by Xavier Neal
Yes. Yes I did. Twice. Hey! We're just friends now! Besides, she's dating Kaleb, one of the lower deck bartenders. Apparently she was looking for a little more than a fuck buddy on Wednesdays and I couldn't see myself ever offering her more than that. What do you mean why Wednesdays? It's typically a slow day...
She pushes a button behind one of the bottles and the wall slides to the side. I follow Ben inside making sure to close it behind us.
“Why do we need to see Vinnie? Races were last night.”
“I wanna see who's on the board for next week. Plus there's a couple other races in Lake View I wanna check into. Those rich brats always shell out cash first and check under your hood later.”
True. Most of the time, the dick's who lose the most, think just because we're not flashing our shit all over town for an ego boost that we ain't packin'. The look on their faces every time they lose is worth it.
“Wait.” I stop him at the top of the stairs that lead to the underground level underneath the active club. “Last time you were in Lake View, you got arrested.”
“But the money―”
“Jumps out of pockets just fine here.”
“The prices we're talking cuz...”
“Really Ben? You can’t get enough of jail? Because that's what I'm hearing. You've been busted four times―”
“Three and half. That lady cop let me go when I showed her new ways to use her handcuffs.”
I would judge except I would've done the same thing once or twice. Come on...you know you like handcuffs too.
“One more and your ass ain't comin' out.”
“You know that last time wasn't my fault. I couldn’t help it,” he whines. “That turtle neck wearing prick revved their engine and―”
“And you gave in knowing damn well you couldn’t afford to race any more! That's the shit I'm talking about Ben! We race when it's set up. When the crowd is ready. When the cops are paid off. You know this and don't fucking follow the code anyway. You're gonna get locked up or in some shit even Madden can't pull your ass out of.”
Ben screws his jaw and looks away. Clearly annoyed he grunts, “Can we just go see Vinnie? I won't fucking sign up for shit. Deal?”
I nod and he starts down the stairs.
Look, Ben's fam. His mom, my aunt, filled in mom moments when Knoxie couldn't. His dad ended up in prison right alongside ours. They both made us vow to take care of all the McCoys. To take care of each other. Or at least that's what Madden says. I don't fucking know. I barely remember them. Regardless, Ben stirs up shit sometimes just to remember how it smells. It's not good. And it fucking worries the hell out of me because I know one of these days it's gonna get him killed.
Underneath the bottom of Olympus is another bar that's not to be discussed. Most people have no idea it even exists. Most of the time it's filled with those of us who live life a little less legal and rely on Vinnie's skills to make it possible.
Arriving on the bottom floor, I toss head nods at faces I recognize and winks at girls I've sampled.
You didn't really just think it was just upstairs, did you?
“The McCoys!” Vinnie says tossing his hands in the air thrilled to see us. Leaning over the bar he gives us each a fist bump before pushing his box framed glasses back up his olive colored nose. “Personal or business?”
“Business,” Ben answers.
He nods, lifts up the side of the bar that works as an entrance, and allows us behind to follow him. Through the side bar door where the spare cases of supplies are kept we continue the path around the back corner where we enter another door, leading us into his private office.
Vinnie locks the door behind us, his slightly mousy face beaming with typical excitement of seeing us.
“Shelby,” Ben greets one of his assistants, who just so happens to be one of his girlfriends as well.
You heard me right. One of his girlfriends. And I don't mean just pieces of ass he rotates through. I mean chicks who would give their left tits to save his neck. How the fuck did he find that? How does anyone?
“Ben,” Shelby coos back politely.
.
When he gets a grin that's too wide for comfort, Vinnie grunts, “No-huh Benny. You know better than to let your eyes land on my girls.”
“Come on Vinnie.” Ben folds his arms. “I was just lookin'.”
“And with you McCoys lookin' leads to touchin'. So start talkin',” he demands. His long thin arms fold across his chest. “What can I do for you?”
After nodding his head my direction, he says, “I wanted to look into Lake View races, but someone's panties are in twist over it―”
“Didn't you end up in jail last time you raced in Lake View?” Vinnie cocks an eyebrow.
“Exactly,” I agree.
“Does anyone around here have faith in me?” When Vinnie and I make similar disagreement sounds accompanied by laughter at his expense, Ben grumps, “Can we get a look at what's good for next week?”
Vinnie smirks and says over his shoulder to his girl, “Lights.”
Shelby hits a switch and the wall in front of us that looks like nothing more than a car racing poster, flips over to a chalkboard. She hits another switch and the lighting in the room switches from regular to black light, highlighting a list of names, cars, places, and bets.
Yeah. This is the real deal. We don't fuck around and drag race to pass the time. This shit is one reason the police department has to be paid off. They aren't the only ones who get a handout for helping either. This isn't a hobby. It's a lifestyle. And while it may not be ideal and I may want more, it is what I'm good at. Plus, I do enjoy racing.
“Everyone that's booked for the month so far.” He waves his hand at it.
My eyes roll over the options for the next four Friday's hoping to be inspired.
I don't race just anything. Has to be the right combination of rush and pay out. Racing is an art form all its own.
Ben screws his face, clearly thinking something similar. “This is it Vinnie? Why are the better races out in Lake View?”
“Because people still stand a chance out there,” Vinnie chuckles. “Between Merrick's rep and the increasing choke holds the department is trying to put on us, it makes racing here a little less desirable without pots that are worth the risk. Pots aren't worth the risk unless the cars are exotic and the racers are cocky, which they aren't like they used to be.”
“Hard to be cocky when you aren't the best,” my side remark gets a crooked smirk from Vinnie.
“Can't you convince some of those pricks out in Lake View to bring their shit our way?” Ben whines.
“Merrick's got a heavy rep. Spreads across the state,” Vinnie compliments.
I do...
“But I'll see what I can pull.” He sighs. “I'll let you guys know.”
Ben's voice suddenly sounds excited, “You've got a spot open out in The Wood Works.”
Immediately I say, “No.”
“Merrick―”
“I said no.”
“But come on,” he pouts again. “Look at that! We could kill.”
“Or be killed,” I correct. “Or arrested. You know the rules Ben.”
“I'll work on him.” Ben rolls his eyes at Vinnie. “But in the mean-time, put me down for Tuesday's race against Robin. Easy fucking money....”
“Will do.” He nods and Shelby tosses him chalk. “Anything else? Wanna bet on the fights? Y'all need shots? Pills?”
Quickly I deny, “Nah. We're good.”
“Alright. I'll keep you posted if something comes up you're gonna want in on.”
“Good lookin' out Vinnie.” Ben fist bumps him first and then me.
Back upstairs, on the highest floor, the two of us, relocate to the bar Kameron is managing, where we buy rounds of shots for a couple different groups of females out doing the 'girls night out' thing.
Why you ladies do Girl's Night Out then insist on doing things to pick up men? That doesn't make any fucking sense to
me.
Before I even down the first shot the fact that I'm just going through the motions rather than enjoying myself settles in again.
It's the same shit every time we come. We buy drinks, women flock. They shake their asses or their tits, dangling themselves like bait on a hook, and we let them until there's one we wanna see in our beds for a couple hours. They know the score before it even starts. They're gonna get fucked and forgotten. And they're okay with this. They're okay with this! Why? Why be okay with letting us use you like fuck dolls? I don't even know what upsets me more. That they're okay with it, or that up until recently I was okay with it too. You don't have to give me that look. I know. My fucking emotions are up and down like a pregnant chick.
“I know what you're thinkin',” Ben says grabbing his beer off the table, eyes plastered on the pair of females grinding against each other close to the railing.
No he doesn't, but I have an idea what he's thinking. I'm sure you do too. You understand how fairly simple he is.
Slouching down in my seat I reply, “Oh yeah? What's that?”
“You're thinking about finding one chick. About settling down. About focusing on one fucking female. About falling in love or some shit. Like you thought you had with Rosalyn.”
I raise my eyebrows.
“Well, all that shit is stupid.”
“Stupid.”
“Mega-fucking stupid.”
“Mega-fucking stupid,” I continue to mock him.
“Yup. You want the 'right one'?”
“That's the idea.”
“So you want something that doesn't exist. She doesn't exist!”
“How do you know she doesn't exist? How do you know that Ben? How do you know I can't have that? ”
“Because that's...mega-fucking stupid!”
See. Simple. And an idiot. Mega-fucking stupid isn't a thing.
“Come on cuz. Why would you want that? Why would you want one pussy day in and day out when you can taste the rainbow?” His head tilts at the girls in front of us who are now attempting to seduce him by mimicking sex with each other.
I've had a few threesomes. That's almost accurate for foreplay.
“It's not just about pussy,” I argue over the music. “It's about what happens when the fucking stops.”
“That's what you have us for!” He tosses a hand in the air. “Look, I know that you've got this weird fucked up impression that love is real and exists and will change your life or some bullshit, but the perfect girl would have to exist for that to be true. And she doesn't so....let it go.”
“Again.” I roll my head over to him. “How do you know?”
“I just do.”
“What if she does? What if...” the sentence seems to die, much like this conversation is about to. “I don't know...”
“What if she does? How are you gonna meet her?”
That...is a valid point. You meet one nighters, twice a weekers at the races and here at Olympus. Women like that...I don't know where you meet them and I don't know how. Most of the time if I'm not out tagging, helping around the shop, racing, partying here or doing work for the man known as 'The Devil', I'm hanging around the apartment. Guess I'm not really accessible to the type of shit I'm looking for huh?
“What's she gonna do? Fall in your lap?” Ben sarcastically states right as a girl trips over my foot and falls in my lap.
Seriously?
“Sorry!” She squeaks, quickly trying to get up. “So sorry!”
“It's cool.” I help her back to her feet, briefly drinking in her curvy mocha body in the bright orange backless dress. “Be careful...”
Sheepishly she apologizes once more, giving me a soft smile, brown eyes lit up. “Sorry again.”
Before I can say anything else she rushes off. With my eyes following her, my brain racks itself to try to figure out where exactly I know her face from.
I fucking hate that, don't you?
Ben completely un-phased by the gorgeous drop of chocolate that split herself in my lap nudges me in the side. “Cuz, is that Knoxie over there?”
I follow his line of sight across the club to see her swaying her hips with her hands in the air, cloaked in a black mini skirt and a top that looks like it zips up, but isn't zipped very far.
If she wasn't basically my sister mom creation, I could see the appeal.
“She's so fuckin' hot,” Ben groans and adjusts his crotch. “Why hasn't Madden hit that yet?”
With a shrug, I search the crowd for my brother knowing if she's here and dressed like that, he's not far behind. Once I spot him leaned against a pillar with a drink in his hand watching her intensely, I smile to myself.
You see that shit? Even Madden wants more than a quick fuck. More than one nightstand after one nightstand. You can see it in the way he tenses any time a dude gets too close to Knoxie. Why doesn't he just go after it? Fuck, why don't I? Sure, his is standing right in front him, but I can't help feeling like mine has passed me by.
Jovi
“I hate heels!” I gripe to Hayli, who is moving her shoulders to the music at the high top table she saved for us.
“Well flip-flops don't really go with your outfit,” Hayli teases lifting her drink.
I know. She's not funny. But the more intoxicated she gets the funnier she truly believes she is.
My sarcastic look causes her to roll her green eyes. “Fine. Why now?”
“I tripped on my way back from bathroom. Over some guy’s foot!” She tries to hide a snicker and I snap, “It's not funny Hayli! It was fucking mortifying.”
“Was he hot?”
“Does that matter?”
“Uh....yeah...”
Don't agree with her! It's not a valid question.
“I don't know,” I grump trying to remember the guy's face, but can only remember his bright blue eyes.
They were like blindingly blue. They were beautiful. That I do remember.
“What I do know is he probably got a good glimpse of the barely there underwear I'm wearing under this thing.”
“At least you're wearing underwear,” her optimism is said with a smirk before she bites the cherry that was floating in her drink.
With a shake of my head I look out at the sea of moving bodies that remind me of a Van Gogh painting.
Why are you smiling at me like that? Do you like Van Gogh too or is it because I mentioned him when picking this dress?
“We're gonna go join the masses in just a minute,” Hayli insists while slowly licking a drip of her drink off her finger, most likely for an on looker.
“No rush,” I whisper under my breath.
It's not that I don't like dancing. I love dancing! I just....you ever feel out of place or like you're trying too hard to be something you're not? Well that's what I feel like in this dress, these heels, and this pound of make up on my face. I blame it on not having many chances to adjust to this kind of thing. What do you mean who's fault is that? The big scary meanie locking up everyone who looks my direction!
“You have to loosen up Jovi,” Hayli calls out over the music. “Have a little fun!”
In a pout I say, “I have fun.”
“You have your kind of fun.”
What does that even mean? Is my fun diseased or something?
“And there's nothing wrong with that, but you have to socialize more. You have to get out there and have some of the fun your dad forbids, because otherwise you're just gonna end up being some shriveled up old cat lady with more paintings than friends.”
“I already have more paintings than friends.”
“See...”
Logic is reigning strong tonight.
“My point is, Jovi, I think you should live a little. You study hard―”
“I've always studied hard.”
“Exactly. How about you start playing hard too? You've got a couple months before you leave my side, before I lose my best friend to the University of Ashwin three states over. Can we get a little crazy this s
ummer? At the very least wear heels and have sex with strangers?”