by Gina LaManna
A funny look came over Anthony’s face. I quieted my laughs and did my best to stand straight. I thought I was doing a pretty good job, but Anthony’s hands didn’t leave my waist. In fact, I was standing closer to him than ever, my pelvis brushing against his sweatpants.
“I’m sorry I’m getting you all wet,” I said, staring down but doing nothing.
One of Anthony’s hands came up and brushed lightly over the top of my breast – which, in his defense, was on a decent display in my skimpy suit. I got tingly all over and almost lost my balance again.
Anthony pulled me roughly closer and put one hand near the nape of my neck. He whispered against the side of my head, just above my ear. “Doll, you don’t know wet.”
And just then, I was pretty sure I’d like to find out.
“Now get dressed.” He offered me his arm like a gentleman, and I pouted a little bit.
His face didn’t change, but he did tilt my chin up with his hand as he marched me to the locker room like a prisoner.
“You need to sober up, and we need to talk,” Anthony said.
“About what?” I asked. “Are you finally gonna tell me how you know everything about my love life and why you were trying to kill me?”
He sighed. “I wasn’t trying to kill you. But yes, it’s time you get some answers. Now go.”
I stumbled into the locker room while he watched me go from down the hall.
“Hustle,” he commanded.
“You’re not my trainer anymore. I’m firing you,” I yelled back.
“You can’t fire me – I’m working for free.”
I yanked a random towel from a hanger and covered my body with a dramatic flourish. “Then you don’t get any more of this.”
I turned and flounced around the corner, sneaking a quick glance behind me. I thought I’d seen a ghost of a smile flicker across his face, but by the time I peeked, it was gone, his arms were crossed, and we were back to business.
I stood under the hot shower for a prolonged period of time, half to cool myself down from the encounter and half because I really like showers. When a male voice called “Maintenance” into the doorway, I yelled back, “Occupied.”
I closed my eyes and infused my hair with sudsy water. It was a delicious experience, the coconut scent mixed with the thoughts of a steamy Anthony and the warm water heating me to the core – for a moment I could believe I was on a tropical island.
Except the wonderful scent came to a sudden end and the smell of alcohol tickled my nose. I opened my eyes to two burly men in janitor style grey jumpsuits. One of them was holding a rag drenched with something, probably where the crisp scent originated from. Their intention became clear moments too late as one of them held my arms and the other held the rag to my mouth. All of the sudden, I remembered the name of that scent.
Chloroform.
Oh, damn, was my fleeting thought as the world blacked out.
Chapter 21
I came to in a sudden jolt of movement, twitching awake as if in a bad dream that I mostly couldn’t remember. There’d been some jostling, a few slaps to my face and now excruciating pain in my wrists. I hadn’t realized I’d been bound, and when I’d jerked awake I’d twisted my wrists into odd angles against hard, metal material. I glanced upwards, craning my neck backwards and saw a leopard print set of handcuffs strapping my left wrist to a bed post and a ball of yarn securing my right arm to the other bedpost.
I was still wearing my skimpy swimsuit, which was only a little damp now, and I wondered how much time had passed. The bedspread had a wet outline in the shape of my body. I closed my eyes and blinked them a few times to get my bearings. The room was an explosion of pink and frills, as if the girliest monster had vomited all over the place. There was a fuchsia rug that was fuzzy and thick, lamps all around with various shades of red and pastel shades and bulbs. The trim around the outskirts was glittery paint and over the bed to which I lay strapped was a pink, gauzy netting draping down the sides.
I would’ve loved this place if I was three years old, had dreams of becoming a princess, and was not strapped hostage to the bed frame. As I was neither three-years-old, especially feminine, or free to move as I pleased, I hated it. My stomach was still queasy from whatever I’d been knocked out with, and the brightness of this place was only making the champagne from earlier bubble in my stomach. Not in a pleasant way.
I was alone in the room and quickly started twisting the hand tied with yarn to see if I’d be able to wriggle out of the makeshift bondage. I got nothing for my efforts except a beautiful red bracelet around my wrist where skin used to be.
Just as I started working on the handcuffed wrist, the door opened and Vadim entered. He looked shorter and uglier than usual, his squashy nose a reddish purple, his arm frozen in some sort of Frankenstein posture. Then I remembered Meg had shot him and he’d probably been bandaged up pretty solid. Served him right.
I did my best glare at Uncle Vadim – though I needed to stop calling him that, or it’d slip out unknowingly one of these times.
“Where is it?” he asked.
I wriggled around and flapped my feet, but the only good that did was dig my arms further into their restraints. Instead, I tried to get enough saliva gathered up in my mouth to spit at him, but I had a terrible case of dry mouth, as if I’d just eaten an unripe persimmons. How did they manage to spit under these circumstances in the movies?
“Tell me.” Vadim walked close and narrowed his eyes. “Beech.”
“Beaches are nice,” I said. “I’d like to be on one right now.”
“On a beech?” His eyes widened at the prospects. “Trina.”
“No, not her.” I rolled my eyes.
“Right, right.” Vadim stroked his chin as if he expected to grow an evil beard instantaneously.
Trina’s presence was obvious before she arrived, the smoke rings floating though the door ahead of her.
“Never mind,” Vadim said, his eyes not turning towards his Russian hooker. “She change her mind.”
Trina shrugged and plopped herself down on a beanbag chair, the fabric also unsurprisingly a flushed pink. It matched Trina’s painted on cheeks, and was slightly less shocking than her cotton candy colored lips.
“Is fine,” Trina said. “I not interested, anyway.”
“You’re not my type of beach,” I said.
Trina had the dignity to look offended.
“That’s right,” I added. “I prefer bigger beaches. I like myself miles of beach.”
Vadim’s eyes were bugging out of his head and I could almost hear his mind clicking through thoughts about other uses for me.
“I’m kidding,” I said to him. “I’m not actually into beaches.”
“Stop messing.” Vadim furrowed his brows. “Tell me where it is.”
“Where what is?” I asked. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“How you say…” he turned to Trina, who blinked a few times in response. With a low growl, he turned back. “The drugs.”
“You need to explain to me what you’re talking about.” I nodded at my hands. “It’d help if you could remove these.”
“No. Not happening. Your fat friend not here to save you today,” he said.
“She’s not fat. She’s large-structured.”
“You no know where is the good stuff?” He frowned at Trina, but kept his shifty eyes on me.
“No, I was looking for it. I was sent here to find it – so if you don’t have it, then I’m royally screwed. And I’m not happy about it. I hoped you stashed it.”
“The beech is too late,” Trina said to Vadim. Rings of smoke framed her words. “She’s stupid. Behind about nine steps, they say.”
“What is she talking about?” I glared at Vadim, who was staring right at Trina’s chest, as if it were her breasts that had spoken. “Loser, she has a face,” I said. Trina looked up at me. Her smooth face semi-crinkled in what I guessed was shock. Then she shrugged. But she gazed
at me now in a different way than before; almost as if she didn’t want to kill me.
“I see, I see,” he said. “Yes, she is very slow. Makes sense. I thought smart, but I was wrong.”
I cleared my throat and raised my eyebrows.
“I had the good stuff, but you missed it. It was stolen from me weeks ago.” Vadim paced back and forth. “And I want it back.”
“What? That’s not fair. It’s not yours. Plus, who has it now?” My mind raced – had I been on a wild goose chase the whole time? Or had I just uncovered the next obstacle in my never-ending first assignment?
“Maybe I tell you if you promise to help me find it.” Vadim pulled a knife from his belt and leaned over the bed, resting the knife against my chest. I dared not move; the end of that sucker glistened and shone with menace.
“Pr-prom-promise,” I gasped, trying to breathe more evenly than I ever had before.
“Tell her,” Trina said. “You’ll kill her anyways.”
And I hated her again.
“Yes, you’re right.” Vadim nodded. “But not until she helps me. Maybe if she finds it, she lives.”
“Dealio,” I said. “No problemo.”
Vadim cocked an eyebrow. “So the Luzzi shipment came in and my men took the cocaine.”
“Who’s your men,” I asked. “Andrey?”
Vadim let a low whistle escape his lips. “Andrey, Andrey, Andrey. He was a part of the team, but he was a disgrace. No, they were led by Michael. Nobody suspected Michael because he looks Italian.”
“Isn’t Michael Italian?” I asked.
“Of course not. Michael works for any team that pays him right.”
My jaw hung open. I’d kissed him, invited him to a family meal, baked him cookies, albeit runny and burnt. And he’d lied about being Italian? “Oh, that bastard.”
Vadim smiled. “Yes, he has you, how you say, wrapped around his thumb?”
“Not exact- okay, yes. Around his thumb, which I would like to stick up his ass. After Michael and his team, including Andrey, nicked the coke, what happened?”
Vadim frowned. “That’s where things become blurry and complicated. Michael took the good stuff to a safe location – alone. Nobody from the team knew where it went.”
“Well, except Michael,” I pointed out.
“Yes, but you see instead, we gave a fake bag of the good stuff to Andrey for safekeeping. It was flour. We knew there was a mole in our middle-”
“Midst-”
“-and we wanted to find out who it was. We thought giving Andrey a fake bag and making it obvious that he had it would make the mole try to break in to steal it. You see, the mole was talking to the police, but our policeman – er, our friend, said that the police wanted physical proof that the mole was real and legit.”
“And you figured the decoy good stuff would be proof enough for the mole and the cops, and that he’d try to steal it.”
“Yes, exactly.” Vadim scratched his balding noggin. “But then nobody stole it. After Andrey was killed we went to the location, and is untouched. It’s all there. But just recently I hear Michael say somebody took a portion of the good stuff. The real good stuff.”
“Do you know where Michael kept it?” I asked.
“No, I don’t want to know. Michael and I are same level, business wise. I no question him – is disrespectful. He is – how you say? Freelancer. He no work anymore if I mini-manage.”
“Micro-manage,” I corrected. “Makes sense. That’s annoying. I hate when people do that.”
“Yes, yes,” Vadim said. “Michael thought you stole it. He said you are only person who knows where it is.”
“What?” I gaped in sheer awe. “You think if I knew where it is I’d be chasing you, lying here in my swimsuit? I think not.”
Vadim paced back and forth. “Yes, I agree is weird.”
“She’s not lying,” Trina added. “She don’t know.”
Vadim nodded thoughtfully. “So then Michael, does he lie?”
What I wanted to say was: Uh, duh. What I actually said was, “Most likely.”
“But I don’t understand.” Vadim sat on a fluffy pink stool and sunk his head into his hands. The lights from a nearby makeup mirror amplified his shininess. “Why? He make lots of money on this job. And he never work again if he steals.”
“How much good stuff was there?” I asked.
“A lot.” Vadim looked up in surprise. “Lots and lots. A gazillion.”
“You know, that’s not like, a real measurement…” I trailed off. “You know what? That’s a shit-ton of good stuff.”
“Yes.” Vadim turned to walk towards the door. “I need to find Michael.”
As if in an answer to his question, the door swung open and Michael stood there, arms crossed, a gun dangling from his waist band, a knife in his hand.
“Michael! I was just go to look for you,” mumbled Vadim.
“So I heard,” Michael said. “Here I am.”
Vadim cleared his throat and puffed his chest out a bit. He tilted his neck back and forth, but it refused to crack. “She knows not where the good stuff is. She didn’t steal it. So who did?”
“Are you accusing me?” Michael took a step into the room. His voice was soft and scary. He approached the bed where I lay, trying my best not to shiver with nerves. Every time I breathed I was uber aware of the knife moving up and down on my chest.
Michael grabbed the hilt of the knife, and for a second I panicked, thinking he was going to push it right between my ribs. Probably sensing the panic in my eyes, he gave me a small wink. “Don’t scare the girl.” Michael picked up the knife and set it on the bedside – out of my reach, but at least it wasn’t threatening to puncture my lungs at the next second.
I kept my gaze on him. Was he here to save me? Or kill me? It was a strange feeling being surrounded by a room of potentially evil people, wondering who wanted to kill you the most at any given second.
“No, I’m simply asking.” Vadim was clearly trying to keep his composure. He was obviously intimidated by Michael, and for good reason – Michael’s expression was unreadable.
“Well it wasn’t me, so if it wasn’t her, who could it be?” Michael asked.
Vadim audibly gulped. “I don’t know.”
“Me neither. Maybe she told somebody?” Michael turned towards me, and I suddenly doubted his wink had been friendly. Maybe they’d all shoot each other and I’d walk out of here a happy camper, I told myself. One could dream.
Michael kissed my forehead, and I was once again conflicted. He whispered against my ear, “Don’t you worry. It’ll be over fast.”
“Uh, okay,” I said, wondering exactly what would be over, hoping very strongly that he wasn’t referring to my life.
“Think hard, Vadim. If it wasn’t her, then who could it be? Your precious Andrey? No, no. You didn’t trust him. Which is quite sad, actually. Since he managed to keep that fake load of flour safe til the day he died, did he not?”
Vadim’s eyes got large. “You killed Andrey for no reason! It’s you, you asshole!”
Michael’s eyes darkened for a second.
Vadim lunged for the knife on the table, but before he got to the foot of the bed two bullets hit his chest and he sank to the floor. I couldn’t see anything, but I didn’t hear movement and the chances of him being alive were slim to none. Probably the same chances I had of leaving this place. My stomach felt uncomfortably queasy, and I nearly upchucked whatever I had inside. But I refrained.
Michael lazily turned his gun to Trina.
“Stop,” I said.
Her eyes swiveled to me. Her big, blue irises didn’t reveal much emotion, but I chalked it up to a difficult life. She didn’t deserve to die.
“She’s a beach,” I said. “She didn’t hear anything important. Just let her go. Who’s she gonna tell? Trina, can you keep your pie hole shut?”
“Yes. Pie hole shut.” She nodded, still smoking.
Michael flicked his gun at th
e door and Trina stood and wobbled out of the pinkish room.
“You’ve got a kind streak in you, huh? Unfortunate.” He surveyed me.
“Please don’t kill me. We made out,” I offered weakly.
“Also unfortunate,” Michael said.
“Hey, now. I’m not that bad.”
“Just not that good.”
I opened my mouth in protest. “Oh, you asshole. I’ve never had any complaints, and I know how to not fuck up every date I go on,” I said hotly. “It’s no wonder you’ll be single for the rest of your life.”
“Excuses,” Michael said. He gestured to the fallen Vadim. “Thanks for taking the blame for me with this whole mess.”
“Yeah, nice of you. So what, you offered to pretend to be Italian to get on the inside with me? What about Andrey – how does he play into this?”
“Andrey is a nice dude. You two would’ve been a good pair. Unfortunately, nice boys don’t do well in our business. He didn’t like the route the Russian Mafia was taking in America. You could say they were getting into some dirtier things and he wanted out. He was going to tell your grandfather that you were in danger and the good stuff had been taken by Michael, the mole, but he wasn’t a fucking rat. I am. All I needed was that shipment, then I’d blame it on Andrey and get rid of him, and bam. I was home free – protected and rich, the Mafia dream. So I had to blow up your car. And shoot at your apartment. But you just didn’t give up. That was your mistake – I mean c’mon, take a hint.”
“You– you blew up my favorite sweatshirt.”
“It’s good for you. You look better in this.” He nodded to my swimsuit.
I opened my eye, but out of the corner of my vision I saw a movement in the hallway. Then I saw two very large people and a head of blond hair. I cut my eyes back to Michael. “Yeah, well, I guess this will be my new uniform.”
“Maybe you’re interested in one last go around before I, uh, finish you off?” He grinned. “No pun intended.”
“Eww, you perv. Get out.” I flicked my eyes towards the door and saw Clay – a lumbering mass of black latex, Meg – a lumbering mass of camouflage that completely made her stick out, and Trina smoking behind them.