Want You

by Jen Frederick

  Immediately, I feel guilty. I drop my eyes at the floor instead of his face so I don’t have to see that I disappointed him. “I know. I’m sorry.” He’s so good to me. I throw my arms around his waist, the tackle box banging against the back of his legs. “It’s only that I’ll miss you.”

  He returns my hug. “I’ll be home soon. Besides, five minutes after I’m gone, you’ll be knee deep in Wonder Woman and Batman and the Green Lantern and will have forgotten that I’m not here.”

  “Whatever,” I mumble again, soaking in the pleasure of his arms around me.

  He always makes me feel good. He peels me off of him and goes to greet Mrs. M.

  “You look nice, Leka.”

  “Thanks, Mrs. M. You look fine yourself.”

  She blushes, as all the ladies do around him. He doesn’t even smile at them, but they love him anyway.

  I’ve noticed this ever since I was a kid. Women’s eyes soften, their voices get huskier. They will tug on their clothes or flip their hair. They smile and touch him. I kinda hate it that even Mrs. M, who I like, gets all flustered and girly around him.

  He’s mine, I want to shout at all of them. He’s mine.

  The only thing that keeps me in check is that he doesn’t pay attention to any of them.

  “I’ll be back in a few.” He stops and corrects himself. “I’ll be back as soon as I can. Be good for Mrs. M, Bitsy.”

  “I will.” This time I force myself to smile so that he doesn’t worry.

  “Thanks again, Mrs. M.”

  “No problem, dear. You take your time. Elizabeth and I will be fine tonight.”

  And then he’s gone.

  “Leka needs to find a nice young woman,” Mrs. M declares as she walks into the kitchen.

  “Why?”

  She turns to me. “Because he does. Doesn’t he seem lonely to you?”

  “No.”

  She lets loose a gusty sigh. “Of course you’d think that. But that’s a child’s way of thinking, Bitsy. A man needs a woman.”

  “He has me.”

  She pats me on the head. “No, sweetheart, he needs a love love, not a fraternal love.”

  A fraternal love? I don’t even know what that means. “I love Leka.” There’s no one that loves him more.

  Mrs. M gives me another of her pitying glances, the kind that she tosses in my direction whenever she thinks I’m too young to understand. I don’t think I’m too young. I think she doesn’t make sense.

  “Do you want me to make you a shake for while you draw and color?” she asks.

  I nod, but the whole thing bothers me. I press her. “What kind of girl do you think he needs?”

  “Someone sweet. Real pretty because your brother isn’t going to want to be seen with a girl who isn’t pretty.” She bends over to grab the ice cream. Alarm bells go off in my head. Is she thinking of shipping Leka and her daughter together, because that’s not going to work. Her daughter is too soft for Leka.

  “Looks aren’t everything,” I say, echoing Leka’s earlier words.

  “Like attracts to like.” She sets the ice cream on the counter. “Men like your brother have something special, and that means the best-looking girls are going to flock to him.”

  I hate that she calls him my brother because he’s not. We’re not related at all, but I can’t tell her that. I can’t tell anyone that.

  I lay out the proof and pick up my Micron pen. “He’s not like that.”

  She makes Leka sound so…fake, but he’s real. He took me off the street and has cared for me for the last five years without wanting anything in return. Not that I have anything to give him.

  I draw a few quick lines.

  “Oh, of course, I don’t mean to say he’s shallow. He’s not. He loves you dearly and that’s another mark in his favor.” She scoops the ice cream into the blender and pours in the shake mix that she brings with her. “He’s the whole package. I’m surprised some enterprising young woman hasn’t already snatched him up. Maybe he’s going to meet her tonight, though.”

  My pen skitters across the paper. Crap. I crumple it up and grab a new one from my stack. “He doesn’t need a girl,” I maintain.

  Mrs. M hears me and turns. With hands on her hips, she scolds, “Now, Elizabeth, you can’t stand in the way of your brother finding true love. That’d be selfish, and I know you’re not that kind of girl.”

  I stare mulishly back at her.

  “You’re not,” she insists. “You’re full of love in your heart for your brother, and because of that you’ll welcome any girl that he loves. Besides, he’s not going to choose anyone that doesn’t love you, too. You two shouldn’t be this little island. It’s not healthy. You could both do with a little feminine influence here.” She waves a hand. “It’s starker than a museum in here. No pillows. No decorations on the wall. And you—” She wags a finger at me. “You need a mother. Someone to show you how to do your hair, how to dress, make the best of those features.” She draws a circle in the air.

  My cheeks grow hot. Mrs. M must think I’m ugly, too. Make the best of my features? Like, what? Somehow my nose and eyes and mouth are all wrong. I duck my head and pretend to be immersed in the drawing.

  Over at the counter, Mrs. M sighs. I think she says something like, “I try. I try.” And then flicks the blender on.

  What the hell do I care what Mrs. M thinks of me. It’s not like I’m marrying her. Under the cover of the noisy appliance, I mutter the one thing that really matters. “He’s not my brother.”

  16

  Leka

  When I arrive at Marjory’s, Beefer is leaning against a tricked-out Escalade. Two other men are already in the SUV. One I recognize. Tam O’Reilly is the distributor for our section of the city. He doesn’t deal drugs, he sells the product to the dealers. The other guy, with a slim arm resting on the rolled-down passenger side window, is new to me.

  My hand slides close to the butt of my Glock resting in the inside pocket of my windbreaker. I don’t do well around strangers. The only time I’m around them is when I’m shaking them down for nonpayment to the business or killing them.

  Maybe we’re killing the new guy tonight.

  “Beefer. Tam” I give him and Tam a chin nod of acknowledgment to keep my hands free.

  Beefer doesn’t miss this. He shoots me a warning glance and then taps the arm of the new guy. “Cesaro, this is Leka. Leka, Cesaro. He is Arturo’s nephew.”

  “On his mother’s side.” Cesaro flashes a line of perfect white teeth in my direction.

  I blank for a moment—on both Arturo’s name and this supposed relative. Cesaro catches it.

  “He doesn’t even know who Arturo is?” he scoffs. He whips his head around, sweeping a hank of hair off his face. “Did you just pick this guy off the street?”

  Beefer opens his mouth to defend me, but I give him an abrupt shake of my head before opening the rear car door. I like my low profile. If Arturo’s nephew thinks I’m nothing more than a scrub, what do I care?

  The only disappointment here is that we’re not killing him, because I can already tell he’s a guy that at least needs a good pistol-whipping. I buckle up and ask, “What’s the plan?”

  It’s Cesaro that answers rather than Beefer. “We’re going to the Underground, bro. I hear that’s where the hottest pussy is these days. Actresses, models, socialites.”

  “The Underground?”

  Tam playfully punches me in the shoulder. “Leka takes care of his little sister. He doesn’t get out much. It’s a club, dude. Think dance floor, skinny dresses, fuck-me shoes, lots of booze.”

  “Isn’t that over in the Red’s territory?” Never mind the women or the booze, the Underground isn’t owned by the business, which means the guns inside won’t be in the hands of friendlies. “What’s wrong with the place on Oak Street?”

  Arturo liked to go to that one when he wanted to go to a club at all. There was a VIP section behind bulletproof glass. He’d sit up there with a few w
omen and be entertained—both by the women on their knees around him or grinding against each other on the floor. There were a surprising number of chicks who didn’t mind exchanging fluids with Arturo in exchange for free drinks and the so-called honor of sitting in the VIP lounge for one night.

  Whatever was good enough for Arturo should be good enough for his nephew.

  “Cesaro wants to go to the Underground, so that’s where we’re going,” Beefer says flatly. Translation: he doesn’t like it either, but there’s not much we can do about it.

  “Are we expecting trouble?” I ask. “Not that I care, but I like to be prepared.” I dip my head forward to the dark SUV ahead of us. I’m certain Beefer’s spotted that one and the one behind us. Three cars full of muscle to take a single guy that I could probably break in half with my left hand seems overkill, but what do I know?

  “Nah, but we can’t let anything happen to the boss’s nephew. Looks bad.” Beefer and I make eye contact in the rearview. So Arturo delivered the message himself, and if Cesaro comes home without having had the time of his life, then we’re the problem.

  “What’s wrong with our girls, Cesaro? Didn’t you get a good look at them? We’ve got some hot ones. I like that redhead. What’s her name?” Tam nudges me.

  “No clue.” I look out the window. The girls come and go. I don’t keep track of them.

  “Claire,” Beefer offers. “And, yeah, C-man, you lay eyes on Claire? She’s got more curves than Bugatti.”

  Cesaro shrugs his shoulders and then lights a cigarette. Beefer’s jaw tightens. This is his ride and it’s fucked that Cesaro didn’t ask.

  “Some of the girls Uncle Art has collected aren’t bad, but they’re all used. I don’t want some pussy that’s been destroyed by everyone else’s dick. Like that chick I got last night. I never felt a pussy so loose. It was like she stuck the entire contents of a clown car up her snatch.” He laughs. “You guys had that Mary chick?”

  Tam and I both stare at the back of Beefer’s head. By now his jaw is so tight, I worry it’s going to crack. Mary still works at Marjory’s, although that’s putting a shine on it. She sits in a booth while the rest of the crew work their tails off, but because she’s on Arturo’s dick regularly, she gets away with it.

  I’m fairly sure that Beefer still has feelings for her. I know he’s slept with her on occasion when she’s bored and Arturo is busy with other women. No one’s allowed to talk smack about her, not in his presence.

  It’s gotta be killing him not to say anything to Cesaro, who’s going on about “her saggy tits. Dude, and her snatch smelled like fish. She wanted me to go down on her, which is fucked up.” He pauses to take a drag.

  I jump in so Beefer doesn’t fuck up his relationship with Arturo over some faithless shit like Mary. “That sucks, man.”

  Cesaro twists in his seat. “Yeah, so you know what I’m talking about. There was no friction. It was like I was fucking air. The old Rosie Palm gives better than that bitch.” He holds up his hand and waves it at me.

  “Leka wouldn’t know,” Tam unwisely offers. “He’s never boned Mary.”

  “Don’t blame you, bro. So who do you like?”

  “He’s not interested in any of them. The guys call him Priest. He hears all the girls’ confessions but doesn’t fuck any of them. And it’s not because he’s gay either, cuz we got that covered, you know? We’re equal opportunity pi—”

  “That’s enough,” I say quietly. Tam knows when he’s gone too far. He shrinks back into the seat, but Cesaro is like a bloodhound, scenting out weaknesses and weirdness.

  “Don’t like the whores, do you?” He guesses wrong. I give a bare nod of my head. If he wants to run with that thread, let him. “Me, too.” He offers me a hit off his smoke. I shake my head. “I’m tired of all these whores. I want a virgin. Someone who’ll take some goddamn suggestion.”

  Someone he can train.

  “You’d have a better chance at church,” Tam declares. “I go to mass with my momma every Saturday, and the girls there have their knees locked so tight together, you’d think Father Mike puts superglue on the kneeler.”

  Cesaro doesn’t agree. “Here’s the problem with church virgins. They’re too fucking demanding. They want you to go to mass with them. Dress a certain way. They don’t want it up the ass. They talk too much when they should be on their knees with their pie holes open and ready.”

  “Some of these chicks are picky as hell,” Tam agrees. I’ve seen him get shot down several times. He probably knows what he’s talking about.

  Cesaro is shaking his head again. “You’re going about it all wrong. You don’t aim for the alpha woman. She’s gonna be shitty in bed anyway. You go for the shy ones that the alphas bring along to make themselves look better. Those side chicks are vulnerable. You give them a compliment, throw a few drinks their way, and then invite them to the VIP room. Pretty soon you’ve got both the ugly chick and her hot friend fighting over you.”

  Beefer slides to a stop in front of the Underground. Before Cesaro jumps out, he jerks his head toward the front of the club. “Come on and learn. You, too, pretty boy. You’ll be a good lure.”

  “I’ll watch the front door,” I say. “You go on in with Beefer and Tam.

  “Nope. Like I said, you’re going to help lure the pussies in.”

  I grind my teeth together and glance toward Beefer. He’s my boss. He’s who I report to.

  Cesaro snaps his fingers in my face. My hand whips up and grabs them, twisting his arm to the side. Beefer’s there in a nanosecond, drawing me away.

  “Sorry,” I drawl, but no one, not even Cesaro, believes me for a second.

  He gives me a grim smile. “You serve at my pleasure, you dumbass.”

  “Your uncle’s,” I correct.

  “Which means me, tonight.” He snaps his fingers again like I’m some fucking mongrel he can order around.

  I start forward, baring my teeth. Beefer holds me back. With a nod, he tells Tam to take Cesaro inside. He draws me to the end of the SUV.

  “Look, put aside the guard dog that you do so well and enjoy yourself. Cesaro’s an asshole, but if you play his game, you can move up in the business. Find him a chick. Grab one for yourself. Take them both home and fuck them until you guys are friends.”

  “Is that what you’d do?” I ask with real surprise. Is he that lax with his security that he’d bring a stranger into his place where his wife and kids slept? I stalked Mrs. Michaelson for two months and researched her background thoroughly before I offered her the babysitting job. “I’m not bringing that dickhead or any woman into my home.”

  Beefer sighs impatiently, his fingers digging into my biceps. “I’m not telling you to bend the girl over the kitchen table as Elizabeth’s eating her mac and cheese, but I am telling you that you’re way too intense. And you don’t have to be. Not tonight. Tonight, Cesaro wants you to play wingman. Draw in some babes and let him choose. You don’t got to do nothing. If he’s happy, Arturo’s happy. Fucking next to some guy is one way to create a real bond. It’ll help build trust between you and Arturo.”

  “If I do an orgy with Cesaro in my home, the boss is going to trust me more?” I can’t believe what I’m hearing.

  “Christ, you’re hardheaded. Then don’t bring her home. Do her in the VIP lounge. Or out in the parking lot. Shit, we’ll take a whole passel of them back to Marjory’s.”

  This shit is going nowhere. I clap a hand on Beefer’s shoulder. “Let’s see what Cesaro wants,” I say.

  Beefer visibly brightens. Making this pencil dick happy is clearly top priority.

  Inside, I’m forced to give over my gun and my jacket. My only consolation is that Beefer is as miserable as I am about being disarmed. We make our way to a table that Cesaro has claimed.

  “What’ll you have?” he asks. “I ordered shots for the table.”

  “That’s fine.”

  I slide into the booth. Beefer stands guard at the end where I would rather be.<
br />
  Cesaro lights up another smoke and surveys the crowd. “What do you think of her over there? The girl in blue?”

  “Hot,” I lie. I can’t even see the girl in blue. The bar’s dark and the strobe lights discolor everyone.

  “Yeah, but not as fine as the blonde over there in the corner. Look at that ass. I’d like her to twerk all over my dick.”

  I find that Cesaro doesn’t need any more from me than a few grunts of pretend agreement.

  I sag against the booth’s leather and stare out at the dance floor. This is my world, but I can’t let it be Bitsy’s. Whatever I do in the future, I have to make sure she’s never prey for men like Cesaro.

  * * *

  “You mind if I use your table for a sec?” A thin girl sets a plastic cup on the table.

  “Go ahead.”

  “Hot in here, isn’t it?” She waves a hand in front of her face.

  “Yup.” Sweat is making my T-shirt stick to my back. The girls wearing their tiny dresses have the right idea. If you’re going to be jammed into a giant room with hundreds of other people, there’s no point in wearing lots of clothes. I eye the dance floor where Cesaro is sandwiched between two women. “What’s the capacity of this place?”

  Beefer’s too busy downing another beer to answer. At this rate, I’ll be driving us back to Marjory’s. I turn to the girl. “What do you think?”

  She smiles and bats her eyelashes. “About what? About how hot it is in here?” Her hand runs over the bare shoulder closest to me.

  I shift to the side to avoid her fingers and tilt my head toward Beefer. “How much longer?”

  “A while, brother.”

  I clench my jaw. We’ve been here at least two hours. In that time, Cesaro has racked up a five-figure bar tab; tried to storm the DJ booth to play “some real fucking music”; and had me stand outside the men’s room while he fucked a club girl who looked like she’d made this trek more than once tonight. After having the coke bitch, as he referred to her, he started hunting the club for the perfect girl to take home. He’s come up empty-handed so far. Like I told him, not too many virgins hanging around a nightclub known to cater to the criminal element of the city.