Carve the Heart

by A. G. Pasquella

  “So you want to buy Melody’s butt scarf?”

  “Hey, man, not for me. I would take it, like, on consignment. The panty sniffers buy the scarf and then Melody and I would split the cash.”

  I turned to Melody. “And how do you feel about this?”

  Melody kept peeling off her eyelashes. “You know me, Jack. I gotta respect the hustle. But Bobby, I’ll give it to you straight. You’re one creepy-ass dude and I would never, ever go into business with you in a million, billion years. No offence.”

  Bobby’s cocaine grin was unbreakable. “Hey, none taken. Just think it over, all right? If you change your mind, you know where to find me.”

  DJ Bobby ducked out and headed back to the DJ booth. I watched him go and turned back to Melody. “Sorry about that.”

  “About what? You gettin’ all battle royale with my fans?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Well, shit, Jack. It’s just, you know, my livelihood.”

  I stayed quiet. Melody turned and looked at me. One set of fake eyelashes was gone but the other still clung to her left eyelid. “This is the part where you say, ‘Oh, have you ever thought about not stripping, maybe you could go back to school. I have an uncle who could get you a job in the fish cannery, blah blah blah.’”

  I shook my head. “I’m not going to say any of that.”

  Melody’s eyes narrowed. “But you’re thinking it.”

  I shot her a gentle smile. “I’m sure you’ve heard stuff like that in the past. But don’t project what other guys have said to you onto me.”

  “Projection, huh?” Melody turned back to the mirror and peeled off the rest of her fake eyelashes. “You come in swinging through a crowd of fans … I don’t call that projection.”

  “The way I see it, we’re in the same business.”

  Melody’s eyebrows shot up. “Oh yeah? Is there something you’re not telling me, Jack? You moonlighting on the side?”

  I shook my head. “Not like that. You provide a fantasy, I provide security. At the end of the day, we both make people feel good.”

  “We’re in the feel-good business.”

  “Yeah, exactly.”

  Another dancer, a mousy-looking brunette whose heavy makeup didn’t quite cover her bad skin, slumped over to Melody. “Hey, you got something for me?”

  “Later, okay? Later.”

  The mouse scurried off. I stared at Melody. “What was that about?”

  She arched her eyebrow. “You said it, Jack. We’re in the feel-good business.”

  “You’re selling again?”

  “Look, they’re going to get it from somewhere. My connect gets good shit. It’s clean. The girls get their shit from me, they’re not huffing bleach or who knows what the fuck else.”

  An old saying flashed through my brain: never ask a question if you don’t want to know the answer. “Are you using again?”

  “Fuck no!” Melody gave my arm a playful swat. “C’mon, man. You think I want to go back to rehab? Go through all that shit again? This is just, you know, a little side hustle. No H, just coke. No biggie. The girls party a bit, I make some extra cash, everyone’s happy.”

  I frowned. Melody stood up and took off her robe. She was already wearing clothes: a shiny pink Adidas track suit. She saw my face and laughed. “Don’t look so disappointed. You want to see me naked? You’ll see me naked again real soon.” Melody winked, tilted her face up to mine and kissed me. “I promise.”

  CHAPTER 7

  I kept my eyes open as I walked Melody to the car. No one jumped out at us from the alley. I didn’t see Fisher anywhere. I didn’t know what Anton or the rest of his crew looked like. They could be eyeballing us right now. The meeting wasn’t for a few more hours, but it was always good to arrive early, especially if there was a trap to be sprung.

  I pulled a black backpack out of the trunk of Eddie’s Camry. The keys to the car jingled as I slapped them into Melody’s palm. Her face lit up. “Aw, Jack! You remembered my birthday!”

  “Um …”

  She burst out laughing. A peal of silver bells. “You should’ve seen your face. C’mon, man. It’s not even my birthday.”

  “Do me a favour and drive the car back to Eddie’s. Stay there, would you? Have a drink, play some blackjack.”

  Melody shook her head. “Not me, man. I don’t gamble. Not after all that shit with my dad. Video poker, man. That shit got him hooked and no joke. He put two machines in his bar, but then he started playing that shit himself. Beep bleep boop and he just burned through ten thousand bucks. Shit, maybe more. Then one night he had enough. He was at the bar losing cash as usual and then he got all liquored up and took a fire axe to the terminals. I saw him do it, man. I was there with some friends from work. We’re all there celebrating Brandy’s birthday, doin’ shots, you know, and then my dad comes roaring by like some kind of hell-bear, double-gripping that fire axe up over his shoulders and then WHAMMO! He busted those machines into a million pieces.” Melody chuckled. “He lost a lot of business that night. Turns out when a big ol’ bushy-bearded biker starts swingin’ an axe around, a lot of folks run for the exits.”

  “Okay, no gambling. Just have a drink, then. It’s on me.”

  Melody stepped in close and gave me a hug. Her green eyes sparkled as she looked up at me. I could see the almost invisible freckles speckling the bridge of her nose. “You’re sweet, Jack. You want me to wait for you? What the hell, man. I don’t have anything else goin’ on tonight. I’ll wait for you.”

  “It shouldn’t take long.”

  “This is for whats-her-name?”

  “Come on, Mel. You know her name.”

  We embraced, we kissed, and then Melody drove away. I slung the black backpack over my shoulder and headed for the alley.

  I clattered up a fire escape and onto the rooftop opposite the Starlight. Crouching low, I made my way to the edge of the roof and peered over. Sunlight glinted off passing cars. I wiped sweat from my face and peeled off my dark-blue windbreaker. I unzipped my backpack and pulled out a pair of binoculars. I stuffed the windbreaker inside the backpack and then I hunkered down at the edge of the roof.

  I was four stories up. Down below, a man in a dark-blue suit was going into the Starlight. Was he a regular? Had he ever gotten a lap dance from Melody? Mel and I were fooling around, but we weren’t exactly dating. It’s not like we were “going steady.” We weren’t sitting around the malt shop sharing a chocolate malt with whipped cream and two red-and-white-striped straws. The Starlight’s door closed. I didn’t feel jealous. This was Mel’s job and she was damn good at it. She wasn’t an object, I didn’t “own” her, I had no desire to possess her and lock her away from the rest of the world like some high-grade collectible. She was a human being, fully capable of making her own decisions. I wasn’t too crazy about her dealing coke, though.

  I raised my binoculars and scanned the neighbouring rooftops. Nothing but pigeons. Man, that pigeon shit got everywhere. No one wants to go into a fancy store if their storefront is streaked with pigeon shit. I could always hang up my knives, go into window washing. I wasn’t getting any younger. I had to make a change one of these days. But not just yet.

  I scanned the street. Business as usual. On the corner, two scruffy dudes were arguing. I couldn’t hear them, but their body language said it all. Eyes bulging, mouths grimacing, hands flapping, and arms waving. That was okay. The guys you had to watch out for were the ones who didn’t telegraph their movements. The guys who could shoot you or stab you without so much as an eye blink. Fisher had killed people, I was sure of it. Anton probably had, too.

  I only killed in self-defence. At least that’s what I told myself late at night, lying in the moonlight with the shadows closing in. The booze worked for a while. Helped me sleep, helped me block out the faces of the people I had hurt and the awful things I had seen. These days, though … I would pass out and snap awake about an hour later, drenched in cold sweat, fingernails digging white crescents int
o my palms. That’s no way to live.

  I raised the binoculars again. A silver Rolls-Royce Phantom pulled up to the strip club door. The car’s big front grill gleamed like teeth. The right passenger door swung open and Fisher stepped out, unfolding his lanky legs. I was willing to bet that a few decades ago, Fisher would’ve looked out of place next to a half-a-million-dollar car. Now, however, he had gone upscale. His mirrored sunglasses and silver goatee both matched the colour of the car.

  Fisher walked around to the left-side passenger door and popped it open. I leaned forward, pressing the binoculars against my face. This was it. As long as I was betting, I was willing to bet this man was Anton. He stepped out of the Phantom and adjusted the front of his suit jacket. His suit was dark grey. His hair was black, but it looked like it was dyed. He was about a foot shorter than Fisher. His head was big and square, like the rest of him. He looked like he had been carved from a single block of granite. The strange thing was, he didn’t look cruel. He didn’t have an angry gleam in his eye or a mean curl to his lips. Anton was smiling. He looked happy to be out on the town, just another businessman going to a strip club with his buddies.

  Fisher scanned the street and then held the strip club door open for his boss. Anton walked right in as if he owned the place. Hell, for all I knew, he did.

  The driver of the Phantom zoomed away. I tucked my binoculars back into the backpack and climbed down the fire escape. I put my windbreaker back on and walked through the alley, taking my time. Breathe in, breathe out. Someone had thrown out a broken umbrella. It was half-open, five metal ribs poking straight out of a silver trash can like a hand. The umbrella looked like a drowning robot reaching out to be saved.

  I waited for a break in the traffic and then I hustled across the street. I walked a block past the club and then turned into an alley. Eddie was there sitting behind the wheel of his coal-black Lexus. He rolled down the window. “All good?”

  “There’s at least two of them: Fisher and Anton. Maybe more inside. You?”

  Eddie grinned. “All quiet on the Western Front.”

  I nodded. “See you in there.”

  Breathe, Jack, breathe. In and out. I left the alley, squared my shoulders, and headed through the doorway of the Starlight.

  The club was bustling. It was much busier than it had been at lunchtime. The music was louder, too. The mousy dancer with the bad skin was on stage doing what looked like the twist. Her bare breasts jiggled as she danced. Her breasts were huge, all out of proportion to the rest of her body. Fake tits to a stripper were like steroids to a baseball player. Enhance your performance, get that paycheque. From this distance, you couldn’t tell she had bad skin. I squeezed through the crowd toward the bar. Veronica winked at me. “Just couldn’t stay away, huh?”

  “You know me. I missed that smile of yours.”

  Her smile got wider. “You want a club soda?”

  “Yeah, sure.” What I wanted was whisky, but that would have to wait. I sipped my soda and scanned the room. I didn’t see Anton or Fisher anywhere. They were probably in one of the VIP rooms at the back, or lurking in some dark corner, plotting and planning, figuring out when to trigger their trap. Smiley Anton didn’t seem like the lurking type, though. Of course, I didn’t really know the man. I saw him smile once — so what? That didn’t mean shit.

  I took one more sip of club soda and patted the knives beneath my jacket. No doubt Anton and Fisher both had guns. I could picture Anton smiling kindly at me while he pulled the trigger. But killing me didn’t get him any closer to Cassandra. I knew that, but I wasn’t sure that Anton and Fisher did.

  Time to find out.

  I pushed off from the bar and headed through the crowd. People saw the look on my face and got the hell out of the way. The bass booming from the speakers was like being kicked repeatedly in the chest by a mule. I glanced around the room as I walked, looking for anyone who had their eyes on me. The music was making the floor tremble beneath my feet. Damn DJ Bobby, I thought. I was going to shake him by the ankles until his stash of coke fell out of his pockets. Then I was going to flush it all down the drain while he begged me to stop.

  Focus, Jack, focus.

  Tomasso loomed in front of me, a giant column of a man guarding the entrance to the VIP room. He saw me and groaned. “Oh shit. Now what?”

  “Don’t get your knickers in a twist. Just meeting some folks, that’s all.” I peered past Tomasso’s shoulder into the murk and gloom of the VIP room. Shadowy half-naked figures twisted, coming together and moving apart like the wax in a lava lamp. Men were sitting at tables with drinks in their hands and girls on their laps. I couldn’t make out any faces. “Did two guys go in here? Bald guy with a silver goatee, smiley guy in a suit?”

  Tomasso nodded. “Yeah, they’re in there. Jack …” The big bouncer reached out and grabbed my sleeve. His face was lit up with worry. “I need this job, okay? My girlfriend’s pregnant.”

  “Everything’s fine,” I lied. “Congratulations.”

  I stepped into the murk and gloom. Slowly, my eyes adjusted. Purple LED lights snaked around the room. I felt like I was inside a fish tank. I saw Fisher on the far side of the room. He tilted his chin at me and then turned to whisper to Anton. Anton stopped talking to the woman sitting next to him and looked at me. He smiled and started to stand.

  Here we go. I headed on over. Anton, still smiling, stretched out his hand. Worst-case scenarios flashed through my mind:

  I take his hand, Fisher stands up and stabs me in the heart.

  I take his hand, Anton moves in close and stabs me in the heart.

  I didn’t want to take his hand, but I did. We shook. That was it.

  “Thanks for coming, Jack. Get you a drink?”

  “Yeah. Scotch.”

  “You got it.” Anton looked at the woman sitting next to him. She was wearing a white halter top and white short shorts. Her clothes glowed purple in the LED haze. She nodded, stood up, and sashayed to the bar.

  Anton gestured toward an empty chair at the table. “Have a seat.”

  I angled my chair so I could see both Fisher and Anton. My eyes kept flicking to their hands. That was something my friend The Chief had taught me many years ago. “Always watch the hands, Jack. They can’t surprise you if you keep an eye on their hands.”

  The woman brought me my drink. I looked at it sitting there on the table, but I didn’t pick it up. I didn’t want to be poisoned. Or knocked out. Wake up in a car trunk on the way to who knows where.

  Anton kept smiling. His teeth gleamed an unearthly white beneath the purple lights. “Fisher tells me you used to work here.”

  I nodded. “I did some security work. I wasn’t a dancer.”

  Fisher grimaced. Anton burst out laughing. “I heard you were a funny guy, Jack. Cheers.” Anton picked up his own drink and held it out.

  I shook my head. “I’m not thirsty.”

  Anton squinted, the smile dropping slightly. Then he recovered and was once again the smilingest gangster in town. “You’re cautious, too. I can appreciate that. Well, let’s get right to it. We have a mutual friend. As it turns out, our mutual friend owes me money.”

  I nodded. “I’m here to work out a payment plan.”

  Anton, still smiling, turned to Fisher. “You hear that? This right here is a reasonable man.” Anton turned back to me. “My associate thought you might be less than reasonable. Don’t take it the wrong way. That’s what I pay him for. I need someone to balance out my naturally sunny disposition.”

  I waited. My glass of Scotch sat on the table, untouched. I wanted to toss it back and order twelve more. I wanted to order all the Scotch. I wanted to sink deep down into a bathtub full of Scotch and stay there until this was all over. Instead I stared Anton right in the eye. “Our mutual friend says you threatened to kill her.”

  Anton looked shocked. Either he was the best actor in the world or the shock was genuine. “That’s crazy. I don’t want her dead. I just want my money. She n
eeds to work off her debt. She can’t do that if she’s dead.”

  For a split second I pictured Cassandra dressed in Melody’s Sexy Angel costume, sitting up there in heaven on a cloud, playing poker topless against a crowd of rowdy angels.

  I nodded. “Agreed. But here’s the thing. She doesn’t want to work with you anymore.”

  Anton waved his arm. I caught a flash of his gold watch. It was tasteful, like the rest of his outfit. “She’s superstitious, like most poker players. I can understand that. She starts working with me, she has a run of bad luck. She starts thinking I’m some kind of curse. What’s the opposite of a rabbit’s foot? To her, I’m like that.”

  “You’ll get your money. But she needs her space.”

  Anton leaned back and sipped his drink. Fisher glared at me. “Freedom. That’s what we’re all striving for, isn’t it? But then, we all have our responsibilities.” Anton leaned forward, his eyes fixed on mine. “Certain commitments were made. Our friend needs to honour those commitments.”

  “You’ll get your money. But she’s not working with you anymore. The partnership is over.”

  Anton squinted. “How well do you know this friend of ours?”

  How well does anybody know anybody? Under the surface, every person is a black box stuffed with secrets.

  “Pretty well.”

  “I never threatened her life.” Anton took a sip of Scotch. “She lied to you. What you need to do is ask yourself why.”

  CHAPTER 8

  Maybe Cassandra hadn’t lied. Maybe she genuinely felt like her life was in danger. Anton had a well-practised smile, but just imagine Fisher looming over Cassandra. Of course she’d feel threatened. Yeah, but — that wasn’t what she said. She said, “He threatened to kill me.” Maybe it was just a misunderstanding, a misinterpretation. Or maybe, just maybe, Anton was right. Cassandra lied to me.