by Mysti Parker
“I’m not the same as my dad,” Sailor said. “I have two businesses, a bar and an apartment building. I’m whittling away my inheritance trying to keep my bar from going out of business. I don’t like who my dad was or what he did, and…” She looked at the silent group behind Rabinowicz. “I’m sorry, really. It’s not fair, what happened to you. All my dad did was hurt people. He had no love for humanity, or community. He didn’t even love me and my sister. I’ve dedicated my life to being different than he was.” She wiped a tear from her cheek. “No, I know I shouldn’t cry. That doesn’t mean anything here.”
“No, it doesn’t,” said Chaim Rabinowicz. “A good performance from a good actress, hmm?”
“That’s not fair,” said Milikowsky. “Rav Chaim, it is to Hashem that Roger Kingston will answer, as all of us must do. If this girl is at fault, just the same with her.”
“Let her open her father’s records to me. I’ll find the money, or learn where it went.”
“No,” Sailor said. “I’m here to work something out with you, but I’m not doing that.”
“Then I can’t trust you.”
“Oy vey,” said Milikowsky. “Rav Chaim, the girl is not the only one who can put on a show, you know. Come on, what we discussed.” He beamed at the big man behind the table.
Rabinowicz whispered something to one of the women standing behind him. She went to the samovar and poured him a cup of fragrant brown tea. He took a sip, coughed, made a rumbling harrumph noise. “Certain things have to be said.”
“I had to say sorry,” Sailor added. “I do feel bad. I feel ashamed. I live here in Williamsburg knowing that my father was a bad man. But I can’t fix everything he did wrong. All I can do is try to be better than he was.”
“Do something for the community,” said Rabinowicz. “Hm. I have something for you. You were walking here, did you see the yeshiva on the corner, the one with the fence on the side, and the schoolyard filled with weeds? The pavement, cracked? Everything rusted, broken. Did you see that?”
“I noticed it,” Ace said. “That’s a Jewish elementary school, right?”
“Yes. You can call it that; the young boys learn Torah and Talmud, but they must also have exercise. A new playground must be made there, all that garbage taken away. New concrete poured. Basketball hoops, swings.”
“And you want me to pay for that?”
“You will manage the project, and you will pay for it. And it will be named for my father, Rav Eliezer Rabinowicz, in memory of what he did to found that school, to recruit the first class of students.”
Sailor made a mental calculation of what it might cost. She would have to get Marina to consent to contribute some from her own trust fund also.
“And in return, you call off the people who are causing trouble in my bar?” she asked.
“Ts, that’s not my doing. I am a rabbi, not a terrorist. But I may know something that will help you.”
“Please tell me, Rabbi,” said Ace.
Rabinowicz dug through the papers and handed him a copy of a book. Ace, recognizing it, passed it to Sailor.
Forgetting God: How I Freed Myself from the Shameful Yoke of Chasidic Judaism by Ariela Rabin.
Milikowski stabbed his finger at the face on the cover. “That girl is bad news,” he said.
“I’ve seen her before,” Sailor said. “In fact, she’s suing me, she and a guy named Richard Handler. She must live in the neighborhood.”
“These people you should talk to. She has left Chasidism, no problem. We don’t want her back. But her family also your father hurt. David Rabin, a hard man, was too proud to reveal he had been robbed, and what he did to himself, we don’t talk about those things. His daughter, however, does not forgive.”
Ace nodded, understanding. “Sailor, you stay away from them. Let Goose and me deal with it. We’re professionals.”
****
Sailor dropped off Ace by his motorcycle, then drove home to shower and change. She turned on her laptop and sent an email to [email protected]. It read, Marina, Dad fucked over some people in Williamsburg. I’m donating a new playground to a school to make good. I need $10K from your trust fund. I’m putting $15K from mine. I’ll pay you back, but if you have any class, tell me I don’t have to.
She left the computer on and stripped for a shower. Heard a ding of new email as she was taking off her robe. Marina had already replied.
Sailor, if I find out you put that money into your failing bar I will physically fuck you up. I have learned some serious fighting moves from the Aboriginal People. If it’s really for a playground, fine, don’t pay me back for that. Marina
Sailor went to her desk safe, unlocked it and took out withdrawal paperwork for both her and Marina’s trust funds. So much to do before work! But they had been a success, she and Ace – the problem was that much closer to getting solved.
She had a pleasant shower, thinking of how it had been sharing the hot water with Ace just that morning. He was an amazing lover, with a beautiful strong body, soft lips, gentle hands, a magnificent cock. He had even said he loved her! Oh, she was going to have her way with him that night! She loved him, she loved her man.
Sailor put on fresh black leggings and a long-sleeved tunic with geometric patterns she hoped would camouflage any unfortunate stains she might get that night. She was brushing out her hair when the doorbell rang. If Ace had stopped by for some afternoon delight, that would be great; they could always take another shower together. She slid on some pumps and went to the door.
And was met with a ferocious blow to the face that sent her flying backwards on her ass.
The blow had not quite struck into Sailor’s eye – she was able to look up at her doorway to see Ariela Rabin herself, along with the scowling biker who followed her around.
#NotGood
“Dick, g’head, cuff her,” said Ariela as she stepped in. “We need to finish this fast now that that big ape security guy is looking for us. How’d you find out, bitch?”
#ReallyNotGood
“Chaim Rabinowicz,” Sailor said. “Come on, you have a lawsuit pending. We can take care of this in court.”
The biker entered and shut the door. He had plastic restraints in his hand.
“You’re going to pay,” said Ariela.
Sailor scrambled to all fours, but the biker pushed her down and cuffed her hands behind her back. Sailor kicked backwards, but didn’t make contact with anyone. Damn, her face stung. This rotten chick punched harder than Marina had when they were kids.
“We’re not going to court,” said Ariela as the biker sat her up again. “Unless we’re suing your estate. You’ll be gone soon. Dick, gag her.”
“Don’t gag me. This is stupid, Ariela. I’m sorry about what my dad did to your dad.”
“Do you know what he did? Hold off a minute, Dick.”
“You scream and I’ll pull your tongue out,” said the biker.
“Dick?” Sailor said. Strange the things you think about when your life is on the line. “Are you Richard Handler? Is your name really – Dick Handler?”
“Aw, shut up,” said the biker.
Sailor snorted. “Dick Handler. I’m getting kidnapped by Dick Handler. It would be even funnier if you weren’t both so ugly.”
“Fuck you,” Ariela said. “Don’t make this about us. This is about what your dad did to my dad. He drove him to suicide, you know that?”
“My dad’s dead,” Sailor said, “and I wasn’t close with him when he was alive. He wasn’t that nice to me. I decided to be strong and carry on. I don’t know what your deal is, but kidnapping me, beating me up, that isn’t going to help.”
“Oh, we’ll do worse than that.”
“Couldn’t you just hit me a few times and then leave? I promise not to file a countersuit.”
“I want to get some real money out of you, bitch. Real money, and revenge. Paying all those people to trash your bar and sue you has pretty much cleaned out the advance and royalt
ies from my bestselling book. That’s why we’re going to sell you to human traffickers. They’ll pay like crazy for a rich blonde bitch like you.”
“Uh,” said Sailor. “That’s a really bad idea.”
Dick Handler knelt and put a rolled-up rag in her mouth. “Enough out of you,” he said.
He tied Sailor’s feet together with a t-shirt, then lifted her from behind by the armpits. Ariela took Sailor’s legs. Together they hustled her out the door they had used to enter.
“You’re sure there’s no one home anywhere in the building?” Ariela said.
“Yeah, I knocked on all the doors. No one will see me.”
“Okay, then, rock and roll, baby. Let’s take her to the car.”
Sailor finally realized she had been wrong to try to talk them out of it. She should have been fighting harder from the moment she saw them. Now she was all but helpless in the hands of these two loony-tunes.
They were clattering on the stairs. She worked her wrists some – discovered the cuffs weren’t fastened properly. Dick might have rushed because he was trying to avoid her kicks. Given a little time unobserved, maybe she could get her hands free. But would she have that time? Would Ace get there to help before it was too late?
#cliffhanger
Chapter Twelve
“I should have brought flowers,” Ace muttered as he drove his motorcycle the two and a half blocks from his new apartment he had rented from Goose. “Or maybe she doesn’t like flowers. She’s probably a jewelry kind of girl.” They had a lot to learn about each other, with and without clothes.
He had planned to simply spend some time with Sailor before work. Whether it led to sex or not, he didn’t care, but of course he wouldn’t turn it down. Harper had told him he’d know he was in love if he enjoyed spending time with a woman, even if it meant a lazy night of lounging on the couch watching TV. He didn’t know how much he could trust his young cousin’s advice, but it seemed to fit what he felt for Sailor. Just the thought of being with her made him happy as a redneck in a Moon Pie factory.
On the corner of the block before he reached the townhouse, two of the bikers he'd met a while back were at the same hot dog stand. They motioned him over. He pulled up and shut off the engine then flipped up his helmet visor.
"Hey, Jeff, Skip. What are you up to? Sorry I haven't made it to a meeting yet."
Jeff waved the apology away. "No problem there. Listen, remember that guy Dick we told you about?"
"Yeah?" Something was wrong. He could feel in his gut the tight ball of unease he’d felt many times before. He was a policeman no more, but the instincts didn’t leave with the uniform.
"We saw him getting out of a white van with some dark-haired chick in the alley near your lady's apartment building. Could be they're helping someone move, but they were acting real fidgety. Just thought it was odd."
"Thanks, I gotta go."
"Need any help?"
"Probably not." He pulled back his jacket to reveal part of his holster.
Jeff and Skip nodded in understanding. "We'll hang out around the corner store across the street in case you need us."
"Appreciate it." He flipped down his visor, fired up the engine and headed for the townhouse. No one was stirring out front. But as soon as he turned into the alley, he saw a nondescript van sitting there, engine running, with the side door open and no one inside as though waiting to load something. Or someone.
He shut off the engine, took off his helmet, and unzipped his jacket. The weight of his Glock pressed snug against his ribs in its concealed holster. He didn’t pull it, not yet, since his intuition could be wrong. It had been a while since he’d needed to use a gun, much less carry one, but now he was glad he got that Carry Guard License so he could pack some heat legally here in the city.
The door to Sailor’s back deck slid open suddenly, glass jarring in the doorframe from the impact. A man with a brown leather jacket backed out of the door, hunched over like he was moving furniture. Ace sidestepped, concealing himself behind a trellis of morning glories near the path that led to the deck. Sailor was probably having something replaced. Surely not the mattress – he wanted to keep sharing the pleasures of that particular piece of furniture with her for a long time to come. But then he saw the woman pictured on that book coming out, holding the other end of whatever the guy was carrying. Instant dread turned his mouth to cotton. He swallowed hard and got a better look when they turned to the side to navigate the stairs. That wasn’t furniture they carried.
“Sailor,” he whispered. “Shit.” If they had hurt her or worse, he’d make sure they would never see the light of another day.
She flopped and fought, screamed through her gag. Thank God. Relief flooded through his veins so he could breathe again, even as Ariela cursed at her.
“Be still, you stupid bitch. You’re just making this harder on yourself.”
So they meant to kidnap her. For what? Ransom? Or worse? His memory sent images of a swinging light bulb, a pair of tear-stained eyes belonging to the teenage girl who hunkered naked in a corner. Sold and passed around from one sicko to another for months before he finally found her and the drugged-up traffickers who had her locked away. He’d paid for her freedom with nearly dying from stab wounds. All in vain. She had committed suicide a few months after being returned home. He’d never forgive himself for not reaching her sooner, but he wasn’t about to let that happen to Sailor.
They reached the top of the stairs, and that’s when Ace made his move, drawing his gun and turning off the safety in one swift movement. He aimed right at the man’s head. “Put her down!”
The kidnappers jerked, startled.
“Fuck!” the guy screamed and dropped Sailor’s upper half on the stairs. Her head banged against the second step. She cried out under the gag. The momentum of her fall made Ariela lose her grip. She dropped Sailor’s legs. Still tied and gagged, Sailor bounced down the stairs until she landed at the bottom on the concrete path. She didn’t move.
Ace rushed forward, scared that she’d broken her neck or suffered a traumatic head injury. The guy put his hands up in surrender. Ace recognized him as that biker that had stirred up shit in the bar and then filed a lawsuit.
Ariela grabbed his arm. “Idiot! Come on!” She dragged him, running, back into the apartment. Ace didn’t follow them yet. He had to make sure Sailor was okay.
He holstered his gun, ran to her and squatted down. Her face was scraped and bruised, eyes closed. He shook her gently. “Sailor?”
Her eyes popped open, blinking slowly until she finally focused on him. Then they widened, and she yelled through her gag. He pulled the thing off her. She turned her head and spit, then looked at him again, eyes narrowed. “Don’t let them get away.”
“I’m not worried about them right now.” He quickly untied her hands and feet as she sat up.
She rubbed her wrists. “You’re still my security guard – now go get Dick Handler and his scheming bitch of a girlfriend!”
If she was this feisty, she must be fine, he reasoned. He helped her stand, pulled his phone from his back pocket and handed it to her. “Stay here, call the cops.” Then he added, “Seriously? Dick Handler?”
“Dead fucking serious. Go!”
He ran up the stairs and through the open sliding door. The apartment was dark – too dark for this time of day. He noticed some of the blinds and curtains in the kitchen and living area were closed. They were probably waiting to ambush him, knowing that they’d never get away if there were witnesses. He glanced around, saw the knife block near the stove and an empty spot where one of the bigger knives should be. The kitchen island was in front of him. To his left, a walk-in pantry, the door wide open. Someone could be in there, waiting.
The familiar anxiety returned, sending his heart into a pounding rhythm. Cold sweat beaded on his forehead. His sides and back – both the fresh and old wounds – ached, remembering the shock of a sudden impact, the hot flowing blood followed by the sear
ing pain of torn flesh and muscle.
No! Not now. He forced the feelings into submission, focusing instead on Sailor. The woman he loved had been hurt and could have been killed. She needed him. All of him. He drew his gun.
A jar of something flew out of the pantry and crashed at his feet. He glanced down to see salsa splashed all over his jeans and boots. Big mistake. Dick sprang up from behind the island with a butcher knife and rushed him. Ace scooted around the island, keeping it between him and Dick. Ace aimed his gun at him.
“Drop the knife, Dick Handler.” God, that sounded ridiculous, but the demented look in the guy’s eyes told him that even a guy with a stupid name could be a cold-blooded killer.
“Oh, I’ll drop it all right. Right between your ribs. Or was it your kidney? Or spleen? Which vital organs did they miss last time?”
Ace swallowed hard, staring him down.
Dick smiled and kept circling the island. “Axl and me, we’re tight, man. He told me all about you. Looked up your story. You couldn’t save that little girl, could you?”
“Shut up.” Ace kept circling, too, keeping his breathing and his aim steady.
“Then a meth head put a few holes in you. How did that feel? I’d love to know.”
“Not today.” Ace aimed and fired. Dick’s hand jerked back, dropped the knife, then, as he stared at it, began to fountain blood.
Dick shrieked like a howler monkey. He buckled over, cradling his hand against his belly. Ace had circled all the way around the island. He realized his back faced the pantry when Sailor yelled, “Hey!”
He spun around in time to see Sailor deliver a spin kick to Ariela’s face. Ariela stumbled back, dropping the wine bottle she’d meant to smash over Ace’s head, and fell against a cupboard. Then she slid down it until she hit the floor, limp as a dishrag. Sailor bent and picked up the wine bottle that had rolled across the floor.
Glaring at Ariela, she added, “Thank God she didn’t waste my wine. I was saving that one for us. You okay, Ace?”
“Yeah,” he said, still in awe over his kick ass new girlfriend. “Damn, I hope I never piss you off.”
