City in the Middle

by Colleen Green

  The bartender gave me the expensive drink. “It’s on the house.”

  I held the glass up to toast the older gentleman in the suit. He nodded to me when I took it. “Thanks, man.”

  I sipped the bourbon. Notes of oak and vanilla went down smoothly, warming my throat and finishing with hits of cinnamon. My usual brand was forever ruined. I began to relax.

  I checked my watch. I had fourteen minutes to enjoy the drink. Rubbing the ornate glass, I assumed it was reserved for big spenders. When I looked around the bar area at all the men gawking at the tramps, I noticed that they had been served their drinks in the run-of-the-mill barware, nothing close to what was in my hands. I spun it around, admiring the design etched along the bottom of it. Underneath the dim, warm lights of the bar, the flame-orange glint in the amber color of the liquor gave me something to focus on instead of the strippers on stage. There was nothing appealing about those women. Not to me.

  I took another sip of the drink. The taste was reminiscent of the top-shelf bourbon I used to drink with my father, who saved “the good stuff” for special occasions. When he completed a big job working as a head mechanic, he would celebrate by sharing his expensive bourbon with us. We were only thirteen or fourteen, so he didn’t give us much. He taught us how to enjoy the alcohol, not just drink it down. He encouraged us to take the time to appreciate how the velvety texture could warm us throughout our whole bodies.

  I checked the time again. I had only a few minutes until Dean would be ready to talk. I walked to the room where Candy and Dean were. Bodyguards stood near it, watching me. As I approached it, I heard the squeals of a man past his prime through the closed door. His strained voice sounded like a sick cat in heat. They must have just finished.

  She came out of the room. Her hair looked perfect, and her makeup hadn’t smeared, except for her lipstick, as if she could fuck the old man in record time without breaking a sweat.

  “He’s all yours, what’s left of him,” she said, walking by.

  The bodyguards allowed me to go into the room.

  Dean buckled his belt. “Nothing like young pussy.” He pulled out a cigarette and lit it before sitting.

  “I’m glad you enjoyed it, because I need a favor.” I sat across from him.

  He relaxed and spread his wrinkly arms over the back of the couch. “That’s the only reason I get to taste Candy for free.” He smiled, revealing yellow-stained teeth, and took a long drag on his cigarette.

  “I need some backup to go on a personal errand. Someone who can protect me and not tell my family what I’m up to.”

  “What’s my end?”

  “I’ll owe you.” I took a deep breath. If I didn’t convince him to help me now, then I was screwed. “I could fuck with someone’s car. Someone’s brakes could go out.” Suggesting that I could be an accomplice to murder made me sick.

  His eyes lit up as if he knew exactly who should have an accident and I’d provided him with a way to make it happen. “I might know someone who could help you. You’ll owe me, plus I want a cut from this personal errand.”

  I had no choice. I nodded.

  “Come back here in a week, and I’ll arrange for you to meet him.”

  “I don’t have the luxury of time.” I stared at him, not blinking.

  He threw on his shirt and buttoned it. “Wait here. I’ll be back in a few hours. My cut just went up.”

  I nodded. Watching him leave, I hoped I had enough loot to pay off Fiona’s father’s debt and give Dean his cut.

  ∞ ∞ ∞

  Several hours later, Dean came back with a young man behind him. “This is Jimmy.”

  Jimmy had some muscle but clearly did not have an ounce of Italian blood in him. His sandy-brown hair and tan made him look like a surfer. Can he handle this job? Or is he the only option Dean had to offer on such short notice?

  I blew my breath out in exasperation. “How are you doing?”

  Dean looked me square in the eyes. “Is there a problem?”

  “No, of course not.” I had to accept the offer, or it would insult a New York capo—not a good move. “Let’s go, Jimmy.” We started to head out. “I’ll have him back to you soon.”

  “I know you will.”

  Chapter 12

  Cam

  Idrove the Rolls-Royce to the slums of New Jersey with Jimmy sitting in the passenger seat. I had to drive it because I couldn’t leave it and risk a coworker discovering the loot. The bulk of the drugs were in the trunk, but I’d moved a handful up front, to show potential buyers— with the promise of more where that came from. It was after eleven at night, and the Saturday parties would be in full swing.

  We entered a neighborhood consisting of dilapidated apartments, shuttered storefronts, and tiny brown townhouses. People stood outside with their mouths open, gawking at our expensive car. We appeared to be the only white guys. Either we were brave enough to drive on the streets surrounded by squalor, or we were the dumbest crackers they’d ever seen.

  Jimmy had little to add when I explained to him what I planned to do with the drugs. I needed to be in total control of the night’s events, so I took it as a sign of cooperation.

  Despite the color of my skin and the expensive car I drove, I did my best to blend in to the ’hood. I leaned back, gangster style, with my hands lightly holding the wheel. The heavy bass of rap music pulsed from the high-quality speakers. My hardened face gave off a don’t-fuck-with-me vibe.

  A woman wearing a skirt that barley covered her ass, high heels, and a plunging neckline approached us when we stopped at a four-way intersection. Hoping the prostitute would have an idea where to sell the drugs, I rolled down the window to talk to her. We were the only ones on the road, so I could milk the moment.

  She looked me up and down as she leaned over the door. Her huge rack hung over the edge and brushed against my shoulder. “Ooo-wee, I never thought I’d see the day when he’d let another man drive his car.”

  Shit! She knows the owner of this car. Since the Rolls-Royce had New York license plates, I thought Jersey would be far enough away from the owner’s turf. I was wrong.

  “A white boy too, mmm–hmm!” Her breath had the stench of tobacco. “You must be special, sugar.”

  If she tells the owner about me, I can’t come back here. I froze, realizing the prostitute could ruin my plan.

  She traced my cheekbone with her fake fingernail. Her touch repulsed me. I wanted to flinch. Instead, I played the part, briefly closing my eyes as if I wanted more.

  “He usually doesn’t stop driving to say hello to us fine ladies.”

  My whole body relaxed, relieved that the owner didn’t chat with her on a regular basis.

  “So, he finally sent his boys out to bring back some girls who do the kinky stuff, unlike those snotty hoes.” Looking at my crotch, she licked her lips. She lingered on the top one then extended her long tongue.

  I fought the urge to cringe. “Naw, but he did say he was looking to extend his client base.” If she thought we were part of the car owner’s crew, I had to go with it. “He’s on a tight schedule and needs to make a big sale then lay low. You find us someone who can buy his special brand of shit in bulk, and I guarantee all their inhibitions will be forgotten by the time you have your way with them.” I put a small pouch of the drugs down her bust. “First round’s free. What do you say we keep this deal to ourselves? Your pimp doesn’t need a cut of this kind of action. You find us someone to buy a huge stash in twelve hours, and then you’ll be compensated.” I leaned toward her and whispered in her ear the amount of money I needed to save Fiona’s life plus some extra.

  Her eyes lit up. “A man after my own heart. Meet me behind the dumpster at Pussy Cat’s Strip Club in twelve hours.” She stood upright, no longer leaning over the car and finally giving me some distance from her bosom. “You can’t miss it. The neon sign is further up the street.”

  “We’ll be there.”

  I drove away. We headed toward the garage at
the used car dealership in New Jersey. Even though this tramp planned to find us a buyer for the loot, the situation made my gut convulse. What if something goes wrong and I don’t survive? For a second, I couldn’t breathe. I exhaled, and my hands twitched on the steering wheel. I gripped it tighter. I needed insurance that Fiona’s father’s debt would be paid.

  “Jimmy, I have something I need you to do.”

  His eyes narrowed, looking at me. “Besides watch your back?”

  “Yeah, you have to promise me that Fiona’s father’s debt is going to get paid off even if something happens and you make it out alive but I don’t. He owes the Bugiardini family three hundred large. That’s why we’re going through this.” I looked at him. “Capisci?”

  I felt like my father. He only said “capisci” when he meant business, and only when speaking to other Italians. Even though Jimmy wasn’t Italian, he was an associate, and good enough to work for the Bugiardini crew.

  “I plan on both of us making it out.”

  I didn’t care about his plans. I needed his word he’d get the money to the Bugiardini family no matter what. “Fucking listen.” I raised my voice, gripping the wheel. “I have to know you can take care of this if I don’t make it. You need to pay off the debt Fiona’s father, Liam Fitzgerald, owes to Dean. Liam lives in Brooklyn. He occasionally drinks at Lucky’s Pub and bartends there. Take the three hundred large and drag Liam’s ass to Dean. Liam can personally give Dean the cash. Dean doesn’t need to know where the money came from.” I looked over, and Jimmy was paying attention. He stared at me as if absorbing every word. I turned back to watching the road as I drove. Jimmy hadn’t verbally confirmed he would do what I was asking of him. “Christ, just promise me you’ll do it. Just say it. Promise me.” I made eye contact. “I need to hear it.”

  “I promise.” He continued to lock eyes with me.

  I relaxed my grip on the wheel. “Thank you.”

  I looked forward, continuing to drive away from the slums. We gradually made our way back to the safe and quiet neighborhood where I worked.

  Once we drove inside the garage, I said to Jimmy, “We are going to start tearing this car apart, tonight.” I put the car in park and shut the garage door.

  “You realize I have no idea how to do that, don’t you?” Jimmy asked.

  “I figured, but desperate times.” I got out of the car.

  Since the head mechanic, Giorgio, would be back in a day or two to check on the progress of chopping the car, I had to at least get the process underway. If he stopped by soon, it would look like I had started the job.

  Hours later, I had dismantled the stereo console, the amplifiers, and the subwoofers. Jimmy had removed the speakers and packed all the parts into foam containers then into separate boxes.

  Jimmy walked over. “If we’re going to work all night, I need some serious coffee. Not this piss-poor shit they provide for their employees.” He took a sip from his Styrofoam cup before chucking it in the trash.

  I continued working without looking at him. “Go out to the sidewalk where the dealership sign is, then turn right. No too far up the street is a coffee shop. It’s within walking distance. Get me a large espresso.”

  “You got it. I’ll be back.”

  I looked him square in the eyes. “You better.”

  It was one in the morning when Jimmy left. At 1:30, he wasn’t back yet. It shouldn’t be taking this long. The coffee shop was only a few minutes away.

  I pulled up the spreadsheet on the computer to log what I had torn apart so far. After each entry, I kept looking at the door expecting Jimmy to return. At 1:40, he finally arrived.

  “What the hell took you so damn long?” I slammed the lid on the laptop shut.

  He handed me a coffee. “Sorry, man, I ran into on old friend and lost track of time.” He sipped his drink, standing relaxed.

  He lost track of time! He better start taking this shit seriously. “Well, I didn’t. I’d like to get some sleep at some point. Box up all the parts on the floor.” I motioned at them. “I already made the labels. Each one is by the right part. You just have to peel it off and put it on the box.”

  I watched him finish his coffee before digging into the work.

  My frustration at how little he cared about tearing the car apart made my blood boil. Sucker punching him would make me feel better, but I didn’t dare. With his muscles and bodyguard skills, it would be a short fight that would end with me getting my ass kicked. I needed him to watch my back later, so pissing him off wasn’t an option.

  Jimmy squatted and put labels on the boxes. I walked over to him. “Listen, if you focus and get to it, I’ll sweeten the deal for you.”

  He stood up. “Oh yeah?” His eyes lit up as he smirked.

  My fists clenched at my sides. Knocking his teeth out would wipe that smug smile off his face. Instead, I held back. “Yeah, like a cut for you.” Money was the only thing to offer Jimmy. How I was going to pay off Fiona’s father’s debt and Jimmy was a mystery. All I cared was whether the bribe made him take fewer coffee breaks and buckle down.

  “If you want to give me incentive to work faster, I know just the thing.” He patted my arm, looking down at my knuckles, which were turning white. “Relax. It’s not money.”

  Relieved, I spread my fingers, nodded, and backed away from him.

  “Leave a note for your boss. Tell him you have an associate that needs some assistance with car trouble. You can call her Mrs. X. She’ll be by in a week or so. Of course, she won’t pay full price.”

  I was tired of making deals with this family. “Of course,” I said through gritted teeth.

  He began to work as hard as he should have been the whole time. I scribbled a note on the pad and left it in Giorgio’s office. He’d see it eventually.

  I hated that I was going further down the rabbit hole into a criminal world that I had somehow managed to avoid despite my family’s connections. But it was the only way to save Fiona—if I could survive.

  Chapter 13

  Cam, Sunday morning

  After an exhausting night of dismantling the car, I only had a couple hours of sleep. Even though I had lost some time on the job by dealing with Fiona’s life-threatening problem first, I hoped that I made up for it by tearing apart the interior of the Rolls.

  Jimmy offered to drive us to meet our mystery buyer of the loot. I accepted it. He’d gotten more rest than I did, since he crashed on the couch in the garage while I was still working.

  I moved the drugs into a nondescript sedan and left the Rolls-Royce in the garage. If my coworkers came back early, they’d be looking for it. Since it wasn’t a nine-to-five type of environment, anything was possible.

  I wrote a note explaining I had a family emergency that interrupted my work. My hand shook as I thought about how furious my boss would be about me leaving before the job was done. I put the pen down. It was barely legible, like a doctor’s script. I took a deep breath. Best-case scenario, I’d return before anyone decided to come back to work early.

  Pleasing my boss was usually my only priority, but not that day. My only mission was to sell the drugs and get the hell out of Dodge.

  Even with Jimmy as my bodyguard, I needed to pack some heat of my own as extra insurance that I’d make the drug deal and get out alive. Once we were in the car, I gave Jimmy directions to my place so I could get my gun. He agreed that it was a good idea.

  The short drive to my apartment was just long enough for the smooth ride to lull me to sleep. When Jimmy slammed on the brakes, I was jarred awake. Damn. How am I supposed to be alert when I can’t stay awake? Fuck. I rubbed my eyes.

  I put my window down. The crisp morning air blew against my face and helped with the drowsiness. The more I did to stay awake, the better. I turned on the radio to speed metal. The rapid beat of drums and stretching guitar blasted through the speakers. Jimmy sneered and turned the volume down a few notches.

  We pulled up to my apartment. It only took a few minutes
to grab my gun and tuck it inside the waistband of my jeans. My loose-fitting work shirt covered the weapon. Even though I had left Jimmy alone with the drugs in the trunk, I knew the vehicle and its contents were secure, because he was packing his own heat. I returned to the car.

  The gun had been my father’s. I had only fired it a few times at a shooting range. I’d never pointed it at a living being. Can I pull the trigger when I need to, or will I hesitate? I hoped the revolver would stay in my waistband. The fear of having to use the weapon kept me awake during the rest of the trip.

  We pulled into the strip club’s narrow back parking lot. Jimmy swerved in between potholes and broken glass.

  We drove by a parked Mercedes. The driver’s hands clutched the wheel. He sat still, upright, and alert. He locked his eyes on us. Without blinking, he held eye contact until we passed him. Fuck, we’re being watched.

  Looking in the rearview mirror, I saw the Mercedes abruptly turn toward us. Its tires squealed. My breath hitched. I gripped the dashboard. Closing my eyes, I braced for impact. We kept moving forward. There was no sound of brakes screeching. We turned and stopped moving. I opened my eyes and exhaled, relieved that we didn’t get plowed into by the Mercedes. Unfortunately, it parked and blocked the way we’d entered.

  I looked to the right to find another way out and saw a Suburban and a garbage truck blocking our way. The man buying our stash had come prepared with friends. A tall man stood next to the Suburban. His muscular shoulders spanned the length of the car window.

  Shit! This man could knock me out with one punch. Even if I shoot him, I doubt one bullet can bring him down.

  Another man stepped out of the SUV. He went up to the garbage truck and gave the driver a wad of cash. The driver took it, and the two men inside the truck got out. They walked behind the SUV then into the alley. The man standing next to the car made a call on his cell.