My Mobster

by J. L. Drake

  “Truth.” Boris said.

  “What?” I swiveled my barstool around.

  He tipped his head. “Truth or dare. You wanted to play the other day. Truth. What do you want to know?”

  “Seriously?” There had to be a catch. More likely, I reasoned, he wanted to find out something from me and not the other way around.

  The wolves started barking out back again. I glanced out the window. Right as I looked down at the basketball court, Playboy heaved a rock at Igor. He hit the poor bird in the chest. “Hey.” I tapped on the window.

  Playboy looked up at me, waved me off, and laughed.

  Boris lifted his eyebrows. “What is it you want to know, dear?”

  I twisted my lips as I thought about how to phrase my question. I was worried about Dad. He worked with Vladimir for eight plus hours a day. If I knew about Vladimir’s side business, wouldn’t Dad know, too? “I’m not sure I should ask. If you don’t want to answer—”

  “If I don’t want to answer, I won’t.” Boris tipped his hand, encouraging me to continue.

  “Is my dad involved in anything at work that could get him into trouble?”

  Boris glared at me. I knew I shouldn’t have asked. “I mean, it’s none of my business what you and Mr. Ivanov do, but Dad—”

  “No,” Boris said. “What your papa works on with the boss is legit.”

  “Good. Thanks.” I exhaled, relieved Dad wasn’t an accomplice in Vladimir’s other business.

  “I’m curious,” Boris said. “What if I’d told you he was involved in something else?”

  I kept my attention on the basketball court. “I would have asked Mr. Ivanov to fire him.”

  Playboy threw another rock at Igor.

  “Hey!” I pounded on the window. “Boris, tell him to leave the peacock alone. He’s emasculating him in front of Natasha.”

  He turned on the radio, unaffected by my bird drama.

  Playboy tried to kick Igor, but the bird dodged him.

  “I’m not kidding, Boris. Tell him to stop, or I’m going out there.”

  He lowered his reading glasses. “Is not your problem.”

  I went to the mudroom and lifted my tennis racquet and a can of balls out of my bag.

  On my way outside, Boris caught my arm. “Stay out of it.”

  His threatening tone meant business, but I’d pledged to hold my own with these Russians. I could at least do that with a bird on the basketball court, for god’s sake. “The boss will be super ticked when he finds out he was bothering his bird, and you didn’t stop him.” I tried to shake off his hand, but he wouldn’t let go.

  “Or maybe boss will be ticked because I told you to stay out of it, but you defied me.”

  I tried to pull away again, but instead of letting up, he squeezed tighter.

  “Let me go.”

  He looked down at my tennis racquet. “If you act against that bad boy, I won’t stop him when he comes after you, understand? Is time you learned your place.”

  My mouth gaped. “My place?”

  The peacock shrieked. “Help! Help! Help!”

  He let go of my arm and gave me one last warning. “You’ll be sorry.”

  I stuck to my convictions and marched out on the balcony. With my racquet hidden behind my back, I yelled at Playboy and pointed to the peacock.

  He flipped me off.

  The peacock charged him.

  When Playboy turned to find another rock, I got out a ball, bounced it, and took aim like I was ready to serve up an ace. I tossed the ball up and slammed it down to the basketball court.

  Wham! I hit Playboy point blank on the side of the head. Shit. I’d aimed at his feet. The other two goons laughed, but Playboy stared me down like he wanted to kill me. I squinted at him, went back inside, and locked the door behind me, with an annoying shakiness in my legs. Playboy can sure look menacing when he wants to.

  Boris had gotten out his betting book and was scribbling down notes when I shuffled back to the kitchen. I fumbled with my book and pretended I wasn’t scared out of my mind. Just when I thought it was safe, that Playboy wasn’t stupid enough to come after me, the swinging door flew open, and he stood in the doorway with a sinister grin.

  I was ninety-nine percent positive Boris was bluffing when he’d said he wouldn’t protect me. There was no way the boss would be okay with one of his patsani coming into his house and hurting me in any way. And if Boris stood there and watched, he would be in trouble, too. Nobody, not even Boris, would want to answer to the pakhan.

  Playboy stepped toward me with his hand behind his back.

  Wait. Wasn’t the boss the one who said I needed to learn a lesson with his boys out back? Shit, shit, shit.

  I stood strong, though. I was tough. Whatever happened I could take it. Boris continued to work, unaffected by Playboy’s threatening posture. What did that jerk have behind his back?

  A baseball bat?

  A knife?

  A gun?

  Playboy moved toward me and said something creepy in Russian. Then, from behind his back, he flopped a dead peahen on the kitchen counter.

  Natasha! I covered my mouth and screamed.

  Playboy pointed in my face and barked at me.

  “Boris, tell him to get out of here.” I backed up as Playboy cornered me against the stove. He grabbed my hand and dragged me back to the dead bird, pointed to her body, and then waited for me to do something with it.

  “Boris, please.”

  “Should have listened. I warned you.”

  “What does he want?”

  “He wants you to clean up the mess you made.”

  “The mess I made? Are you serious?” I stepped around the bar and fired back at Playboy. “Screw you, lapsha. The pakhan is going to be ticked when I tell him what you did.”

  Boris spoke to him in their native tongue. Playboy’s face burned red when he got the translation I’d threatened to rat him out. He picked up a cookbook from under the counter and whizzed it at me. I covered my face and ducked, narrowly dodging a blow to the head.

  I jumped up to escape, but before I could get away, Playboy clutched my ponytail and yanked me to my feet. He put his other hand on my back and steered me toward the fresh kill.

  He picked up my hand. I fought him—with all the strength I had—but it was no contest. He guided my hand over the bird, and forced me to stroke her dead body. “Do svidaniya, ptichka.”

  I turned my head and squeezed my eyes shut. In defense, I bent my knees and pushed my back against him, but instead of letting up, he jammed me against the counter and shoved my face an inch from the bird’s bloody body. The smell of cigarettes and cologne mixed with Natasha’s earthy wild musk forced acid to gurgle up in my throat.

  “Ready to apologize and clean it up?” Boris asked.

  Would the boss blame me, too? “I’m sorry.”

  “Say it in Russian. Izvinite.”

  “Izvinite.”

  Playboy yanked me upright, pointed to the dead bird, and flung open the trash drawer. With shaky hands I picked Natasha up by her feet and dropped her in the bag.

  “Why did he hurt her? She didn’t do anything.” My voice trembled.

  “To teach the peacock a lesson.” Boris said. “That cocky bird will think twice before picking a fight with him again, don’t you think, dear?”

  Playboy snapped his fingers and waited for me to finish the job.

  I buried my nose in my jacket and zipped it up all the way. Trying not to gag, I tied the bag shut and took it out to the garbage receptacle in the garage.

  When I came back to the kitchen, Playboy was gone. “Where did he go?”

  “It’s over. You’re even,” Boris said. “Not a word of this to the boss.”

  I covered my mouth, doubled over, and vomited in the sink.

  Chapter 27

  Popped

  In the morning, three days before Christmas, snow fell as Dad loaded up the car for the trip. A winter storm was on the way, so h
e left work early to get on the road before the traffic got bad. Last Minute Christmas Miracle: Ryan scored tickets to the Bengals game on Christmas Eve and invited me to go. I begged and pleaded and flashed the ‘I’m-an-adult card’ so I could stay home from the family road trip.

  Reluctantly, and with a stern warning, Dad agreed. Kiki was in Florida with her family, so I guess not having my partner in crime eased his mind. I had decided to wait until after Christmas to break the news to him about the apartment.

  Before the family rolled away, we said our goodbyes. Megan squeezed her little arms around my waist. She looked adorable in a frilly green dress with reindeer prancing around the hemline. “If you see Santa, tell him I’m at Grandma and Grandpa’s house.”

  “I will, kitty.” I kissed her on top of the head, and she bounced to the car.

  “We’ll miss you.” Karen gave me a hug and slid me some spending money. “I wish you would come. My parents have been asking about you.”

  “Next time,” I said.

  Then it was Dad’s turn. “No alcohol. No boys. No parties.” Dad perched his hands on my shoulders. “Don’t mess this up, Carter.”

  Potential fuck-up: Had Dad mentioned the change of plans to the boss? I was betting no. I’d waited until the last minute—when would he have had a chance, or even the inclination, to call Vladimir to report this? I should be fine. And God, did I need that freedom for one stinking weekend.

  In case I had a tail, I asked Dad to drop me off at the club on their way out of town, so if someone were spying on me, it would appear I’d left with the family as planned.

  The club was a ghost town. I hoped to hit some balls, but none of my friends were there. I walked around the corner and peeked down at the basketball court—empty. The elliptical put me to sleep, so I decided to shoot some hoops to get my heart pounding. A few minutes into my workout, Leonardo crashed the court.

  “¿Cómo estás?” He swaggered up to me and rebounded my rim shot.

  Shit. “Hey, what’s up?” I tried to keep it light.

  He bounced the ball at the free throw line and swooshed in a basket. He retrieved it and passed it to me. “Let’s see you make two in a row.”

  “Oh, I was just leaving.” I passed it back to him and headed for the exit.

  “Cluck, cluck, cluck.” Leonardo made a chicken sound.

  Seriously? My competitive drive kicked over to autopilot. I turned around and put my hand on my hip. He passed me the ball. I took a shot from the free throw line, but missed. I cursed and chased after the ball.

  “Fácil, LeBron. Let’s play a game. Uno a uno.”

  Of course, I should have said no and left the club. Boris had made it clear I was not to see him again—but the big guy thought I was on my way to Akron.

  Game on.

  I faked left and went up for a layup. Leonardo raised his hand and jumped to block the ball. When he came down, he landed on my ankle and twisted it sideways. I crumbled to the floor, groaning in pain. Careless bastard. I didn’t hear a pop, so it probably wasn’t broken, but it was throbbing like crazy. No way could I walk home in a blizzard with an excruciatingly painful, busted up ankle. So, I accepted a ride from Leonardo.

  I buried my face in my jacket as he carried me out so word wouldn’t get back to my college team coach, Erin. She would be pissed if she found out I was screwing around with the meatheads from the gym. Team practices were set to start up again in January, and she had sent out a team email warning us to behave over winter break:

  “Don’t screw around ice skating, snow skiing, bungee jumping, cage fighting, or engaging in other unnecessary activities that could jeopardize your health. You’re athletes, not wild chimpanzees. Have a great break. Go Bearcats!”

  The heavy snowfall was accumulating, and the roads were slick on the ride home. The forecast predicted eight to twelve inches. Leonardo parked in my driveway, and I tried to put some weight on my ankle and walk in on my own, but it was too sore. I resorted to hopping.

  Leonardo laughed. “I’ve got you, loca.” He folded me up in his arms before I could protest. Ryan had a perfect view of my house from his living room and would not be pleased to see The Spanish Stud carrying me into the house. Since Ryan and I had kind of started dating, we had barely seen each other. I wanted to go back to just being friends for multiple reasons, but I hadn’t had a chance to talk to him about it.

  Once inside, Leonardo set me on the couch and went to the freezer for an ice pack. “Are we alone?” he asked, tossing his gym bag on the floor.

  I ignored him, and untied my laces to assess the damage. Sliding off my shoe was painful—even taking off my sock made me cringe. My ankle was swollen so badly, it appeared I had a softball stuffed under my skin. I feared it was more than a sprain.

  Leonardo winced. “Oh, baby, that’s not good.” He twisted the top off one of my dad’s longnecks and took a swig. “You’ll need to get an x-ray tomorrow.” He popped the top off another beer and offered it to me.

  Boys and beer: Dad’s first two rules broken in record time.

  Chapter 28

  Mixed Company

  “My dad will kill me if he finds out I drank his beer.”

  Leonardo set the bottle on the table and plopped down next to me. “Relax.” He wrapped an ice pack around my ankle and ran his fingers up and down my leg.

  I should have called Ryan to pick me up.

  “Thanks for the ride, but I’m exhausted. I need to rest.”

  Judging by his undaunted expression, he didn’t take the hint.

  “And I have a boyfriend.”

  Leonardo chugged his beer, leaned over, and pressed his body on top of mine. “You don’t act like a girl who has a boyfriend.”

  “What the fuck? Get off me, pig!”

  He scoffed at my rejection. “I’ll make you feel better.” He pushed my hair back and licked my ear.

  “Back off, asshole. You’re hurting me.”

  At that moment, all the lights went off in the house. The digital display on my dad’s desk went black. The storm had knocked out the power.

  “Nice timing.” He cupped my breasts.

  I tried to slap him in the face, but he caught my hand.

  My cell phone rang.

  I tried to shove him off.

  “No seas mala.” He held my wrists down and sucked on my neck.

  A loud knock came from the front door.

  Leonardo covered my mouth.

  The knock came again.

  I bit down on his hand until he let go. “Come in!”

  The door opened. “Carter? It’s me. Are you all right?” A flashlight cut through the darkness.

  “In here, Ryan.”

  When Leonardo heard Ryan’s deep voice, he rolled off me and sat up like nothing was wrong. “Keep your mouth shut,” he whispered. I didn’t need to see his face to know it was a threat.

  “I tried to call,” Ryan said. “The power is out on the whole block. Whose car is in the driveway?” He stepped into the room and shined a flashlight on the couch.

  Ryan shined the flashlight across my swollen ankle, then up to my heaving chest, then to my panic-ridden face. Then he shined it on Leonardo. “What the fuck did you do to my girlfriend?” Then the flashlight dropped and the primal sound of fists on flesh echoed through the room.

  Oh, shit. I crawled on the floor and then got to my feet, using the edge of the table for leverage. The coffee table slammed into the wall in the living room. I hopped over to the door and pressed the police button on the alarm box.

  “Ryan, are you okay?”

  He didn’t answer.

  “The cops are on their way. Ryan?”

  A rush of panic swept over me when I considered the alarm button might not work because the power was out. I crawled to get my cell out of my purse. The guys were still wrestling and swearing at each other. I needed someone to get between them.

  “The police are coming. Get out of here, Leonardo.” I found my phone and started to dial 911,
but thought better of it. Leonardo deserved an ass kicking, but I didn’t want Ryan to get into trouble. Another crash. I had to call Boris.

  He picked up on the first ring. “I need your help.” I heard the tinny sound of glass ornaments shattering when the Christmas tree went down. “I’m at Dad’s. Please hurry.”

  I hopped into the living room. “Ryan?” I used the light from my cell as a flashlight.

  “Stay back, Carter,” Ryan said. I could see in the faint light from the window he had Leonardo in a headlock.

  Sirens were nearing the house; I had activated the alarm after all.

  I tugged on Ryan’s arm to loosen his grip. “Don’t hurt him. Everything’s okay.”

  Leonardo struggled to get free, but Ryan had him good. “Give me my bag and I’ll go.”

  “Fuck you, loser,” Ryan said.

  “Give me my fucking bag!” Leonardo shouted.

  “Okay, okay.” I found his gym bag on the floor and started to toss it his way, then stopped. Why was he so worried about what I assumed were his sweaty gym clothes? I unzipped the bag and shined my cell phone light on the contents: a bounty of neatly portioned baggies of weed and coke, at least twenty rubber band bankrolls, and a small black gun.

  Oh, shit. “Let him go, Ryan. Now. Do it before the cops get here.”

  “Are you crazy, Carter?”

  “Trust me.” I startled even myself with the harshness of my tone. The image of Playboy’s vicious order to clean up my mess came to mind. I pushed the nightmare away, hopped to the front door, and opened it.

  Ryan dragged Leonardo to the front door and tossed him into the snow. I whizzed his car keys at him, but kept the gym bag. No way would I toss him a lethal weapon to use on us. I locked the door and then squeezed my arms around my hero. What would have happened if he hadn’t shown up?

  The sirens were getting closer. I shined the light on Ryan’s face. Blood oozed from a cut above his eye. My fault. I begged him to go home. “Hurry, Ryan, they’re almost here.” Reluctantly, he agreed. He could get kicked off the football team for fighting. I promised to call as soon as I could to explain everything.