On the Rocks: A Dark Mafia Romance

by Nikki Belaire

  “Good.” Doubt pervades her tone. Both of us aware I’m not going anywhere but back to hell. After dumping the clothes on the bench, she sorts the pieces by outfit and shakes her head. “Hold on. I’ve got another one for you.”

  While I'm waiting, I grab a pair of panties from the pile and slip them on. No real barrier to him if he wants me again. But I don’t care. At least I’m covered in this moment. Protected from his repulsive touch for a little longer.

  Tired of being exposed, I pull on my dress too. Hiding some of his abuse. From myself and everyone else.

  I smooth down the wrinkled fabric to the pocket that won’t lay flat. Bunched up with something crinkling inside. I dip in my fingers, brushing against paper, and pull the bundle out.

  Not paper.

  Money.

  Hundred dollar bills.

  Shock explodes with exhilaration in my heart. Almost crying from the discovery. An option. Finally a way to escape.

  “Cat? Let me see you.”

  I shove the cash down into my pocket. Scared of getting caught. Of him taking my only hope. Trying to keep my voice normal, I call back to him. “Not yet. She’s bringing in more.”

  “I’m here. I’m here.”

  The young woman pushes open the door with her hip. A flowery peach tunic and white capris hang from one hand with a pair of silver heels dangling from the other. Confusion narrows her brow as she studies me. “Why are wearing that?”

  I tap my finger to my lips. “I need to go. Without him. Will you help me? Please?”

  “Fuck yeah I will.”

  I sob from her whisper mimicking mine. The fire in her eyes from our scheming. This is real. I’m really going to do this. Or give it all I have trying.

  “I have an idea.” She flips up her palm and nods before stepping back into the hallway. “Sir, we’re also going to need some lingerie. Would you like to help me pick out what you think will look beautiful on her?”

  I peek out. He’s gone. His footsteps tap on the tile closer to the racks by the front. Please just a few more feet.

  She races toward me, grabbing my wrist and pulling me along as we head to the back. “You’ve got about ten seconds before he figures it out.”

  We run past the two other dressing room doors and into the stock room. Streaks of sunlight cross the dark carpet from her opening the door. I glance back. He’s walking toward us with his head down. Scanning the tag attached to a red teddy. My last chance.

  So I do the only thing I can. I finally listen to the voice. I run.

  Racing past women gabbing on cell phones and pushing strollers. Beyond the whirl of the snow cone machine crushing ice at the snack cart, and the orderly line wrapped around the corner of the movie theater. Pumping my legs as hard as they’ll go, cutting through a breezeway between a hair salon and perfume boutique to reach the parking lot.

  A lime green trolley meanders through the last row. Seventy feet from the turn to take the shuttle out of the shopping plaza and onto the beach front road. I sprint along the line of cars to catch up. Filled with adrenaline, I jump and grab the black bar separating the riders from the steps. Laughing and crying at the same time when my hand curls around the scorching metal. One last look back and I don’t see him anywhere.

  Almost irrational with joy, I plop into an empty seat. Hugging myself as I fight the shuddering sobs welling in my throat. The woman next to me scoots away, grasping a tighter hand on her son. The young boy oblivious to my craziness. His focus remains on adjusting his blue and white water wings. Ready to swim. Free and safe. Just like me.

  I check my pocket again. The crisp bills slide under my fingers. Six hundreds won’t get me far or last very long. But it’s enough to get me away from him. Which right now is all I need.

  More than two hours pass as we wind through the city. Our trail is indiscriminate, stopping at luxurious resorts as well as run down motels, with people sprawled in lawn chairs settled between beer coolers in their parking lots, and every level of hotel quality in between. All of them perfect to me. Each one taking me farther and farther away from him.

  A tremor jolts through me from the thought. I know he’s furious. Frantically searching for me. Planning what he’ll do if finds me. Which I will never let happen. I just have to keep moving and I’ll be fine.

  10

  Chapter Ten

  I’m the last rider.

  For ten minutes I’ve been the only passenger. The driver glancing at me in his rear view mirror after we’ve stopped at a bustling souvenir store, fish taco stand, and state park entrance and I didn't disembark. Each time the lines of confusion grow deeper on his tanned forehead.

  He watches me again. “Last stop miss. This is the end of the route. Done for the day.”

  I smile. Trying to act confident. Like this is exactly where I’m supposed to be. Exactly what I want. “Yes, thank you. I’m here.”

  Wide eyes meet mine. Here is a parking lot, with an explosion of sherbet metal. Rows of pink, orange, and green shuttles glistening in the dissolving sun.

  He seems nice. Wears a thick gold band on his gnarled ring finger. Pictures of a small boy, with missing teeth wearing a blue cap and crookedly holding a gold diploma, taped to his sun visor. Old enough to be my grandfather. Wise enough to know I probably shouldn’t be left alone in this industrial park.

  “You sure?”

  No. “Yes, thank you. I’m going to…”

  Where? I look around. Desolate warehouses and a boarded up factory surround us. No other people or cars, except the other drivers parking their streetcars and heading into the office right outside the chain link fence.

  Wariness fills his expression as much as mine. Neither of us sure the crazy level of the other. Although I don’t know much, I have no doubt I totally win that competition. I better go before he gets in trouble. “Thanks! Have a good evening.”

  The eye roll and deep sigh confirms he doesn’t buy the chipper tone I attempt. He points past the crumbling brick sign squatting in front of a long closed storage unit facility.

  “There’s a library two blocks that way. They hold the town council meetings there on Sunday evenings and stay open until six pm. You could go there…” His voice softens with sympathy that burns my eyes with grateful tears. “…until you figure out where you need to be.”

  Which may be never. “Great! That’s where I was heading anyway.”

  He nods. Accepting the assertion we both know is a lie. Relieving some of his guilt that he’s at least set me on a less dangerous path than wandering alone. Not likely to encounter serial killers and rapists in a building full of responsible citizens. Unaware, though that damage has already been done.

  I smile. He deserves to go home to his family knowing he did all he could do. I’m not his problem.

  Hopping down, I force myself not to look back. Lest I run back too. Plead with him to take me home to his warm, safe house and eat lasagna and cookies and watch ballgames until I fall asleep on the sofa.

  Maybe that was my old life but I’m not sure what happened to it or how to get it back. So I walk. Faster when I see the lighted building. A stone refuge amidst the dark office buildings towering on each side. I’ve got a little more than an hour to figure out where I go next.

  Grateful to be in a place where wandering around isn’t odd or conspicuous. With a few magazines in my hand that I select from the stand near the entrance, I settle in a desolate back corner. Slink down in an overstuffed chair and close my eyes. Not trying too hard; just letting whatever thoughts that may exist come into my mind.

  Cool air blows on my legs. A dull hum from the fluorescent lights. The scent of cotton candy perfume from the lady shelving books.

  Cat Wire.

  Nothing.

  Michael Wire.

  Nothing.

  Vacation. Wedding. House.

  Nothing. Nothing. Nothing.

  No names. No faces. No memories.

  Just blank.

  I can’t stop the tears
. I may be free, but still lost as ever. The librarian glances over. Pushing her now empty cart in my direction. Not a friendly face like the sales lady or shuttle driver. Stirring the attention to myself I didn't want. I hop up and race to the restroom. Locking myself in the last stall, I dab the rough tissue against my cheeks. Crying won't help. Not sure what actually will, but definitely not feeling sorry for myself. Or giving into the panic swelling inside me.

  “I told her I wanted off on Monday." A muffled woman's voice floats through the air from far away. "But then she posted the schedule, and I’m on it. Now I have to call her. You know how much I hate talking to her.”

  A rumbling creak echoes across the open space and then blackness engulfs me. I gasp but no one is here to hear me.

  “She’ll probably make me work every weekend since she’ll be pissed about having to find a replacement. But I don’t care. I…”

  The complaints fade away, and I feel for the lock. Gingerly stepping toward the door. Another screech from the hinges as I yank down the knob.

  Darkness shrouds the entire floor. Lit only by the orange streaks of the fading sun cascading through the windows lining the front wall. I run past the unoccupied check-out desk to the front doors and shove against the handles. They don't budge. The red light blinking on the keypad under the adjacent bulletin board validates my assumption. Alarm is set too.

  I'm locked in.

  I should be terrified. Embarrassed for being so obtuse to the signs the library was closing. Confused as to why there isn't a meeting tonight like the trolley driver said. Instead, I'm soaring with relief.

  Michael's locked out.

  I'm alone until at least ten tomorrow morning, according to the operating hours etched on the glass. He can't get to me. Or hit me. Or yell at me. Or hurt me. For seventeen entire hours. I'm finally safe.

  I hang the sweater back on the chair. Straightening the sleeves as if the navy cardigan never left its spot draped across the seat to help keep me warm in the middle of the night. I fluff the sofa cushions, straighten the scissors, return the broom to the hook, and throw away the plastic wrapper from my cheese crackers.

  Guilt churns in my rumbling stomach from eating food that doesn't belong to me. I make another mental promise to replace the snack when I go to the store today. I have to spend as little as possible, but I refuse to be a thief.

  Looking around the small break room, everything looks in order. Nothing disturbed or disrupted from my impromptu sleep over. No one ever able to tell I've been here. Satisfied with my cleaning, I return to the ladies room. Fumbling in the dark to sit in the last stall again.

  Needing so much luck to pull this off. Hopeful that I can sneak out once other patrons start to fill the sofas and research tables. Praying that different employees staff the weekday hours.

  I stroke the baby fine hairs on my newly uncovered neck. Feeling so light with the weight of my curls gone. My dress may be the same but with my homemade pixie cut there's still a chance I won't be remembered from yesterday.

  No voices this time when the lights blink on. Just two brief moans of the door opening and closing in quick succession. I fight the urge to tiptoe out and run for it. I have to follow the plan.

  Minutes that feel like hours pass before heels click on the tile, tapping louder than the soft groan. Once her black pumps stop in the stall next to me, I venture out. With a quick wash of my hands, I stride through the hall, out the front entrance, and down the wide steps. I don't run or glance back. Nothing to garner suspicion. Just one step after the other. Mile after mile until I reach the strip mall I found searching the city map last night.

  I stick to my schedule. T-shirts, shorts, bras, and panties at the clothing store. Backpack, socks, and running shoes in the athletic department. He'll have to catch me if he wants me.

  Shampoo, deodorant, soap, and toothbrush in the pharmacy. Deviating from my plan only long enough to brush my teeth in the store bathroom. After two days, I just couldn't wait any longer.

  Food next, to satisfy my growling belly and repay my debt. I slow on the sidewalk, passing by colorful rows of images lining the windows of the shop beside the small market. Leafy flowers, entwined hearts, and smiley faces contrast with the flaming skulls, teeth baring tigers, and bloodied daggers. But I can't stop staring at a simple black and silver symbol. Wishing so hard I could remember what the sign means to me.

  "We open in thirty minutes, and I can do that for you."

  I jerk from the voice behind me. So engrossed in my contemplation, I never saw her come outside. Simultaneously winking and lighting the cigarette between her pierced lips as she reclines against the bench. Her purple hair accented with red tips, rustles in the breeze, setting off the intricate work covering every bit of her exposed skin except her face. "No, but thank you."

  A slow nod. With her talent, she probably doesn't have to beg for customers. Even though if she pushed hard enough I would be swayed to let her ink me. Which is dumb because I only have five hundred and sixteen dollars left. Which is probably not like me at all because the only markings I have on me are from Michael. "I better go."

  I point to the grocery like a moron. She doesn't care where I go or what I do.

  But I can't stop thinking about the character. As I grab boxes of granola bars, bananas, cheese and crackers, and a small bottle of milk, I imagine where I would have it done. Only visible to the eyes I want to see it. Right now only seen by mine.

  She's gone when I exit with my bags full of basic necessities. I drop down onto the seat where she relaxed before. Eating a bit of breakfast before I transfer my groceries to my knapsack. Still enthralled with the idea of that tattoo on my body.

  “You’ve stopped here twice without coming inside, so I’m thinking you’re too scared.”

  She smirks, leaning against the door frame. A lighter flipping between her fingers with the skill of a gunslinger.

  “I don’t have a lot of money.”

  Her long black fingernail points to my hand curling and uncurling the dark yellow peel.

  “How about the ring?”

  My stomach turns as I shake my head. “It’s bad luck.”

  “Luck’s what you make it.”

  Impulsive. Foolhardy. Spontaneous. Tomorrow I may regret agreeing. Tomorrow I may not even remember. Tomorrow I may not even be alive. So I'm going to live now. Enjoy this moment. Savor the strange comfort I feel from deciding for myself what marks my skin. More than happy to slide the band off my finger and give her the reminder of everything I've endured. And survived.

  “Okay then, let’s get to work.”

  Excitement and nervousness swirl in my stomach. She points to a table, and I drop my bag by my feet before climbing on the thick white cushion. A litany of questions and instructions that I don't hear. Somehow I've becoming obsessed. There's nothing I want more than for her to start.

  "Where do you want it?"

  With a shaking hand I brush over the location. Her eyebrows fly up in surprise, but quickly morph into an approving nod. I've impressed her which makes me proud. I tug off my shirt while she pulls a curtain around us. Creating a little cocoon of privacy. Shutting out the rest of the world. Just me, her, and the buzzing needle.

  "I'm Monica, by the way."

  Of course, I don't have one to share. I refuse to call myself Cat. That's his name for me, but not who I am. "Hi."

  “And your name is...?”

  No reason to hide since I've exposed all my other truths once I took off my top. She sees all that I am. With curious eyes that wander over my battered body. Although she refrains from asking me. Maybe she’s seen worse. Maybe she knows the answers to those kinds of questions don’t come easily. Or at all. “I don't know."

  "Come on. I don't bite...unless you want me to." She laughs at her old school line. "These are the jokes lady. I'm no comedian."

  "I really don't know. I can't remember anything since before yesterday when I woke up with a man who claims to be my husband." I stroke th
e swelling on my cheek, wincing from the tenderness. "But I think it's a lie."

  "What the fuck?"

  I guess I have finally shocked her. "Yeah, I know."

  With a head shake, she returns to her work. No more comments. Or judgment. Just letting me talk. It feels good to share my burden. To divulge my plight with someone else. Even if it’s impossible to believe me. "I ran away because he..."

  I can't bring myself to say the word out loud, and she can't seem to keep going. Looking up, she meets my gaze. Her eyes dark with understanding rather than pity.

  "Yeah, I get it. I had a guy who swore he loved me too. Fucking broke my nose twice he loved me so damn much."

  Her heartache may be older, yet still burns as raw as mine. "I'm sorry."

  "Me too."

  I settle back in. My story unfolding while my tattoo takes shape. The sting isn't so bad. Right when the pain gets to be too much, she stops. A mind reader as well as a talented artist. Methodical in her work. Blotting away the blood. Touching up various spots until she's satisfied. Before I even get to see.

  Finally, she rolls back on her stool, grabs a mirror, and holds the handle out to me. "What do you think?"

  Almost too breathtaking to answer. "I love it."

  She grins from my whisper. Pleased that I'm so overcome. "You're welcome."

  With my clothes back on, she gives me a few last reminders and a folded up paper. In return, I give her a gentle hug. To protect my tender skin and both of our fragile hearts. “Thank you. I really do love it.”

  Her embrace back to me is soft yet genuine. The cool exterior from earlier disarming a bit. “Good. I hope you figure out what it means to you.”

  "Me too."

  The snap of latex cracks in the small space from her pulling off her gloves. Cleaning up her tray of tools. But she doesn't look at me. "Do you think maybe you should go to the police or something?"

  I don't know what I don't know. Maybe I'm wanted. Maybe I'll end up in jail. "I'm too scared to take the chance."