by Vivi Paige
“Belle,” he spoke in his lilting, melodic voice. “I understand there was some… unpleasantness here this evening?”
I remember fighting off a wave of panic. If Crenshaw Hook stormed into my office ranting and raving about this, that and the other, I wouldn’t have been frightened. His way was full of bluster, but only when it was a minor inconvenience or hassle.
When he was cool but pleasant in his demeanor and choice of words, it was time to be afraid—very, very afraid.
“It wasn’t as big a deal as all that,” I attempted to wave off his concerns. “I handled it.”
“Oh, fantastic.” He sighed in mock relief. “You handled it. Here I was, worried you’d done something stupid like hurl the scion of the most dangerous family in America out the door like last week’s garbage, but good news. You handled it.”
I licked my lips nervously. My father had never referred to Hook as Mister Hook, or sir, or even Crenshaw. No, he’d always called the old man “Captain,” which was a habit I had picked up.
“Captain, let me explain—”
“Explain?” His voice was calm, but his eyes burned with fury. “Yes, do that. Explain to me why you even let Peter Mayne in the front door in the first place. It should be perfectly droll.”
I felt very small and vulnerable before his wrath. My voice came out in a stammer, and I shuffled my feet as if I were a child. “I—I let him in precisely because he is a Mayne. I didn’t want to start a war with the firm.”
“Start a war?” he exploded, jowls dancing as he paced across the floor to stare out the window at the dark, crawling sea. “Start a war? The Maynes started the war years ago when they built that cheap, pale imitation across the street from the Roger. Just because we haven’t taken overt action against each other doesn’t mean the hostilities haven’t been enduring for some time.”
“I only sought to keep the peace—”
“Oh, really?” He turned his sneering face upon me, his lips peeled back to show his teeth like a growling dog. “So your decision to let him inside had nothing to do with fucking him in the VIP lounge?”
Wendy. You bitch.
I crossed my arms over my chest and glared right back. “Who told you that?”
“It doesn’t matter who told me.” I knew then and there it was Wendy. I could have killed her. “What does matter is you getting… involved… with one of the Maynes, a family who have chosen to oppose my rightful claim on this dock and its many accoutrements.”
He was referring to the illegal auctions, of course. The Maynes had been cutting into his bottom line for years, but they were too powerful for him to take a direct hand against. That is, until Hook’s anger got the better of him.
“Look, it was just a— just a thing, all right? It’s over. That’s why I threw him out. Okay?”
I wanted to say it wasn’t even that good, but I was afraid Hook could tell I was lying.
“You had better not be involved with Peter,” he growled. “But despite your pernicious declaration, this is not, as you so quaintly put it, ‘over.’ Not by a long shot.”
“I don’t see why it can’t be over.” I sighed. “The Maynes don’t want a hot war with us any more than we do. They aren’t stupid. They know you’ve got a ton of stroke in this town.”
“That’s right, I do have stroke,” Hook mused. “But the Maynes have a different kind of stroke. The type that can make people disappear.”
I bit my tongue on a retort. A year prior, a former employee was trying to extort Hook because he allegedly had proof of my boss’s wrongdoings. That former employee disappeared without a trace, and the one time I had the gumption to ask Crenshaw about him, the old man just laughed and said he’d been taken care of.
His ambiguous statement was meant to imply the employee had been paid off. But it could also be interpreted that he’d been taken care of in a permanent and irreversible sense. I wouldn’t have been surprised if that former employee had been fitted for concrete shoes.
“Peter knows he was being a jerk, and he knows he deserved to be thrown out on his ass. It doesn’t have to go any further than that.”
“Oh, but it does. Even if this Peter—who by all accounts is a bit of a wastrel and a party animal—chooses to forgive and forget, which I find to be highly unlikely, there’s still the matter of his family. They’ve been looking for an excuse to come after me full bore for some time, and you’ve foolishly handed it to them on the proverbial silver platter.”
The full impact of what I’d set into motion settled onto my shoulders like a ton of bricks. Hook noticed my deflation and nodded sagely. “At last, you begin to understand.” He settled into a seated position atop my desk, crossing his arms over his chest as he glowered. “But, what is done is done. And in a way, I’m actually pleased.”
“You are?” I blinked in confusion.
“Indeed.” Crenshaw Hook smiled, but it wasn’t the least bit reassuring. I was struck with the impression of a hyena hiding behind a person mask. “If the Mayhem Brothers want a war, they will find that Crenshaw Hook is not unprepared for one. Quite the opposite.”
“Captain…” I sighed heavily. “Do you really think it’s going to come to that? A war, I mean? We’ve shared the street for years without bloodshed.”
“Yes. It has been a trifle boring. Has it not?” Hook chuckled low in his throat, a sound utterly without mirth, like a predator licking his proverbial chops. “But worry not. I have a plan, and it’s a good one. Did you know that the Mayne brothers recently got on the bad side of the Bratva?”
I gasped. The Bratva stood for the brotherhood, a catch-all phrase designating mafia families whose origins were in Russia or other West Asian nations. Whatever your impression might be of Mayne family, they had certain codes of conduct they adhered to. Not so for the Bratva.
If Crenshaw Hook was going to sic the Bratva on Peter, it was quite possible the young scion would be taking a dirt nap before the end of the year.
“I’ll be going now to prepare for war,” Hook said, standing up and casting me one last glare. “If I were you, I wouldn’t count on seeing your paramour again. At least not alive.”
He laughed coldly at his own jest as he left the office. I collapsed into the chair, covering my face with my hands, and lamented the events I’d put into motion.
Chapter Eleven
“All right, Boyz.” I slammed my palm down on the round table in my office of Lost. “You might have left me out to dry at the club, but now you can pay me back by brainstorming how we’re going to strike back at Crenshaw Hook.”
“Hook?” Nibs mumbled around a mouthful of meatball sub. “Wasn’t it that hot little blonde chick who threw you out the club, though?”
“She didn’t throw me out,” I growled darkly. “It was the bouncers.”
“Yeah, the bouncers who she told to throw you out,” Toots quipped.
“If I’d have seen what was going on, I’d have stopped that shit right quick,” boasted Curly. He pantomimed throwing a few punches and grinned. “Those bouncers wouldn’t have known what hit them.”
“Oh bullshit,” Toots sneered. “You were neck-deep in Latina pussy. You wouldn’t have done jack.”
“Guys, none of this banter—though imminently amusing—is going to help us with the situation at hand.” I took in each of them with my gaze and smiled. “Now, let’s hear some ideas about how we can salvage the firm’s reputation and stick a rock in old man Hook’s shoe while we’re at it.”
Nibs whipped out his cell phone and gestured at his contacts list.
“You know I’ve got your hookup, Pete. How you want her done in? Strangled? Burned? Shot up? Drowned by the pier? Or would you rather we make it look like an accident to throw old man Hook off our trail?”
It took me a moment to realize Nibs was suggesting that we hire a hitman to take Belle out. Kill her. As soon as I made that connection, however, I lost all control.
“Shut the fuck up with that bullshit,” I snapped, kno
cking his phone right out of his hand.
“Hey,” Nibs whined. “I just had the screen replaced.”
While he retrieved his phone, Toots cleared his throat, trying and failing to keep a smile off of his face.
“Methinks the lad doth protest too much.” Toots’ eyes glittered with amusement. “That little fairy girl’s got you all twisted up in knots. Doesn’t she?”
I shot him a dark glare. “No one’s got me twisted up in knots. All right?” I shook my head in disgust. “I’m a Mayne. I can’t jump right to assassination. There’s a scale here. She tossed me out, which is a major indignation but not one that requires hiring a hitman.” I took them all in with my gaze and then sighed. “Come on, guys. Be subtle! There’s got to be things we can do to get back at them without resorting to murder.”
“Well…” Curly held his finger up. “I think I have an idea.”
“You do?” Toots asked in a confused tone.
“Seriously?” Nibs asked. “You never have any ideas that don’t involve getting drunk, taking a shit, and passing out.”
“All right, stop busting his chops. I, for one, want to hear what our good friend Curly has to say about this. What’s your idea, Curly?”
We all looked at him. Curly beamed under our attentive gaze, enjoying being in the limelight for once. “That’s more like it. Thanks, Pete.”
“Yeah, no problem.” I waited for him to speak, but he just sat there blinking and smiling at me. “So… what is it?”
“What is what?” Curly tilted his head to the side like a confused dog.
“Your idea!” Nibs sighed. “You said you had an idea about what to do with Hook and his minions.”
“I had an idea?” Curly said, blinking. “What was it?”
Curly threw up his arms and yelped as we all pelted him with whatever missiles we could lay our hands on. Paper clips, ink pens, club coasters, and several ice cubes made our displeasure clear.
“Well, now that we’re done with that enormous waste of time, does anyone have an actual idea?” I asked the group.
Toots raised his hand and looked at me expectantly.
I sighed. “What are you doing, Toots?”
“Uh, I’ve got an idea.”
“Then just spit it out.” I heaved an exasperated sigh. “What’s with this hand-raising shit? This ain’t nursery school.”
“Oh, right.” Toots gestured at Nibs. “Sure, we don’t want to hire a cleaner to deal with little miss Belle, but what about somebody to just… you know… rough her up a little bit?”
“No.” I was shocked by the vitriol in my own tone. “No way. We’re not harming a single golden lock on her cute little head.”
“Okay, it was just an idea, man. Jeez. Sit down already, would you?”
I hadn’t even realized I’d jumped to my feet in my anger. Carefully I seated myself, holding my palms outward. “Sorry. I’m calm. I’m calm.”
“All right, so we’re not allowed to hurt her,” Nibs murmured. “But what about this? We hire some good-looking muscle guy in our enforcer pool to sweep Belle off her feet romantically and then dump her in epic fashion.”
“Great idea, Nibs,” said Toots. “Break her heart instead of her legs. I’m all for it.”
“Well, I’m not!” I said, aghast. “What the hell, guys? When did we all get to be such a bunch of assholes?”
“Well…” Nibs shrugged. “We are gangsters, Pete.”
“We’re businessmen, you idiot.” I slapped him on the back of the head. “Stop saying stupid shit. You never know who might be listening.”
“The twins do a sweep every day for recording devices—”
“Give it a rest, Nibs. Damn.” I settled back in my seat and dragged out my phone, intending to check my messages while my so-called crew kept up the “brainstorming” session. The storm was there, to be sure, but it was a storm of stupidity. No brains to be found.
“Huh.” I hit my contacts list and started a call. “Sorry, Boyz, this won’t take a moment. I’ve got to see what Cousin Mason wants.”
“Mason? Which one is he?” Nibs murmured.
“The one who owns El Swanko downtown. Now shut up for a second.”
Silence reigned until I heard Mason’s voice on the line. “About time.”
“Chill, Mason, I’ve been busy. What can I do for you?”
He laughed but not mockingly. I began to relax. Clearly this was important—Mason wouldn’t have requested me on the phone if it wasn’t—but it didn’t present immediate danger either.
“It’s more like what I can do for you. I’ve called to give you a dire warning.”
“Warning? About what? If this is about Lucy being pissed at me, you’re too late. He busted my balls already.”
“You wish it was Uncle Lucy. No, I just got word that Randy Johnson is doing a set at the Garden and wanted you to tell your door guys.”
“Randy Johnson?” I gaped. “Say no more. Thanks a million, Mason. I appreciate the heads up.”
“Hey, no problem. Just keep your dick out of Crenshaw’s little trollop so Lucy doesn’t have to send Navajo Joe to your doorstep. Capisce?”
“You ass—” He hung up on me. He actually hung up on me. “He actually hung up on me,” I said out loud, staring at the phone.
“Hey, Peter, who’s Randy Johnson?” Toots asked.
“What? You’re in showbusiness and you don’t know who Randy Johnson is?” Nibs shook his head in disgust.
“He’s only the funniest comedian ever!” Curly blurted.
I looked at him askance. “I wouldn’t go that far, but he’s somewhat famous, I’ll give you that.”
“I don’t get it. What would some comedian coming into town have to do with you and Mason pissing yourselves? Is he some sort of tough guy?” Toots asked.
I burst into laughter and shook my head. “No, not even close. Johnson is about ninety-eight pounds soaking wet. While his off-color humor does damage sensibilities, not to mention good taste, the real danger is what happens after his set at the Garden.”
“Does he explode?” Curly asked.
“You wish. Johnson likes to party—a lot, and all night long. His shenanigans have a way of getting out of hand pretty quickly.”
“So, the guy likes to party,” Nibs said, brow furrowed in annoyed confusion. “So what? How is that going to help us in our current situation? No one man can cause enough ruckus to shut down a club.”
“Remember Louie the Leach’s club downtown, Scandals, I think it was called?” I put my arms akimbo and waited while the Boyz made the mental connection.
“Uh, yeah, I remember that place.” Toots scratched behind his head. “The line used to be out the door and wrapped around the building—twice.”
“Didn’t it shut down, though?” Nibs asked.
“Yes, it did,” I said cheerfully, still waiting for them to make that final leap to comprehension.
“But the line was out the door! What happened to Scandals?”
I faced Nibs grimly and spoke the name of the dark legend. “Randy Johnson.”
Nibs sighed and threw his hands up in the air. “Oh, come on, Peter. You’re being hyperbolic.”
“Hey,” Curly said, jabbing a finger at Nibs. “Watch your mouth. Don’t say that about Peter. He always washes his hands after he uses the bathroom.”
We all looked at Curly for a long moment, a mixture of pity and disgust etched onto our features, before I finally moved us on.
“Yeah, anyway… just a sec, Nibs. I have some photographic evidence of what went down that night.” I brought up the folder on my phone and then synced it to the Bluetooth-enabled flatscreen in my office. “All right, here’s a photo of the club floor at nine p.m., right before Johnson arrived.”
“Damn, look at that crowd,” Nibs said, whistling. “Wall-to-wall trim, too.”
“I know, right? Now here’s a photo of the same club, the same night, at eleven p.m. after Johnson had been present for just two hours.”
>
The scene changed to the next photo on my reel. Nibs’ mouth dropped open, a startled gasp forcing its way out past his lips.
“Impossible.” He pointed at the screen. “Is he… is he biting that guy’s nose off?”
“Guy needed reconstructive surgery, fifty grand,” I added a few details.
“Oh my god.” Toots shook his head in disbelief. “The pool is on fire. How did he set water on fire?”
“Fines for violating the fire code, one hundred and fifty grand,” I added helpfully. “Medical costs for those burned or suffering smoke inhalation, another hundred grand.”
“Hey!” Nibs said. “Are those… are those titties?”
I sighed and rolled my eyes. “Yes, those are naked female breasts. Johnson offered half a kilo of coke to the biggest set of knockers in the club and the resulting melee caused another hundred grand in property damage.”
“Melee?”
“Oh yes, the ladies got fiercely competitive. This of course resulted in lawsuits filed by people who were caught in the crossfire of brawling, half-naked Amazons. Add another three hundred grand to the total, Boyz.”
“No!” Curly slapped his hands over his face, but his eyes stared out between his fingers as if he could not tear his gaze away from the awful scene before him. “Make it stop, Peter. Make it stop.”
I turned off the screen, and they all sagged into their chairs, faces etched with the trauma of what they had borne witness to. “That was Randy Johnson and we’re going to get him to party at Jolly Roger.”
“Pete, my god, man,” Nibs said, shaking his head. “Are you sure it wouldn’t be more merciful just to hire a hitman?”
Chapter Twelve
“This doesn’t look safe to me.” Smee gripped the steering wheel so tightly his knuckles went white. Frowning, he pushed his half-lens glasses up the bridge of his nose, his eyes narrowed as he focused on the alleyway up ahead. The black SUV rolled over the potholed road at a snail’s pace, a clear indicator of how uncomfortable Smee felt.