Taking Control

by Jen Frederick

  “I’ll regret it if I don’t at least go and hear him out.”

  “He wants something,” I warn.

  “I know that. I know he’s not a good guy. I lived with him, remember?” she shoots back with asperity. “But wondering if he does have something of Mom’s will bug me far more than if I let him bullshit us for a couple hours. You don’t have to come.”

  “I’m coming.” The clock hasn’t magically moved backward since I first called her. Reluctantly I agree, knowing she’s right. “But I’m going to be late.”

  “We’re going to be in a public place. There’s nothing he can do that can hurt me. Words, Ian, can’t hurt me. I don’t care enough about Mitch to let his opinions about anything bother me. Go forth and be your bad investment self.”

  After telling her I love her, I hang up and hurry to the conference room. Today’s meeting is with the wearables firm. They have ideas for everything from clothes that change colors depending on your mood to shoes that provide differing cushioning depending on the walking surface. The meeting runs longer than I anticipated but a few glances at my watch has them hurrying to wrap it up.

  Because of the overlong meeting, I’m not able to head home to get ready. Instead I make my way to the en-suite bathroom attached to my office and pull out a dark suit suited for the stuffy Plaza environment.

  Quickly, I finish dressing and call Steve.

  “Mate,” he answers.

  “Where are you?”

  “Idling outside 14011”.

  That’s the address to my home in the Meatpacking district. “I’ll call for a car to take me up to the Plaza. Can you keep Tiny in the car until I get there?”

  He laughs at me and hangs up. Right, as if Tiny would stay put until I arrived.

  I call for a car and they promise one will be delivered in the next ten minutes. I check my watch. It’s 6:35, and I’m going to be late. As I take the elevator down, I give Tiny a call.

  “Hey,” she sounds rushed. “I’m glad you called. I’m going to be late. I haven’t left yet. Are you there?”

  “No, bunny, I’m running late too.”

  She laughs. “It was just crazy today. A client’s husband came storming in saying that it was against the law for us to be following him and taking pictures of him cheating on his wife. It was all very dramatic. I’ll tell you about it at dinner. No, after dinner,” she revises.

  “When we’re by ourselves,” I suggest.

  “Yes.” She blows out a big breath. “This meeting is so uncomfortable for me, that even if you hadn’t made me promise to bring you along, I would have forced you to go anyway.”

  “We’re a team now. I’m there for you in whatever capacity you need,” I assure her, walking out onto the sidewalk. “Stay in the car until I get there. I can call ahead and let them know that whatever he orders can be put on my tab.”

  “I’m not going to cower in your car,” she says, annoyed. “Ian, stop worrying.”

  “I can’t. I love you. You are the most important person in the world to me and he knows it. He’s a user.”

  “Will you trust me?” she says impatiently.

  “I do trust you.” I look for the car. It’s still not here. I won’t be using that firm again. “It’s him that I’m worried about.”

  “Just get here soon and we won’t have a problem.”

  “The damn car isn’t here. I’ll be there as soon as I can,” I promise. Because I don’t want her going in pissed at me, I change the subject. “By the way, the next time the tailor comes to New York, I’m going to have to ask for looser fitting pants.”

  “Why’s that?”

  “Because I kept getting hard thinking about you today and it was very uncomfortable.”

  She laughs delightedly. “You should have rubbed one out in the bathroom.”

  “What makes you think I didn’t?”

  I’m getting hard just talking about it. Fuck. The effect she has on me is unreal.

  “I hope you have some energy for me tonight,” she teases.

  “I promise that there isn’t a dirty thought you can have that I can’t fulfill after drinks.”

  “I can’t wait,” she says throatily.

  “I’m going to hang up on you now before I get arrested for public indecency.”

  She’s laughing when we disconnect which puts a smile on my face, and that’s why I’m taken off guard when the first fist strikes my face.

  TEN

  THE PUNCH CAUGHT ME UNAWARES and snapped my chin to the right. A lefty then. Most people lead with their dominant hand. I take another to the gut before I bring my own fist straight under his chin. The force snaps his head back, but another punch hits me from the right. Then I realize there are two people. The tight cut of my suit might have looked nice in the boardroom but was preventing real movement, and with the next punch I throw, I hear a corresponding rip in my jacket sleeve.

  Fighting two people in an alley near dusk in the city wasn’t as easy as the movies made it out to be, but I grew up on the boulevards of Jersey, where the gamblers and mobsters and grifters spent their time. If you were a kid who didn’t want to sell his body, you fought. Sometimes you fought for money, but most of the time you fought to keep what you had. And the more money I won at the tables, the more people wanted to meet me under the docks and behind the casinos to see if I was strong enough to keep it.

  I haven’t fought off two guys in a long time—at least not with my fists. I preferred to fight using paper and greenbacks. I’ve realized you could do a lot more harm with money than you could with your hands. But the time spent in the seedy parts of Atlantic City has never left me. And I am stronger now—lifting weights on a daily basis and sparring with friends in the gym has kept me sharp. The asphalt of the alleyway is steady under my feet, unlike the sand and mud I’d fought in years ago. Planting my left leg, I swing my heel into the side of the bruiser on my right. When he stumbles, I jam an elbow into his jaw and follow him to the ground to avoid the punch of his smaller friend. Another elbow into Big Guy’s eye socket dazes him, and I use the opportunity to push upright.

  Diving at Small Guy, I drive him into the wall of the alley, the small space serving as an aid rather than a hindrance. It’s tight for two fighters and almost impossible for three. This time, my footing is uneven because I choose to use Big Guy as my floor, grinding the ball of my foot into his windpipe as I smash a fist into the nose of Small Guy. I hear it crack under my fist. I quicken the pace of my blows, wanting this to be over and cognizant of the time ticking by. Small Guy can’t get his hands high enough to hit me in the face because I’m too close, so he punches me in the obliques and then my upper ribs.

  I use my elbows and body as much as I can so that my hands won’t look like raw meat when I get to Tiny. I stomp on the downed guy’s nose and when his face lolls to the side, I bring a knee up to Small Guy’s groin. His hands fall away from my sides to protect himself, and I use his dropped guard to punch him once in the gut. When his head dips, I drive an elbow into his chin and that’s enough to knock him out.

  “Sir?” I hear from the end of the alley. Breathing hard, I turn to face the driver of the car I called for. I glance at my watch. 6:50.

  “You been there long?” I ask.

  “Um, ten min—I mean, no, just got here,” he lies. He looks all of fifteen.

  Beneath me, I hear a groan. I make sure to step on both their faces as I walk out of the alley, straightening my suit coat and pretending that I hadn’t just knocked two guys out. I need to take one of them with me, and I don’t think this young man is going to be too helpful. I pull out a hundred dollar bill and slap it in his hand. “Drive up to the Plaza and then forget about me.”

  He nods wordlessly and gets in his car. As he speeds away, I call Steve.

  He answers on the first ring. “Mate.”

  “Had a little altercation, and I’m going to need a pickup.”

  “I’m on my way.”

  “Where are you?”


  “I was outside your place. Tiny hasn’t come out yet.”

  “No, you have to stay with her.” I’m sharper with him than usual, but I need Tiny to be protected.

  “Mate.” It’s only one word, but I’ve known Steve a long time and can read all that he’s trying to say. Which is essentially that I’m acting like a goddamn fool because I can’t just call anyone to come and help me clean up this mess.

  Pinching the bridge of my nose, I pace. “Call Jake and get him to send over a driver for Tiny. A female one,” I add.

  “I’ll get the most female male he’s got on staff,” Steve says sarcastically and hangs up.

  Walking back into the alley, Big Guy is starting to sit up. Small Guy is still out cold. I crouch down next to Big Guy. In the dusky light I catalog their clothes, appearance, and possible origin.

  Both are wearing bad suits, which makes sense because the Financial District is thick with suits from those warehouse stores, but the average mugger doesn’t sport even the meanest suit. They are both white with sharp noses, heavy eyebrows, and shaggy hair. The light’s too low to see more; their skin could be anywhere from pasty white to deeply tanned.

  Big Guy was big, broad-shouldered and slow. His friend was quicker but lacked power in his punch. Low rent thugs without real skill, although maybe against someone who had no fighting experience they’d be terrifying. I’m only irritated. Malcolm Hedder? Mitch Hedder? Richard Howe? One of them likely is behind this. “I’ve got dinner plans, so this needs to go quickly. How much money do you need to sell out the guy who hired you?”

  Big Guy looks away, the blood flowing from his broken nose mingling with the blood leaking out the side of his mouth. “I’ll give you all the cash in my pocket for a name.” I wave the thick wad of cash toward him. “There’s fifteen hundred right here.”

  Hesitantly he reaches toward it, but Small Guy has roused and raises himself on his elbows. “Don’t do it. You know what they said.” He turns and spits out a mouthful of blood and maybe a tooth or two. The words are tinged with a slight accent. Bosnian is my guess.

  “I don’t have time for this. It’s either money now or one of you goes with me and my friends to get questioned for free.”

  Big Guy looks back at the downed guy who shakes his head, the brows on his face beetling together to emphasize that he is adamant about being quiet. Big Guy gives my money a regretful look and then tries to punch me again. This time I’m waiting for it, and I lift up my arm to block him. Falling backward intentionally, I shove both legs into Big Guy’s chest so he is sent careening backward onto his friend. I’m up on the balls of my feet, ready for them, when Big Guy lumbers to a standing position and slowly pulls out a knife.

  “You should’ve taken the money,” I say and then gesture for him to come forward.

  “You started the party without me,” I hear behind me.

  “Just trying to make my dinner date,” I quip.

  Steve hands me a gun with a suppressor, and at the sight of the two of us with guns, Big Guy stands down. “Throw the knife to me,” I order. Big Guy tosses the knife and it lands about five feet away. To Steve I say, “Take the guy on the ground. He’s the one giving orders.”

  Steve brushes by me and toward the assailants. Big Guy doesn’t even try to defend himself when Steve clocks him with the handgun. As the larger assailant crumples to the ground, his friend powers to his feet and runs toward the end of the alley, jumps on a dumpster conveniently located under a fire escape stairs, and runs off. Steve and I watch him go.

  “I guess we’re bringing this guy home. Think Tiny will like the present?” Steve asks.

  “He’s going to Kaga’s,” I order. “Drive me to the Plaza and then take him. I’ll deal with him later.”

  “You need a little cleaning up,” Steve remarks, giving me a once over. He’s dragging Big Guy behind him, so I go over and pick up the dead weight’s other arm. We haul him out of the alley to the waiting Bentley.

  “Shit, I’m going to need a new car after this,” I say.

  “Pretty much.”

  I get into the front with Steve and flip down the visor. I’ve got a cut over my eye and a faint bruise on my cheek. In the tiny mirror, I can see that my collar is speckled with blood and spit. “And I’m going to need a shower.”

  The car’s clock says its 7:00. “How late will Tiny be?” I ask.

  “Car’s picking her up now, so maybe a half-hour?”

  “Call the driver and tell her to delay as much as possible and take me to Kaga’s. We’ll dump this guy in the basement. Kaga should have something for me to wear.”

  Kaga isn’t afraid to get his hands dirty. Aquarium would be the perfect place to lock up a criminal.

  “Aye,” Steve answered.

  “Tiny’s driver is a woman, right?”

  “It’s a guy, but I told him to pretend like he didn’t have a dick because if he touched Tiny or looked at her wrong, you would cut it off.”

  “You’re a good man, Steve.”

  “Just watching your back.”

  KAGA MEETS US IN THE alley behind the bar. “I’ve got a better place than the bar for this type of delivery,” Kaga observes, peering into the backseat.

  “I don’t have time to go over to the docks. I’m supposed to meet Tiny at the Plaza at 7:00.”

  “You need a new watch then, because it’s 7:20 right now.”

  “Are you done busting my chops?”

  He looks at me. “Looks like someone already did that for me.”

  “Is it that bad?”

  “In the light of the Plaza dining room, you’ll still look like you took a header to the face, but come in. I’ll have Priya apply some makeup to you. At least you can get through dinner without too many questions. What you tell Tiny after is something you can work on during dinner.”

  “Thanks,” I grouse. Big Guy is conscious but steps out of the car meekly. I guess the three of us have subdued him. Plus Kaga’s Japanese, and for some reason, every non-Asian still thinks Japanese guys excel at martial arts. Kaga does and can kick your ass in under five seconds, but it’s still a stereotype that pisses him off.

  “Did you have other babysitting duties tonight?” Kaga asks Steve as we escort the assailant down into the basement of Kaga’s nightclub.

  “Yeah, told him he needed another bodyguard, but he didn’t listen.”

  “You fight with one hand, you will be defeated,” Kaga intones.

  “Jesus Christ,” I complain. “You pull that zen shit out to mock me. It’s a wonder Buddha doesn’t smite you.”

  “I pull out the zen shit to mock everyone, not just you. I can’t fathom why you think you’re special like that,” Kaga replies.

  He stops at a large door with a bar across it. He pulls the heavy sucker open and gestures for our prisoner to step inside. There’s a chair, a water spigot, and a bucket in the corner. The floor is damp, as if it’s been freshly washed. The assailant balks at first but as we stand around him, arms folded, he walks in. Kaga secures the door behind him.

  “Do I even want to know why you have this room?”

  Kaga shakes his head. “Not really. Let’s get you a different jacket.”

  “And pants,” Steve interjects.

  My pants look fine. I turn to tell Steve so, but then notice a rip down the side. “And pants.”

  Upstairs in Kaga’s office, Priya has a suit over a chair and a table full of makeup. I stick my finger in some sticky shit and grimace.

  “Do I really need this?”

  Priya looks at Kaga, who’s leaning against his desk. “What will you tell Tiny?” he asks.

  “I fell at the office?”

  “She’s going to think you’re cheating on her.”

  “How so?”

  “Because no one falls at his office,” Kaga replies drolly. “If you make up a story she’ll automatically assume you’re cheating on her. It’s either you got in a fight or you’re cheating. I guess you’ll decide which one she’
ll forgive faster.”

  “Kaga, if you don’t shut up, I’m going to stick my boot up your ass.”

  He shrugs and opens his mouth to deliver another platitude while Steve snickers in the background. Sighing, I give in. “Make me beautiful, Priya.”

  “I’m only skilled enough to minimize your bruises. I can’t work miracles.”

  Her snarky comment leads everyone to laugh. Even me.

  After Priya works her magic, she leaves the three of us alone.

  “I feel like a goddamn clown.” I pat my face lightly.

  “You look scary enough to be a clown,” Kaga observes.

  I give him the finger, while busily looking up the number to the Champagne Bar. “Who’s the manager of the Champagne Bar at the Plaza?”

  Kaga knows every important bar manager in the city. “DeWight Jones.”

  “Champagne Bar, how can I help you?” a pleasant voice intones.

  “Ian Kerr. I’d like to speak to DeWight Jones.”

  “Certainly. Please hold.”

  Muting the volume on my end, I ask Kaga, “What are you stocking over there?”

  “Ordering something to appease the old man?”

  I nod.

  “The twelve-year Subu.”

  “Mr. Kerr, so kind of you to call us. What can I do for you?” DeWight Jones has a baritone that would rival Barry White.

  “Mr. Jones. Tadashubu Kaga conveys his regards. Thank you for taking my call. I’m in need of your assistance. My fiancé Victoria is there, and she and her companion are waiting for me to arrive. I’m running very late. I wondered if you could deliver food as well as a bottle of the twelve year Subu for the gentleman and a Singapore Sling for my lady. She’s got golden blonde hair and wears it very straight. Likely she is the only female under thirty in your establishment wearing pants.”

  “I see them. They’re sitting by a window and appear to be thirsty. I will remedy that immediately.”

  “Fantastic. I’ll be there shortly. Please start a tab and I’ll cover it.”

  “Certainly, Mr. Kerr. Please tell Mr. Kaga that it would be a pleasure to serve him soon.”

  “He’ll be in within the week,” I promise recklessly. Kaga glares at me, but I’ve committed him now and he’s far too honorable to back out.