Fabulous.
***
“Jesus fuck!” Oz spit out.
He’d been canvassing the neighborhood, knocking on various doors, looking for Rico Hernandez. When he’d knocked on one door in particular and stepped in for just a sec at the insistence of the tiny, elderly Hispanic woman who he’d thought had to be the guy’s grandmother, out of the blue he’d been blindsided with a frickin’ punch to the jaw which landed him on his knees. He now understood that the guy, who he assumed to be Rico, had stood back against the wall to his right waiting to pop him and then had taken off out the door running.
“Why do they always fuckin’ run?” Oz muttered as he stood again, shaking his head and holding his jaw as he moved it from side to side to make sure it wasn’t broken. After finally getting his wits about him, he noticed the pint-sized woman scowling at him and she was holding a frying pan in her hand. Shit. Not sticking around to see how that went. He took off in a sprint following the path Rico had taken as the diminutive woman cursed in Spanish after him.
As he ran, “Over the River and Through the Wood” started playing in his head. He’d heard it on the radio that morning, and, well, it was the season, he supposed. But when the song kept looping and “Wood” suddenly became “Hood,” it just pissed him off and he knew he was finished. He gave up the chase after four city blocks, deciding to use the old noggin instead of wearing himself out physically. Besides, his jaw hurt like hell and the constant jarring on it as he ran wasn’t helping much. And he was sick of that fucking song running through his goddamned head.
As he walked back to his truck, he pulled his phone out and dialed CEP.
“Citadel Executive Protection. How may I direct your call?” Abby answered.
“Abby, it’s Oz. What’s up, gorgeous?” he flirted even though he felt like shit.
“How may I be of assistance?”
Damn. Least she could do was act as if she knew him. Might just be time to cut this one loose and call it a day. “Yeah. Hank in?”
“Hold, please.”
“Jesus.” Oz didn’t know what’d he done to her, but Abby’s treating him like a redheaded stepchild was wearing a little thin. The fact that she was pretty good looking, what with her shoulder-length almost blue-black hair, her brown doe eyes, and a fairly pale complexion, the damned Snow White thing she had going on made her worth a second shot, or three or four in his case. But he guessed it just wasn’t going to happen between the two of them, so it was time to move on.
“Oz?” Hank answered.
“Yeah, bossman. Got an addy on the girlfriend’s work yet?”
“I do. When we hang up, I’ll text it to you. Got a picture I’ll send too. She’s a stripper at a pretty high-dollar club there in Philly. That was sarcasm, if you didn’t catch it.”
“Great. Let me guess, her stage name is Sindy with an ‘S.’”
“Close. It’s Shady.”
Oz snorted. “Nice. Well, I’m always up for a little T and A, I guess. So long as those other letters, S,T and D, don’t make an appearance.”
Hank barked out a laugh. “Yeah, well, you don’t do any touching you won’t have to worry about it.”
“If this place is as reputable as you’re saying, you won’t have to worry about that happenin’.”
“So how’s it going? Got any leads on Hernandez yet?” Hank asked.
“Earning my keep, that’s for damned sure. Son of a bitch set me up then damn near cold cocked me in the jaw. Which reminds me. We do get hazard pay, right?”
Hank laughed again. “Sure. How about I hazard buying you a beer when you get back?”
“Holding you to it,” Oz said with a chuckle then moved his jaw side to side. “Shouldn’t be much longer. He’s running, but now that I’ve infiltrated his madre’s and grandmadre’s casas, I doubt he’ll be heading back. I’ll check out the girl’s establishment of fine repute tonight. Who knows, maybe she’ll be so pissed at what he’s done, she’ll give him up.”
“Let’s hope. Keep me posted, son,” Hank said. They hung up and shortly after, Hank texted the address and picture of the girlfriend.
Oz arrived at his truck and got in, driving back to his crappy motel room. Once inside, he went to the sink where the ice bucket was, grabbed the bag out of it then walked outside and down a ways to the ice machine, filling the bag, immediately holding it to the side of his face.
“Christ,” he mumbled as he worked his jaw around, the cold pack against it not helping a whole lot. He walked back to his room, going to the mirror over the sink and took a look at the damage. Not bad. Would’ve been better had the guy not been wearing a damned ring, but whatever. He spit in the sink and saw a tinge of blood in it. “Nice.” Good thing he got paid well for these gigs.
Chapter 4
“I think Zim’s losing it,” Andy Maddox, an associate of Graham’s informed him from where he sat across the desk from him.
“Why do you say that?”
“He’s threatening to turn us all in.” Maddox nervously smashed his cigarette out in the tray on Graham’s desk before immediately lighting up his next Marlboro.
Troy “Zim” Zimmerman and Andy Maddox had been long-time partners with Graham on many a hedge fund and several successful start-ups. Actually, they’d all met during the eighties when Graham had made his first million, the two men close in equaling him in monetary value and pretty much every other aspect of life in the fast lane. Then they’d met Chuck Drake, a broker who had all kinds of connections, and who’d also made them very wealthy over the years with insider information and several “pump-and-dumps.” Well, kept them wealthy, one might say.
“Fuck.” Graham checked out his fingernails. “Where’s this coming from?”
“Meegan’s pregnant.”
“It’s his?” Graham looked up at Maddox knowing his question was perfectly legitimate.
“I guess. And now he’s wanting to set a good example as a daddy. Hell, I don’t know. He said something about her finding out about some things and forcing him to go to the Feds. All I know is that if he even so much as says a word, you, me and Drake? We’re fucking done.” Maddox took a big pull on his cancer stick, blowing smoke out through his nose. “He’s thinking he’ll get a lighter sentence if he turns us all in.”
“Goddamn it.” Graham got up from behind his desk, hands on his hips, and started pacing, staring at the pattern on the carpet as he walked. They’d all taken a fucking oath that they’d never turn on each other. “This dies with me,” they’d all promised. And now Zim was trying to fuck it all up. Nope. Not happening on Graham’s watch.
“What do we do now?” Maddox asked, stabbing out the second cigarette before lighting another, extreme chain smoking now becoming his favorite recreational activity it seemed.
“I’ll take care of it. Tell Drake what’s going on so he’ll keep his nose clean for now. I’ll talk to Zim. Make him realize that what he’s thinking of doing is unnecessary. If he agrees, great. If not, I’ll see what I can do to convince him.”
Maddox watched Graham through narrowed eyes. There’d been another associate of theirs years ago, Stanley Carmichael, who hadn’t been very cooperative, had disagreed with some of the goings-on they were connected with, had made some waves, and then the guy’d just up and disappeared. Maddox had always wondered what’d happened; he’d questioned Graham’s involvement to himself, but had never had the balls to personally ask about any of it. So he knew if something were to happen to Zim, he’d just deal with it. They were, after all, just associates. Wasn’t like they were old friends or pals or anything, not like he’d be betraying anyone. And when it came down to it, he really didn’t want to know. All he could do now was nod, knowing Graham would take care of things, however he deemed necessary. And when Maddox thought of his villa in Puerto Vallarta, the ranch he owned in Montana and the three Lambos he had in his garage, he was good with turning a blind eye on things anyway.
After Maddox left, Graham went to the wet bar whe
re he pulled out a tumbler and the Chivas Regal, filling the glass half full. Damn. Zim had been solid over the years. Surely, he could set the guy straight. He knew he’d have to schedule a meeting with him, a “Come to Jesus” conference as it were, to make him see the light. He just hoped he wouldn’t have to make the coming to Jesus bit an actual reality.
***
Tilly huffed and rolled her eyes. If Doug made one more comment filled with innuendo about sex, she was going to slam on the brakes and make him eat dash. How the hell anyone could make the word “aperture” dirty was beyond her, but he’d proven it could be done. And she didn’t even want to think about what he’d insinuated about cropping and wide angle. God, the guy was being a complete dick. Why’d she even invite him to go with her?
“Can I buy you lunch?” he asked as they left her last stop.
“I’m pretty busy, Doug. I really need to get home and look at the focus rings on my Nikon. They’re sticking, so I need to look at lubricating them.” She knew her mistake before she’d gotten the words out and cringed, waiting for his remark.
“Lubricate, huh? Well, I can help you get lubed up real goo—” Doug began.
“Stop! Seriously. Since when did you turn into a thirteen-year-old boy? All the damned inferences are ridiculous. Please, just give it a rest.”
“I’m just being funny, Till. Since when did you become such a stick in the mud? Damn. I used to make you laugh.”
He was right. She was totally being a bitch to him, but how could she not be when he continually spewed idiotic crap. That and the fact that he was just there. She sighed, knowing she was just stressing a little, gearing up for the big shoot of the parade. The shots could really put her on the map if it all went well.
“You’re right. I’m sorry. Just have a lot on my mind,” she apologized.
Doug reached a hand over and patted her thigh, leaving his hand there, making her want to take back her apology.
“It’s okay. I understand. Hey, we don’t have to be that ‘something on your mind’ that you’re worrying about. If you’ll let me, I can make it all better.” He squeezed her thigh suggestively.
Okay, she’d had enough. The guy just didn’t get it and she was going to make him understand once and for all. She reached down and removed his hand from her leg, gritting her teeth before laying into him.
“That’s it, Doug. We’re over. There’s nothing left between us, okay? I’m never sleeping with you again. Ever. Got it?” She glanced over at him to make sure she had his complete attention.
“But, Till, we were good!” he exclaimed.
“Were you even in the same relationship with me? Were you even in the same damned bed? Did you ever once make me come? No! So I’m finished wasting time on being with someone who doesn’t give a rat’s ass whether his partner is being satisfied. Capice?” she said, seething, too mad to even be embarrassed at what she’d just said.
“Stop the car,” he mumbled.
“I’m on the fucking Brooklyn Bridge!” she raged. Well, crap. She hardly ever cussed and he’d just made her swear three times in the last five minutes. Fuck.
“I want out,” he snapped.
“Oh, my God, can’t you just wait until I get to my house?”
“Fine,” he muttered, crossing his arms over his chest.
Jeez. Wasn’t this a fun new side to him? Good lord. He’d never acted this way in the two years they’d been together. But he hadn’t really had cause. He’d always gotten his way and she’d just kept her mouth shut. Well, not anymore.
When they pulled up to her house, Doug jumped out, slammed the car door then marched to his car, got in and, with wheels squealing, backed out and drove away.
Tilly sighed as she watched him drive off knowing she could also mark “friend-slash-business partner” off the list of how she could now describe their relationship.
***
Oz sat in the strip club watching the totally nude woman on stage gyrating like hell to the music and the catcalls of what appeared to be a group of eighteen-year-old boys. When she plopped down and sat spread-eagle on the stage in front of them, her legs as far apart as she could get them, showing her stuff to one and all, then encouraged the young men to throw wadded up dollar bills at her vagina, he had to turn away with a wince. Christ.
He took another sip of bourbon from the flask he’d brought in with him since the club was BYOB. And that didn’t mean bring your own brand of antibacterial wash, which he thought it probably should have. This place was fucking rank compared to other joints he’d checked out before.
“You up for a good time, handsome?” an older, dark haired, tattooed and very naked woman asked as she walked by, dragging her hand across the backs of his shoulders, pressing her breasts against the back of his arm as she walked around him. The expectant look on her face told him she wanted a tip.
Oz dug a five out of his front jeans pocket. “Is Shady working tonight, darlin’?” he asked, holding onto the bill until he got an answer.
“Sure is, sugar. She’ll be up soon for the girl-on-girl show.”
“Thanks, honey,” he said then handed her the money.
“You sure you don’t want me to take that in a more ‘imaginative’ way?” she asked with a smirk.
Oz snorted. “No, we’re good. But thanks.”
“By the way, the name’s Jiggles,” the stripper said as she held her arms out to the side then shimmied to make her ample breasts sway impressively. She smiled and cupped his face, brushing her fingers under his chin and off then sauntered away on her six-inch heels.
He grinned and shook his head as he watched her go, amazed that she didn’t topple over either from the height of her heels or the way her bountiful breasts should’ve thrown off her balance.
An hour later when his pocket was considerably lighter from all the women who’d come by (apparently Jiggles had spread the word that he was a tipper), the two-girl show began. Two bouncers carried out and placed a table center stage then a dark-haired woman appeared wearing a black, hooded cloak with an obvious bulge in front from the strap-on she was wearing. She pulled on a leash and out crawled a blond woman whose long hair was in pigtails and she wore a babydoll dress the likes of which a little girl would wear. Bingo. It was Chloe Franklin, aka Shady, aka Rico’s girlfriend.
Oz watched as the other woman removed her cloak and saw she was dressed in dominatrix attire, black patent leather corset and chaps, thigh high black patent leather boots. She jerked on the leash, pulling Shady to her then made her come up to her knees and suck on the dildo that jutted out from her pelvis.
Holy shit. It’d been too long for him because this was actually turning him on. “Goddamn it,” he murmured as he adjusted himself. If he didn’t think it’d totally make him feel like a skeeze, he’d go jack off in the bathroom. When Shady started touching herself as she sucked, he just couldn’t watch any more of the act, so he focused on anything but the stage.
Another stripper came by trying to talk him into a lap dance. Yeah. Just what he needed right then in his semi-aroused state. He hadn’t come in his jeans since he’d made out with Rochelle Carmichael when he was a freshman in high school and she was a senior, and he didn’t want to go there now. When he turned the stripper down, she then suggested they go to the Champagne Room. Persistent little thing, wasn’t she? At least she was keeping his attention away from the stage.
But when everyone in the club went wild, he couldn’t help but look that way only to see Shady on all fours on the table, the skirt of her dress flipped up on her ass, taking it from behind as the woman with the strap-on pounded the hell out of her. “Jesus,” he muttered, excusing himself from this latest woman who was trying to get money out of him. He pulled out another five, handed it to her then headed toward the front for a breather, the bouncer nodding at him as he went through the doors.
He stayed outside until a group of young men came out raving about the raucous act, terms like “nipple clamps,” “ball gag,” and �
��anal plug” being tossed around like nobody’s business.
Oz took a deep breath then headed back in to find and talk to Shady. He just hoped she wasn’t still on stage.
***
“So what’d Superbad do now?” Quinn asked Tilly over dinner that night.
Quinn and Tilly had been best friends since their freshman year in college when they’d met in psych class. And although Tilly had vowed not to let anyone else into her heart, she just hadn’t been able to keep Quinn out. While Tilly had been the quiet, shy one, she’d loved that Quinn had been bold and brash about, well, everything. So proving that opposites actually do attract, they’d become instant friends. They’d gotten an apartment together their sophomore year, had graduated together, and had both made their way to New York City where Quinn had continued her education at NYU and Tilly had started her photography business. Tilly had decided to live in Brooklyn, going back to her roots, and Quinn had opted for a loft apartment in Manhattan.
And now Tilly snorted. At least she could always count on her best friend to make her laugh. “He doesn’t get that I don’t want to be with him. He’s driving me crazy. Then he asks if there’s someone else, and when I tell him there isn’t, he thinks that’s an invitation for him to ask me out again. God!”
“Ah, the male ego. I tell you, it’s a thing in and of itself. Freud should’ve given it its own little category when he was dissecting the psyche.” Quinn knew what she was talking about. As a psychologist who had her own office on the Upper West Side, she’d practically heard it all. At one point, she’d taken patients of all ages, but she now specialized more in adolescents. She’d found that older people tended to be whiny and really didn’t want to be “fixed” and the little ones just kind of got on her nerves, but she’d never told anyone this but Tilly; to her, teens were just simply easier to deal with for some reason.
“I just don’t get it. I haven’t slept with him in almost six months, I don’t call him unless I have a professional question, and I all but told him today that we’re through. I might have to rent a billboard in Times Square and advertise to the entire city for him to get it. Jeez.”
Unbreakable Hearts Page 4