Beyond Paradise

by Barbara Nolan

  He screwed up his face. “I told you, everything was gone.”

  “Shit. Now, what are we going to do?”

  Dylan picked up an ornate shaped bottle from behind the bar. “We could always try some of this fine Bourbon.”

  “First of all, you’re underage.”

  His raised eyebrows confirmed the absurdity of the comment.

  Dylan’s first taste of whiskey came at the tender age of twelve when one of mama’s boyfriends thought it would be fun to get the kid drunk. And sadly, at twenty, she didn’t have any delusions about Dylan’s experimentations.

  “And secondly, we don’t take things that aren’t ours.”

  Dylan shouted with laughter at that one. The irony of her being a pickpocket and him being able to hot-wire anything with an engine was not lost on either of them.

  She huffed out a breath. Being parental exhausted her especially when she was so bad at it.

  She slumped onto the couch. “Three thousand dollars. Gone.”

  “Stay here for a while.” Dylan flung his arm around the room. “You said they got some other penthouses. They probably won’t even notice you’re here.”

  “What about you?”

  “I still got that room by the body shop over on State Street.”

  “And you’re going there to work every day, meeting with your PO? Staying out of trouble?”

  “Yeah, yeah. I’m like a boy scout.” He held up the wrong two fingers of the boy scout salute.

  Right. A tatted-up boy scout in low slung, faded jeans, a hoodie, lace-up motorcycle boots, and a small silver hoop in his ear. One look at him and a scout master would have a heart attack. Then he made a goofy face and smiled. A smile that probably made the girls drop at his feet seconds before they dropped their panties.

  She envied him. No matter how bad or how bleak the situation, his upbeat attitude was contagious if a little Peter Pan-ish. He’d had the same shitty upbringing as her, and yet he still had hope. Still thought he was living the dream.

  He sat next to her and slung his arm around her shoulders. “Don’t worry, Sissy, you’ll think of something.”

  His heavily muscled arm made her feel protected, and his infectious grin and pet name for her gave her hope. If she could just shake the sensation that her life was about to unravel.

  Chapter 8

  Jonny sat across from Eddie at their regular table at Vincent’s on 86th Street. Their early Saturday night dinners were usually the calm before a crazy night at the club, but not tonight. “Where were you all morning and afternoon?”

  “I slept in with some rich chick at the Towers.” Eddie pushed a basket of garlic knots toward him. “Her husband’s a lousy lay, always away on business. You know, the usual.” Eddie smiled with satisfaction. “Anyway, her bedroom had a great view of the Hudson.”

  “How many women were you with last night?”

  “What?” Eddie furrowed his brow.

  Jonny leaned in. “Are you screwin’ Cheryl?”

  “Fuck, no.”

  She said you were there last night.” It pissed him off that he cared.

  “Yeah, and we talked, that’s all.”

  “Did she hit you up for the money Nicky owes Frank?”

  “Nah, said she broke up with Nicky and wants to get outta Brooklyn.”

  Huh. Could he have been wrong about her? “She has a real attitude though.”

  “Funny, she said the same about you.”

  She must’ve talked about him to Eddie. Great. Now she had him thinking like a teenager in heat.

  Eddie watched as Jonny rearranged the silverware for the hundredth time. “What the hell is wrong with you?”

  “Nothing, I was just . . .” Then it pissed him off that Eddie noticed.

  “I don’t get you. You got Angela all over your dick. You got the dancers giving you head, and yet you’re thinking about a girl you don’t even know.”

  “Fucked up, right?”

  “Yeah. Be smart for once and leave it alone. Let me handle her.”

  Jonny tore into another garlic knot and mashed the dough between his fingers. “While you were enjoying the view at the Towers, Frank hauled me out of bed at eight this morning.”

  The hovering waiter clinking ice against the glasses didn't help Jonny’s nerves.

  The waiter left, and Jonny leaned in. “He wants us to set up a meet with Carl on the docks.”

  “What the fuck?” Eddie’s voice vibrated with anger. “We don’t do that kinda work anymore.”

  “Lower your voice.” He jerked his chin over his shoulder. “We don’t need the whole damn place knowing our business.”

  The waiter returned to recite the specials. Sensing Jonny's mood, Eddie ordered veal parmigiana for both of them, a Chianti for Jonny, and a beer for himself.

  “According to him, we’re still a couple of dumb thugs from Bensonhurst,” Jonny continued when the waiter left. “He started on all this loyalty shit, and how he hopes he still has our respect.”

  “Fuck him and his respect,” Eddie growled out. “He still treats us like we’re running numbers over on 86th Street.”

  “Consider it our last job for Frank ‘cause everything went down today. Contracts signed, money exchanged. Looks like that midtown space is ours.” When the waiter returned with the wine, Jonny drank a generous amount while Eddie sipped his beer.

  “Nice,” Eddie said.

  “Already started the renovations we talked about.” He sighed. “I’m thinking four to six weeks, and we’re open.”

  Their dream of having a club in midtown and breaking away from Frank finally materialized. He had the money, and the space, but he also had Frank breathing down his neck and dogging his every move.

  “Have you said anything to him about it?” Eddie asked.

  “I’ve told him, but he blows it off because it’s not what he wants to hear.”

  When the food came, Eddie dove in, but Jonny picked at it with his fork, then pushed it aside, and sipped at the wine.

  Over coffee, Eddie continued to rage about Frank being an asshole, but he only half listened. His brain stalled on Cheryl. Nicky was a fuck up, and he sure wouldn’t let his meal ticket go that easy. Plus, she looked like she ran out in the middle of the night.

  His gut told him something didn’t add up. And his gut was seldom wrong.

  As they waited for the check to come, Jonny’s cell phone buzzed. He fished it out of his pocket, checked the caller ID, and showed the screen to Eddie.

  They exchanged a look before he put the phone to his ear.

  “Yeah.”

  “Is the meet with Carl all set for tonight?” Frank didn’t waste words.

  “Yeah,” Jonny answered.

  “Make sure everything goes our way.”

  “Don’t I always,” he said into a dead phone.

  His ears hummed, and his heart rate shot up. Amazing what a thirty-second conversation with Frank could do.

  ~ ~ ~

  Later that night, the foggy mist over the harbor hovered around Jonny like a sweaty hand. It coated his throat and filled his lungs as murky water lapped against the pilings.

  He used to love coming down to the docks as a kid. Even shivering with the icy wind howling off the East River, he would dream about living in one of those luxury Manhattan penthouses. He’d watch the comings and goings outside of Frank’s office. The guys wearing custom suits and zipping around in flashy cars.

  Now he wore the designer clothes and drove a luxury SUV. But taking Frank’s shit and meeting with a crooked union boss on a misty waterside dock fucked with the dream. Like a rat trapped in a burning building with hot flames licking at his back while he ran higher and higher until the only way to go was down.

&n
bsp; The full moon and the warehouse security lights cast eerie shadows over the men as they assembled. He would’ve rather had a root canal without Novocain than stand on this splintered pier. They eyed each other while Eddie and Max stood to the side. Jonny faced off with Carl, the union negotiator, and another guy who twitched and rocked on the balls of his feet.

  What a joke. Carl was just another guy on the take who didn’t give a shit about his men or the union as long as his BMW and Hampton’s beach house were paid up. And thanks to Frank, he had to do business on a deserted pier with this hothead and a tweaker.

  “Hey, Jonny, haven’t seen you down here in a while,” Carl goaded. “Taking time off from your cushy job at the Paradise?”

  “It’s real simple.” Jonny ignored his sarcasm. “We don’t want a strike, and that means everybody stays on the job tomorrow.”

  “And what do we get in return?”

  “Nothing.”

  “You know the rules, Jonny.” Carl waved his arms around. “You gotta give us something.”

  “I don’t gotta give you anything.”

  “You think you can come here and tell us what to do, and we’re gonna roll over without any incentive?”

  “Your incentive will be walking away from here tonight.” Jonny moved close enough to smell whatever garlic laced food Carl ate for dinner.

  “You’re a crazy motherfucker,” Carl spit out.

  “I know.” Jonny sensed Eddie and Max closing in behind him.

  “Are you gonna let this pretty boy club owner tell us what to do?” Carl’s edgy companion challenged.

  “You better tell your boy to calm down,” Jonny warned.

  “Who the fuck is he calling a boy?” The tweaker yelled seconds before silver flashed in the dim lighting. The knife slashed through Jonny’s shirt and across his bicep so quick and sharp he didn’t feel it until he saw blood seep through the material.

  A second later, Max spun around, grunted, and smashed his fist into the slasher’s nose. His hands flew to the pulpy, bloody mess, sending the knife skidding across the cement pilings. Max swung again, and the guy staggered to the side before he hit the pier with a thud. Fisting his bloody shirt, Max hovered over him with his arm cocked.

  “He’s not worth it,” Jonny spat out.

  Max released him and straightened, but Jonny saw the tic in Max’s jaw. The slasher slumped to a relaxed position, and Max drove his size fourteen shoe into the guy’s balls. The ear-splitting scream pierced the desolate pier.

  Eddie glared at him. “Stupid fucker.”

  Jonny turned to Carl. “You were told weeks ago no strike, and now you come here and start shit with people you can’t control.”

  “But, Jonny.” He held his hands up and backed away. “Listen . . .”

  “We’re done listening.” Eddie turned to Max. “Take him into the warehouse, and make sure he knows how fuckin’ pissed off we are.”

  Max pulled a roll of duct tape from his pocket, flipped it in the air and caught it with a smirk. Carl’s cries of protest mixed with his partner’s moaning, as Max pulled him up the pier.

  The wooden planks creaked under their feet as Jonny and Eddie approached the SUV. Eddie motioned to his bloody sleeve. “You better get that looked at.”

  Jonny mumbled a curse at the amount of blood already staining his shirt. “Just take me to the club.”

  Inside the SUV, he released the glove compartment and grabbed a handful of napkins. The Pizza Hut logo was immediately saturated with his blood. So much for Eddie’s advice on eating healthy. Pizza Hut kept him from bleeding out all over the interior of the Escalade. Fifteen minutes later, they eased into the lot behind the club. In that short time, his arm developed a heartbeat of its own, making every movement painful.

  Eddie heaved open the heavy fire door. “Go upstairs and clean up. I’ll take care of everything down here.”

  He contemplated walking the fifty feet to the elevator or taking the stairs right in front of him. Not wanting to run into anyone, he opted for the stairs. At the third-floor landing, he regretted his decision. Wrestling with the metal stairwell door, he arrived in the small hall leading to the apartment. He unlocked the door and saw one light was on in the living room. Then he remembered he wasn’t alone.

  Chapter 9

  Cheryl washed the few dishes she’d used and scrambled to come up with another plan. All those months of squirreling away that money and now it was gone. At least she had a place to stay and some of her clothes from the back pack.

  She startled when the door open. Expecting Eddie, she did a mental eye roll when she saw Jonny. The light from the room cast a shadow over him as he stood at an odd angle, cradling his left arm. His expression was tense, or maybe pained.

  “Are you all right?” She moved closer, zeroing in on the deep red stain on the sleeve of his shirt.

  “I ran into a little trouble tonight.”

  “Looks like more than a little.” The slice in his shirt definitely came from a knife.

  “It’s just a cut.” He swayed and grimaced.

  It was way more than a cut but arguing with someone as stubborn as him was a waste of time. “You better sit down before you fall down.”

  He looked skeptical, probably surprised she wasn’t freaked out by all the blood.

  “Do you at least have a first aid kit?” She couldn’t let the guy bleed all over his polished hardwood floors.

  “There’s one under the bathroom sink.” He jerked his thumb in the direction of the hall, then headed for the couch.

  She returned to the living room with the first aid kit, a towel from the bathroom, and stopped.

  He’d removed the torn, bloody shirt, and rested against the couch with his eyes closed. His bare, broad chest was taut with lean muscles cut across the impressive abs she’d admired the night before. A tattoo of barbwire encircled the muscled bicep of his good arm, and the light from the lamp cast a silvery shadow over another tattoo covering the left side of his ribs, a heart inside a cross inked over a jagged scar. She moved closer, but his eyes fluttered open, and she glanced away. The edges of his lips curved up, but it wasn’t taunting like the other night.

  Moving behind the bar, she assessed the selection, returned with a bottle of tequila, and answered his questioning expression. “This should dull the pain a little.” She carefully peeled away the blood-soaked napkins from his inflamed bicep.

  He slugged a few healthy gulps straight from the bottle and handed it back to her. “Eddie said you’re from Brooklyn, too.”

  Interesting. They talked about me.

  She focused on his wound, being careful not to hurt him, but when she placed the towel under his arm, she couldn’t help noticing the way his muscle contracted beneath his smooth, bronze skin.

  “This is going to sting,” she warned, then poured the alcohol over the wound.

  “Shit!” He clenched his jaw. “What a waste of a two-hundred-dollar bottle of tequila.”

  “You’re pretty casual about a six-inch gash and losing a boatload of blood.” She dabbed at the wound with the sterile pad, cleaned it, then wrapped the gauze around his arm a few times before she taped it into place.

  “I’ve had worse,” he mumbled.

  Like the scar he almost camouflaged on his chest. Maybe she wasn't the only one with secrets.

  He looked at the bandage job. “Not bad.” The slow, lazy grin caught her by surprise.

  “I’ve had some practice patching people up.” Her heart flip-flopped at the memory of Dylan and all his smash-ups. “That could get infected.” She busied herself putting the first aid kit back together. “And I’m sure you need stitches.”

  “It’ll be fine.”

  An uncomfortable silence passed between them until he motioned for her to sit. “Edd
ie says you’re staying here for a few days.”

  She nodded and perched on the edge of the leather cushion. Life taught her revealing too much could be deadly.

  “He also said you’re not with Nicky anymore.”

  “Right, again.”

  “Good move, the guy’s a loser.” He scrubbed his hand over his jaw. “I shouldn’t have made that crack about the money.”

  “No, you shouldn’t have.” Wow, was that an apology? “Did he really owe you ten thousand dollars?”

  “Not me directly.”

  His eyes locked with hers. She swallowed hard and tempered her expression.

  She glanced at his arm. “Does that cut have something to do with collecting money too?”

  His jaw tightened, and she braced for a scathing comeback, but he reached for the tequila with his good arm instead. “Why don’t you get some glasses so we can enjoy this the right way?”

  The slight tremor in his hand when he pointed to the bar told her she’d hit a nerve. Retrieving two glasses, she placed them in front of them and he poured the silvery liquid. Jonny downed his immediately.

  His fingertips brushed against her arm. “Drink up.” He pointed to her untouched shot glass, then motioned to his arm. “You did good.”

  For a split second, the sarcastic player disappeared, his black eyes melted a bit, and she saw some compassion. The same caring that intrigued her the other night at the Oasis. A soothing warmth flowed over her along with an instinct to run.

  She pushed the shot glass aside and stood. “I told Eddie I’d meet him downstairs.”

  His eyes tracked her as she moved around the coffee table, and when she turned toward the door she willed herself not to look back.

  Another bad boy was not in her future plans.

  Chapter 10

  Cheryl rolled the tension out of her shoulders as she descended the concrete stairs of the stairwell leading to the club. Sitting so close to Jonny on the couch while his ebony eyes searched for answers had unnerved her and set off every alarm in her survival checklist. She pushed through the security doors, and the throbbing music surrounded her. The chaos of people kicked up her heart to a bubbling frenzy as she craned her neck in search of Eddie. She weaved her way deeper into the crowd until she came to a small clearing on the other side of the room.