Find Me (Truthful Lies Trilogy - Book Two)

by Rachel Dunning

  Vikki puts the photo down. “You have no choice, Blaze. I can’t guarantee you which one it’s gonna be. You may very well find that it is a dead body. And that it’s over. But at least you’ll know.”

  “Or I could find Tatiana riding a blow-up doll.”

  “In the best case scenario.”

  “I think I prefer the best case scenario.”

  “You see? You’re hoping again. Which means you’re living again.”

  Yeah, and that I’m scared shitless again. But at least it ain’t Too Much anymore. It’s just a little less than that now.

  “Vikki, did you just talk to me for five minutes without an accent?”

  “Maybe.”

  I cock a suspicious eyebrow.

  She says, in a thick Russian accent, “Every artist needs gimmick, right?” Needs geemeek, rrright?

  -4-

  “So, where could he be? Your boy.”

  “Maybe at this Dino’s house? I really don’t know. How did Vlad find Xavier’s address?”

  “Papah keeps lists of dealers so that he can spot if they come to his clubs. He also keeps their home addresses on file, in case they continue to come to his clubs.”

  I stare at her.

  “What?”

  “You do realize you sound more and more like the daughter of a Russian Mafia czar the more you talk, right?”

  “Yes, I’ve admitted that already. But I really know nothing about it. I promise.”

  I laugh. “Well, I don’t know if this Dino is a dealer or not—”

  “He’s not. I had Vlad check it. Why don’t you call Deck again. Maybe he’ll answer this time.”

  “I’ve tried five times already. I’m not going to embarrass myself any more. If he wants to talk to me then he must call me.”

  “Blaze, put your pride aside. This is to stop him doing something stupid and ruining his life forever! Your romantic issues can get dealt with after that.”

  “Fine!” I call again. No answer. “Damn it.” Then, “I have an idea.” I call Trev.

  “Trev.”

  “Blaze.”

  “What’s up? You sound like the world has fallen on your shoulders.”

  Silence.

  “Trev?”

  “I lost my scholarship, Blaze. I’m packing my bags and I’m coming back to New York. It’s over. My college career is over.”

  -5-

  YouTube. The Goodbye Blue Monday bar-fight was all over it. Viral. Over three hundred thousand views of the entire thing.

  Then there was a second video: A clip of Trev’s Herculean back as he laid his fists into Dino Moretti. In the background someone mixed Gonna Fly Now—you know, the Rocky theme song. Pa-pa-paaaaaa pa-pa-paaaaaaaaaaa! In between punches and fists slamming into Dino’s pulverized mug, there are shots of Sylvester Stallone driving bloodied fists into carcasses on meat hooks and swinging his arms up at the top of the Philly Art Museum steps. Apollo Creed Wins Rematch! is the YouTube video title. That second video got almost a million hits, and it’s still getting more.

  I hear the raggedness of his voice as he speaks. “Bad publicity for the college,” he says. “And I have no leg to stand on, Blaze. Because I lost it. I really did. Anyone who says that’s self defense is fuckin dreaming. No offense to you.”

  “Trev, what does it cost for you to get your degree?”

  “Close on twenty Gs—upfront payment. And that’s excluding living costs. I keep those pretty low, but they add up.”

  “Christ. We’ll help you, Trev. I don’t know how, but we will. Deck and me—” And then it hits me. There is no “Deck and me”... “Uhm, I’ll help you.”

  “Blaze? Why did you stop midway sentence when you said Deck and you?”

  “Uhm, right, there’s a little problem...”

  I tell him. When I’m done, he says, “That fucking bastard! I’m gonna kill him!”

  -6-

  I told Trev about the “Man’s Gotta Do What a Man’s Gotta Do” thing. Not about Tatiana. First things first. Besides, the Tatiana thing is between me and Deck. This other thing is a Boys Will Be Boys thing. And Trev and Skate probably know better about that shit than I do.

  Trev says he’ll call Deck.

  -7-

  I’m afraid for Deck. I try my best not to entertain what he’s doing now. Has it gone too far already?

  But it’s not Too Much anymore.

  I can deal. Because I got my girl, and now I also got my boys. No matter what happens, I know I’ll always have them. And that’s a good thing.

  No matter what, that’ll stay a good thing.

  THIRTY-THREE

  FINDING TROUBLE

  -1-

  Declan Cox

  Night time.

  Some macho guy I am. I would have made a terrible gangster. Ten minutes of driving around “looking for Dino” (which I wasn’t really doing anyway, just pretending to, so I could really act like Mr. Tough Guy) and I realized what a total obstinate ass I was being. So then I went over to the East River, and I tossed the gat into it.

  Now I’m just driving, thinking. Mostly I’m thinking about Blaze. And how red I made her eyes. And how wildly idiotic of a moron I was to hurt her with my attitude.

  I regret it. I pull over by Pier One at the Brooklyn Bridge Park to catch my thoughts while looking over at the city’s skyline. I regret it even more when I reach into the dash to get my phone and see all her missed calls. I’d put the thing on silent so I couldn’t be called by anyone wielding The Voice of Reason, telling me to “knock it the fuck off!”

  This is bad, I think. Insanely bad. You fucked up, Deck. You fucked up big time, homeboy. You owe her. So you better start paying it back.

  I’m about to dial 2 for Blaze, when Trev calls.

  I say, “Waddup, homes.”

  He says, “Don’t you fuckin waddup homes me you dumb fuck!”

  And then he proceeds to rip me a new one. A very large new one.

  I can’t help feeling an overwhelming sense of relief that Trev is actually not here with me right now. Because I saw that YouTube Apollo Creed Wins Rematch! video—watched it just now, actually. And if I ever had doubts as to who would come out the winner in a fight between Trev and me, that settled it. Because he murdered Dino! Completely pulverized him!

  I’m grateful for it.

  I figured Dino had suffered punishment enough for his misdeeds. But that wasn’t the only thing. I also realized that losing Blaze would be the most devastating thing to ever happen to me in the entire world.

  After Trev’s done (ten minutes of searing blasts of derisive censure), he says, “So what the fuck you have to say for yourself you idiot!?”

  “Uhm, you’re right?”

  He stutters, throat rough from the shouting. “I’m—uh—what?”

  “You’re right.”

  Silence.

  “Trev?”

  “Damn fucking straight I’m right, nigga! Now where are you?”

  “Bridge Park. I was about to do some reading but—”

  “Deck, did someone drop you on your head? Don’t tell me you’re near that Tatiana slut? You know she’s trouble, homes. I thought—”

  “Trev, chill. I’m on Pier One.”

  “Are your fingers blue yet?”

  “I’m in my car, bro! It’s too damn cold outside.”

  “That’s what I figured.” Then, “CALL BLAZE FOR FUCK’S SAKE!” he clicks off, not even giving me chance to answer.

  I do call Blaze. The sadness in her voice when she answers is more painful than any chain to my head or even a knife to my side. “Deck,” she says.

  “Blaze...I...I don’t even know... I’m sorry. I...I’ll do anything. I’m just—”

  “Deck, where are you?”

  “Brooklyn Bridge Park. Pier—”

  “Brooklyn motherfucking Bridge Park!? Are you with your slut!?”

  I might not be the world’s smartest dude, but it doesn’t take me even a nanosecond to know who Blaze is talking about. And
to establish that something has gone seriously wrong between the time I last saw her and now.

  Tatiana and Trouble do start with the same letter.

  -2-

  I hear Vikki’s Russian accent tell Blaze to chill out. Then I hear Blaze’s fading scream as Vikki no doubt takes the phone from her. “Declan, I am trying very hard to give you the benefit of the doubt here. But it’s getting very difficult—”

  “Vikki! You have to believe me! Whatever that Tatiana chick has told you, it’s bullshit! Trevor will vouch for me. Vikki?”

  “Tatiana. So you know the woman’s name... We never mentioned it.”

  “Vikki, please listen to me. Of course I know her! Look, nothing happened!”

  “Declan, as I said, I give you the benefit of the doubt. But it’s difficult. I think you better get here. And quick. Because Tatiana sent us some photos. And it certainly doesn’t look like nothing happened.”

  “Photos—wh—?” And then it clobbers me like a wrecking ball.

  Oh. No.

  -3-

  The problem with trouble is it only finds you when you’re not looking for it.

  My first reaction when I see the dude at my door is that Dino has been following me. But then I see the boy’s nose. And it’s not a Roman nose; it’s a nose that’s been broken at least once. Eastern Europe.

  It looks like someone’s gone and broken that nose again recently.

  Tolek knocks with his knuckle on my window. He’s smiling, so I know he has a card up his sleeve. And I know he wants a fight. I look in my rearview and see he’s brought his two friends again. Did he find me by chance? Had he been following me? By some weird and freaking twisted turn of fate, is he in cahoots with Dino Moretti? I doubt it—Dino was always such a racist, never liked anybody who wasn’t “Pure Italian.”

  None of it matters. All that matters is that Tolek Twisted Nose is grinning his twisted tooth grin at me, and his two goon friends are behind the car—in beanies and bomber jackets. And probably wielding weapons of some kind.

  I guess I could start the car and run them over. Live to fight another day and all that shit.

  Or I could end this. Now. Like a man.

  Isn’t that what I wanted to do at the start of the night anyway?

  I smile back at Tolek, and he seems to be enjoying this, because he smiles harder. Then he looks behind my car (which is still switched off by the way, so it isn’t that viable that I slam on the gas and stomp-stomp-kablonk bounce over their asses.) He nods, and his smile grows wider still.

  That’s when I hear the smash of my rear window.

  -4-

  Probably Tolek hoped this would scare the shit out of me and make me pee-pee in my panties all the way home. For a second, I admit, I got a shock and a fright: Loud smashing sounds of glass tend to do that. Until you gather your wits and see what caused it. Which, when the adrenaline is chugging like a locomotive, takes fractions of a second.

  And the next emotion up the scale is not fear. It’s a deadlier one. An invigorating one. And one I’ve been dying to get pumping into my fists since Dino took that sucker shot at me.

  It ain’t flight. It’s fight.

  Which is exactly what I do.

  Because I’m angry. Yippee ki-yay.

  -5-

  I guess poor Tolek here gets a little more than he bargained for, because the poor bastard is at the short end of one lousy damn week. I mean, lousy. My father is killed, Tolek here tries to threaten my girlfriend, Dino damn near kills me, Blaze is dragged onto the ground by some stoned dealer-friend. Are you seeing this?

  There’s only so much frustration sex can get rid of. And I ain’t had any in quite some days anyway.

  I slam my door against his smug face! This brings me instant gratification, because Tolek had been laughing, looking at the back of my car, at the friend of his who just slammed into it with a bat or whatever it was. The slamming of the door against his most unattractive face smudges some blood on my window. Good! That means I either cut his lip or broke his nose. Again.

  He stumbles back, hands immediately to his face. He’s crouching. I could just piston a knee up into his nose and make the damage more permanent, but I see the bat go way up on my left and start heading for me.

  I fly over Tolek’s crouched back and land on a roll!

  The wooden bat slams the ground and cracks. (Ain’t no Louisville Slugger that’s for sure.) The third guy now starts running from behind the car toward me. Tolek straightens. I’m on the ground. I flip around and hook my foot around Tolek’s shin, bringing him to the floor with a thunk.

  The third dude from the back (also with a bat), raises it and slams it down in my direction. I roll. Poing! It hits the concrete next to me. He raises it again. I roll! But before it hits the ground, I flick a hand behind his ankle and pull!

  He falls back and— Ouch! On his coccyx! He’s wailing! His hand goes to behind his ass. The aluminum bat has fallen to his left! (Friend One’s bat was wood, and it has some seriously jagged edges on it now because it broke as it hit the ground.) Tolek is getting up. I fumble forward for the aluminum bat and grab it! Above me—jagged bat heading down. I flip onto my back and slap the wooden bat away with my aluminum one!

  Tolek’s up now. I swing the bat again, at his legs. He falls! Wailing! Grabbing his shin. “Oh, god, I sorry! Stop! I sorry!”

  His friend is not so sorry—the one with the jagged bat—because he starts charging for me.

  That’s the easiest to handle: I drop my own bat so I have both my hands free. I swing back and use his motion to rip his bat from his hands and send him flying into the dead rosebushes.

  I have a moment now to gather my wits:

  Coccyx boy—he’s out. No threat there.

  Tolek, still grabbing the shin. Not fully out, but no threat.

  And, on my left, Jagged Bat Guy (now with no bat). He’s still strong and willing. But hesitant now that I’ve got his toy—jagged bat in my hand.

  I could leave it as it is. One busted up shin—not even broken. A banged up coccyx (probably broken). Lesson learned.

  But it’s not. Because this bullshit needs to stop!

  I point the jagged bat over at Tolek. “Get up. Tell your boyfriends to take a walk by the water. You and me are gonna have it out—man to man.”

  I see his hesitation. He’s scared, I think. The dude is a big guy, but he’s scared.

  Too bad. Don’t pick fights you can’t handle on your own. “GET UP!” I shout. Tolek does, grimacing. “Call your boys off.”

  You know what he does? He spits on me! Actually spits on me! The real gooey kind. It goes in my eye and over my nose and... Urgh!

  It’s all I can do not to lose my cool.

  Tolek calls Mr. Rosebush over and says some bullshit to him in Polish. Probably, Fuck dis guy up! Or Dis not over.

  I’m ready for the dude. I am. And I don’t even intend to use the dangerously sharp half-bat in my hand.

  But we both hear screeching tires. I see bright white spotlights. Huge ones. Like the kind you find on a Dodge Ram. A red Dodge Ram to be precise.

  Skate gets out. “I see you don’t need me, Deck.”

  My eyes are locked on Mr. Rosebush. “Not true, homes. Keep your eyes on this bozo here. I want a little one on one with Tolek Twisted Tooth here.”

  Skate saunters over. “No problem.” He spares an indignant look at Mr. Coccyx on the ground. Then moves over to Rosebush Man; stands in front of him. “You heard?” he says. “One on one. That means Deck and your Skew-Nose friend, OK? Now stay put or what you saw on YouTube ain’t gonna be even close to the amount of punishment I’m about to inflict on your ass.”

  Now, if they’d only listened. But, alas, they didn’t. I can’t say I regretted it.

  Tolek maybe did. Rosebush certainly did.

  -6-

  Coccyx Boy was out for the count. Just forget him. So we did get our One on One. Rosebush took on Skate (dumb move, dumb dumb move.) And Tolek got brave and swung one
—yes, one—punch in my direction.

  It was over far too quick. But it did the trick. I felt much less frustrated at the end.

  Midway through Tolek’s swing through mid-air I swung my own fist—precisely timed. (I felt like I was Neo in the Matrix, watching a slow bullet fly past.)

  My fist connects with Tolek’s face, and just like an action replay, I hear him in warped sounds say, “OOOOOOHHHHHHH OOOOOOOMMMMMPPPFFFFFF!”

  He falls.

  Meanwhile, Rosebush’s stomach steps into one debilitating cracker of an uppercut from Skate. Then another hook into the dude’s ribs. “Urgh-Oompf” he cries. Then he gurgles.

  And he falls.

  Skate’s pumped, big time. But he holds back. Rosebush is groaning on the ground. Tolek is feeling his face, blood dripping from his nose. Not a lot, just a trickle.

  I decide I need to send a very clear message here. So I kneel down next to him, and I hold his face against the concrete. I hear the crunch of his nose just as he wails a screaming howl of ragged agony.

  I let go a little. I make my message simple, because simple messages are best: “Blaze is mine. But even if she wasn’t, I would still not let you anywhere near her. So no matter what happens between her and me, if I ever see you near us, I’ll...” I push down. Crack. He howls. I lift. “...Well, I think you get the point.” I push down. “Do you get the point?”

  He nods, as best he can with my hand crushing down on his cheek.

  I could spit on him now. I could. (It doesn’t help that he looks so much like Dino, doesn’t help him at all.)

  But I don’t.

  I tell him he’s paying for my rear windshield, and he doesn’t say anything. I don’t think he can afford it. Doesn’t matter. I’d rather have him disappear from our lives than to have to deal with him again.

  I scrape the remaining glass from the rear windshield with the aluminum bat. Then I throw it and the two halves of the other one into the back of the truck. Skate and I touch fists and bump shoulders. “How did you know to get here?”