Every Moment with You_Redeeming Love

by J. E. Parker

  “I’m good, baby. I just—” I stared into the dark hall where Pop had disappeared to in complete shock. Pretty sure my mouth was hanging open.

  “You just what?” Panicked, she kept talking. “What happened? Talk to me, please.” Ah, hell. My little drama queen was working her way into hysterics. Too bad I was too confused to calm her down.

  Still staring at my bedroom door, I replied, “Maddie, baby, I’m pretty sure Hell just froze over.”

  My mind went into free fall.

  It was a little after midnight when my cell phone once again rang.

  Having stayed on the phone with my girl until after ten, I’d only been asleep for two hours, and I had to be up for the academy in another four.

  “Fuck me,” I groaned as I rolled to my side and reached for the nightstand. I knew it wasn’t Maddie calling because she had a special ring tone. Phone in hand, I answered it. “Who the fuck is this?”

  A voice I’d never heard before came over the line. “Is this Hendrix?” a man asked with a thick accent and clipped tone.

  Eyes half open, I replied, “Yeah. Who the hell is this?”

  The man chuckled. “I’m calling on behalf of your father, James Cole.”

  I froze. Tell me Pop isn’t dead. For fuck’s sake, the man had just been nice to me for the first time in my life! Jackknifing in bed, I fumbled for the lamp on my nightstand. Switching it on, I stood up, looking for a pair of sweatpants. Spotting them, I picked them up off the floor. “What happened?”

  “Nothing has happened. Your father… he is fine. He requires transportation home. He is in no condition to drive. You will come and get him, da?”

  Son of a… Pulling the phone away from my ear, I cursed Pop to hell and back.

  Too drunk to drive. I should have known.

  “Just tell me where I need to pick him up.”

  “Aphrodite’s on Main.”

  “Where?”

  “Red brick building on the corner of Main and Sycamore. Right across from the boxing gym.”

  Boxing gym? Wait… “In Toluca?”

  “Da.”

  “Da? I don’t know what the fuck that means. Speak English, man.” I had no idea what language the shithead was speaking but he needed to cut the shit out.

  I was American, I spoke English.

  Sounding pissed off, the man replied. “Yes, Toluca.” Someone yelled in the background, and I furrowed my brows. What in the hell? “And be quick about it or else you’ll both be very, very sorry.”

  The call ended, and I stared at the blank phone screen.

  “What have you gotten yourself into now, Pop?”

  Forty minutes.

  Forty damn minutes.

  That’s how long it took to drive to Toluca and park my truck outside of Aphrodite’s Bar.

  Killing the ignition, I opened the driver’s door and climbed out.

  Crossing the empty sidewalk, I looked up one side of the street and down the other. I saw no one, anywhere. Other than the patrons inside the bar, this part of town was desolate.

  It was creepy as hell.

  Stepping inside, I was greeted by the stench of smoke, cheap perfume, and booze. Looking around the room, I scanned every nook and cranny for Pop, but I didn’t see him anywhere.

  Complete bullshit.

  I should be asleep and dreaming about Maddie.

  Stupid ass, Pop! He knew from experience—even if it was years ago—how much work was involved in the academy. I needed my damn rest. My entire future with Maddie was riding on me graduating. Other than being a fireman, I had no career options. Working as an auto tech wasn’t going to provide me with enough cash to pay my bills and build a future with my girl.

  She wanted a house and a couple of kids, and I was determined to give her those things. But first I had to graduate. And to graduate I needed sleep.

  A man wearing a dark suit approached me from the left. I lifted my chin in greeting. “Got a call about forty-five minutes ago. Said I needed to pick up my drunk ass father, James Cole. You know where he is?”

  “You are Mr. Hendrix then?” His accent resembled that of the man who called earlier, but I could tell they weren’t the same person. Russian maybe? One good look at him and I knew… yep, Russian.

  I nodded. “Yeah. If you point me in the right direction, I’ll get him out of your hair.”

  He gestured towards a back hallway with his hands. “Follow me. The boss would like to make your acquaintance.”

  The boss? Fan-fucking-tastic.

  “You have to be shitting me,” I spit out, crossing my arms over my chest. “What did Pop do? Get in a fight? Break a couple of bar stools? Just tell me so I can pay for the damages and get out of here.”

  The man turned his back to me. “Follow me, Mr. Hendrix.”

  Dropping my head back, I mumbled a curse, “mother fucker,” before righting myself. The monster of a man—seriously, he was huge. I was a big dude but he was bigger—tasked with escorting me to the boss’s office tensed in response but he didn’t say anything. Then he started to walk. I followed closely behind, shaking my head nearly the entire way.

  Fucking Pop. I was going to kill him.

  The hallway we entered was long and dark. Various doors lined the walls, none of which were open. Reaching the end, the man in front of me tapped on a closed door three times in quick succession.

  Tap, tap, tap.

  The door swung open. A short, round man with beady eyes, sporting slicked back hair, barked, “Pat him down before entering.”

  Before I could object, I was grabbed by the collar of my shirt and spun around.

  My face slammed into the wall and the man behind me ran his paws all over me.

  Oh hell no.

  Ready for a fight, I clenched my hands into fists and whirled around as soon as the guy released me. Too bad he expected my move. Stopping me mid-spin, he slammed me back into the wall.

  The skin above my right brow split and my nose cracked.

  Blood dripped down my face.

  “What the fuck, man?” I groaned. The surrounding walls blurred and the tile under my boots shifted.

  Dazed, I stumbled backward, nearly losing my balance when the man released me. “He is clean. No weapon. No wire.”

  Weapon? Wire?

  Placing his hands on my shoulder blades, he shoved me towards the open door. “Move.”

  Barely able to stand upright, I didn’t argue as I was pushed through the door and into a room with scarlet red walls and dark hardwood floors. It smelled exactly the same as the bar out front. Gross. I squinted and looked around the area. Black leather sofas lined every wall and a large, metal desk sat in the center of the room. Tall metal poles—are those stripper poles? —stood on each side of the desk.

  The entire room was ensconced in dim light.

  Sitting in a plastic chair in front of the desk was Pop with his elbows on his knees, his face toward the floor. I don’t know where his mind was because the asshole standing behind me damn sure wasn’t quiet as he shoved me through the door. Pop should have seen—or at least heard—me come in but he didn’t. “Pop,” I mumbled, my voice barely audible over the music coming through the speakers on the ceiling.

  Is this what they called music? It sounded like a dying cat.

  Pop looked over his shoulder. His eyes widened the moment they landed on me. Jumping out of his chair, he turned on his heel and headed straight for me. He looked surprised to see me in such a fine establishment. Wish I could have said the same about him. “What the fuck is this, Petrov?” he shouted, looking to the beady-eyed man with slicked black hair. I guess he was ‘the boss’ that the fucker from before referred too. “What is my kid doing here?”

  Petrov looked from me to Pop. “He is your son, da?”

  Pop clenched his jaw and widened his stance. “He doesn’t have a fucking thing to do with this.”

  Petrov shrugged and rubbed his hands together. His eyes lit up and a sleazy smile that made my skin crawl sl
id across his face. “As your son, he is involved by default.” If there was ever a perfect example of a walking, talking slime ball, Petrov was it.

  Fucking douchebag.

  My head pounded. Blinking rapidly, I tried to clear the red haze that was beginning to cloud my vision. Now wasn’t the time to lose my temper. “What the…” My voice trailed off, and I swallowed as I tried to rein myself in. “What the hell is going on?”

  Petrov’s eyes cut to me. A creepy, golden-toothed smile emerged. The hair on the back of my neck stood on end as he pointed towards one of the plastic chairs. “Sit, Mr. Hendrix. We have many things to discuss.”

  I was about to protest when Pop grabbed my arm. “Keep your goddamn mouth shut, Hendrix. Let me handle this. If you run your mouth neither of us will make it out of here alive.”

  What in the absolute fuck?

  An inappropriate joke—especially considering the circumstances—sat on the end of my tongue. I opened my mouth to goad Pop by saying something along the lines of, “You make it sound like we’re dealing with the Russian mob,” but stopped short when it hit me.

  Holy fuck.

  Petrov’s words from earlier repeated in my head.

  No weapon. No wire.

  Walking to the chair on shaky feet, I plopped down on the cold, hard plastic. Closing my eyes, I let my head fall back. When Pop sat down beside me, I muttered, “The fucking Mafia. Really, Pop?”

  He didn’t respond. The soulless bastard just sat there like a statue.

  The son of a bitch didn’t even have the audacity to look shamed or worried.

  Petrov took a seat across the desk. Tapping the top of his desk with his knuckles one time, he looked me in the eyes. “Mr. Hendrix, I’ll get right down to it. Your father”—he looked at Pop— “has become a problem for me.”

  I chuckled. “He’s been a problem for me for the last nineteen years. What’s your point?”

  “Shut the fuck up, Hendrix.”

  Petrov smiled. “I see.” Forming a steeple with his hands, he exhaled. “Did you know your father is a gambler?”

  Seriously?

  I shrugged and used my shirt to wipe away the blood dripping down my chin. “No. Can’t say I’m surprised though.” I looked over at Pop and punched his arm playfully. “Damn Pop, you could’ve at least told me you were gambling. I would’ve liked to get in on the action. Maybe I could’ve won enough cash to put a down payment on that fancy new F150 I’ve been eyeing. You know, the extended cab one with the full chrome package. Man, that thing is badass.” Petrov didn’t seem impressed with my smartass comment. Neither did Pop judging by the way his body stiffened.

  Petrov narrowed his eyes. When he spoke, his accent was thicker and his words were rushed. “The gambling isn’t the problem. We all have our vices.” He smiled that sleazy fucking smile again. “What is yours, Mr. Hendrix?

  A five-foot-four, brown-haired, green-eyed girl…

  I wouldn’t tell him that though.

  Instead, I said, “Only pussies have vices. I don’t want nor do I fucking need a vice to get me through life.”

  Petrov’s eyes narrowed. “I see.” Leaning back in his chair, he crossed one leg over the other. “Honestly, the problem isn’t your father’s gambling habits. The problem is that he cannot repay the debts he has accrued.”

  Oh fuck.

  So that’s what this is about…

  “How much?” Mentally, I added up how much money I had. Between my checking and savings account, I probably had three grand. Buying Maddie’s engagement ring had put a big dent in my financial status. Worth it though. “Tell me. How much does he owe you? Two, three grand?”

  Straight-faced, he replied, “Forty thousand dollars, Mr. Hendrix.”

  “What? Are you fucking kidding me?” I shouted, standing now. Fire licked up the side of my jaw from the amount of force that I placed on it as I clenched it tight, but I didn’t give a fuck. I couldn’t believe this.

  Absolutely. Could. Not. Believe. This.

  “And you … what? Expect me to pay it back?” One look at Petrov and I knew that was exactly what he expected. Sucks for him because I didn’t make that kind of money. “Hate to break it to you, buddy, but you’re barking up the wrong damn tree. I’m just a part-time grease monkey. I don’t have that kind of cash lying around.” Even if I did, I damn sure wouldn’t use it to pay Pop’s gambling debts. Know what I could do with forty grand? That would be one hell of a down payment on a starter home for me and Maddie.

  Pop grabbed my arm, but I ripped it away. “Hendrix, sit the fuck down and be quiet. We’ll work something out.”

  Fuck him and fuck Petrov. I wasn’t sitting down and I wasn’t discussing jack shit!

  “Work something out? How about you work something out, Pop? You’re the stupid bastard who spent money you didn’t have! This isn’t my debt, and it isn’t my fucking problem.” Pop made a grab for me again. “Hendrix, sit down!”

  He was angry, huh? Well, I was angrier.

  I stepped back, fists clenched at the ready. “Touch me again and I’ll break your goddamn face, Pop!” He narrowed his eyes but didn’t make another move.

  That’s what I thought, shithead.

  I ignored Petrov calling my name. “Mr. Hendrix.” Fuck you too, asshole.

  Turning on my heel, I stormed towards the door, only to be stopped when the big son of a bitch who’d broken my nose earlier in the hall stepped in front of me.

  I pushed against him but he didn’t budge. He was like a brick wall. I shoved again. This time he moved but not enough. “Mother fucker, if you don’t move I swear to God I’ll lay you out.” I turned to go around him, but he sidestepped and blocked my path again.

  Okay, time for Plan B. Fisting my hand at my side, I raised my arm to swing at him but stopped when I saw the gun in his hand.

  It was pointed right at my chest.

  Shit.

  “Mr. Hendrix,” Petrov called out from behind me, “I suggest you return to your seat and listen to what I have to say.”

  I closed my eyes. There was no way out. If I left, they’d shoot me.

  If I stayed, I feared what would happen next. What they would make me do…

  Choosing the lesser risk, I turned back around and retook my seat beside Pop. I felt his eyes on me and turned my head towards him. Eyes glassy, he looked near tears.

  Too bad I didn’t give a shit. “You happy now, Pop? Think you’ve destroyed my life enough yet?”

  He didn’t say a word.

  I looked away from him and locked eyes with Petrov. “Say what you need to. Let’s put it all on the table.”

  “I can respect a man who wants to get right down to business.”

  I smirked. “Too bad I don’t respect you at all.”

  “Goddamn it, Hendrix.” Pop punched my arm, but I didn’t even flinch.

  “Your choice.” Opening a desk drawer, Petrov pulled out a manila envelope and tossed it on the desk. Near the top, written in red ink, was my name.

  Hendrix David Cole.

  I pointed to the file. “What is that?”

  “A bargaining chip.”

  I laughed. “Dude, if you think you can use me as a bargaining chip against my father, you’ve lost your damn mind. The man hates me. Always has.” I pointed at Pop. “Just ask him.”

  Petrov didn’t miss a beat. He jabbed a long finger towards the file. “The information in this file isn’t meant to persuade your father. It’s meant to persuade you.”

  I was lost.

  Leaning back in the chair, I entwined my fingers behind my head. “Whatever, man. But like I said before, let’s just get on with it.”

  Again, he nodded. “Fine. As you say, we’ll put it all on the table.” Moments of silence ticked by. “Your father owes me forty thousand plus an additional ten in interest.” Fifty grand. Fucking Christ. “But I am prepared to make you an offer that will eradicate the debt.”

  Pop perked up, but I didn’t move. “How?” he asked, his
voice full of hope.

  Petrov ignored him. Not once did his eyes leave mine. “I hear you’re a good fighter.”

  “Yeah? And where did you hear that?”

  He waved his hand in a dismissive gesture. “These things do not matter.”

  “I don’t know what you’ve been told, Petrov, but I’m no fighter.”

  He furrowed his brow. “Did you or did you not win the Silver Gloves Boxing Championship when you were fifteen?”

  Pop looked at me. “You what?” he yelled. “When did you start boxing?”

  The day after I kissed Maddie the first time…

  The day after I decided to keep her forever…

  “When I was fourteen.”

  It started as a way for me to take out my aggression. Surprisingly, Maddie was the one to suggest it. She was worried I’d lose my temper at school and beat some kid half to death, which would result in me being expelled or arrested. Hell, maybe both. When she showed me the flyer for the after-school class down at the boxing gym, I agreed that it was a good idea.

  A week later, I signed up for the class and started going every afternoon.

  It was one of the best things I ever did.

  Instead of taking my anger out on Pop or some other shithead—like Ty Jacobs—I took it out on a bag.

  It just so happened that I was good. Really good. When I turned fifteen, my coach pushed me to enter the Silver Gloves tournament.

  I did.

  Six weeks later, I was the champion. If Pop had bothered to check the damn newspaper I’m sure he would have seen my face on the back page of the Sports section. But did he do that? No, he didn’t.

  Asshole.

  Honestly, though, I’m kind of surprised none of the guys at the station ever brought it up. A few of them had to have known. Guess they knew how much Pop despised me too.

  “How”—he threw his hands up in the air— “how the hell did I not know this?”

  I shrugged. Probably because Grandmama signed the permission form—even though she wasn’t a legal guardian—and she and Maddie both hate you so neither bothered to tell you.

  Now wasn’t the time to rip into Pop and divulge those details, though, so I kept my mouth shut. It wasn’t like it was some guarded secret. Pop didn’t know about it because he didn’t care to know. He never asked where I went every afternoon or why I sometimes came home with a black eye or busted lip. He never questioned the bruises or asked about the cuts.