by Vivian Gray
“So how do you know Marcelo?”
“I don’t,” I say flatly.
“So what’s up with your interest in him?”
I debate how much to tell her. On the one hand, telling her everything is out of the question – she’ll start wondering what I do, and if I tell her, there could be consequences. On the other hand, I have to tell her something about Marcelo’s history, or else I could find myself without my top informant. Plus, she can probably introduce me to the friend who dated Marcelo, right?
So, I tell her just as much as is pertinent to the situation: “He screwed over some friends of mine. Left them high and dry.”
“What did he do?”
“I can’t really get into that,” I say icily. “What I can tell you is that Marcelo is bad news.”
“Well yeah.” She snorts a bit of a laugh. “I could’ve told you that. I met him while I was auctioning off my virginity.”
“Exactly,” I agree. “The kind of guy who’d be into that is clearly some kind of sociopath, y’know?”
“Sure.”
“So, what else do you know about him?”
“Not much, to be honest. He dated my friend Monica, he’s in a motorcycle gang, and he auctions off girls’ virginities. Yeah, that’s pretty much all I know. But he seemed so nice.”
“He has a way of doing that to people,” I tell her as I finish the last of my burger. “Listen: I’m really looking to take his ass down a peg. I can’t, though, because of some circumstances I can’t get into.”
“And you want my help, is that it?”
“How’d you know?”
“It’s been obvious for a while now. You clearly hate this guy Marcelo. He was kind to me, Slash. But look – I owe you one for getting my mom a new nurse. I haven’t been out like this in a while. So, the answer is yes. Yes, I am willing to help you out.”
“I really appreciate it,” I tell her. “Now, let’s forget some of this stuff for a while. How about we do something you want to do.”
“Anything?” she asks with a grin.
“Name it.”
Ten minutes later, we’re back on my bike, and she’s screaming out in joy as we careen through the streets. What she wanted wasn’t to go to a movie or dancing or anything – she just wanted the release of being on a bike. I can relate – it’s what I like best about riding, too: the freedom it gives you.
We ride around for almost an hour, going all over town and back again. When we finally get back to her house, it’s about ten o’clock – early, as far as I’m concerned, but clearly late for her. She’s already a little bleary-eyed.
“Slash,” she says as I help her off the bike, “that was fantastic. I had a really good time with you.”
“I had a good time, too.”
“Look, I’d invite you in, but…”
“But, your mom is there, and my mom is there. And it’d get… awkward.”
“Something like that,” she says sadly.
Then she stands on her tiptoes and kisses me. At first, it’s just a peck on the mouth, but then she pushes it further, and before I know what’s happening, we’re like two teenagers making out on her doorstep. The passion she shows me tells me she wants more, and I’m willing to give it – but then she breaks the kiss.
“I’ll call you,” she says. “And I’ll see if I can talk to Marcelo.”
“I look forward to it.”
As she closes the door, I have a moment to reflect. It’s the first time I can ever remember ending a date without a lay and feeling even remotely satisfied. But with Erin, something is different. I want to stay with her. I enjoy spending time with her, just talking. It’s bizarre. Now all I have to do is take Marcelo down and keep Erin from finding out about my criminal background.
Easy peasy.
Chapter Eleven
Erin
I’ve often wondered what it would be like when I finally fell for somebody as an adult. When I was in high school, I guess I was in love with my boyfriend, but it clearly wasn’t serious enough for me to want to give up my virginity to him. And I’d been out with guys in the past, but they never really stuck.
Then out comes this guy with easily the silliest name of any guy I’d ever dated. I mean, “Slash”? Seriously? What does that even mean? And let’s face it: the way we met was… unique, to say the least. But there is something about him that makes me feel good, like I could be safe with him, like he is always going to be looking out for me.
Something with Slash feels right. I’ve never been in any kind of romantic relationship where everything has just clicked like that, let alone someone I’d slept with. And he genuinely seems to like me, too! Maybe I’m loading too much onto one date, but for the time being, I’m just basking in the glow of what feels like an amazing thing starting.
I go into work the next day with a big smile on my face. Naturally, Monica notices.
“Somebody got some last night,” she teases me, as if she knows some private information.
“I did not,” I insist, though I blush. “I just… I just had a really great night. That’s all.”
“Hey, no judgments here, sister.” She laughs. “I hope you did get laid. You need it, girl.”
“What I need, is to get those guys over there a couple of whiskey sours.” I begin mixing the drinks, but I can’t keep the smile off my face.
Monica nods knowingly. “Whatever you say, Erin. Whatever you say.”
“Hey, Mon,” I say suddenly, thinking about my conversation with Slash last night. “That guy Marcelo, the guy you set me up with a couple of weeks ago… how well do you know him?”
“Shh!” she hisses out, going uncharacteristically serious. “Do you want to get us killed?”
“What?” I ask innocently. “He was nice to me that night, and I just wanted to thank him. Does he hang out at that Red Club very often?”
“Jesus, Erin,” she snaps again, “show some goddamn restraint, would you?”
“What did I do?”
“Nothing… nothing,” she answers, heaving a sigh. “Look, I didn’t mean to snap. It’s just that… well… Marcelo and I… we used to go out.”
“Right, I’d gathered that.”
“But he was always really secretive about what he did,” she explains. “We only dated for a few months, but there were times he came back to his place with blood on his clothes – you know, stuff like that. I tell you, Erin, he’s dangerous, and you need to be careful. Don’t go crushing on a biker guy like that.”
“What do you mean?” I reply, indignant. “I’m not crushing on Marcelo.”
“Well, that’s good. So why do you want to see him?”
I weigh how I’m going to answer very carefully in my mind. Finally, after a too-long pregnant pause, I answer, “It’s like I said; I want to thank him for the other night. He was very kind to me when I was insanely nervous, and he made me feel comfortable.”
“Oh God,” Monica says, suddenly blanching, “you’re not… you’re not telling me – he’s not the one you lost your…” Her voice goes into a whisper: “... your v-card to, is he?”
“What? No! No, not even a little.”
“So, who was it then?”
“None of your business.”
“Was it the guy who came in here the other night and left with you?” When she sees the curious look on my face, she answers my unspoken question: “Yeah, I heard about that. Deonte said some big burly guy came in and started talking to you, and you ended up leaving with him. So, a match made in heaven, was it?”
“It was…” I blush again, not really knowing what to say. “He’s a good guy, Mon. He even took me out on a real date last night. He got his mother to stay with my mom – his mom’s a nurse.”
“Well that’s great,” Monica says with a note of doubt in her voice, “but don’t kid yourself about him, okay? If he was at that auction, and if he’s a biker, he’s not a good guy.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
; “It means, these guys are into serious shit, Erin. I know he might seem like a good guy, but trust me – all of these guys are into shit they shouldn’t be. And that can be deadly. I’m just looking out for you, okay?”
I nod. “I know you are, but I’m telling you, this one is different. He’s not into any of the shit you’re talking about. He’s just a good guy.”
“If you say so. For your sake, I hope to God you’re right.”
I am right – if I do say so myself. I know I am. I have to be.
The rest of the day passes without much incident. By nightfall, I’m itching to get out. I promised Slash I’d go and talk to Marcelo, and that’s exactly what I plan to do. Since Monica’s clearly not going to be much help, I decide to go to the Red Club alone. I know where it is, and I know what I need to do.
So, I go home, get my mom washed and off to bed, and then put on the same leather pants and black top I had on the other night before I head over to the Red Club. I rehearse my story in my head – I’m looking for work, and I’m thinking I can make more money with you than I can doing doubles at the bar I work at. If he’s as kind tonight as he was the other night, he’ll have something for me, I’m certain of it.
I park my car about half a block down and walk into the Red Club. The bar is dingier than I remember, although the night I came in here is a bit of a blur. There are only a few guys in the bar right now – the rest must be out on the streets doing something nefarious, the way Monica said they would be. None of them is Marcelo.
I sidle up to the bar, and the bartender comes up to me with a smile on his face.
“You lost?” he asks with a grin.
I shake my head. “I’m looking for Marcelo,” I say, doing my absolute best to hide my nervousness. “I’m sure a smart guy like you can tell me where he is.”
I’m a bit surprised when he just shrugs. “He’s here, but what would a pretty thing like you want with an ugly mug like that son of a bitch?”
“That’s between me and Marcelo,” I say with a teasing smile. I’m pulling this off, at least as best I can.
“Well how about I get you a drink, and we can talk it over?” he offers. “What’ll ya have?”
I say the first thing that pops into my mind. “Whiskey sour.”
He laughs, displaying a big grin that shows off several missing teeth. “Now, I can’t tell you the last time somebody asked me to make a properly mixed drink. Lady, you’re all right. How about I get you a shot of whiskey instead?” I nod, indicating that that will be fine. “Here you go,” he says, pouring out a shot for me. I take some cash out to pay him, but he waves me off. “This one’s on the house, especially if you’re a friend of Marcelo.”
“Who’s a friend of Marcelo?” a voice asks from behind me. “Because as I’m sure y’all are well aware, Marcelo don’t have any friends.”
I swivel my chair around to face the owner of the voice.
It’s Marcelo.
Of course it’s Marcelo.
“Hi.” I wave, trying to use my nerves to make me look cute and still innocent. “I don’t know if you remember me, but…”
He sits down at the bar, and the bartender immediately pours some whiskey into a glass and hands it to him.
“I remember you,” Marcelo says. “From the v-card auction. Erin, right? How’d it go for you?” He smiles, but it’s not at all kind. He wants to know the juicy details.
“It was… very nice,” I say judiciously. “The guy who won me was very kind to me.”
He flinches, almost like a reaction to me praising another guy, which makes me realize flattery is probably the best way to go with this.
“Almost as kind as you were to me that night.”
This perks him back up. “Well, you looked like you needed it,” he explains. “That was some good whiskey, huh?”
I nod. “Better than this shit,” I say, wincing as I down the shot in one gulp. I resist the urge to gag and be sick all over the floor in front of us.
“Right on, sister.” The bartender laughs from the other end of the bar. “You’re into it now!”
“Can it, Cooper,” Marcelo hisses out at him, looking down his nose to the end of the bar with a scowl. Then he turns back to me and says, “Well, tell me, Erin, what brings you back to the Red Club tonight?”
“I just wanted to say thank you.”
“Thank me?” he asks, almost startled. “For what?”
“You gave me the courage to, you know, do a good job,” I tell him, trying to lay the flattery schtick on thickly. “If it weren’t for you, I probably would’ve chickened out. But I didn’t. And it turned out to be super helpful. My mom’s sick, and…”
“Sick?” His eyebrows rise – though I can’t tell if it’s because he’s truly compassionate or because he’s trying to get into my pants. Oh, who am I kidding? It’s probably both. “What’s wrong with her?”
“Cancer. Stage 4. She’s in hospice, but the bills have been mounting, and…”
“... and you needed some cash to stay afloat,” he finishes for me. I nod. “Of course,” he continues. “I totally get that. And I’ll bet your mom is in a world of pain right now, too, isn’t she?”
I nod again, feeling sick to my stomach, this time from more than the whiskey. I hate using my mom and her illness like this. “She’s on a bunch of pain meds,” I explain, “but they only help for a limited time, and—”
“Hang on,” he says, holding up a hand, “pain meds, huh? Like, scripts? Pills?”
“Yeah,” I say, starting to connect the dots and see what he’s really interested in, “both. Why do you ask?”
“Well, you say you need some cash, right?”
“Right.”
“Darlin’, there’s a big ol’ market for pain pills in this neighborhood. Seems like everybody’s taking something just to get through the day. On the street, scripts can fetch a pretty fortune, especially if it’s the good stuff – like what you get when you’ve got Stage 4 cancer.”
“What are you saying?”
“I’m saying, if you could get me a doctor’s prescription and a handful of some of your mom’s pills, I could get you a lot of money – probably nearly as much as you got for your night of passion with that jackass who bid on you. What do you say? You want to go into business together?”
***
“I knew that smarmy son of a bitch was up to something like this,” Slash tells me later over dinner. “He’s a no-good pill-pusher. Probably has half the town addicted. So, what did you say? What did you tell him?”
“I told him I’d have to see what I can do,” I reply honestly.
“You WHAT?!” Slash roars out, and for the first time, he seems like a genuinely scary guy – like he’d be good muscle for an MC. To his credit, he composes himself quickly and tries again. “Erin, Marcelo is up to no good. He’s just trying to use you. All he’s interested in are the pills.”
“So what?” I say, my own blood pressure rising. “Slash, do you know how underwater my mom and I are with bills? Why do you think I came to the auction that night to begin with? It’s because I was desperate. And despite how much it helped me out, I’m still desperate. Even with the best health insurance, cancer is an expensive illness. And we don’t have the best health insurance.”
“So, what, you’re just gonna give your mom’s medicine to him?” Slash demands. “That seems pretty shitty – and pretty unlike you.”
“You barely know me,” I shoot back. “And besides, I have no intention of bringing my mom’s medicine to him. I’d get a new prescription filled and bring that. I’m not stupid.”
“Holy shit.” He rubs his chin almost thoughtfully. “You’re actually considering doing this, aren’t you?”
“Why shouldn’t I?”
“Because you’re not a criminal,” he tells me quietly as he looks me over with something resembling disdain.
“Oh, and I suppose you are?” I practically yell at him.
He heaves a sigh and doesn’
t answer me directly. Instead, he says, “Look, I’m just trying to look out for you. That’s why I got my mom to come in. I want the best for you.”
“Why, Slash? What? Are you going to just hand over another ten grand so I can get out of debt?”
“No,” he says, his voice hushed to almost nonexistence. “No, I’m not going to do that. I can’t do that. You took me for nearly everything I had.”
“Hey,” I say with a lopsided grin, “that’s your own fault.”
“It was worth it. I’m just saying, if I could help, I would help. I’m doing what I can to help. But you… you can’t go getting into business with Marcelo. I’m telling you, it’s a mistake.”
