Stealing Candi

by Loki Renard

  “And for you, sir?”

  “I’m driving,” he says. “Water for me.”

  “Sparkling?”

  “Sure.”

  I’m not driving. I actually have no idea how I’m getting home, or if I’m even going home. I’ll probably just get them to call me a cab, maybe grab a hotel for the night. I have enough cash to relax for a day or two, assuming I skip some classes.

  My drink comes and this time it’s not as potent an experience. It slides down my throat, cold and fiery hot at the same time, igniting my bravery and my nerve.

  “You really know how to drink, huh?” Harry says admiringly.

  “Sure do. I’ve been drinking literally since I was born.”

  Our conversation is superficial and kind of stupid, made up of a not so witty repartee which only gets worse as the night goes on. I tolerate his presence because he, like the whiskey, is a good distraction. Two drinks turns into three and then inevitably into a fourth and suddenly the bartender is telling me that the club is closing, and would he like me to call a cab?

  “I’ll drop her home,” Harry says.

  I’m very fuzzy now, and very comfortably numb.

  By now, Harry knows more or less where I live. I don’t like him that way, the way you usually would if you let a boy take you home, but I’ll take a ride from him. In his car. Not on his disco stick, or whatever.

  We get in the car and start driving. Things are promising, until they’re not. He pulls over near the country club, ironically, quite near where I just sank a car a few hours earlier.

  “What are you doing?” I ask the question as he leans over, his face suddenly far too close to mine. I know the answer to the question, I just don’t want to know it. I’ve had way too long a night for this shit to be happening.

  He tries to kiss me. I pull away.

  “You want this,” Harry says, displaying a stunning lack of awareness.

  “Nope, pretty sure I don’t.”

  “Pretty sure I didn’t buy you half a bottle of whiskey so you could change your mind, bitch.”

  Suddenly, the repartee is not so charming. He crowds in on me, his slick hair and broad white smile all the more perverse for the assault he intends to perpetrate. His hands are on me, groping, grasping, trying to touch the parts of me no man has any right to without my permission.

  “Back off!”

  “You want this,” Harry leers. “You were drinking with me all night. You know you want this.”

  “Oh, Jesus, gross!” I practically gag. “I don’t want anything from you, asshole.”

  He keeps pushing. There’s no way out of the car. He’s engaged the locks on his side and I can’t get out my door. I’m cornered, and if I don’t do something right fucking now, I’m going to be r…

  BLAM!

  I scream, not knowing what the hell just happened. Harry is staring at me. There’s a big fucking bloody mess coming from his arm. And that’s when I realize what happened. The gun in my skirt must have gone off. I had forgotten it was there completely, but it must have slipped free and been triggered when he was groping down there.

  He pushes his door open and that gives me the opportunity to jump out over him. He’s in shock, bloodied and whimpering like a puppy.

  I grab his phone, dial 911. Try to sound sober, which isn’t as hard as it seems given I just watched parts of a man turned to instant mincemeat.

  “Hello? Yesh. My friend has been shot. We’re at the corner of Westminster and Wellington.”

  “You fucking bitch!” Harry finally manages to say something.

  “Oh real nice,” I hiss, throwing the phone down on the ground. “You’re lucky to be alive. And you’ve ruined my skirt.”

  It’s true. There’s a round hole in the fabric where the bullet penetrated. I’m never going to be able to wear this again, which is a pity because it’s one of my favorites, one of the very few garments I have that even has enough room to put a gun in it.

  I leave Harry cursing and whimpering on the ground. I don’t want to be there when the police and ambulance show up, obviously.

  I walk the rest of the way home, clutching the gun in my pocket. I’m still buzzed, I’m starting to feel really sick, and I’m wishing… I don’t even know what I’m wishing. That I’d stayed at Dante’s party? No. I can’t even imagine what would be happening to me now if I’d stayed. He’d probably have me in his bed. I’d probably be seeing him with his shirt off. He’s covered in tattoos, scrawled on in ink like a goddamn coloring in book. I bet he’s all muscly too, not bulky like a bodybuilder, but toned and hard, lean as hell.

  I’m getting a little excited as I walk, thinking about everything I skipped out on. But what could I do? I wasn’t going to stay there and find out what happened after he tied me up and strung me from the ceiling like a Christmas light.

  The closer I get to home, the better I feel. I can’t wait to grab a shower and clean up. I’m pretty sure I have Harry’s blood on me, not that I can see properly. The streetlights are pathetic, and all the lights inside the house are off. It’s weird, seeing my place like this. Usually there would at least be a light on in the kitchen or something. I guess none of the others have come back. I don’t blame them. Their instincts were better than mine. Maybe if I’d gone and stayed with Steffy or something, none of this would have happened. But I don’t have the luxury of skipping classes that long.

  “Hello, baby.”

  “Oh fuck!”

  A dark chuckle comes from the shadows in front of me. I wasn’t paying attention. I didn’t notice the dark silhouette next to my front door. Dante’s come looking for me, and I guess he didn’t need to come find me. He just had to wait for me to come back home.

  “What have you been doing, hmmm?” It’s such a gentle question, phrased in a soft purr, but I know danger when I hear it.

  “Uhm. Nothing. Just, you know, stuff.”

  “Stuff like stealing my boy's car?”

  “Uhm. I don’t think so?”

  This has been the most stressful night of my life, and I have no idea how to handle it. I’ve never been accused of car theft before, let alone car theft I’m actually guilty of.

  “You don’t think so?” He steps out into the dim light cast by the street lights and I see him cast in a menacing half shadow. He’s wearing black jeans, tall black boots and a tight dark t-shirt. His arms bulge from the sleeves, tattooed and thick and muscly and…

  I let out a long, drunk sigh. “Listen, Dante, I’d love to have this conversation with you another time, but right now I’m just about done, so if you could give me back my purse and then I can get inside and you can kidnap me tomorrow.”

  “That is not how this works. At all.”

  “Fine,” I sigh. “Just take me now then.”

  “Oh no, baby girl. I don’t think so.”

  Apparently he’s changed his mind about taking me. Weird. “Is it because I’m covered in blood? Because it’s not mine.”

  “Uh huh.” His eyes flick up and down my disheveled frame. “You’re a mess.”

  “I know. I need a shower.”

  He shakes his head and just looks at me. I don’t know what he’s thinking. I don’t know what he has planned for me, and I’m too drunk to care. I’m also far less afraid of him than I would be if I hadn’t already fought off an attacker, and if I didn’t have a gun in my pocket.

  It occurs to my dull brain, that he knows that. I don’t know how he knows, but he’s not grabbing me, and he’s not getting closer. He’s staying where he is, just looking at me.

  Wait. Am I holding him up right now? Like, I am, I guess, pointing a gun at him.

  “What have you been doing, Candi?”

  “Just had a few drinks at the country club.”

  “Uh huh. And they have gun fights there, do they?”

  “No. That was later.”

  “Uh huh.” I can hear what sounds like amusement in his voice. If anyone else found me like this, they’d be freaking out. “Aft
er you stole my boy’s car.”

  “I don’t steal cars,” I insist.

  “You know, you got the denial down, babygirl. I think you’re starting to learn. But that won’t work with me. I know what happened.”

  “You know? Then you tell me.”

  “Here’s what I think you did,” Dante says, his eyes lit with that devilish amusement which makes me feel so warm and so inexplicably safe. “I think you stole a car. I think you trashed it. And I think you shot a man tonight.”

  “Why a man?”

  “Because I don’t think you’re goin’ around shooting girls.”

  “I did none of those things.” It’s easy to deny everything that happened, because I am deep in some serious denial right now. None of those things sound like something I’d do, therefore I must not have done them.

  “You’re lying to me baby. You’re a little gangster princess, that’s what you are. I’m glad I found you. You’d be wasted married to some accountant.”

  “What’s wrong with accountants?”

  “They’re boring,” Dante smirks. “And you don’t like boring, baby. You’ve been going out of your way to make sure trouble finds you. And now it has. Way I see it, you got two choices. Wait for the police to arrest you, or come with me now.”

  “The police aren’t going to arrest me.”

  “You shot someone.”

  “He was trying to have sex with me. Sex I didn’t want.”

  “You shot someone with a weapon that is linked to a whole lot of trouble,” he says. “You’re going to find yourself in the middle of an investigation you don’t want to be mixed up in.”

  “So what’s my choice? Come with you?”

  “Come with me, or use the five g’s you stole to post bail. If there’s any left. You didn’t drink it all away, did you?”

  “No, I didn’t drink it away!” I hiss indignantly.

  “Good,” he says, cocking his head toward his car. “So, you coming? Or you want me to pick you up from jail?”

  “No, I’m not coming! You’re just trying to scare me. I’m going to have a shower. I’m going to get some sleep. I’m going to feel better, and I didn’t steal anything from you.”

  He lets out a dark laugh and pulls my clutch out from somewhere behind him.

  “Here you go. See you in the cells.”

  I narrow my eyes at him. I haven't done anything wrong. I mean, as far as he can prove I definitely haven’t. If I was less drunk, then I’d probably think more about the fact he’s just letting this go. He didn’t let a few bottles of alcohol go, but he’s not doing a thing to me over this, except saying the police are coming for me.

  Eh.

  He’s just trying to scare me.

  Chapter 5

  I come down the stairs the next morning with a headache like I’ve never had before. I must have had a shower last night, but I somehow still feel completely disgusting. I’m wearing sweatpants and a big sweater and the biggest fluffiest socks I can find.

  I need coffee. I need a new head. Only one of those things is actually obtainable.

  I get the coffee and sit at the kitchen table, sipping it and trying to put things together. Last night is very hazy, and so much of it seems so fucked up that there’s no way I can believe it actually happened. I’m pretty sure I didn’t actually sink a car and shoot a guy. I’m guessing that was a really vivid dream which got all mixed up in my head with a night at the country club.

  I startle as the front door opens. I’m expecting Dante, or a cop, but Madison appears. I wasn’t expecting to see her, but her face makes me happy. Thank god, there’s still someone normal in the world.

  “You look rough,” she says judgmentally. She doesn’t look rough. She’s wearing actual clothing, a skirt and a top. I remember when I used to be bothered to get into skirts and tops. It was yesterday, and frankly, I think it was a mistake. If I’d never gotten out of bed, then… well, Dante would have taken me in my pajamas and it would have been a lot more difficult to get into the country club.

  “Yeah, little bit.”

  “I tried to call you last night. I was going to come over, but I didn’t want to if you weren’t here.”

  “Oh, I, uhm, lost my phone for a bit there. Or it lost charge. Or something.”

  “Wow,” she says, grabbing some coffee for herself. “You’re really hungover, huh.”

  “Yeah, I thought drinking would help.”

  “Did it?”

  “Nope,” I sigh. “Not at all. Or at least, I don’t think so. Are you back now? I mean, are you staying here? Or at the dorms?”

  “Yeah, apparently you can’t just crash at the dorms without the RA’s getting all pissy about it.”

  “Oh, that sucks.”

  “Yeah, so keep your gangsters away from the house,” she quips with a cheeky grin.

  I debate whether or not to tell her what happened last night. I can’t tell her. It will freak her out, and then this whole situation will get that much worse. I just have to relax. Odds are, nothing is going to happen. If Dante wanted to get back at me, he would have done it last night. He won’t call the police on me for whatever I might have actually done out of all the crazy shit I seem to recollect doing. Criminals don’t call the police. Not smart ones anyway.

  “Have you seen him again?”

  I make a noise into my coffee. Madison is going to freak the fuck out if I tell her I have. Once I tell her one thing, I’m going to have to tell her the other things. Telling the truth is a slippery slope. Once you start, it’s hard to stop. It’s not a habit I want to get into right now anyway.

  “He’s so scary,” she says, thankfully just keeping right on talking without waiting for me to answer. “I mean, all those people he has that follow him around and hit people…”

  “How is your face?”

  “It’s okay,” she says. “The concealer is working anyway. I mean, I’d rather not be hit in the face again, if I had the option.”

  “Fair enough,” I agree. “And he is scary. I don’t know what his deal is.”

  That is true. I don’t know what Dante’s deal is. If my sketchy memory is right, I fucked with him badly last night. I’m pretty sure I did take a car from that warehouse, and I know that…

  BAM! BAM! BAM!

  There’s a very heavy knocking at our door which makes both of us jump.

  “POLICE!”

  “Oh the police are here!” Madison beams so fucking innocently, and she opens the door before I can tell her that might not be a good thing.

  There’s a half dozen cops on our doorstep. Not the kind of cops who wear tight fitting shirts that show their biceps. Cops wearing full sleeves, kevlar, and carrying heavy weaponry.

  “Hello, office…”

  “GET DOWN!” The officer screams at her.

  Madison has never been yelled at in her life, not like that. She promptly bursts into tears.

  “You’re looking for me,” I say, waving from the table.

  “Get down on your knees! Face on the floor! Down! Down! Now!”

  I don’t think they know that the orders they’re shouting are totally contradictory. It doesn’t matter anyway, because they’re grabbing me with rough hands and throwing me down on the ground, shoving me into the position they want.

  This is so much worse than I thought it would be. Dante tried to warn me what was going to happen, but I didn’t listen, and now there’s a boot on my neck and my arms are being wrenched back behind my body, hard steel closing around my wrists. This is the worst I’ve ever been treated by anyone in my life, including the brutal gangster who kidnapped me without having to resort to any of this humiliating, dehumanizing bullshit.

  “Call Steffy! Ask her to get a lawyer!” I scream out as they carry me out of the house, cuffed and miserable.

  Outside our place there are no fewer than three squad cars and a SWAT SUV waiting. A thick necked cop reads me my rights.

  You have the right to remain silent.

  I alw
ays thought being arrested might be, I don’t know, kind of hot. Turns out it totally isn’t. Dante’s ropes were a hundred times more comfortable than these cuffs.

  Anything you say can be used against you in court.

  I always wondered why people in those cop shows on television were so agitated. Why didn’t they just calm down and speak to the officers rationally? Didn’t they know it was in their best interests to be nice? Now I am in the situation, I can feel adrenaline surging through my veins and it is hard, even for me, a girl who had never, in her life, been in a fight until last night, not to struggle out of sheer instinct. What Dante did was scary, but this is on another level. This is a gang of armed men, backed by the powers of the state who can legally cage me forever. Jesus.

  You have the right to talk to a lawyer for advice before we ask you any questions. You have the right to have a lawyer with you during questioning. If you cannot afford a lawyer, one will be appointed for you before any questioning if you wish.

  Hell yes, I wish. The one thing I can do now is shut the hell up and hope someone comes with bail money. I’m not saying a word to anyone about anything unless they’ve been retained with one goal in mind: getting me the hell out of this.

  If you decide to answer questions now without a lawyer present, you have the right to stop answering at any time. Do you understand these rights as I have read them to you?

  “Is that a question? Because if it is, you just said I don’t have to answer without a lawyer.”

  And that’s when I discover the cop has either heard that one before, or he doesn't have a very good sense of humor.

  “Take this seriously, young lady. You are facing heavy charges.”

  I don’t have a witty comeback for that one.

  They put me into the back of a squad car and I am driven to the city jail. Not the nice outer suburbs station where I handed a lost wallet in once. They are taking me to the mega building in the center of the city where there are multiple floors of people locked away in little boxes - and I’m going to be one of them.

  There's something so incredibly surreal about this, but the feeling of the handcuffs around my wrists makes it impossible to dissociate. I’m here. Really here. In the back of a police car. Sitting on plastic easy clean seats, feeling the same desperation hundreds of other cop captives must have felt.