by Gabi Moore
It wasn’t supposed to go like this. I don’t like being intoxicated, but even more than that, I don’t like being infatuated. Of all the pitiable, out-of-control feelings this life has to offer, being hung up on a female is one of the worst. I didn’t like it.
And yet, my body was on fire.
It had to have been history’s shortest drug trip, yet the effects lingered, right on the edge of my vision, just on the tip of my tongue, just a little out of the reach of all my senses, teasing me. I got thirsty a lot. I slept hard and deeply. It was as though I was hungry for sensation, all sensation. And now I had to sit through a stuffy mafia funeral and pretend that I wasn’t fantasizing about fucking every woman there.
I fixed my tie, took a deep breath and looked at my reflection again. I certainly didn’t seem like a sex crazed drug addict. For now at least. I wanted to try that strange glinting powder again. Just a little. But more worrying than that, I wanted her again. I wanted that melting. That floating, hot, gooey sense of flowing right into her, not just my cock but every part of me, into every part of her…
I cleared my throat, grabbed my keys and left. Funerals were lousy at the best of times, but this was one event I didn’t want to linger at. Mrs. Robinson, the grand kingpin himself had fallen, and I didn’t care much to stick around for the scrabbling that came afterwards to rearrange the hierarchy. As long as there were assholes and the people they wanted to control, there’d be a need for men like me. Who the particular assholes were at any one time seemed like a minor detail at this point in my life. And more than that, I was on a mission: one, get my hands on more “Pink Kisses” and more importantly, two, find a way to shove my cock into Evie again.
The funeral was smaller than I expected. Being the man he was, he had made so much effort to insulate himself, to hide behind layer after layer of decoys. There was nothing about him in the papers, and only a few knew about his death, even then knowing only that the notorious “Mrs. Robinson” had died and not much else.
In a way, we had all seen it coming. I had heard the rumors that he was sick. Even a kooky conspiracy that Pink Kisses wasn’t really a drug operation but a personal one, and that he wanted it for his own use, to fix his rare condition. Whatever. I had delivered the package to him a few days prior, and even then it seemed like his people were eager to get a hold of it. I could see why. They were desperate.
The day was overcast and stuffy, like someone had placed a smoky glass lid over it. I parked my car and got out, then scanned the neatly manicured grass and distant row of expensive vehicles ringing the yard. A few people in black had already congregated under some old twisted trees. I locked the car, straightened my jacket and headed over. I played it cool, but there was only one person I wanted to see.
I didn’t recognize anyone. They were all quietly wealthy people, clearly. The woman were obviously used to going to funerals, and were dressed impeccably, little ornamental veils hanging over their eyes and the corners of their tight little court shoes digging into the soft ground underneath. The coffin itself was too glossy, too elaborate. I wasn’t sure why Joseph Valenti had invited me, but it seemed rude to turn him down. On the ground, though, what had felt like an honor suddenly felt a little like a trap. I couldn’t explain why, but something felt off. I would just pay my respects and get the fuck out of here as soon as possible.
I climbed the gentle hill and came to stand among the crowd, nodding my greetings to the unfamiliar faces and then looking over at the coffin and the heavy spray of white lilies that had been laid over the top.
“You got a lot of nerve showing your face around here…”
I turned to find the source of the voice but saw only a wall of severe faces, looking at nothing in particular. Even the priest seemed to have noticed me, and was casually sending glances my way as he paced around his podium and waited for the other guests to arrive.
I had heard from another hitman that the cause of death was still unknown. But he had been sick for a long time. As far as I knew, everyone was more or less waiting for the old man to shuffle off, and it was just a question of whether that took two weeks or two years. But now it was clear that there was likely more to this story than I had been told.
I strained my ears to overhear any talk but people were solemn and silent. Everyone turned to watch a new car wind up the drive. I followed their gaze and watched as the man I knew as Joey Valenti got out of the car with several bodyguards and a miserable looking woman in a skin tight grey dress. Disappointed that it wasn’t Evie, I lost interest.
By the time this posse had made their way over the hill, the priest was gearing to get going with the service. The hairs on the back of my neck stood on end as Joey positioned himself behind me. As the priest droned on and on, I felt him lean close and whisper into my ear.
“There are a few things we need to discuss, Jack,” he said softly. “Hang back when the funeral’s done.”
Every muscle in my body stiffened but I stood my ground and watched as the polished wood sunk deep down into the earth. My heart was in my throat as the service ended and people began to talk quietly amongst themselves. An elderly woman was sobbing bitterly amongst some tired looking younger women who were trying to soothe her. I knew better than to expect a promotion at a time like this. But then, what did I expect? Evie was nowhere to be found. That right there was all I needed to know that something was up.
The service ended and the crowd dissipated but Joey and his men remained, all of them standing somber in their black suits with carnations poked into the lapel. I didn’t know much about the guy, except that every time I had met him, he seemed badly overdressed. Like he was just a kid playing dress up with dad’s ties. A guy who clearly took himself very, very seriously.
I watched as the women picked over the ground in their heels and climbed back into their cars one by one.
I waited.
Some thugs I didn’t recognized took a few steps towards me, their eyes planted to that spot where their leader had been laid to rest. Maybe they suspected foul play and wanted me to rough someone up. I didn’t know.
I had barely opened my mouth to pay my respects when one of the men came at me, one meaty fist pummeling my side and the other following, delivering a solid blow to my left temple. I crumpled down to the grass, ears ringing, then sprung back up ready to defend myself.
“So this is the little shit that wants to shake things up? Do you have any idea of how much trouble you’re in, asshole?” one of them said in a thick accent.
I raised my hands and took a step away from them.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I said.
“You pull a stunt like that, you get the shit beat out of you,” said another, and he took a full swing at me, shattering his fist into my jaw and sending me reeling again. This time I fought back, though. In the split second it took him to pull back his fist again I had swung out with two punches of my own, hitting him square in the nose.
The others descended down on me and soon I found myself on the floor again, kicks and punches coming from every direction as I struggled to stand. A hard boot tip flew violently into my ribcage and sent ripples of pain all though me. I tried to speak but the wind had escaped my lungs. I flipped over onto my side but the abuse came raining down onto my exposed spine now, the same kicks landing down on my kidneys. I spluttered and fought back, springing up and getting a few of my own in, but I was badly outnumbered.
A trickle of blood fell into my eye and blurred my vision, so that I couldn’t see one of them tackle me from behind and pull me back down for more. There were at least six of them. Unless I could get away, I was sure I’d be pulverized to death within a minute.
“Cut it out guys,” came a voice from somewhere to my left.
Mercifully, the rain of boots and fists stopped. The ring of thugs around me parted and let some of the sun shine down onto my twisted and mangled body. Peering down over me came his face: Joey Valenti, looking calm and unruffled, his hai
r slicked right back off his waxy face.
“The fuck is all this about?” I moaned and tried my hardest to roll myself over to my side and get up. My ribs felt like a thousand loose shards of broken pottery rattling around inside me. I felt myself gurgling at the end of each labored breath.
“You fucking betrayed the organization,” came a voice from behind Joey. Joey ignored this and continued to look down at me, not with pity, but like he was just processing the best way to hurt me next.
“I don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about. I never betrayed anybody.” I felt like even my voice had been beaten, and came out of my mouth all bent and wonky.
“Don’t fucking lie, you piece of shit, we know it was you,” came the same disembodied voice.
“That what was me?” I said and managed to come to sitting. I saw the blood on my knuckles.
“You killed him. You killed him and now you have the balls to pitch up here?”
“Kill him? You’re crazy.” I staggered properly to my feet, and stood teetering to see Joey looking right at me, like he took pleasure in seeing me try to balance upright after the beating I took.
“You want some more, buddy?” came the voice from behind.
“Enough.”
Joey raised his hand and smiled at me, and the goons grumbled behind him, hungry for more blood.
“It wasn’t him,” Joey continued, in a perfect businessman voice.
The grumbling behind him intensified.
“Then why’d we have to beat him up?”
“Oh, don’t worry, he deserved every second of that. But he didn’t kill Mrs. Robinson. You’re dismissed.”
“Sir…”
“Dismissed.”
The goons disappeared and went off grumbling to the cars, but I could see out the corner of my eye that they had merely propped themselves against the cars and were watching us keenly, should their fists be needed later on.
“Somebody murdered your father?” I said weakly.
He laughed.
“You’re a little slow on the uptake, huh? I’m beginning to see what she sees in you, at least,” he said and took a look all the way down my body and then up again.
“I don’t understand.”
“Yes. He was murdered, to answer your question. And you were the one that delivered tainted batch to us, the batch you knew my father would use personally. He died of a seizure, Joey. Do you know what that even looks like? Do you have any idea how crazy he went?” It was just him and I now, alone. I began to wonder if Evie was safe.
“I was going to kill you,” he said plainly, “but as it turns out I now have information that you were set up.”
The thought that popped into my mind was so ugly I staggered a little, my vision blurring. He reached out and grabbed my forearm, helping me back up again. If my knuckles weren’t stinging so badly, I might have taken a swipe at that stupid grin on his face.
“We know who was responsible, though, and I think you do too. And if you don’t want another ass-kicking like the one you just got, you’re going to help us put everything right.”
He released his grip on my arm and gave it a friendly pat.
“It’s OK, buddy, you’ve been played. It happens to the best of us. But you’re going to make it right now, aren’t you?”
I said nothing.
“Attaboy. Now go get yourself cleaned up, you look like shit. I’ll send someone over to get that suit replaced, how about that?” he said and sneered at the blood stains all down the white front of my shirt and splattering down onto my trousers.
He smiled, walked off and joined the other goons, who climbed in the car and were soon gone down the drive. I was left with nothing but the sickening thump of my own heart in my ears, and blinding pain coming from every part of my body.
Evie.
She had betrayed me.
I stood alone for a moment, trying to force my shocked mind to stay in one place. I was framed. She had cut the powder with something…
But hadn’t we tried some ourselves? My mind raced. She had to have done it after we were in the container together. My heart sunk. Back at her apartment then. I had passed out. She must have done something then… She had put it in my hands and sent me straight into a set up, knowing full well that I’d take the fall. My jaw tightened. Like the idiot I had sworn I would never be, I had fallen for the cheapest, most embarrassing trick in the book. I had been fooled, and by some ghastly whore in pink lipstick and leather.
Of course she wasn’t a whore. No. She was different. I glanced at the grave then turned on my heel to hobble back down to my car. It was worse than that though. I had seen something in her. I had felt it. Didn’t that mean anything to her? Didn’t that sweet, transcendent moment we shared that night mean to her what it did to me? Had they set her up somehow?
I piled my beaten body into the driver’s seat one wincing limb at a time. No. No… she had used me, the evidence was as obvious as the raw ache all along my spine. I had been an idiot once, but I wouldn’t let it happen again. I would take her out, plain and simple. This was personal now.
And I would make her pay.
Chapter 7 - Evelyn
A middle-aged guy with his two daughters ambled across the park, an ice cream in each hand. I could fuck him, I thought. I could bend over in front of him and just let him have me, right there in broad suburban daylight …he wouldn’t even have to put his ice creams down. There was a pair of young guys with skateboards, too. I could fuck both of them, together, and teach them a thing or two. Or what about him? The guy reading a book on the park bench? I could throw that book straight in the trash, straddle him and have him gushing cum into me within a few minutes flat, I knew I could…
The rhythmic slapping of my feet on the tarmac came to a stop and I bent over, hands on knees, gasping for breath. It was like I couldn’t get enough air. I stood there for a moment trying to gather myself, sweat pooling in my running gear and the pads of my feet ringing from the five miles I had already put them through. I paused and tried to make sense of the weird sensations I couldn’t ignore anymore. I sucked in a few gulping breaths and waited for my heart to still. It was like the air was delicious.
Now, I had heard that women could sometimes get a little …frisky when they were pregnant. I knew to expect the effects of extra blood flow pumping to the nether regions, my body ripe and coursing with all the new hormones but, well, I hadn’t expected it to be this intense. I felt a little like an addict. But the things that got me off were tiny: the touch of a breeze against my naked neck, how the blue in the sky started out pale and deepened the higher up you looked, the smell of grass and soil on the air…
I straightened and carried on running. Maybe this is just what it felt like to be alive. To work a job that didn’t eat your soul and with regular, kind people who wanted a quiet life just like you did. As the little one grew in me, I grew on the outside, too. I could be something different. A civilian. A contributing member of society. A mother.
But as I ran something else popped into my head.
Him.
Jack.
The very night I had heard that Angelo died, I packed a small bag and left for good. I hadn’t heard anything from anyone since, and didn’t expect to. I had severed all ties. I was nearly 2000 miles from all that mess and I liked it that way. No more secret phone lines. No more looking over my shoulder. No Mrs. Robinson, no Joey, nothing.
Just me, my neat little admin job and the prospect of the months ahead where I’d work out at the community gym, decorate the nursery, bake sourdough… and relax. They wouldn’t find me even if they knew to look. Besides, half of them wanted Angelo gone anyway; the problem wasn’t that I had killed him; it was that I had taken that opportunity away from his asshole of a son. The money pile I had wedged out of their various accounts was so miniscule, and one I’d been gathering and hiding away for so long that I was sure nobody would even notice it.
I picked up the pace.
I was
done with all of that, though. It was a real pity, sure, but whatever. I hadn’t expected to end up liking Jack as much as I did, but sometimes things don’t go to plan. I still dreamt of him, sometimes, and the way I could, just for that moment, stare right up into his eyes like they were two tiny galaxies, like they were endless, dimensionless, just going on and on forever…
I turned the corner and made my way back to my apartment. It was a dump, relatively speaking, but a palace for me. When you’ve been living like I have for so long, the strangest things can feel like luxury. I couldn’t shake his face, though. His eyes. I found myself wondering often what he did when he realized what had happened. Sure, I felt guilty. Really guilty. But what could I do now?
Suddenly a stab through me stopped me in my tracks and I paused again, hand outstretched on my belly and bent forward and grimaced. In my stranger nightmares, I wondered if the baby would somehow be affected. If I’d be in the ER one day, giving birth, having to stare down into its little eyes again and seeing that they went on and on like galaxies too…
I shook my head and decided to go for a brisk walk home. No, it wasn’t pregnancy hormones that were messing me up; it was that goddam stuff we took. I hadn’t been the same since. I was wired. It’s like my body woke every morning with only one imperative: find and fuck him again. Stupid, huh?
I picked up the pace again as I saw my front door but was too exhausted to break out into a full run again. I dug out my keys, quietly let myself in and immediately noticed something different.
The smell.
I couldn’t explain it, but something smelt… wet? Maybe damp. I froze and guided my nose around the entrance hall a little like a jaguar in the forest. Maybe the house had mold or something. I made a mental note to look into it and kicked off my shoes.