jumped a little, not expecting it.
Kee: I figured out why Grumpy Indiana Jones is so pissed all of the time.
Before I could type back, her response came lightning fast.
Kee: He’s in love with you.
The phone fell out of my hands. It clanged against the concrete and I scrambled to pick it up. Kee had already sent another text before I could respond.
Kee: You don’t have to respond. After tonight, I realize how short life can be. Nothing hits home like this. So I must speak on his behalf. He’s too stubborn to admit it, but after he gave you the phone, I knew. Some people can’t say the words. Some people have to do. They do things like give you a phone to make sure you’re okay. Love is not only in one language—it speaks in more than just words alone.
Another ding from my phone came a second later.
Kee: I love you, Sis. Be safe. XoXo.
Me: Love you back, Kee Kee. XoXo.
I didn’t have time to consider what she had told me. It was eleven o’clock and the invitation stated 11:11 PM.
Be prompt.
I had no idea if I had to stand in the miles-long line or do something else. I was fucking clueless. Spotting a man who worked a door off to the side, I duck waddled toward him, afraid my knees would
give in and I’d tumble over.
All the king's horses and all the king's men couldn't put Mari back together again…
“You need help?” the humongous guy said when I walked up. He was clearly Italian. He had a heavy accent.
I wasn’t sure what to say, and not wanting to say the wrong thing, I flashed the card at him. His eyebrows rose when he realized what I held. He spoke into the earpiece he wore, the words in quick Italian. Then, without a word, he took me by the arm, pulling me to the side of the building. He slowed down when he noticed how hard of a time I was having keeping up. Baby steps were needed for this adult.
Finally, we made it to a side entrance. It was private. Two more Italians stood at the door. I assumed they were, anyway. They all spoke the same language. Then one of them asked for my ticket in English.
I handed it over. He scanned it with his eyes before he used some kind of contraption to scan the card. It beeped a second later and he nodded.
“Ms. Andruzzi, identification. And I need to check your bag as well.”
He was all business. And I started to sweat. I had hoped that the ticket would be all that I needed, but just in case, I’d taken Sierra’s identification card from her dresser. We looked nothing alike, but one of the foster kids I once lived with had told me that bouncers never really looked at the picture, just the date. But somehow I knew that something…different was going on here. If he busted me, I was in real trouble.
I had no money, zero, and nothing else to hang my hopes on. I figured this would be a long shot, but I at least hoped to get through the door before getting buried a little deeper.
Taking a deep breath, I dug in my bag, handing him the I.D. If he turned me away, there was no reason to check my bag.
He studied the picture, shined a light on my face, and then did it once more. A second later, he spoke into his earpiece, again, speaking a language I didn’t have.
Then, not even recognizing my own voice, I lifted a hand to a man who had breezed past the security without even stopping. “Guido,” I said to the man at the door. “You can ask Guido…Fausti,” I tried at his last name, but it sounded like I was putting two different ones together in case his last name was not, in fact, Fausti. “Ask him to identify me, if you don’t believe me.”
Machiavellian: Gangsters of New York, Book 1 Page 6
