by AJ Adams
As we danced on and on, the place began to fill up. There was some oohing and aahing from Mitch’s old high school buds when they spotted him, but as he stayed glued to me, it never got past waves and air kisses.
“Don’t you want to catch up with old friends?” I asked him.
“I only have eyes for you.”
As Angela Bedowski had just walked in, it was irresistible. “I’m having the best time,” I sighed.
At that point Christy and Dale turned up to cheers, and Poncho came back, along with some of his buds: Ben Angelito, a Gulf enforcer, and Tony Alvarez, a Gulf street coordinator, and Twitch Ramirez, a Gulf dealer.
Poncho and his pals installed themselves in the VIP booth that was always held for them, and then, to my surprise, they all waved. Since I’d stepped back from the cartel, they’d been a bit cool. Because of my name I got respect, and we were all civil, but waving was off the menu.
Then Mitch raised his hand, clearly greeting the gang. I must have looked really taken aback because he grinned, “Tony and Twitch were in math class with me. Twitch is a human calculator.”
I’d forgotten. “Yes, his dad was the same. Best bookie in Texas.”
“Right, you know them all.”
I didn’t want to go there. “Not much anymore.”
To my relief, he didn’t ask any questions. After giving the cartel a casual thumbs-up, Mitch put an arm around me, “Hey, babe, is Betsy’s Grill still there?”
We’d practically lived in that diner when we were kids. “Yes.”
The brown eyes were guileless. “I’ve got a hard-on for one of her bacon burgers with cheese.”
“Damn. I thought that woodie was for me.”
“Maybe,” Mitch teased.
And then he kissed me. The moment his lips touched mine, I was hurtling back into familiar warmth. Sweet acceptance and hard need flowed over me. It was like falling back into the past.
“Let’s go.”
And to this day, I still don’t know if he said that or I. What I do remember are the cheers and whistles from our table, a waft of beef seared to perfection, and then standing in my porch, kissing as if we were both kids again.
“Chica, dinner tomorrow?” The woodie was hot and hard, but Mitch wasn’t taking anything for granted.
“Yes, please.”
His voice was rough with want. “I’m so glad I came back.”
“Me too.”
From that moment on, I was like a lovelorn kid. After that first night in Barnyard, Mitch took me to a Korean place to eat barbeque, to a French club to drink wine, and to a German pub for imported beer. All of them were in the city, well away from Dawson’s Heights, and none of them was cheap.
“Mitch, this is costing a bomb, and you won’t let me pay my share. How about we have a night at Barnyard? On me? You must want to see some of the others too. The football team go every weekend. You could catch up with your buds.”
“I don’t want to share you,” Mitch murmured. “Let’s hang, just you and me.”
“All these expensive treats, though!”
“Pooh, stop worrying! I’m on holiday. Let’s go to Houston for the weekend.”
Idiot that I am, I fell into his arms on the first night and into his bed on the third. He’d taken a house on Cedar Boulevard, and it was glorious.
“This must have cost a bomb.” I was lying on the king size bed, watching him strip, just like in the old days.
“I’m renting,” Mitch grinned. “I got a deal from a friend.”
“Did he supply these amazing tiger-striped sheets?”
Mitch landed next to me, cock up hard and hot. “I bought those.” His hands were all over me. “Only silk is good enough for my girl.”
For a moment I couldn’t breathe. “Am I your girl?”
The brown eyes were sincere. “I’ve never wanted anyone else.”
I swallowed every word he told me. I was enveloped by his attention; seduced by the feeling of belonging and acceptance. Also, as we’d known each other forever, we talked about everything, even about Papa.
“He was a good man,” Mitch said. “He always made me feel welcome.”
It touched me. “He liked you.”
“Tell me some stories about him,” Mitch encouraged me. “Did he really win the Six Hills Motocross five years in a row, only to lose the sixth time when a wild bull charged him?”
As that was one of Papa’s best tales, I was happy to tell it. That led to more stories, and before I knew it, I was reliving the past. Or rather, all the good parts.
“I must be boring you,” I said guiltily. “You don’t know half those people.”
“I love hearing about them,” Mitch grinned. “Tell me more about those race fixers. They sound awesome!”
And like a fool, I shot off my ten-gallon mouth, thinking I was entertaining Mitch and not having a clue what he was really after.
What I should have remembered was how convincingly he’d lied about Angela Bedowski. Instead, I was living in la-la land and thinking I was finally getting the life I wanted: the love of a good man and both of us in decent hard honest work with no shootings, violence, or worries about the law.
It was a full two weeks later that I met up with the gang in Barnyard again.
“Who are you?” Emma asked as she hugged me ruthlessly. “Do I know you?”
“What, did Mitch kick you out of bed?” Lucy giggled.
“I thought you’d given us up,” Jake grinned.
But Roberto was a little twitchy.
“What’s up with you?” I asked him.
“Nothing,” he said quickly. “Erm, getting along well, are you?”
Before I could answer, Poncho strolled up. “Hey, good to see you!” To my utter surprise, I got a hug and he announced, “Drinks first and then Alfredo’s?”
I could see Ben Angelito and Tony Alvarez waving at me from the VIP booth. Their table was loaded with tequila, rum, and brandy, and they had their own waitress. That’s the cartel for you; it’s luxury all the way. Even the coffins are hardwood. “Poncho, I’d love to but I’m waiting for someone.”
“Yeah, I know. Mitch said we’d all catch up here tonight.”
For a moment I couldn’t breathe. “What?”
“Mitch said we’d all meet here,” Poncho repeated. He was smiling. “Chica, it’s good to see you back again. We all missed you.”
“Missed me?” I repeated stupidly.
“Yeah. We thought you’d ditched us for good, but I guess you just needed some time out, huh?” Poncho grinned. “Trust Mitch to do what the rest of us couldn’t.”
“The rest of us?” I was stuck on parrot mode.
“Hey, don’t worry. It’s cool. We know you had to take a break.” Poncho had an arm around me, telling all of Barnyard the cartel was approving of me. “We’d forgotten Mitch was an old flame of yours.” Then, to my horror, he added quietly. “You picked a good man. He did great in LA, and he’s got some great plans for us here.”
An icy wave of realization ran through me. “For a construction project?”
“Absolutely!” Poncho winked. “Your papa would’ve been proud. He always said Mitch had potential.”
Before I could say another word, Mitch pitched up. “Chica! Sorry I’m late!” He clocked Poncho and for a second his eyes went blank. Then he was smiling, “Hey, good to see you.”
To my absolute horror, Poncho, senior member of the Gulf cartel, stepped back from me and went into full submission mode. “Just making small talk with your lady. We were in school, you know.”
“Absolutely!” Mitch put an arm around me possessively. “We’ll join you all in a minute.”
Poncho was backing away, acting like a peon. “I’ll get a bottle of that wine you like.”
“Awesome!”
The second Poncho walked off, I was telling Mitch, “We need to talk.”
Barnyard is noisy, but there’s a quiet corridor just off the ladies. Standing there, I didn’t know w
hat to say.
“Chica, are you upset?” Mitch was trying to pretend it was all cool. “What is it, babe?”
“I thought you were in construction.”
“I am.” But the brown eyes were flickering.
“Don’t fuck with me, Mitch. You joined the cartel.”
He didn’t bother to deny it. “Hollywood is all about cartels. You can’t get ahead without affiliation.”
Like a kaleidoscope, it all fell into place. “That first night at Barnyard, Poncho, Ben, Tony, and Twitch were waving at you.”
“Yes. They’re good people. Welcoming.”
“All those dates in the city. You were keeping me away on purpose, so I wouldn’t figure out you were with them.”
“I wanted you to myself, I told you.”
He was lying. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
He put his arms around me. “Look, everyone knows you had a bad time. It’s okay. You needed a little distance. Now it’s time to come back.”
I wanted to weep. “Mitch, I can’t do this.”
“Can’t do what?”
“It’s the cartel, Mitch. That life, it’s not for me.”
“Sure, it is. All those stories you tell? You’re pure cartel, chica. Just remembering those days makes you happy. Listening to you these last few weeks has been a real education. You’re better than Gangland Undercover.”
Realization dawned. “Ohmigod. You were pumping me?”
“No, of course not!” Mitch was horrified, at least he sounded it. “How could you say that?”
Again, I didn’t believe him.
“It’s in your blood, chica. Your friends are solid. I love them. But they’re not your people.” It was like listening to the devil. “You’re so unhappy.”
My heart was breaking. “Mitch, I can’t be with you if you’re cartel.”
He was so warm, his arms hard around me. “We’ve been having a great time.”
“Because I thought you were a regular guy.”
“I am!”
“No, you’re not.” I gently pushed him away. “Look, I have to go.” And then, like a complete coward, I ran. I didn’t even stop at the table to say goodbye. I went straight home.
Once locked safely inside, I threw myself onto the bed, yearning for strong arms around me. With Mitch I’d be back among familiar people again, and a devil on my shoulder was whispering I could shut my eyes to the danger and violence.
“I can’t take it anymore!” I cried and I wept until my eyes were swollen shut. I wanted to die.
Those two weeks had shown me how isolated I’d been since Papa died. I loved my friends, but Mitch was right: I’d not been accepted by anyone outside of Emma, Lucy, Jake, Tim, and Roberto. I didn’t fit.
The truth hit me like a ten-ton truck: I’d given up my roots, and it had not given me a future. I knew I’d never marry, have kids, or even someone to be with. I was alone.
As the pain hit me, I switched off my phone. I told myself it was because I didn’t want to be disturbed, but to be honest I didn’t trust myself to turn Mitch down again if he called.
Chapter Three: Rip
“He’s not there, but his clothes are.”
“Good. They’ll pinch the fucking creep when he comes back.”
Yes, the bastards had dropped me right in it. Ari Fleet and Larry White, enforcers for the Southside Knights, were strolling up the street away from the flat, but there were eyes everywhere.
I spotted one copper watching my front door, and there was a van parked on double yellow lines being studiously ignored by a traffic warden down the street. I had no doubt the vehicle was loaded with uniforms.
I walked into the sunlight and strolled casually up the street, right past the lot of them. They’d see me, but as I paid no attention, they’d decide a wanted man would have turned back into the safety of the alley or up the street, not towards them. More fool they!
Now what would “Tricky” Dicky Latiff be doing right now? Having dropped me in it, he should be hiding somewhere, surrounded by guards. If he were sensible. But Tricky was a moron. I knew that because the fucker had betrayed me. So where would I find him?
A Starbucks gave me space to plan and a coffee to boot. I sat at a little table with my back to the room, closed my eyes, and shifted into Tricky’s mindset. I’d worked for him for three months, so it was fairly easy.
Proud as a peacock, Tricky. Yes, there I was, motivated by greed, pride, and drugs. I wanted it all, but I was also lazy, forever taking the quickest shortcut. Add in arrogance and a flair for violence.
Yes, that was it. Okay, now I was cruising in Tricky space, seeing the world through his eyes and feeling his feelings.
I surveyed my empire, thinking of all the people I’d blown away. Yeah, I was top dog. Leader of the biggest gang in London. I deserved it. For a moment I revelled in my power, and then I pulled myself together. Good, now I had been caught with ten ki’s of Lebanese hash. Fuck! But okay, I’d talked myself out of it by giving up that creep, the one who’d taken out my rivals for me. Good, so it was business as usual. Terrific.
My courage swelled as I knew I was the best. So what would I be doing? Right! Throw a party! Let everyone know how fucking fantastic I was! But first, work on the abs. Give the girls something to swoon after.
My eyes snapped open and I was back in the present. Right, that idiot would go on as usual. Which meant I knew exactly where to find him. It wouldn’t take a disguise to get close to him, either. This was a simple execution.
An hour later I was waiting on Peckham Common. It was flat with a little stream winding through, but there were a couple of nice copses filled with mature trees that provided lovely cover. It was getting dark, and the wind turned cold. Perfect for me. People who’d been hanging around began to think about going for an evening pint.
By now Tricky would be making his way out of Wentworth Crescent and warming up for his evening run. He was a well-known body freak, all pumped-up muscle, fed by steroids. I never could figure out why he’d mess himself up with drugs when he claimed to be a fitness fanatic, but that’s probably because he was one sandwich short of a picnic.
I sat on a bench and waited. A few minutes later, the rain began to fall. I was really lucking out. The few people still hanging around rushed off home, leaving me alone. I stood under a large tree, hidden from view and hopefully looking like a man who was cursing the fact he’d been caught without an umbrella.
It was dusk when Tricky appeared. He was dressed in a bright red tracksuit, his minders Ari and Larry puffing along in navy blue. They didn’t even look up as I stepped out. Tricky caught the first shot, and the other two went down before they even realised what was happening. I stepped over their bodies, shot again, and when I saw three sets of brains, I quietly walked away.
Time taken: less than ten seconds.
There wasn’t a soul in sight. I dropped the gun in the stream and my gloves in a bin. Now there was no evidence to link me to the triple deaths. Then I turned up my collar and decided to treat myself. A taxi took me to Soho. I had a beef-and-Guinness pie in The Ship and then I headed out, intending to visit Madam JoJo’s, the best burlesque stage show in London.
Soho was busy as usual, but there was no street atmosphere as people were hurrying along, trying to keep out of the rain. I don’t mind getting wet, and so I was looking around as I walked to the club. That’s when I spotted him.
On the surface he looked like a banker: average height, solid build, with a classic haircut, dark suit, silk tie, and leather shoes. He was unremarkable until I saw his eyes. He looked at me, just a fleeting glance, but it stopped me in my tracks. Those dark eyes, black almost, were filled with knowledge and power. He knew what I was, too, because he gazed at me and then nodded.
He was surrounded by people, and unlike Tricky’s boys, these were professional bodyguards. They all clocked me, and I knew they’d have me if they thought I was a threat. I stepped back and watched them pass.
The
one with the eyes had a woman by the hand. She was a stunner. Black glossy hair, skin as exquisite as a pearl, and eyes like sapphires. From the way her gaze swept over me, taking in every detail, this wasn’t a trophy girl. She was a power in her own right. I’ve never been very interested in women, but this one fascinated me.
“Move out of the fucking way!”
A hand shoved me aside and instinct took over. I grabbed the wrist, a dark-skinned wrist, and pulled. He shot past me, carried forward by his own momentum. He staggered, almost falling into the road, and then caught himself and turned, snarling something at me. That’s when I spotted the Magnum.
“Oh my God!” A tranny in a pink rhinestone dress and spangled brolly began screaming. “He has a gun!”
Instantly people began turning. The gun moved away from me and turned to point at the party that had just passed me. The one with the black eyes pushed the woman behind him as his bodyguards all bunched up, covering them both. Then I was flinging myself forward.
I still have no idea why I did that. The sensible thing to do would be to walk away. I’d only had the one glass of red with the beef pie, so it can’t have been drink. I wasn’t under threat. I had no stake in the situation. I just can’t think what came over me.
Whatever made me do it, throwing myself into the mix proved to be life-changing.
The gunman wasn’t looking at me. He got off one shot, but my interference had wrecked his aim so it went right into the car in front of him, shattering the back window. He never got a second go. I grabbed his wrist and twisted. He let go, and there was a long second where he just stared at me, his face stiff with hate.
“Who the fuck are you?” he growled.
I didn’t know him, but I knew the type: he had skin the colour of coffee, dark eyes, a crew cut, and he was covered in spiderweb tattoos. His eyes were red, his pupils shrunk to pinpoints. This man was high as a kite. From the weapon and the tats, he was a low-rent gangster, probably a casual killer. This time, though, he had a mark, and it looked personal.
“Kill you!” he snarled. “I’ll fucking kill you!”
I deal with threats in one way. I spotted a big car barrelling down the road, going way faster than the thirty-mile-an-hour limit. Perfect.