by Lisa Libby
There’s a black Lincoln SUV waiting out front of the hotel. On the way to the casino, we continue to snort more coke. I’m so hyper that I feel the urge to jump out of the moving vehicle. We arrive at the casino and head straight to the betting booth. There’s a fight Ruben wants to place a bet on. I thought I heard $100,000 on Gonzalez, but I’m so high, it must have been $1,000. I stuffed about $5,000 in my boots, so as not to leave it stashed in the hotel. I’m hoping not to spend my own money, but I did put a few hundred dollars in my purse just in case Ruben is a cheap date. It’s $100 just to play one game at most tables.
“Poker’s my game, and ya ma lucky lady,” he says, pulling out a chair for me to sit at the nearest poker table. He bragged the entire drive about how great he is at playing poker.
“I start out with poker and if ma luck runs dry, I move to craps or 21.”
“What? Yeah, okay, I don’t really know much about this,” I say licking my teeth clean. Must be a side effect from the coke because I can’t stop doing it.
Ruben loses the first two hands, but wins three times in a row, then loses; this cycle goes on and on. I’m getting so drunk because the free drinks keep coming and they are strong. Watching someone gamble is boring, especially when you don’t understand the game. I have been counting in my head what he’s bet, gained and loss. Being an accountant, I can easily count numbers in my head, and large numbers are no problem. If I’ve counted right, he has more than doubled $10,000 in an hour. We move from poker to the craps table. This is when he really starts to shine. Adding and subtracting his winnings and losses, he is up about $38,000. Time seems to stand still, and I’m drunker than I’d like to be. I check my phone for the time, it’s 4 a.m. I think my cell phone time is wrong. I was planning on checking out tomorrow and driving back to Boston by noon. That’s clearly not going to happen. Finally, Ruben seems satisfied and goes to cash out and collect his winnings from his boxing bet.
He hugs me tight and kisses on my neck while we wait in the cashier line. I immediately feel a tingling sensation. I can’t get over how attractive I find him.
“Let’s get a room at the casino and order room service,” he practically begs me. I’m so drunk and tired that I just go along with whatever he wants. Luckily the front desk has rooms, but they make him pay for two nights because of the early check in. He gets us a suite on the eighth floor. When we get to the room, it’s unnecessarily large and has a jacuzzi in the living room. There are walk-in closets, a wet bar, a bedroom with a large sitting area and an oversized king bed. I lay back on the bed, exhausted, I just want to go to sleep. Ruben stands over me, unbuttoning his shirt. He takes my boots off and my money falls on the floor. He isn’t fazed by the money in my boot, and why should he be, he won over $200,000 when combining the boxing match and table games. He bragged about it walking to the room. I think to myself, Somehow, I need to get my hands on some of that money. I still owe the Indian and haven’t really stopped thinking about my kidnapping since I left New Hampshire. I still can’t figure out who the kidnappers were and what they wanted. I’ve had several nightmares about that night and have begun sleeping with the light on. I don’t feel the least fazed by the murders of the two men. Why would I feel remorse for anyone who was trying to kill me? My concerns are the police finding out about the murders or the Indian killing me. Right now, my focus is on Ruben; I need him for a few good reasons. Sex with him will do for now, but first, a little coke to wake me up; and Ruben’s better half.
There’s blood and makeup smudged all over my pillow. Last night was amazing, but this headache I have is relentless. I check my phone for the time, it’s 1:15 p.m. I was supposed to check out of my room at 11 a.m. I call the hotel and inform the front desk I will be staying another night. I wish it wasn’t so late; I need to get back to Boston. Everyone is blowing up my phone. There are several text messages from my roommate and Johnny, and a shit load of missed calls from unknown numbers and a few voicemails. I can’t be bothered responding right now with this headache.
I hear the hotel door open and in walks Ruben. I didn’t even notice he was gone because the rooms are over the top big. He has coffee for us and shopping bags.
“Good Morning, pretty lady.”
“Oh, yeah, you like the bloody nose, running mascara look.”
“I’ve seen worse.”
He hands me a coffee and a shopping bag.
“What’s all this?”
“I bought ya a change of clothes. No lady of mine is goin’ to do dat walk of shame leaving a casino.”
I laugh. There’s a beige sweater and black skinny jeans, underwear, bra and socks. Also, a cute black winter pom pom hat and black leather fitted gloves. No denying he has expensive taste.
“Ruben, thank you, this all so sweet.”
He brushes off the thank you and gives me a kiss on the forehead.
“Let’s go take a shower, I will help soap you up.”
In the shower, he lathers my body with soap, even between my legs, my butt and breasts. I can’t help but be turned on by his touch. I offer to do the same and he declines. Instead he lifts me and positions me on the shower seat as if to have sex, but instead he goes down on me. It feels amazing and I orgasm in minutes. He doesn’t want any favors in return, which I think is strange. He certainly looks like he wants sex by his erection.
We don’t waste any time leaving the casino and starting our journey back to the hotel. Ruben texts someone on his phone the entire drive back. I see why he prefers to be driven rather than just renting a car.
“When are you flying home?” I ask.
“I was supposed to leave dis mornin’, but I missed my flight,” he explains.
“Well, that’s irresponsible of you,” I wink. “I’m driving to Boston tonight,” I add.
“I had an amazing time. Can I see ya again? Perhaps in a month you can fly out to visit me.”
“I would like that a lot,”
I lay my head in his lap and he rubs my head. He makes me feel relaxed and comforted by his presence.
Back at the hotel, he sits on my bed, carefully watching me pack.
“I want you to have some money for a plane ticket and a hotel room, fa when you visit me,” he says.
“Okay. When should I come visit?”
He hands me a large stack of money. It’s mostly hundreds, but I couldn’t even try to guess how much is here.
“That’s too much.”
“Not for first class and five-star hotels,” he smiles.
“That’s true. Then are you sure this is enough?” I joke with him.
We kiss and hug a few times before he walks me down to the lobby. I’m a little sad to leave, but at the same time too much affection makes me uncomfortable. It was getting a bit creepy. I catch him staring at me a lot, which is strange. I look out the cab window at him. He’s the most handsome man I’ve ever been with. I give him a small wave and he smiles wide back at me. I’m anxious to get home. I’ve missed the city. Even with all the stress it brings me, there really is no better city than Boston.
AVA
CHAPTER 16
FRiends
After being kidnapped, and on a cocaine binge casino night with Ruben, it feels good to be back home and taking a shower. I love and hate having a roommate in the same breath. It’s not that Samantha isn’t the ideal roommate, it’s just that I have never gotten along with other women. She’s working a double shift at the restaurant, so I can unwind without her up my ass, asking where I have been. Having a roommate, I never feel one hundred percent relaxed in my home, but it makes me feel less lonely. I take advantage of her absence by walking around in my bra and underwear, eating junk food on the couch and drinking white wine straight from the bottle. I’ve missed Cambridge with its endless city sounds. I’m half a bottle down before I boot up my computer to check for any correspondence from Paul or Mr. Alterman. They are the
only two people I kind of trust right now.
Mr. Alterman has emailed me a second time about my father visiting him. He says it’s urgent I come to his office. I respond, I’ll be at your office tomorrow at noon.
I choose noon because I know both of us will be nursing a hangover tomorrow.
I move on to Paul’s several emails with documents attached. Before I read his emails, I draft an email explaining to him what happened in New Hampshire. I don’t go into too much detail because I would rather tell him in person. I assure him I am okay and ask him to brainstorm some theories of who these people could have been.
I then open the documents and start reading them. I can’t believe the bullshit I am reading. I grab a notebook to write some names, so I can go back and find a connection. I wouldn’t have even been able to piece this all together without Paul.
I spend over three hours reading and taking notes. I just can’t believe some of the connections to my father. This confirms it: my father is a hitman for the Irish Mob. Well, that explains why I was put up for adoption. I’m still not one hundred percent sure who my biological mother is, but I have a few ideas. I’m doubtful my father will be so open as to tell me this information. The mother that raised me even claimed she didn’t know who my biological mother was.
If my father is still working for or has worked for the Mob, Claire is or was his boss. If they are in good standing, I can get the Mob off my back about testifying and move on with my life. Seems like I need to have a conversation with my father, in hopes he will help me.
If convicted, Susan is facing ten plus years in prison. Right now, I don’t see how my testimony will help keep her out of prison, so if my theory is correct, their plan could be to pin it all on me. I need to make sure I have a plan in place if this theory plays out. Even Johnny isn’t safe, although I can’t imagine Johnny’s parents will let their precious son go to jail, with their connections. It connects Johnny’s father to the Irish and he’s a respected businessman in Boston.
I have uncovered nothing more regarding Susan’s rank in the Mob. She must be important to someone, but until I can figure that out, I can’t use that as leverage.
Paul confirms that the Italians and Irish both don’t know we were skimming money off the top of the money laundered through Atlantic. I’m not surprised; Paul has been stealing money from corporations for many years. I have all the faith in the world in Paul’s hacking abilities. If they knew, they would’ve killed us both. I’m not all innocent, I know this could be a reason for someone to kidnap and attempt to kill me. Anyone could’ve followed me to the shooting range in New Hampshire; I wasn’t paying attention on the drive up. My father visiting Mr. Alterman is similar timing to my kidnapping but why would he have me murdered, when he was the one who put me up for adoption? I have a lot of information to sift through and right now is not a good time, since I am down my second bottle of wine. Before I close my laptop, an email from Paul pops up.
Ava -
I am concerned for your safety. I’m coming over. Be there in a couple hours.
Paul
There’s a knock at the door. Paul said he would be here in a few hours. I’m so drunk the time must have slipped away. I guess I should put on clothes. I throw on a t-shirt. I’m so intoxicated that the room is spinning. If I had cocaine I wouldn’t have drank so much.
I walk sideways to the door and try a few times to turn the doorknob. Eventually I get the door open.
“Mac! What are you doing here?”
“Ava, are you drunk? And where are your pants?”
I look down, shocking myself. I thought I’d put on underwear.
“Oh, no, Ava has been a bad girl, she needs a spanking.” I put my hand to my mouth and bend over pushing my naked bottom in his face.
He just stares at me.
I grab the joints from the kitchen table, and hand them to him.
Mac ignores the joints. “Let me get you to bed.”
“I don’t want to go to bed.”
He grabs my waist and walks me to my room.
He lies me on the bed. The room is spinning.
I feel my shirt pushed up over my breast.
I sit up. “What the fuck are you doing? I don’t want you!” I yell.
He doesn’t listen and grabs my wrists, climbing on top of me. Holding my hands above my head he bites my nipples.
“Get off me, no, no.”
I twist my body and get on my knees, trying to climb off the bed.
He grabs me from behind.
“It’s mine, I paid a lot of money. I can fuck you whenever I want, and you will never have to pay me back.”
“Fuck you, get off me.”
He pulls my hair back and climbs behind, trying to put his dick inside.
I squirm the best I can, but I’m drunk and tired. I give into Mac and let him rape me.
I turn my face looking at the picture of me and my mother. Happier times. I don’t cry because that would give him pleasure. I don’t fight back because that turns him on.
He slams into my backside for what feels like a lifetime. When he’s done, he rolls off me.
Too scared to move, I lie there quietly, waiting for him to make the first move.
“Go to the bathroom and clean yourself up,” he demands.
It hurts to walk, and I can feel the cum run down my leg. He didn’t even have the consideration to use a condom. I lock the bathroom door once I’m inside. I just stare at myself in the mirror, trying to understand what just happened. Was I just raped? Is this rape if it’s an ex? What is the definition of rape? Who am I kidding? He raped me, that bastard raped me.
I cry washing his cum off. I put my robe on and wash my face. I grab my gun from underneath the hidden compartment under my sink. I put in in my robe pocket.
“Ava, you in your room? You shouldn’t leave your front door unlocked,” yells Paul.
Never have I felt so relieved to hear Paul’s voice.
I listen from the bathroom.
“Woah, Mac I wasn’t expecting you here. Ava didn’t tell me she would have company,” says Paul.
“Well, I’m leaving anyway,” Mac responds
A part of me thinks I should just stay in the bathroom until he leaves, but that’s the voice of reasoning the old Ava would use.
“You raped me, you pig,” I say walking out from the bathroom.
Paul backs up from Mac.
“I didn’t do anything you didn’t want,” he says arrogantly.
“Really, let’s see what the police say when my rape test kit results are done.”
“You’re a fucking whore, who’s going to believe you? If you try me, I will tell your dirty little secret to Paul,” he threatens.
I freeze. He wouldn’t dare, would he? I put my hand in my robe pocket and turn off the safety on my gun.
“Ava, is this true? Did Mac rape you?” asks Paul walking towards me.
“Yes. Get back, Paul.”
I pull out the gun and point it at Mac.
“Ava, put the gun down,” says Paul.
“Don’t listen to her, she ain’t got the balls. You’ve graduated from poisoning people to just shooting them,” says Mac, walking closer to me.
“Shut up, shut up,” I yell.
“You’re drunk, put the gun down,” begs Paul.
Mac is now just a few feet from my face.
“If you go to the police, I will tell Paul your secret. You owe me; I’ll be back for more until you’ve paid your debt.”
I don’t break my eye contact with Mac.
“I don’t ever want to see you ever again. Get out of my house.”
“Then pay me the money you owe me.”
“I will.”
“I don’t trust you and neither should Paul. I mean, you killed his best friend or lover, whatev
er Thomas was to him.”
The gun goes off but misses Mac. He lunges at me, trying to wrestle the gun out of my hands. Paul jumps on Mac’s back, distracting him long enough for me to gain control of the gun.
“Get off me,” yells Mac.
Paul is thrown off Mac’s shoulders. Mac gets back on his feet. With two hands gripping the gun I pull the trigger. Mac drops to his knees. I see Paul looking at me through the hole in Mac’s head before Mac’s lifeless body falls on top of me.
“Ahh, Paul, get him off me,” I cry.
Paul comes to my rescue, pushing Mac’s body off me. There’s blood and chunks of flesh splattered on Paul’s face and clothing. I can feel Mac’s blood dripping around my mouth.
“Paul, we have to clean this up, get rid of the body. Go to the kitchen under the sink, grab trash bags, cleaning supplies … oh and gloves.”
He doesn’t respond; instead, he goes into my bathroom.
I throw a blanket over Mac’s lifeless body. I can’t look at him. I run into the kitchen and grab a trash bag and fill it with all the cleaning supplies I will need to get rid of the evidence. I have flashbacks from cleaning up after my kidnappers were murdered.
“What am I going to do with his car and body?” I whisper to Paul through the bathroom door where I hear the sink faucet running.
Paul opens the door.
“You killed Thomas?” he asks.
“No, no, Mac doesn’t know what he’s talking about.”
Paul is now crying.
I grab his shoulders, but he pushes me away.
“We were in love. Thomas was my lover. Why would you kill him?”
“I didn’t,” I lie.
“You’re lying,” he yells.
He walks out of my room. He’s leaving me.
“Paul, no, please don’t leave. I love you; I would never do that to you.”
