by Gabi Moore
For a moment, the world went white and empty, and it took a second for it to dawn on me.
I froze.
It was actually happening. Joey, the little shit I had always had a low-level disdain for, the boss’s boy a good few years my junior, the baby we all had to give special treatment… was forcing himself on me.
I snapped awake. I wasn’t going to let that happen. If it killed me I wouldn’t let him continue. Reaching deep down inside I found the energy to lash out against him and press him off of me, giving me a split second to raise up my leg and bring it square into his groin. He cried out and staggered back, bent in half, letting me dart quickly out of the corner. He grabbed my hair and halted me, but not before I had time to kick over the sculpture with my foot. It came banging to the ground.
We tumbled to the floor as I tried to shake him off. He yanked at my hair, sending tearing pain all through my scalp. My skirt was now tangled around my knees and impeding my movement, but I lurched over and managed to grab the sculpture at its heavy metal base. In the same movement, I brought the sculpture up with all my might and swung it back overhead, landing it hard down onto his skull.
His grip on my lower body instantly loosened and he recoiled back in pain. I wriggled free, stood up and raced off to get my phone. The statue still in my hands, I dialed the police number with shaking hands, not taking my eyes of his crumpled, writhing form on the floor.
“Come at me again and I’ll kill you,” I said quietly. I knew he had heard me, even though he couldn’t lift his gaze to me. He hobbled to his knees, a hand clasping at a spot on the back of his neck. He was test blinking his eyes open and closed. I had knocked the rage out of him, that’s for sure. He was just confused now, just shocked that I could hit him as hard I had.
“Fucking bitch,” he mouthed slowly.
“Hello? There’s an intruder in my house. Seventy-six Washington avenue. He’s trying to kill me. Please send help immediately,” I said in as crisp a voice as I could.
“The police? You have got to be kidding me,” he slurred.
“Get out. Now!” I hissed, this time finding my voice. I was full of adrenaline and almost daring him to come close again so I could try another blow with my newfound weapon. He was on his feet now, but clearly unsteady. I took a step away from him and raised the sculpture a little in threat.
“I saw what you did with him,” he said, sounding defeated.
“What?”
“There are cameras inside the containers too, you know. Dumb bitch.”
I swallowed hard.
The thought that this animal had been part of that night with Jack sickened me to my stomach.
“I mean, I always knew you were a bit wild, but fuck. I’ve never even heard a human being make noises like that before.”
“The police are on their way. I suggest you kindly get the fuck out of here.”
Somehow, the thought that he was jealous gave me a private little thrill. It was a twisted sense of pride that I stood before him now. Good. Let him watch, the little perv. I hope he saw just how good it was that night …and how he could never have been that.
He straightened, cracked his back and made way for the door, his hand still nursing the back of his head.
“Your days are numbered,” he said and opened the door. He didn’t know just how true his words were. After Jack took the fall, I’d be free as a bird. No more drug deals. No more intrigue. No more defending myself with a blunt object like some desperate animal in a cage.
“And that asshole will be following close behind you,” he said and slammed the door behind him.
The room seemed uncomfortably silent and empty without him in it. I collapsed down onto the floor, the sculpture dropping from my hand onto the floor, and cried. My body released and my muscles rapidly let go of all their tension, and I was suddenly and unstoppably wracked with sobs. All at once I became aware of pain all over my body. I felt aches all along my sides, on my scalp, places where my skin felt raw and torn. I hadn’t noticed how much damage he had done when we struggled together. My fingernails stung. I suddenly felt utterly wiped out.
I don’t know how long I sat and cried there for. I knew that when I stood back up, I had to keep going. That once my tears were dry, there wouldn’t be time for any more self-pity and dawdling. There was work to do, plans to make. The organization was on its last legs. Conflict from within was tearing apart the structure Angelo and his ilk had painstakingly put together over the years. And now was my chance to leave it all behind, and I wasn’t going to let that chance pass me by because I was too busy feeling sorry for myself. had given the best years of my life to this organization and I was just barely escaping with my soul intake. And if I had to endure shit like this, well, I could do a little damage on my way out, couldn’t I?
It was a pity that it had to be Jack, but tough. By the time everyone figured everything out, I’d have taken the cash I need and will be long gone. No more bullshit. Maybe I’d even get a real job. A quiet life.
I wiped my tears away and lingered on the floor for a moment, gathering my resolve. Then I stood up, straightened my back and carefully placed the sculpture back at its spot beside the fireplace. I decided I would be like this sculpture: steely and hard. but beautiful. Completely unmarred by the violence.
I sighed, downed the drink he hadn’t touched and went to the kitchen to distract myself with something to eat. Could I have actually killed him? I thought about it carefully as I dipped a carrot into some cream cheese. As I felt the cold, creamy texture warm in my mouth and melt away, I toyed with the idea that, yes, I could have. There have been plenty of others, that’s for sure. I don’t like killing. In fact, I hate it. But I wasn’t ever about ending someone’s life – it was about ensuring that I got to continue my own.
I was only halfway down the carrot when my phone rang. It was Mrs. Robinson’s number. My blood went cold to hear his voice. It could only be bad news. But it was a voice I didn’t recognize. One of his nurses? A friend?
“Angelo’s dead,” the voice said simply.
I said nothing, then hung up. I swallowed my mouthful and carefully put everything back in the fridge, one thing at a time, then steadied myself against the kitchen counter. It didn’t quite look like what I had anticipated, but this was it. This was the end of an era.
And the start of a new one.
Chapter 6 - Jack
My reflection still looked like me, at least. No matter how hard I stared into those dark brown irises, I couldn’t see that anything that had changed. And yet, everything was different. Was she feeling this, too? Or was it just me? Was I just supersensitive to the stuff?
I wasn’t exactly what you’d call straight edge, but I didn’t like being intoxicated. I didn’t like feeling out of control. But something about what had happened that night in the container was …haunting me. And now, I woke every morning with a weird hunger that nothing seemed to satisfy. I was horny, but no amount of jacking off brought me any relief. I was coming hard three or four times every morning in the shower, but by the time I had toweled off and dressed for the day I was rock hard again and unable to push thoughts of her out of my mind.
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 hair 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 sittin
g. 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.