by Cora Reilly
He jumped over the ropes of the ring and landed beside me. Clapping my shoulder, he said, “Let’s grab something to eat. I have organized some entertainment for us. Nino and Savio will join us too.” Then he sighed. “But first I’ll have to have a talk with Adamo. Why does the kid have to get in trouble all the time?”
Adamo was lucky his oldest brother was Capo, or he probably would have ended up dead in a dark alley by now. Remo and I went back into the entry area. Adamo was leaning against the bar counter, typing something on his phone, but he quickly slipped it into his back pocket when he spotted us.
Remo held out his hand. “Mobile.”
Adamo jutted out his chin. “I have a right to some privacy.”
Few people dared to disobey Remo, even fewer survived when they did.
“One of these days I’ll lose my fucking patience with you.” He grabbed Adamo’s arm and turned him around, then gave me a sign and I grabbed the mobile.
“Hey,” Adamo protested, trying to reach for the thing. I blocked his grab, and Remo pushed him against the wall. “What’s the fucking matter with you? I tell you again, don’t test my fucking patience,” Remo muttered.
“I’m sick of you telling me to go to school and be home by ten when you, Fabiano, Nino and Savio spent the nights doing all kind of fun stuff.”
Fun stuff. He’d see how fun most of the things were once he was inducted next year.
“So you want to play with the big boys?”
Adamo nodded.
“Then why don’t you stay here? A few girls are coming over in a bit. I’m sure we’ll find one for you who will make you a fucking man.”
Adamo flushed red, then shook his head.
“Yeah, that’s what I thought,” Remo said grimly. “Now wait here while I call Don to pick you up and take you home.”
“What about my phone?”
“That’s mine for now.”
Adamo glowered but didn’t say anything. Ten minutes later Don, one of the oldest soldiers in Remo’s service, picked him up.
Remo sighed. “When I was his age, I didn’t say no to a free piece of ass.”
“Your father set you up with your first hooker when you were twelve. Adamo probably hasn’t even gotten to second base yet.”
“Perhaps I should push him more.”
“He’ll be like us soon enough.” This life wouldn’t leave him a choice.
Soon the first girls from one of Remo’s strip clubs arrived. They were eager to please as always. Not that I minded. I’d had a long day and could use a good blowjob to get rid of some of the tension. I watched through half closed eyes as one of the girl got down on her knees in front of me, and I leaned back in the chair. This was why the Camorra would overrun first the Outfit and then the Famiglia. We didn’t let women meddle in our business. We only used them for our purposes. And that was something that would never change. Remo was never going to allow it. And I didn’t give a fuck. I jerked my hips up into the willing mouth. Feelings had no place in my life.
Chapter Four
Dad lived in a small, run down apartment in a desolate corner of the city. The Strip seemed far away and so did the beautiful hotels with their generous customers. He showed me to a small room. It smelled of cat like the rest of the apartment, even though I hadn’t seen one. The only furniture in it was a mattress on the ground. One wall was packed almost to the ceiling with old moving boxes stuffed with God knew what. He hadn’t even put sheets on the mattress, nor did I see any kind of bed clothes.
“It’s not much, I know,” he said, rubbing the back of his head. “I don’t have a second pair of bed linen. Perhaps you can go out and buy some today?”
I paused. I’d given almost all of my money for the bus ticket. What I had left was supposed to buy me a nice dress for potential job interviews in decent restaurants and cocktail bars near the Strip. But I could hardly sleep on an old mattress that had sweat stains or worse on it. “Do you have at least a pillow and a spare blanket?”
He put down my backpack beside the mattress, grimacing. “I think I have an old wool blanket somewhere. Let me check.” He turned and hurried off.
Slowly I sank down on the mattress. It was saggy and a whiff of dust rose up. My eyes traveled up the mountain of boxes threatening to crush me beneath them. The window hadn’t been cleaned in a while, if ever, and let only dim light in. There wasn’t even a wardrobe to put my clothes away. I pulled my backpack over to me. Good thing that I hardly owned anything. I didn’t need much. Everything I’d ever held dear had been sold by my mother for crystal meth at some point. That taught you not to cling to physical things.
Dad returned with a heap of what looked like black rags. Perhaps that was the source of the cat smell. He handed it over to me, and I realized that it was the wool blanket he’d been referring to. It was moth eaten and smelled of smoke and something else I couldn’t place, but definitely not cat. I set it down on the mattress. I had no choice but to buy bed linen. I stared down at my flip-flops. Right now they were my only shoes. The soles of my favorite pair of Converse had fallen off two days ago. I’d thought I’d be able to get new shoes as soon as I arrived in Vegas. I pulled thirty dollars from my backpack.
Dad eyed the money in a strange way. Desperate and hungry.
“I don’t suppose you have some spare change for me? Business is slow right now, and I need to buy some food for us.”
I hadn’t asked what exactly his business was. I’d learned that asking too many questions often led to unpleasant answers.
I handed him ten dollars. “I need the rest for bed sheets.”
He looked disappointed but then nodded. “Sure. I’ll go get us something to eat for tonight. Why don’t you go to Target and see if you can get a comforter and sheets?”
It almost seemed as if he wanted to get me out. I nodded. I’d have preferred to get out of my sweaty pair of jeans and shirt but I grabbed my backpack.
“You can leave that here.”
I smiled. “Oh, no. I need it to carry whatever I buy,” I lied. I’d learned to never let my stuff lying around with my mother or she would sell it. Not that I had anything of worth, but I hated if people rummaged in my underwear. And I knew the look Dad had had when he’d seen my money. I was fairly sure that he’d been lying when he’d said his addiction was a thing of the past. There was nothing I could do about that. I couldn’t fight that battle for him.
I trudged out of the apartment, Las Vegas’ dry air hitting me once again. A few guys were swimming in the community pool despite the cold, doing dives and shouting. The pool area looked like it could use a good clean as well. One of the guys spotted me and let out a whistle. I picked up my pace to avoid a confrontation.
Sheets, a comforter and a pillow cost me $19,99, leaving me with exactly one cent. No pretty dress or shoes for me. I doubted a restaurant would hire me in my shabby second-hand clothes.
When I returned home, Dad wasn’t there, neither was any food. I searched the fridge but found only a few cans of beer and a jar of mayonnaise.
I sank down on the chair, consigning myself to wait for my father.
When he came home, it was dark outside and I’d fallen asleep at the table, my forehead pressed up against my forearms. I scanned his empty arms and miserable expression.
“No food?” I asked.
He froze, his eyes flitting around nervously, searching for a good lie.
I didn’t give him the chance to lie to me, and rose to my feet. “It’s okay. I’m not hungry. I’m going to bed.” I was starving. I hadn’t had a morsel to eat since the donut that I’d treated myself to in the morning. I kissed Dad’s cheek, smelling alcohol and smoke on his breath. He avoided my eyes. As I headed out of the kitchen with my backpack, I saw him taking a beer out of the fridge. His dinner I assumed.
I put the new sheets on, then dropped the comforter and pillow on the mattress. I didn’t even have nightclothes. Instead I took out a t-shirt and a fresh pair of panties, before I lied down on
the mattress. The new linen covered up the stale stench of the mattress with its chemical scent. I hadn’t seen a washing machine in the apartment, so I’d have to earn some money before I could have my stuff washed in a salon.
I closed my eyes, hoping I could fall asleep despite the rumbling of my stomach.
When I got up the next morning, I showered, trying not to look at anything too closely. I would have to give the bathroom and the rest of the apartment a good clean once I’d found a job. That had to be my top priority for now. I changed into the nicest things I owned, a flowery summer dress that reached my knees. Then I slipped on my flip-flops. It wasn’t an outfit that would get me any bonus points in a job interview but I didn’t have a choice. Dad was sleeping on the sofa in yesterday’s clothes. When I tried sneaking past him, he sat up. “Where are you going?”
“I want to look for a job around the area.”
He shook his head. He didn’t look very hung over. Perhaps at least alcohol wasn’t his problem. “There aren’t any respectable places around here.”
I didn’t tell him that no respectable place would ever hire me looking the way I did.
“In case you get the chance, perhaps you could buy some food?” Dad said after a moment.
I nodded, not saying anything. Swinging my backpack over my shoulder, I left the apartment. Unfortunately, Las Vegas winter decided to rear its ugly head today. It was bitingly cold in my summer clothes, and the promise of rain lay in the air. Dark clouds covered the sky.
I strode through the neighborhood for a while, taking in the shabby exteriors, and homeless people. I’d walked for ten minutes, closer to Downtown Las Vegas, when the first bar came into view, but I quickly realized that for a girl to work there, she had to be willing to get rid of her clothes. The next two bars hadn’t even opened yet and looked so shabby that I doubted there was any money to be made working in them. A wave of resentment washed over me. If Dad hadn’t made me spend all my money on bedding, I could have bought nice clothes and gone looking for a job close to the Strip, and not around here where the worth of a woman seemed linked to the way she could dance around a pole.
I knew the girls earned good money. Mother had been in contact with dancers in her better days before she’d started selling herself for a few bucks to truck drivers and worse.
I was beginning to lose hope and my head swam from lack of food. The cold wasn’t helping either. It was already around one in the afternoon and things didn’t look good. And then the sky opened up and it began raining. One fat drop after the other plopped down on me. Of course, I was out in sandals on the one day in December that it rained in Nevada. I closed my eyes for a moment. I didn’t really believe in any higher powers, but if someone or something was up there, he didn’t think too fondly of me.
The cold became more prominent as my dress stuck to my body. I shivered and rubbed my arms. I wasn’t sure how far from home I was but I had a feeling that I’d be down with a cold tomorrow, if I didn’t find shelter soon. The low hum of an engine drew my attention back to the street and to the car coming my way. It was an expensive German model, a Mercedes of some sort, black tinted windows, matt black varnish. Sleek and almost daunting.
My mother hadn’t been the kind of mother to warn me of getting into cars of strangers. She was the kind of mother who brought creepy strangers home because they paid her for sex. I was cold and hungry, and just over this city already. I wanted to get back into the warmth. I hesitated, then held out my arm and raised my thumb. The car slowed and came to a stop beside me. The way I looked I would have thought he’d drive right past me.
Surprise rushed through me when I saw who sat behind the wheel. A guy, perhaps in his early twenties, dressed in a black suit and black shirt, no tie. His blue eyes settled on me and heat crawled up my neck from the intensity of his gaze. Strong jaw, dark blond hair, short on the sides and longer on top. He was immaculate, except for a small scar on his chin. And I looked like I’d crawled out of the gutter. Wonderful.
The girl caught my attention from afar, dressed for anything but this weather. Her dress was plastered to her thin body and her hair to her face. She had her arms wrapped around her stomach, and a tacky backpack swung over her right shoulder. I slowed considerably as I approached her, curious. She didn’t look like one of our girls, nor did she strike me as someone who knew the first thing about selling her body. But perhaps she’d only just arrived and didn’t know that these streets belonged to us and that she would have to ask if she wanted to hit them.
I expected her to scuttle off when I came closer. My car was easily recognizable. She surprised me when she held out her hand for me to pick her up.
I pulled up beside her. If she tried to offer me her body, she was in for a nasty surprise. And if this was some insane robbery scheme with her accomplices waiting to catch me by surprise, they’d be in for an even nastier surprise. I put my hand down on my gun before I slid my window down and she bent over to look inside my car. She smiled in embarrassment. “I got lost. Can you take me home perhaps?”
No hooker.
I leaned over and pushed the door open.
She slipped in, then closed the door. She put her backpack on her lap and rubbed her arms. My eyes fell to her feet. She was wearing only sandals and dripping water on my seats and the floor.
She noticed my gaze and blushed. “I didn’t expect rain.”
I nodded, still curious. She definitely didn’t know me. She was pale and trembled, but not from fear. “Where do you need to go?”
She hesitated, then let out an embarrassed laugh. “I don’t know the address.”
I raised my eyebrows.
“I only arrived yesterday. I live with my father.”
“How old are you?”
She blinked. “Nineteen?”
“Is that the answer or a question?”
“Sorry. I’m out of it today. It’s the answer.” Again the embarrassed, shy smile.
I nodded. “But you know the direction to your father’s place?”
“There was a sort of campground near by. It isn’t very nice there.”
I pulled away from the curb, then sped up. She clutched her backpack.
“Are there any markers you remember?”
“There was strip club nearby,” she said, a deep blush tingeing her wet cheeks. Definitely not a hooker.
I humored her and drove in the general direction she’d described. It wasn’t like I needed to be anywhere else. Her ignorance of my position was almost amusing. She looked like a drowned cat with her dark hair plastered to her head and her dress clinging to her shivering body.
Her stomach rumbled. “I wish I knew the name of the club, but I was only paying attention to bars I could work in and that definitely wasn’t one of them,” she said quickly.
“Work?” I echoed, cautious again. “What kind of work?”
“As a waitress. I need to earn money for college,” she said, then fell silent, biting her lip.
I considered her again. “About a mile from here is a bar called Roger’s Arena. I know the owner. He’s looking for a new waitress. The tips are good from what I hear.”
“Roger’s Arena,” she echoed. “Strange name for a bar.”
“It’s a strange place,” I told her. It was an understatement of course. “But they don’t have high standards when it comes to their personnel.”
Her eyes widened, then she flushed with embarrassment. “Do I look that bad?”
I regarded her again. She didn’t look bad, quite the opposite, but her clothes and wet hair, and those worn sandals, they didn’t really help matters. “No.”
She didn’t seem to believe me. Her grip on her backpack tightened. I wondered why she was clinging to it so tightly. Perhaps she had a weapon inside. That would explain why she’d risked getting into the car of a stranger. She thought she’d be able to defend herself. Her stomach growled again.
“You are hungry.”
She tensed more than such a simple ques
tion called for. “I’m okay.” Her eyes were glued to the windshield, determined and stubborn.
“When have you last eaten?”
Quick glance my way, then down to her backpack.
“When?” I pressed.
She looked out of the window. “Yesterday.”
I threw a glance her way. “You should consider eating every day.”
“We had no food in the fridge.”
Hadn’t she said she lived with her father? What kind of parent was he? Probably as caring as my own father had been from the way she looked.
I steered the car toward a KFC drive in.
She shook her head. “No, don’t. I forgot to take money with me.”
She was lying.
I ordered a box of wings and fries, and handed them to her.
“I can’t accept that,” she said quietly.
“It’s chicken and fries, not a Rolex.”
Her eyes darted to the watch on my wrist. Not a Rolex, but not less expensive.
Her resolve didn’t last long. She quickly dug into the food as if her last decent meal had been longer back than just yesterday. I watched her from the corner of my eye as my car glided through traffic. Her nails were cut short, not the long red fake nails I was used to.
“What are you doing? You look young for a business man or lawyer,” she said when she was done eating.
“Business man? Lawyer?”
She shrugged. “Because of the suit and the car.”
“Nothing like that, no.”
Her eyes lingered on the scars on my knuckles and she didn’t say anything anymore. She sat up suddenly. “I recognize the street. Turn left here.”
I did, and slowed when she pointed at an apartment complex. The place seemed distantly familiar. She opened the door, then turned to me. “Thank you for the ride. I doubt anyone else would have picked me up the way I look. They’d probably have thought I want to rob them. Good thing you aren’t scared of girls in flip-flops.”