by Adam Knight
“After this week, Joe. We can talk more about this after this week. I do want to bring you in. But right now …”
Two Asian businessmen walked past Aaron, a young lady accessorized for each of them. Lots of laughter and hands in inappropriate places for public viewing as they headed towards the marble staircase.
“Here’s the thing,” time to bottom line this conversation. “If this was just about providing a safe place off the streets for girls to make money and take a cut, I’d have no issues.” I really wouldn’t. Sorry if that bothers you. I narrowed my eyes and gave my best glower at Aaron, driving my point home. “But I didn’t get shot because Keimac Cleghorn’s sister Candace was being treated well and fairly did I?”
Aaron’s face had gone ashen. His fingers tightened on my arm unconsciously. Was he starting to sweat? Parise wrapped up his conversation with Miller and was starting our way. “Joe, no one was supposed to get hurt. I swear it.”
“But people are getting hurt, aren’t they Aaron? And you’re letting it happen.”
“You don’t understand, Joe. But we can’t talk...”
“What’s to understand? Why are …”
Parise’s hand clamped high on my other arm, tighter than was really necessary. Miller had followed along, his expression beyond cold.
“Mon ami,” Parise began coolly in his French-Canadian accent. His perfectly groomed features calm and expressionless. “This is really not a good time for you to be here.”
My headache was becoming difficult to ignore.
“What’s with the girls, Officer Parise?” I was too far gone to talk around the subject. After everything at the Posse hideout with Cathy, hell for the weeks since getting shot; I couldn’t pretend that things were hunky dory at this point.
I wanted answers.
“We are entertaining some guests from out of town,” Parise replied, his expression still unreadable. “It seemed only appropriate to have some ladies on hand to make them feel welcome. Some local flavor if you will.”
“I bet they’re very entertaining.” I kept blinking my own eyes, they were starting to feel dry on top of everything else. Hope no one thought I was trying to flutter my eyelids or anything weird.
“What’s wrong with your eyes?” Miller growled at me. “You some kinda fag or something?”
Sigh.
“This really isn’t a good time, Joe.” Parise continued, shooting Miller a disgusted look over his shoulder. “It is quite clear that you are under the weather and we are wrapping up our business for the night. We can talk about this another time.”
“What happened to Candace Cleghorn?”
Everyone froze.
“Her brother Keimac was certain that she died after working here as one of the VIP Girls. His Posse members said a lot of their girls came through here when I talked to them earlier tonight.” I took in all of their faces in turn. “I remember Candace being here, being like those others.” I motioned with my head to the VIP section where some shenanigans were still afoot. “So I know that’s true. Is the rest true?”
No one said anything.
Shit.
“So, what happened? Candace overdosed during a party? A client got rough? She started a fight?”
No one said anything. But their expressions got darker.
Shit.
I closed my eyes, my stomach rolling but from a different kind of nausea now.
“Goddammit, you guys really did it.”
When I opened my eyes again the scenario had changed. Parise and Aaron still had a grip on each arm but Miller had repositioned himself until he was standing right in front of me, his face a glowering mask. All three of them were crowding me until my back was against the bar.
I scanned each of their faces carefully. Parise remained expressionless save for a tightening around his calculating eyes, you could practically see the wheels turning inside his skull. Aaron was visibly sweating now, moisture rolling down from his bottle blonde coif and under his chin. His expression was the guilty one, completely resigned and open. Miller’s nostrils were literally flaring as he readied himself for violence.
It took more effort than I’d care to admit but I managed to stare them all right back.
I should have been sweating buckets but my skin was slowly getting hot and uncomfortable. My head continued to throb, any relief I had gotten from the food and water was evaporating by the heartbeat. My stomach felt like I was about to vomit up every meal I’d ever eaten all at one time despite being practically empty.
“Guys?” Shelby asked timidly from just behind me on the other side of the bar. “Is everything okay?’
The tension rose. No one looked at her.
“How many?” I managed to ask through my dry throat.
Parise blinked. ‘What?”
“How many girls had to die to keep you in the pimp game?”
Breath exploded out from my lungs as I collapsed to the hard floor, a huge Officer Miller sized bruise forming just below my solar plexus. My head screamed in agony as I hit the ground choking and unable to breath.
“Joe!”
“You dare to question us?”
“Miller, that’s enough!”
“Joe! What are you doing to him?”
“Shelby, please stay back this doesn’t concern you.”
“He took a bullet for this club! For all of us!”
“It’s not that simple …”
“Shut up, bitch.”
“Miller, I said that is enough!”
“You ungrateful son of a bitch I am gonna …”
“Enough!” Parise snapped.
Air. Sweet air filled my lungs in a rasp.
One arm was braced on the floor while the other pressed firmly to where Miller had hammered me. The desire to throw up had increased tenfold and my head hurt so badly that I couldn’t see clearly. My splayed fingers on the floor before me were a blur and not from tears. My body didn’t seem to have any moisture left in it.
I could faintly hear Shelby’s stillettos echoing on the floor as she came around the bar. I felt more than saw Aaron cut her off and block her path.
“What the hell are you doing to him?”
“Honey you need to go now,” Aaron said worriedly. “This isn’t anything that concerns …”
“Joe took a bullet for this club and everyone in it. And now you’re letting him get beat by that pig?”
“Watch your mouth, girl.”
“Get rid of her, Aaron.” Parise said, his voice still calm.
“Shelby I need you to …”
Flesh cracked in the relative silence and Aaron cried out. A brief scuffle broke out that I couldn’t see or do anything about. It literally took everything I had to keep breathing and remain conscious from my position on the floor.
It was about here that I realized I wasn’t feeling anything from the spot at the back of my neck. No tingle, no chills, no rush.
Just piercing agony behind my eyes.
I must’ve blacked out briefly then.
A pair of rough hands seized me by the arms and hauled me back to my feet, slamming me painfully against the bar. Though whether the impact hurt more than my head was completely debatable.
My vision cleared momentarily. Miller had one beefy paw on my chest holding me in place while Parise stood directly beside him. Aaron and Shelby were nowhere to be seen. Actually no one else was to be seen. The main room had cleared.
“No witnesses,” my lips mumbled. “Great.”
“You don’t know what you’re doing, Joe.” Parise said regretfully, removing his suit jacket as he spoke. “Things are never as simple as they appear.”
“Oh no?” I muttered. Trying to focus past the headache and keep my eyes clear. Where the hell did Mark go?
Miller’s expression was cold. Dangerous. “Told’ya we couldn’t trust this guy.”
“Guess …” I coughed, grabbing at Miller’s extended arm weakly with both of mine. “Guess you aren’t as dumb as you …”
It was apparently possible for my head to hurt even worse. My eyes lost all focus and I felt my face slam heavily to the smooth surface of the bar. The skin around my left eye pinched and began to swell, pulsing in time with the ice pick jabbing into my skull.
“That’s enough, Miller.”
“Fuck off, I don’t have to take that shit from anyone.”
“I said that’s enough!” Parise’s voice cracked like a whip.
Silence, save for the harsh rasp of my breathing.
I was turned around again and forced into a stool, still leaned up against the bar. Parise stood in front of me, rolling up the sleeves to his expensive dress shirt. The image of a man preparing to work.
“You must not think badly of me. Of us,” Parise said in his accented voice, sounding more than a little regretful. His eyes not meeting mine, focused on the delicate task of precisely rolling up his cuffs. “When we were presented with this opportunity, well … Mon dieu no rational man could have turned it down.”
Blood was filling my mouth. Apparently I’d bitten my tongue when Miller smashed my face. I tried to spit it onto his too white shirt but it just dribbled down my chin in gruesome stream.
Parise didn’t seem to notice.
“It was so easy,” he continued, unbuttoning the top tabs on his shirt. “These girls, already they were used to it. To being pimped out. Whores for their family. Whores for their gangs. But this …” he motioned around the main room expansively. “To young women used to turning tricks in dirty alleyways and in the back of cars, this is a paradise.”
“Better than they deserve.” Miller growled. “Them bitches owe us, taking them off the streets. Giving them clothes, a place to be safe.”
“And when things got out of hand, who could blame us for trying to protect ourselves and everything we created.”
Somehow I managed to force a chuckle, my blood spattering off my lips. I was so weak, so hurt. “Yeah. Best whorehouse I ever worked in.”
Miller reared back his fist again but stopped when Parise held up his hand.
“How did you see this playing out, Joe?” he asked me quietly. A sad expression on his too groomed features. “Did you think you could come in, ask some questions about our business? Accuse us of being pimps and murderers and assume all would be well? That we would shake hands and go on about our business.”
“Honestly?” I croaked painfully as my vision blurring again. “I hoped you’d tell me I was full of shit and we’d all have a good laugh over a beer.”
Parise smiled sadly.
And that’s when things started to hurt.
Chapter 38
“Hello?” came her static filled voice brokenly over the intercom. She sounded tired.
I could relate.
“Hey,” I muttered as loudly as I could through my raw throat. “You awake?”
There was a hissing pause.
“I have the cops on speed dial. So if you drunks don’t go away right now they’ll come here and haul you away, just like last week!”
Maybe it was my delivery.
“It’s Joe.”
“Joe?” More static over the line. “Joe, it’s three in the morning.”
“Yeah. Sorry.”
Another pause.
“What are you doing here? I thought you didn’t know where I … Wait… Is this a booty call?”
Despite everything I laughed. At least I think it was a laugh. My chest rose and fell and sounds emanated from my throat. Every lurching motion sending more shockwaves of agony through my body.
“Joe? You think this is funny?”
“Not really,” I croaked.
“Okay that’s it, I am …”
The intercom clicked off with a snapping sound. I don’t think it had anything to do with me but frankly it’s impossible to be sure.
I leaned heavily against the glass window of the old apartment complex and closed my eyes. The cool glass felt good against my flaming hot and agonized face.
Is it still called “falling asleep” when you lose track of time in a vertical-ish position? Or is that officially “passing out?”
And that sort of question is why it’s a good thing I never even considered getting into medicine.
That thought made me laugh again. Which of course made everything hurt again. Not that it really ever stopped.
The sound of footsteps coming down a long hallway echoed to my ears through the thick glass. With an effort I cracked open my swollen eyes and peered into the gloom.
An interior door leading to the main floor apartments swung open to reveal Tamara’s tiny form. Without her librarian glasses I barely recognized her, though her hair being in a wild state of disarray certainly added to the lack of recognition. Dressed in an overlong tee-shirt that hung on her like tent with a pair of fuzzy bunny slippers and a furious expression she stomped up towards the building’s entrance with purpose.
“What in the hell do you think you’re doing?” she said to me with real heat in her voice after opening the door. “I don’t know what you are expecting to happen tonight but …”
My bad knee chose that moment to give out on me, lurching my body down towards the concrete steps. I managed to keep myself from face planting with a last ditch effort of will and both palms pressed up onto the glass.
And Tamara’s tiny hands planted on my chest helped some too.
Her eyes narrowed as she stared at me. Odd, I figured she was nearsighted. Shows what I know.
“Oh my God,” Tamara said quietly as she got a good look at me. “Oh my God, Joe. We have to get you to a …”
”No hospital!” I croaked, shuddering. Remembering what I was told.
“Joe! You’re barely standing. You need a doctor!”
My head hung low, chin drooped to my chest. Shame. Agony. Humiliation. Failure. All these emotions churned in my belly. All of them accompanied by the agony in my head and all over my flesh.
“Please,” I whispered, my voice broken. I was shaking uncontrollably now. It had taken the last of my strength to stumble the mere four blocks to this spot. “Please.”
“Joe?” Her eyes were very wide.
“Please.”
I don’t know the details for how I made it up the short flight of stairs and down the hallway to Tamara’s tiny apartment. What I do remember was having a cup of cold water pressed into my trembling hands and being helped to my split lips. I sipped gratefully, the cold wash mingling with the dried blood in my mouth. The taste of liquid pennies swirled down my raw throat like so much refuse down the drain.
“Drink up,” she said quietly, her voice soothing. Small fingers ran through my shaggy and sodden hair. A shiver rolled down my neck at the touch. How long since I’d been touched like that? Had I ever been touched like that? “Drink. I’ll make some tea in a moment.”