by Marni Mann
As soon as Mario saw that number, he’d be all over my ass. Every night, he received a detailed report of my daily numbers. Those numbers were then sent to all the other bosses in Atlantic City. The board was for show; the bosses were who really ran this casino. They called the shots from back home, and I made sure they were carried out. With them being so far away, there was a lot I could hide. The fucking numbers weren’t one of them.
And, when the bosses got angry, they didn’t take hands.
They took lives.
Someone’s ass was going to get it because three jackpots in six hours wasn’t typical. That was what we usually averaged a week. So, someone was either tampering with my machines, or they were faulting. I had everyone working on getting me that answer.
But, until that answer was in my hand, I needed to distract myself. Maybe I’d call one of the dancers from downstairs and have her come up to my condo that was on the top floor of the hotel. I’d chain her to my bed and pour scotch all over her tits. Her dripping tight asshole and a buzz would help dull this ache in my head.
When I picked up my phone to call the club, it started ringing in my hand. Billy’s name was on the screen.
“Not a good time—”
“It’s never a good time.” He blew into the phone, which I knew was a mouthful of cigarette smoke. “Isn’t it around eleven there? You should be balls-deep inside some slut, not picking up my call.”
“Then, why didn’t you just send me a text?”
“’Cause I knew you’d answer. You always do. Listen, I’ve been talking to some of the guys down at the boardwalk, and I’ve learned some shit.”
This wasn’t making my day any better. The guys down at the boardwalk were a bunch of street thugs who slept on the beach and ate from dumpsters. If Billy was hanging out down there, something told me he was sleeping down there, too.
“Did your Ma get evicted?” I asked.
“That’s not why I’m calling, Garin.”
“Answer me.”
“She’s been crashing with some dude, so she stopped paying the rent. Landlord tossed all our stuff. It ain’t too bad, being down at the beach.”
I couldn’t give Billy cash. He’d use it to buy as much black tar heroin as he could and have himself a shooting party until it was all gone. But there was something else I could do. It wouldn’t get him out of The Heart; that was what I wanted even if he didn’t.
“Call the landlord tomorrow morning, first thing. He’ll either give you the keys to your old place, assuming he changed the locks, or keys to a new place.”
“I don’t need no charity.”
He was homeless, and in a few days, when that guy kicked out his ma, she would be, too. I couldn’t let that happen. Paulie wasn’t alive to help them, and there was no one else who cared enough. Billy had his pride, and I respected that, but it wasn’t going to stop me.
“It’s not charity. It’s a place to live. Take it, Billy.” I walked across the room and leaned into the window.
Lights from the strip flashed below me. Sometimes, I needed a reminder—that piece of scenery Vegas was known for—so I wouldn’t question where I was. When I was on the phone with Billy, it was easy to forget that I’d gotten out of Jersey, and I wasn’t back living in that fucking hole.
“Fine. Whatever. But about those guys at the boardwalk, they were talking about Paulie, saying he was down there a lot. They said he wasn’t hustling or slinging rock or anything like that. He was doing something; they just don’t know what.”
“We knew he hung out there, Billy. We all did back then.”
“But he wasn’t hanging out. He was by himself, like he was looking for someone…or trying to recruit someone.”
Billy had never recovered from Paulie’s death. If my sister had died like Paulie, I wouldn’t have gotten over it either. It had hit Kyle and me just as hard. Harder than any of the other deaths in The Heart—and there were a lot of them. Losing Paulie was the catalyst that made Billy’s addiction spiral out of control. And, each year, it seemed to have gotten worse.
“Looking for those answers isn’t going to bring him back.”
He blew another cloud of smoke into the phone, and a long stretch of silence followed. I could tell he was high. I heard it in his voice.
I always heard it.
And, every time I did, the guilt would gnaw at me a bit more. I was responsible for his using. I was the reason he had become a junkie. His voice was my punishment, and I had to live with it.
“I know,” he finally said. “But I still want you to look into it. Ask some of your guys if they ever saw Paulie down there. Maybe they’ll remember something.”
After Paulie’s death, we all asked around to see what we could find out. I started with the people who lived in The Heart and then the guys who sold and hustled on the streets. No one knew a thing, and the police didn’t do shit. Mario and I came to the conclusion that the murderer had worked alone because no one in this town could keep their mouth shut, and it had been timed perfectly to make sure there were no witnesses. Asking around again wouldn’t get Billy what he wanted, but I’d do it for him.
“I’ll make some calls.”
“Thanks, man. Now, when are you coming home for a visit? It’s been too long since I’ve seen your ass.”
“Not for a while. Things are a little heavy here.”
“Is Mario going out there anytime soon? Maybe I could hitch a ride with him?”
Whenever one of the bosses came out, I’d meet them in Phoenix or Santa Fe or Denver. If the gambling commission found out they were in Nevada, our entire operation would be shut down, and we’d all be in jail. Mario would bring Billy to one of those spots if I asked him, but I couldn’t have him here. Not with him shooting that shit into his arms all day, hustling every goddamn dollar that crossed his path.
During my years of dealing, I’d learned never to trust a junkie. Billy was as bad as any of them. I couldn’t trust him in this city, and I sure as hell couldn’t trust him in my casino.
“He doesn’t have any plans to,” I said. I hated lying to him. It ate at me almost as badly as the guilt. “Hey, my sister told me they just started having NA meetings down at the old church by—”
“I know where it is.”
“Have you been?”
“Nah. When I’m ready to get clean, I know where to go. Don’t worry; I got this shit handled.”
I’d been hearing that for years. It was nothing more than an excuse. An excuse that would eventually be the cause of his death.
“Don’t tell me not to worry.”
“Why?” He laughed. “I ain’t worried about you. I figure, the worst that can happen is you get inside some nasty pussy. You’ll slide right out of it and run your ass home.” He laughed again, which turned into a deep cough. “Just like I’d get out of it. Nothin’—not dope, not pussy—is gonna get me down.”
“That’s what you call handling your shit?” I couldn’t hide the anger in my voice. “Because it has gotten you down, Billy. And it’s holding you down, too.”
The guys on the streets reported back to me—not the scum down at the boardwalk, but the guys who sold to them. The same guys Billy got his junk from. So, I knew how much he was buying, how much he was slinging, and how much he was using.
And I knew he was using more than he was slinging.
“I don’t want you to end up in the same place as Paulie. You keep this shit up, and that’s what’s going to happen.”
“You want to fight with someone? Is that it?” he barked back. “Then, fine, fight me. Say whatever you need to say, and let it all out. As soon as I hang up, I’m going to do what I want, you’re gonna keep on worrying, and nothing is going to change.”
“Fuck that.”
I didn’t want to get angry and sound like I was attacking him. But why the hell didn’t he want to get help? Why didn’t he worry about overdosing? Why did he act as though he were invincible when he’d witnessed so many guys like him
drop dead?
It was because he didn’t fucking care.
“Let me know if the guys say anything about Paulie. I’ll call you in a few days,” he said and hung up.
The phone felt so hot in my hand. I couldn’t hold it anymore. I reached back and threw it as hard as I could. It flew through the air, hit the wall, and fell to the marble floor. The screen smashed, the case shattered, throwing tiny pieces everywhere.
When I walked over to my desk, it was covered in papers and reports and contracts. None of them mattered. Not at this moment.
Neither did the stress from worrying about the jackpots or the marketing director I had to replace. Not even the poker tournament that was going to draw our biggest crowd yet.
All that mattered was Billy.
If something didn’t happen soon, I was going to lose my best friend.
Seven
Kyle
When I heard the lock unlatch, I jolted upright, my head swinging in the direction of the door to watch it slowly open. It was the first time there had been noise inside our cell that hadn’t been created by Garin or me. The first time anyone had been in here since I’d been awake.
A man walked in, taller than Garin, his shoulders almost as broad as the doorway. His wifebeater showed a set of arms that were twice the size of my thighs. Every inch of them was covered in the most colorful tattoos. A full-grown thick beard hung from his chin, a feature I had once considered extremely sexy until I saw it on the face of my captor. And in his hands were two trays filled with small mountains of brown slop.
“¡A comer!” he barked, his voice so deep it vibrated through the cell.
The two years of Spanish that I’d taken in high school weren’t going to help me out at all. I knew ten words, fifteen tops.
“What did he just say?” I asked Garin, not at all expecting him to answer.
“He’s telling us to eat,” Garin said.
Later, I would ask him how he knew that, but now, the bearded guy had my full attention. He dropped the trays on the floor, and he kicked them toward us. The brown sauce spilled over the sides from the rush of movement.
My stomach growled, and I wanted so badly to crawl forward and lap up the puddle off the dirty cement. I didn’t know how long it had been since I’d eaten, but the hunger pangs were clawing through my belly so fiercely that I had to stop myself from crying out.
Garin stood and walked toward the bearded guy. “Tell me why the fuck we’re in here and when we’re getting out.”
“¡Siéntate!”
“No, I’m not going to sit down!” Garin shouted back. “I want to know why we’re in here. And I want to know when the hell you’re going to let us out.”
Beard unlatched one of the two guns that was holstered at his waist and pointed it at Garin. “¡Que te sientes carajo!”
I wrapped my arms around my navel and squeezed some of the pressure away. I couldn’t breathe. I had the biggest fear of guns. I couldn’t stand the sight of them. Not after what had happened, not after one had been pointed at me.
“Garin, get back!” I screamed. “Do what he says before he pulls the trigger.”
“Siéntate,” Beard said again.
“Jesus fucking Christ,” Garin barked as he took a seat on the floor next to me.
A few seconds passed before Beard started walking back toward the door. I needed to try something to get him to talk. Maybe coming across a little sweeter would get me further than Garin.
“Are you in charge?” I asked him.
He held on to the door and stared at me. His eyes were black and terrifying, his mouth set open like his teeth were about to tear through my flesh.
“I’d like to talk to whoever is in charge…if that’s not you.” My voice was so weak. I barely recognized it. “I want to talk to them about why we’re in here and—”
“¡Cállate!”
“He’s telling you to shut up,” Garin said.
“But—”
“Haz que se calle,” he snapped.
“He’s had it, Kyle. He doesn’t want to hear any more of our questions.”
But I wasn’t trying to sound bossy. I wasn’t even being a smart-ass. I just wanted answers. I didn’t think asking a few questions was too much, considering I was locked in a cell with no memory of how I’d gotten here.
“Can you please—”
“Le voy a dar lo que se merece y después se muere,” Beard growled as he backed out of the cell.
The sound of the lock echoed, sending a shiver through my whole body. A sharp pain started gnawing at my stomach. It wasn’t hunger. That was suddenly gone.
I waited a few seconds and turned toward Garin. “What did he say?”
He ground his teeth together, the blacks of his eyes as venomous as Beard’s had been.
“Garin?”
“You’ll get what he gives you.”
If that was all he’d said, Garin wouldn’t be grinding his teeth. He wouldn’t be wringing his hands together and staring at the door like he was going to beat his way through it.
“What else did he say, Garin?”
“It doesn’t matter.”
I stood up, holding my stomach as I looked down at him. “Yes, it does matter. You can’t protect me in here, so at least you can be honest. Don’t shelter me. I can handle the truth.”
He slowly glanced up. The anger and rage replaced with something else. I almost gasped when I realized what it was.
Fear.
“He said you’ll get what he gives you…and then you’re going to die.”
It felt like everything had dropped from my body. Not just my hunger. That was long gone. But my questions, my voice, my emotions, my hope—those were gone, too.
Everything was gone.
I heard Garin behind me. He was moving the trays, probably to the far wall, placing them next to each other like he was setting a goddamn table.
“Come over here, and eat.”
I didn’t turn around to face him. I didn’t move. My feet were paralyzed, my knees shaking so badly that they weren’t going to hold me up for much longer. When I opened my mouth, my throat convulsed, and tears poured from my eyes. It was the first time I’d cried since I’d woken up in here. The first time I didn’t actually believe I would get out.
His arms circled my waist, and he pulled my back against his chest. “They’re not going to kill you. They need you. That’s why you’re in here.”
“But…” It was the only word I could muster through the sobs.
“If you don’t eat, you won’t have the energy to fight. We need our energy, Kyle. We need to take everything they’re willing to give us and figure out how to get out of here.”
“I’m not getting out of here.” My voice was becoming louder, and I didn’t know why. None of this was his fault, but he was the only one in here who I could blame. “You’re the one who told me what he said. You’re the one who told me I was going to die. You can’t honestly believe I’m going to get out of here, Garin.”
I didn’t wait for him to speak. I pushed my way out of his grip and moved to the other side of the cell, squeezing into the small space between the toilet and sink. I tucked my knees up to my chest, wrapped my arms around them, and rocked.
Relax, Kyle.
I had no breath. I had no feeling. I had numbness. I had an entire pit of emptiness.
And I had tears that wouldn’t stop flowing.
“I’m going to give you a minute to sit there and feel sorry for yourself. Then, I’m going to pick you up, set you over here, and force food down your throat.” He sat at the mock table, stretching his legs out in front of him, crossing his shiny shoes. “The minute starts now.”
“Do you think it’s poisoned?” I asked him, holding the tray onto my lap, staring at the mountain of slop that was in the middle of it. It had cooled and flattened a bit since my pity party—or whatever Garin had called my mini breakdown.
“No.” He dipped his finger into the sauce and stuck it in
to his mouth. “It’s not that bad…as long as salt and metal are flavors you don’t mind.”
The tray was broken into three small compartments, similar to the ones they used in the lunchroom at school. Beard didn’t give us any silverware, so I waded through it with my fingers. The mountain was actually a pile of shredded beef with thick rectangular noodles smothered in a brown sauce. The next compartment held a roll. The outsides were hard and a little moldy. Once I broke it open, the middle was actually quite soft. Four canned peaches were in the final compartment, sitting in a juice that was much redder than normal.
“Stop playing with it, and eat.”
I pinched a few noodles between my fingers and dropped them onto my tongue. He was right; they were salty and almost metallic-tasting, like they’d been marinating in tin. As that layer of flavor dissolved, the aroma of plastic spread through my mouth.
I held my breath, trying to block it, and swallowed. “I think I’m hungrier than I realized.”
Garin looked up, licking the last bit of peach off his finger, the only surviving morsel. “I could eat five more trays’ worth.”
“I wonder how long it’s been since we’ve eaten.”
“I don’t want to know.” He kicked the tray toward the door and went to the sink to wash his hands.
I shoveled in the noodles and mixed them with mouthfuls of roll. The brown sauce dripped down my fingers. I felt it on the sides of my mouth, and beef was in my teeth. I didn’t care. My stomach was so desperate to feel full.
“Slow down, Kyle. Let your body get used to the food.”
I ignored him and sucked in a peach, mashing it between my teeth before swallowing. When I felt it slide down my throat, I tossed in another until the only thing left on my tray was the juice. It wasn’t red, like maraschino cherries. It was blood red. Way too red to drink.