by Lane Hart
Good for her.
Knox is one of my best friends and I love him like a brother, but that dude is crazy as shit and goes through women like tissues. Probably faster.
“Why are you three still standing here with those dumbass looks on your faces? Go!” the woman screams at us.
Grabbing the file from the desk, I close it and tuck it under my arm, ready to go.
“What’s that?” Detective Horton asks, refusing to move away from the doorway so that we can get through.
“Nothing,” I tell her.
“Did you forget I’m an officer of the law and still holding a gun?” she asks me with a raised eyebrow. “Covering up the B and E is one thing, but I can’t let you leave the house with what could be evidence about Russo’s business dealings. If you want to steal a TV, go for it, but leave the paperwork.”
“I’m taking this folder,” I tell her through clenched teeth.
“Why? Is there shit in there to implicate you in Russo’s crimes?”
“Come on, Jade. Just let us get out of here. It’s nothing about drugs or mobster shit, I swear,” Knox says.
“Then why can’t he just show it to me?” she asks.
“Because it’s none of your business or anyone else’s!” I reply.
The detective stares at me unblinking, still not getting out of the way. “Knox, move your baby mama,” I order, taking a step back so that he can get to her.
“Can’t we just tell her?” Knox asks. “Everything?”
“Man, just because you fucked her, and she got Knoxed up, doesn’t mean we can trust her!” Cain thankfully points out to our friend, who is clearly not thinking straight. I have to give him a fist bump for taking my side and for the Knoxed up comment.
“We need to go, right?” Knox says to the stubborn woman. “This is personal. That’s all you need to know. You may not trust me, but I have never lied to you, have I?”
Lowering her eyes, she says, “No.”
“And I’m not lying now. Nothing in that folder is evidence you need to bring down any goons, okay?”
“Fine,” she huffs and then takes a step back. “Go.”
Rather than leave, Knox grabs the side of her face and tongue kisses her. It’s brief but intense. “Thanks,” he says when he pulls away.
“Did you…do you know who killed him?” she looks up at his face and asks, clenching his shoulder with one fist, her gun still in the other, her eyes begging him to say no.
“Knox didn’t, but I did,” I tell her, knowing there’s a pretty good chance she’ll arrest me. Even so, I don’t want her to put that on Knox and cause problems, especially if they’re gonna be sharing a baby in a few months.
The detective’s eyes widen, and she lets go of Knox.
“Please tell her why so she doesn’t arrest you for being a psycho,” Knox tells me.
Blowing out a breath, I decide to give in on this one. “Russo killed my mother six years ago.”
“Oh,” Detective Horton mutters, looking back at Knox, who nods.
“Now can we go?” he asks her. “Do you need your car back, or can I use it another day?”
“No, it’s fine. I’m using one from the department’s motor fleet.”
“Okay, good,” Knox says. “Don’t work too hard.”
“I’ll try not to,” she agrees before the three of us file out of the room and hurry out the broken back door before she changes her mind. And I have to say I’m fucking shocked that I’m not leaving in handcuffs.
“Shit! I forgot my shirt,” Knox says when we get to the backyard and start around the front.
Dammit. I left his shirt on the desk and it has Knox’s DNA all over it.
“I’ll be right back. Go start the car,” Knox says, tossing me the keys through the air that I catch before he jogs back inside.
“Can you believe that shit?” Cain asks as we walk back down the street.
“No,” I reply.
“Do you think they hooked up during my case?” he asks.
“Possibly. She looked like she’s been pregnant for a while. How long since you were arrested?”
“Four or five months ago, I think,” Cain answers. “So, that shit’s been going on the whole time and he hasn’t said a word to us?”
“Guess so,” I agree. “And they’re gonna have a kid together.”
“Wow. Crazy shit,” Cain mutters when we reach the car and he slips in the back. I climb in the front and reach over to turn the switch in the ignition. After my seatbelt is on, I start flipping through the file in my lap and see baby pictures of myself that are just like the ones my mother had.
I still can’t believe she never told me that she was married to fucking Jimmy Russo, likely against her will, and then she got pregnant with me…
My first memories are all from the brothel, being surrounded by half-dressed, doting young women, the sounds of grunts and moans that for years I thought meant someone was being hurt, the constant smell of sweat and salty chlorine that I now know was cum. I had my own small room up in the attic with a bed and a flashlight, since there wasn’t any light after the sun went down in the one window. It was dusty, but it smelled better than the downstairs and it was quieter.
Thinking about that place and Jenny who told me to run that night, I can’t help but wonder if the girls there knew more about my mother’s past but have lied to me the entire time. It’s worth a shot to go by and see if any of the same women are there.
Who am I kidding? Those women are all lifers. The only way they leave the brothel is in a body bag, usually from a drug overdose, not getting gunned down like my mother.
The driver's side door opens, and then Knox flops down in the seat, now wearing his shirt. “Let’s get the fuck out of here,” he says, putting the car in drive and doing a U-turn.
“Let’s talk about what the fuck is going on with you,” Cain says when he sits up between the seats.
“What?” Knox asks innocently. “I fucked a woman and she got pregnant. That’s not exactly a rare phenomenon. Now, Jade and I have agreed to occasionally fuck because she can’t get doubly pregnant and she’s so fucking horny with all the pregnancy hormones…”
“How about you back the hell up and tell us when that shit started?” Cain demands.
“I was helping you out,” Knox replies, looking at Cain in the rearview. Then, to me, he asks, “Where are we going? Back to the safe house?”
“No. Take the exit for downtown and I’ll tell you where to turn.”
“Helping me?” Cain asks since that conversation apparently isn’t over.
“Yeah, you’re welcome,” Knox says. “I went to roll on Mario to save your ass. One second we’re talking about wiring Gabby up and the next she’s fucking me. What can I say? Apparently, I’m irresistible.”
“Bullshit,” Cain mutters as he sits back against the seat. “What the hell were you thinking? Bringing her into this was a bad idea. And if it goes down the shitter, the mess falls solely on Ivan now that he just admitted to committing murder.”
“We can trust her,” Knox says, then grinning adds, “And she’s got a soft spot when it comes to me…if you know what I mean.”
“Oh, my God,” Cain groans. “You have no idea how fucked you are, do you? She could turn on you in an instant. On all of us!”
“She won’t.”
“We’ll see,” Cain says. “Too late now.”
“Where are we going?” Knox asks to avoid discussing the detective any further with Cain.
“Whore house,” I tell him as I stare out the window at the passing houses.
“If you need to get laid, why not just fuck Maylin?” he asks.
“I’m not going there to get laid,” I grumble. “I want to talk to the women, see if any are still there from six years ago.”
“Do you mind going in without me?” Cain asks. “Gabby would have my nuts if she found out I went into a whore house.”
“Yeah, Jade too,” Knox agrees.
“Whatever, that’s fine,” I tell them. The place holds so many childhood memories that I don’t really want to share it with my friends.
Chapter Twenty-One
Maylin
“I think we should get you on a plane to Europe,” my dad says out of the blue when we’re sitting at the kitchen table in the safe house eating sandwiches like a man’s life was not just taken. “You’ve always wanted to go to Paris and Florence…”
“What do you mean? Like a vacation?” I ask him, unsure why he’s suddenly bringing up traveling abroad. Unless…is he worried that we could be arrested as accomplices to murder?
Tugging on the cuffs of his jacket sleeves, he says, “I was thinking you could travel some and then choose a place to settle down…permanently.”
“Why would I want to live there?”
“Because I think you’ll be safer there. As long as I’m in this business, you won’t be safe if people like Russo can threaten my life and yours. The Italians aren’t going to be happy when they find out the wedding didn’t happen and…”
“That he’s dead,” I supply for him, pushing my barely touched plate away from me at the reminder that Ivan was the person who pulled the trigger. Ever since he came into the bedroom of the hotel afterward, his expression showing no remorse or guilt for what he did, I’ve seen him…differently. I swear it’s almost as if he has split personalities. He can be so sweet, yet a little awkward with me, and then turn around and take another person’s life so carelessly. Could I ever trust that he wouldn’t flip like that on me? I don’t think I can, and I hate that so much.
“You know, maybe a vacation isn’t such a bad idea,” I tell my father, unable to admit to him that now I’m nervous about being alone with Ivan. I’ll never forget seeing his face look so…normal while a man’s blood was splattered all over his shirt, probably even still warm. That can’t be the typical reaction in that situation.
“You’re up for it?” my father asks with a small smile.
“I think so. After everything that’s happened, well, I want to get away, you know? Maybe not permanently but for a few weeks.”
“I’m so glad you agree,” he says, reaching over to pat my arm. “And I’m sure Ivan would jump at the chance to go away with you…”
“What? You want him to accompany me?” I ask in confusion. “Are you out of your mind? He’s one of the reasons I think I should leave. He’s a murderer!”
“But I thought you liked him,” my father says, his forehead creased in confusion like he can’t comprehend the problem.
“I did,” I reply. “Before he killed Jimmy. He wasn’t even upset about it! How could he do that? I knew Jimmy had to go away for us to be safe, but I thought one of your guards would handle it, not Ivan!”
“Calm down, sweetie,” my father says, gripping my arm. “Do you know why Ivan killed Jimmy?”
“So that I wouldn’t have to marry him and to prevent him from killing you. Or me,” I answer, immediately feeling guilty. “And I get that, I do. But he was so…so nonchalant about it that it scares me more, Daddy.”
“Those things only constitute part of the reason why Ivan insisted on being the one to pull the trigger when the time came. And not even the most important reason,” my father explains.
“So then what’s the other important reason?” I ask, because I have no idea what he’s implying. What am I missing?
“Ivan hasn’t told you about his past?” he asks, letting my arm go to lean back in his chair.
“No,” I reply. “Why? Has he told you?”
“He did,” my father answers with a nod. “And Ivan should be the one to explain to you what happened, why this wasn’t just about you or me being in Jimmy’s crosshairs. Killing him was very personal to Ivan.”
“Personal?” I repeat with my eyebrows shooting up. “Why would Jimmy trust Ivan to be his guard if there was bad blood between them? And why didn’t Ivan tell me?”
“Give him a chance to explain and maybe you’ll change your mind about how you see him,” he says, blowing out a breath. “I can’t believe I’m saying this about the man who admitted that he took my little girl’s virginity, and then killed your future husband, but I think Ivan cares about you and would do anything to keep you safe, just like I would. In other words, he has my blessing, and that’s not something I ever thought I could give to any man who wanted to be with you.”
“That is surprising. And incredibly…unexpected,” I mutter as I consider my father’s opinion of Ivan.
“Tell me about it,” my father says with a chuckle.
Since my mother left us when I was only three or four, my father has always been very strict when it comes to guys even looking at me, not allowing me to ever go on a date after I finally transferred to a coed high school. So, the fact that Ivan’s apparently made quite an impression on him means maybe I need to try and give him the benefit of the doubt.
“But don’t mention to Ivan that I said any of that,” my father adds. “I want to keep him on his toes.”
“Right,” I say. “Where is Ivan anyway? Where did he have to go that was so important?” I ask.
“Now that, I have no clue about. But whatever it was obviously couldn’t wait until the heat dies down on Jimmy’s murder, so it must have been important.”
Yeah, so important that he couldn’t tell me why he was leaving or what he had to do…
…
Ivan
“Hello, handsome. What are you looking for tonight?” a blonde woman with a leathery face and husky smoker’s voice in a sheer, white nightie comes up and asks when I walk through the front door of the brothel.
It’s surprising how much the entry room still looks the same — worn-down gray carpet, thick black curtains covering the windows and leather sofas that match. Up close I know that the cushions have a ton of cracks that pinch your ass when you sit down on them.
“Um, hi,” I reply, bringing my gaze back to the woman. “I’m looking for Jenny. Or maybe Donna or, um, Wynonna? Do any of them still work here?”
“Just Jenny,” she says with a smile. “And she’s with someone right now. Do you want to wait?”
“Yeah, sure,” I agree.
“What service would you like this afternoon so I can let her know?” she asks.
“Service?” I say, and then, understanding her meaning, tell her, “No services needed. I just want to talk to her.”
“I’ve heard that one plenty of times, hon,” the lady says with a wink. “But as soon as the door shuts, talking turns into touching, which turns into fucking, so you still have to pay.”
“No, nothing like that at all,” I assure her. “We can talk out here or on the porch. It doesn’t have to be in a room. She knew my mother when she worked here, and I, um, lived here.”
“Oh,” the lady replies, brow still furrowed. “I’ll let her know as soon as she finishes up."
“Thank you,” I say. “I’ll just stand over here and wait.”
With a nod, the woman disappears upstairs and doesn’t return until the front door opens again and a group of college guys come in looking for a good time.
I’m staring at the painting of the naked woman that used to confuse the shit out of me until I was ten or eleven when she walks up to me.
“Hi, can I help you?”
Turning around, I see the young girl has aged twenty years in the span of six. Her cheeks are sunken in and her blue eyes are sad and glossed over like she’s high on something right now. Then I see her tits pushed up out of the top of a hot pink corset, and my cheeks burn while remembering my first embarrassing and traumatic time with her.
“Hi, I’m not sure if you remember me,” I say to her as I tug at the collar of my shirt. “I’m Ivan,” or am I Anthony? “Annette’s son?”
“Ivan?” she repeats, eyes brightening in recognition. “Oh my God. Look at you!” she exclaims before throwing her arms around my shoulders to give me a hug. When she pulls back, she says, “Wow, you’re all grown
up now. I can’t believe it! How have you been? It’s been what, two…three years since I last saw you?”
“Yeah, I’m good, I guess,” I answer since I can’t exactly explain to her that I just killed a man earlier today who could possibly be my father. “I was hoping I could ask you a few questions again, about my mother?”
“Sure, sure,” she says, grabbing my arm to pull me over to the tattered sofa to sit down beside her. “But I’m not sure if there’s anything else I can tell you other than what I’ve said before.”
“I need you to be honest with me, Jenny. Recently, I’ve heard some things and found a marriage certificate. Did you know that my mom was married? Like before she came here?”
Licking her lips, Jenny lowers her eyes before she nods. “I did.”
“So she was married?”
“She was. He was a horrible man and she didn’t want to marry him. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you before, but you didn’t ask directly. Now I guess you’re old enough to hear it all. Annette made us all promise not to tell you. She didn’t want you to know the truth because she said the only good thing that came from him was you,” she tells me with a sad smile.
“Me. Right. Did I have a different name?”
“Oh yeah!” she exclaims as if remembering. “Annette said you were named after your father, so she decided to call you Ivan. Her sweet Ivan from the Terrible she used to say.”
“Was her husband the man who killed her? My father?” I ask, holding my breath as I wait for her answer.
Glancing around the room, I assume to make sure no one can hear, she whispers, “Yes.”
Just one soft word and it causes my whole world to implode around me.
“You…you’re sure?” I ask.
“I’m sure. She told us who he was, what he looked like, about the scar on his face, and made us promise that if he ever came looking for you to take you someplace safe.”
“So you took me to the Italian’s orphanage?” I ask in disbelief.
“The woman there promised you would be taken care of. Only Scarfone and his second knew about the house and who was in it. A few days later, your father was caught with a gun, which violated his probation and sent him back to prison.”