Want You

by Jen Frederick

  “It’s fine,” he says, and without another word, gets up and leaves.

  Catherine clicks her tongue against the roof of her mouth and pushes me into the dressing room. “It’s a lovely dress.”

  “Okay,” I say, but at this point, Anna Wintour could waltz in and say that it’s more beautiful than any gown worn at the Met Gala and I wouldn’t believe her. Leka hates this dress and so do I.

  20

  Bitsy

  “I’m sorry.” I stare down at the large dress box on my lap. I wonder if Leka’s pissed because of the cost. The total amount for the shoes, the rhinestone jewelry, and the dress had me gasping. I tried to leave without purchasing it, but Leka was having none of it.

  “For what?” Leka asks as the cab driver pulls away from the curb. He takes the dress bag from me.

  The wide boulevards and glass storefronts give way to narrow alleys and graffitied buildings before I answer because I don’t know what’s wrong. I don’t know if it’s the dress. I don’t know if it’s because of the cost. I don’t know if it’s because I’m not doing the right things at school. I don’t know anything other than the fact that Leka’s unhappy, and if he’s unhappy, I’m miserable.

  The cab stops in front of the restaurant. “I’m sorry about everything.”

  He won’t look in my eyes. “You’re not the one who needs to apologize.”

  “That’ll be ten fifty,” the cabby says.

  Leka peels off a twenty. “Keep the change.”

  I scramble out of the cab after him. “Is it the dress? Because I can return the dress.”

  He shoots me a lopsided smile that is full of emotion I can’t read. He’s changing on me. I used to be able to understand every single twitch of his brow. Now there are secrets in his eyes.

  “The dress is beautiful. You’re beautiful. I guess I didn’t realize you’re growing up.” He shuts the cab door behind me and hustles me inside the restaurant.

  He just realized I’m growing up? And the blue dress did it? That’s it. I’m wearing that blue dress every day until I die. “I’m fifteen, not five, Leka.”

  “Don’t remind me,” he mutters.

  There’s no time to respond, because as soon as we clear the doors, Mary grabs Leka, whipping the bag out of his hand.

  “Arturo is coming.” She points to me. “Get an apron on and go clean table ten. And make sure you get the floor. We don’t want his feet sticking to the floor. You—” The finger moves to Gerry, the overly loud, can’t-stop-talking goon, who pales. He half loves Mary and is half afraid of her. “He’ll want spicy sausage, peas, and orecchiette pasta. Don’t forget. He likes it hot.”

  And, then, as quickly as she appeared, she disappears inside the staff bathroom. Gerry and I exchange apprehensive looks. It’s not that we fear Arturo, but it’s Mary that we have to worry about. After a meeting with the boss, Mary has only two moods: smug satisfaction and torrential anger. It really depends on whether she gets what she asks for. Most of the time, it’s positive.

  “Keep your head down,” Leka cautions.

  I give him a nod of understanding. In the back, I grab a couple of rubber gloves, fill a bucket of water, and head for the corner booth where Arturo conducts his business while in town. While I’m scrubbing down Arturo’s table, Leka is watching the door. One of his hands is resting on his belt loop not far from the gun that’s holstered inside his blazer.

  Arturo is the head of the crime syndicate that Leka works for. I don’t know exactly what duties Leka carries out for Arturo, but all I know is that it has to do with guns and blood and that it’s not legal. I can’t really pinpoint the exact moment I figured that out.

  Maybe it was when he first took me home with him and we had to hide on the fire escape while the realtor showed the apartment to prospective renters. Or maybe it was the time I found the gun in his room, tucked under the mattress. Or maybe it was when I figured out that no stock boy at a steakhouse can earn enough money to afford a two-bedroom apartment in this city.

  But we don’t talk about this. There are a number of things we never discuss, like how he takes multiple showers when he comes home. How his hours of work coincide with times that Marjory’s is closed. How I sometimes still crawl into bed with him when I have the odd nightmare. Or how he never, ever has brought a girl home.

  “He’s here,” Leka says.

  Mary comes over. She runs a finger over the table, toes the ground. It’s clean. I lift my chin. I do good work.

  “Go,” she orders.

  I heft the bucket up and walk to the backroom. As I’m leaving, the front door opens and in walks Arturo’s entourage. My feet stop moving as I take in the spectacle. Four dark-suited, sunglasses-wearing, gun-toting goons precede the man who controls half the east coast and six of them trail behind. All he’s missing is the tricorn hat and the double-breasted suit coat and he’d be a ringer for Napoleon Bonaparte. Arturo can’t be taller than me. He looks like he needs a booster seat to see over the table. I guess he likes Mary because he’s at eye level with her chest.

  She runs over, darting between the guards to press those titties up against Napoleon’s arm. “Arturo, you handsome devil. Why have you stayed away so long? Come over. We have your table all set, and Gerry is making your special dish.”

  She rattles on, but the doors swing closed behind me. Gerry is stirring his pasta, a couple plates set up behind him under a warming lamp.

  “Grab the raspberry dressing, will ya?” he hollers at me.

  “No problem.” I drop the water bucket near the sink, wash my hands and open the walk-in cooler. When I emerge, I find the kitchen filled up with Mary and a couple of guards.

  “Why isn’t the food done yet?” she huffs.

  “Because genius takes time,” Gerry replies, not bothering to look up from the ingredients he’s stirring.

  “I don’t see any genius. I see a smartass who wants to get the side of his head beaten by a crowbar,” Mary snipes. “He’s hungry, so finish up.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” Gerry salutes.

  She looks like she’s going to mete out that beating before Ger can even plate the food.

  I rush over and hold out the dressing. “Here it is.”

  “Thanks,” he grumbles and points his spatula at the stainless steel prep counter with two plates of salad. “Set it there and don’t pour it on. You’ll add too much.”

  This is the way of the world, I think. Mary punches at Gerry, who punches at me because he can’t hit back at the one he really wants. I sigh and set the dressing down and back away. This is one of those times where it’s best to stay out of the fray.

  “This doesn’t look like the extra-spicy sausage.” Mary peers over Gerry’s shoulder.

  “It is.”

  “Where’s the red pepper? I don’t see any of it.”

  “It’s there,” he huffs.

  She bumps his arm. “Where? I don’t see it.”

  “It’s there!” Gerry explodes. “Are you blind? It’s there and there.” He jabs his finger down into the pan.

  Mary jostles him again, I guess to get a better look. “It’s on your head if he doesn’t like the dish.” She straightens, dusts off her hands against the front of her pretty yellow dress and then flounces away.

  “For Christ’s sake, I’ve made this every time he’s come and he fucking loves it,” Gerry says. “It’s better than the sex she’s giving him.”

  I’m glad he waited until Mary left to add that part or she’d probably have one of Arturo’s guards pistol-whip him for the after-dinner entertainment.

  I turn to dump out the bucket of water when I feel a hand at my elbow. I look up to see one of the guards breathing down my neck, a look of interest in his eye.

  He rakes me from head to toe. “Who are you?” he asks, the tone slightly insolent.

  “Eh, you might want to take a step back. She’s Leka’s kid,” Gerry calls over. He’s finished cooking and is now plating all the food.

  The guard
releases my elbow and does shuffle back a bit. I try hard to keep the surprise off my face, but I’m not sure I entirely succeed when Gerry winks at me.

  “Leka’s well known.”

  I don’t ask for what. Instead, I say to the guard, “You need something?”

  “Just making conversation,” he lies. The interest in his eyes is still there, but it’s a lot more respectful.

  “She’s also fifteen. If you want to hang on to your dick for longer than a day, I’d suggest you lay off. Leka wouldn’t be happy,” Ger advises. “Come over here and help me carry the food out.”

  I slip past the guard, who doesn’t lose the gleam in his eyes. The only attention I’ve garnered from males in the past has always been in the form of mockery, so this guard’s light flirtation should be flattering. Instead, it makes me uneasy. Like Ger said, I’m Leka’s girl. No one should be looking at me like this guard but Leka.

  Gerry directs me to bring the block of parmesan and grater while he carries out the pasta dishes. Steam rises from the plate, and the smells of fresh noodles, spicy sausage and butter make my stomach rumble in appreciation.

  “Finally,” Mary says. “Arturo is so hungry, aren’t you?”

  “Smells good. Bring it over.”

  Gerry picks up the pace and slides the plates in front of the two of them. Mary picks up her fork, her eyes bright, and waits for me to grate the fresh cheese onto the dish. Arturo doesn’t stop me until there’s a veritable snowfall covering the food.

  I fall back, unsure of whether I should stand by the side for more grating or leave. Mary doesn’t give any instruction. She can’t take her eyes off of Arturo.

  He takes a big bite and then another. “This is good,” he says.

  Gerry’s chest puffs out. “Made the noodles fresh this morning just for you. The peas are from this farm upstate. I got the sausage—”

  Ger’s explanation is cut off by a massive coughing fit from Arturo. Mary whips into motion, holding a glass of water up to Arturo’s mouth and pounding him on the back at the same time.

  Arturo falls backward, a hand over his chest. His eyes roll back.

  “Oh my God!” Mary screams. “Arturo! Arturo! He’s having a heart attack”

  The guards are shoving people out of the way. Leka appears from the front. There’s so much commotion with people yelling and shoving. Mary’s high-pitched screams are killing my ears, but all I can think of is how right before Mary started screaming, Arturo looked like a mad dog, with his teeth bared and white speckles at the corner of his mouth.

  “He’s been poisoned,” I say to myself. I run to the back room and grab a bottle of charcoal from above the sink.

  I muscle my way through the guards and slam the bottle onto the table. “He’s been poisoned,” I say. “Get this in him.”

  Mary rears back, nearly knocking me over, but Leka is there and whips me out of the way.

  “What’d you say?”

  “I think he’s been poisoned. We had this thing in health class about suicides, and this one girl swallowed a bottle of pills—”

  Leka doesn’t let me finish. He springs forward, grabbing the bottle and then forcibly opening Arturo’s mouth. A couple of guards reach for him, but Beefer battles them back.

  There’s a scuffle and a couple of fists thrown, but everyone backs off when Arturo starts vomiting.

  “Call 9-1-1,” Leka orders.

  A guard pulls out a phone and makes the call.

  Mary points a quivering finger at Gerry. “You made this.”

  “Of course. I make all the meals and you—”

  Before he can say anything more, Mary’s hand whips out and a knife blade cuts him across the neck. Blood spurts everywhere.

  Cursing fills the air. I stumble, the backs of my knees striking a chair. Guards jump forward. Someone takes the knife from Mary’s hand. Gerry crumples to the floor with a thud. A pool of blood starts to form under his head, spreading outward like a malignant disease. I raise my knees to my chin.

  Leka disappears and then returns with a big black tarp. He and Beefer heave Ger’s body onto the tarp, and I watch in detached horror as the body of the loud-mouthed chef is wrapped up and carried out. As Leka passes me, our eyes meet. His are full of worry and apology. I try to give him a smile of encouragement, but I’m too shaken. I’m barely holding myself together.

  He doesn’t have time to say anything. The two have to get rid of the body before the emergency services arrive. I stare at the pool of blood left behind.

  We need to get rid of that. The bucket of water I used to clean the tables before Arturo arrived flashes in front of my eyes. I hurry to the back, find the bucket and then return. The blood is still there, congealing on the wood floor. This is Ger’s blood. I dip my rag into the fluid. It wipes up so easy—as if it was a spilled drink. Blood should be hard to remove, I think as I scrub. It should require special cleaners that require an ID and are kept behind the counter like the cough syrup. It shouldn’t disappear with one pass of a dishrag.

  The bucket of water turns from gray to rust and then to brown.

  “Finish up, girl,” urges a guard.

  In the distance, I hear the faint sounds of a siren. The police are coming. I wring my rag out and reapply myself, finishing the cleaning job right before the front doors open to reveal EMTs charging through with a stretcher behind them.

  I hide the bucket behind my legs as I shuffle out of the way.

  “Where’s the girl?” I hear a faint voice say.

  A hand pulls me forward until I’m at the side of the stretcher, Arturo’s slim body appearing even tinier now that he’s lying down, an oxygen mask over his mouth.

  His hand reaches out and grabs my wrist. I still have the rag between my fingers.

  He pulls down his mask. “You saved me. What’s your name?”

  “E-E-Elizabeth,” I stammer out.

  “You saved me,” he repeats. “I’m gonna repay this. You can have a favor—anything you want.”

  “Okay.” Stop me from hearing Gerry’s last gasp.

  “Tell him. He’ll deliver on my word.” Arturo nods toward a thick-necked, dark-browed guard who is hovering across from me.

  “Okay.” Erase this day from my memory.

  “No time limit,” Arturo says.

  “Okay.” Don’t come here again.

  The guard reaches over and shoves the mask back on Arturo’s mouth.

  “He means it,” the guard says.

  “Okay,” I answer because I don’t know what it all means and nor do I care. My mind is stuck on the knife slicing through the air, the gurgling sound as Gerry gasped for air, the ease with which the blood came off the floor.

  What does a boon from Arturo matter? He can’t bring Gerry back to life.

  21

  Leka

  Arturo never fulfills the favor he owes to Bitsy. He dies at the hospital from poisoning. In punishment for allowing harm to come to the head of this family, Stinky Steve is killed. He’s not directly responsible, but someone has to be held up as an example.

  “This is why it’s never good to be in charge,” Beefer tells me as we burn what’s left of Stinky Steve.

  Arturo’s men, led by a scary man called Sterno, cut Steve up, kept the heart, and left the rest of the parts for us to dispose of. I think we’re supposed to be shocked and awed, but Stinky Steve hasn’t done anything but pork his stable and drink his bourbon for the last ten years. Beefer’s really been running this group. Him and Mary…and me.

  “They sending us a new boss?” I ask.

  “Don’t know. Cesaro’s coming down, though, to check things out.”

  “When?” I want to make sure that Bitsy’s not around.

  “Probably in a month. He’s shoring up his position.”

  Meaning, he’s busy killing anyone who might pose a threat. When he comes down, he’ll expect a loyalty pledge. I didn’t like Arturo, but I understood him. If you were good to him, he’d be good to you. As long as we wer
e pulling our weight down here, he didn’t care who was in charge. Cesaro is a puzzle for me. I don’t know what motivates him, so I don’t know exactly what he’ll expect us to do to prove ourselves. The night out at the club rises to the top of my memory.

  “You should send Camella away,” I suggest.

  Beefer’s oldest daughter, Camella, started working at Marjory’s a couple of months ago. She’s pretty in an ordinary way, but she has a freshness that would appeal to Cesaro.

  “Eh, we’ve got plenty of women to keep Cesaro occupied. Besides, Mary will be riding his dick most of the time anyway.” Beefer’s still bitter about that.

  Someday he’s going to appreciate that he got out of Mary’s clutches, but it’s not today, I guess. I swallow a sigh. I don’t know why men are so caught up in Mary or any other woman just because she’s good in the sack. Mary’s got no loyalty. She doesn’t care for anyone but herself and all she wants is power. She’s dangerous and I wouldn’t turn my back on her, let alone allow her to have her mouth around my dick.

  “Still, just to be on the safe side, it wouldn’t hurt. You could send her to some spa or some shit like that.”

  “You sending Bitsy away?” Beefer asks.

  “She’s working over at the Shake Shoppe now,” I remind him. After the Arturo incident, Bitsy and I came to an unspoken agreement that she’d be better off far away from Marjory’s.

  “Cammie’s trying to save money for a girls’ vacation to Cancún. Boss’s crew always tips good. She’d give me the silent treatment for a month if I made her miss out.”

  “I’ll float her a loan,” I offer. I don’t like our girls being here when Cesaro’s around. There’s something about that snake that makes my skin crawl. I trust my gut. It’s always served me right.

  Beefer hits me on the back. “It’s not like I can’t swing it, kid. Cammie’s got to learn some responsibility. It’ll be all right. Trust me, Cesaro’s not going to be interested in my daughter.”

  He’s wrong, but I’m not gonna convince him of that today.