by Ina Zajac
The Skeeze was sitting behind his desk on the phone, unaware. He just waved him in and pointed to the couch. “Look, I’m not paying you two hundred and eighty bucks an hour to lose!” he yelled into the phone. “Her cunt lawyer is making you look like a fucking joke!”
Matt bypassed the couch and came at him—seething. He could smell Carlos’s nasty scotch breath from across the desk, mixed with the sick smell of incense. The image of Via’s injuries came back to him. He felt a Big Bang of adrenaline bursting out through his pores.
“I’m here to kick your sorry ass!” He would launch his skull through the wall.
Carlos’s scowl turned to surprise, before shifting into understanding. He stood and reached for the buzzer. In one fluid motion, Matt came around the desk, hiked him up by his shirt, and heaved him up against the wall.
The door swung open and Nick came in, yelling, but Matt was too amped up to decipher his friend’s words. He was hyper-focused on the dread on Carlos’s face. He saw Via’s fear there too. He imagined how scared she must have been. No girl should ever have to be that scared. No girl. Ever. Nick was coming up behind him, but there was enough time for one quick shot. He would make The Skeeze feel her pain, and so much more. He brought up his fists, full of potential, and pivoted his body back. Nick grabbed him as he pulled back around, but he powered through and still got a solid piece of his boss. His knuckles crushed through, past skin and muscle, against bone. He watched Carlos’s head bash against the wall with a heavy thud then rebound from the cracked plaster.
Nick’s voice came into focus. “Enough.”
But it wasn’t enough. So he brought his hands up and clutched his boss’s throat. He would ring him out like the slime rag he was. But Nick pulled him back. “Matty, that’s enough.”
“No, no, it’s not.” He had him now. He was taking his air away. What was he without air? He watched Carlos’s eyes squint and flutter with primal desperation. “It’ll never be enough.” The Skeeze had stopped struggling and seemed captivated by some far off place in the distance. His sweat burned into Matt’s raw, cracked hands.
“Don’t kill him.” Nick was pleading, pulling harder.
Ben and Leon leapt in, soon joined by two of the bouncers from the Portland club. They all began tugging on Nick. It felt like rugby. Nick had always been awesome at rugby, so he managed to keep his balance. “Back off,” he told them. “I’ve got him. Back off.”
They all fell into a heap on the floor. Matt was up, going back for more, but Leon got up, grabbed him by the back of his shirt, and pushed him onto the couch.
“We’re not done!” Matt yelled, straining against his handlers. “I’m going to fuck your shit up! I’ll be back!”
Nick got up and put his hands out like a referee. “Chill. Everyone chill.” He went over and sat next to Matt, buffering him from the room.
Now it felt like basketball, two on four, not including Carlos, who was on the floor on his hands and knees, gasping for air. Ben brought him up into the desk chair and began checking his neck and head, but Carlos slapped him away. Everyone was breathing heavy. Leon went to the mini-fridge behind the bar and underhanded a bottle of water to Ben, who opened it and gave it to his boss. Carlos sat there, looking stoned out of his mind, staring down at the bottle of water in his hand. His right eye was already swelling up, but it brought Matt little satisfaction. This wasn’t over for him. He would finish the job another day.
Nick got up, reached into his inside coat pocket, and walked over to the desk. “We’re done with this shit. We should have quit years ago.” He threw a thick wad of cash and an one-ounce bag of blow down on the desk.
Matt wanted to ram it all down The Skeeze’s throat, first the baggie, then one filthy bill at a time. He would let Via have the honors.
“You don’t own us anymore,” Matt said. “But don’t worry. Your secrets, your operations, are safe. We’ll never talk. We can’t wait to forget that we ever worked for you.”
“Ungrateful,” was all he said. He touched his throat, took another drink, then let the plastic bottle fall to the floor. He pointed to his glass of scotch at the edge of his desk and Ben got it for him.
“This is the last of it,” Nick said. It was their last ounce of unsold product; twenty-eight grams—a bundle of eight balls, ready to go. “No more Portland runs, no more hosting horny, out-of-town businessmen, no more bachelor parties.”
“Keep it.” His voice was hoarse, just above a whisper. “And I’m supposed—” He had to stop and take a drink of scotch. “I’m supposed to just let you leave here, and trust you, after you’ve betrayed me like this.”
“We don’t want any part of this,” Nick told him, clear and confident.
“We were just kids when you lured us into this nasty pit,” Matt added. “We didn’t know you were such a waste of skin, but now we do.”
“Is that so?” He tried to laugh, but it came out wheezy. “Going to be big rock stars now? Leaving your slum life behind?” He looked up for the first time, seemingly indignant and unashamed. “You always thought you were better than me,” he said, his voice regaining its power. “But you’re not. You think you’re too good to speak Spanish, but your old man is just a Mexican, same as mine.” He pushed the money to the side of his desk, and swigged some more scotch. “You’re the one who’s pathetic—you actually fell in love with her?” He finished off the rest of his scotch, leaned past Nick, and threw the glass at Matt. But it was a pathetic attempt, way to the left. Not even close. Matt didn’t flinch, though Leon had to lean out of the way.
“You should be thanking me,” Carlos said. “You dodged a bullet. Did she tell you her old man was a nut job? That he killed her mother, just like mine did? Except mine had the decency to wait until March. What kind of asshole kills his wife just before Christmas?”
“What are you talking about?” Nick asked. “What have you been smoking?”
Of course, he’s been on the pipe. Matt took a whiff of the sweet air—free-based coke. That’s what the room smelled like, not incense. Then he asked the question; he had to. “Is that how you—? How you got her to—?” He couldn’t say the words “have sex with you.”
The Skeeze just shrugged. “No, Mattais. She’s more of a Ketamine girl.”
Nick fired back first. “Special K? You piece of shit! You might as well have roofied her.”
Carlos gave Nick a sick semi-smile. “Why should you care, Nick? Ah, you must be banging her too. Bitches always drop their panties for drummers.”
Matt jumped up while the Portland guys tried their best to sit him back down. “Shut your fucking face, you maggot!” he yelled, trying to rush Carlos. He only made it a few feet before he was pushed back to the couch. “I’ll come back later and we’ll finish this, just you and me. You’re going to hell. Maybe real soon, too!”
He would kill him. It would be an early Christmas present to the world.
Nick was pacing back and forth, swearing like he’d come down with Tourette’s.
Sick with himself, Matt sat back down, but kept his death glare on The Skeeze. He didn’t know who to hate more, Carlos or himself. How could he have failed her so horribly?
“I should have known you’d do something like this,” Matt yelled. “I knew what you did to Sonia. I was the one who painted over those bruises you gave her. That’s how Gallery Night started in the first place, right? So, you could hide what you were doing to your wife. This is all my fault, for being so good at keeping secrets.”
“Yes, secrets,” Carlos said, his eyes still glossy. “Via’s got some good ones. Stay, we’ll talk. Did you know she’s got more money than God? She’s a Rabbotino.” He began looking under the papers on his desk. “Did some research—have a copy of the article here somewhere. Such a sad story.”
“Let’s go,” Nick said. “You are better than this. You know you are.”
Carlos stopped searching. “It’s here somewhere, but fuck it. I’ll just tell you.”
Rabbotino?
Why did he know that name? He knew he should listen to Nick, but that name was so familiar.
“Do you know where she was hiding?” Carlos asked, his voice excited. “When her old man shot her mother?”
Nick was more insistent now. “He’s fucking with your head. Let’s go.”
Matt stood up and assured the Portland guys, “I’m not going to touch him. I’m leaving.” He turned for the door. “See? I’m leaving.”
“You don’t want to know?” Carlos asked. “It just explains so much. Why she’s such a head case.”
Matt had so many questions, but couldn’t stand to hear any more of The Skeeze’s truth. So he kept walking. He was just a foot from the door when it hit him—Rabbotino, the painter he’d learned about in art class, the one who had killed his wife, the Broadway actress. It had been all over the news. Good God. He remembered that story. Via was that little girl?
Carlos yelled out, “Spoiler alert: she was behind the Christmas tree!”
CHAPTER 43
VIA
DECEMBER 20TH, she reminded herself. She was so close—just one more day now. Via reached out and ran her fingers along the edge of the nursery room counter, wondering where Beth could be. It wasn’t like her to be late. The service had started ten minutes ago, but nobody had come in. No babies today? If so, the timing couldn’t be better. Maybe it was a holiday gift from Jesus.
Beth should be back from her women’s retreat and Via hoped the thick layer of foundation she had slicked across her face would be enough to hide the fading bruises. While she hated the filmy feel against her skin, being a less-is-more girl wasn’t really an option these days.
She sighed, homesick for Nick’s house. It was as though that staircase was calling to her somehow. She knew it was absurd, but she wanted to go there and sit under Matt’s painting. She wanted to go there, sit on the landing, put her head in her hands, and cry. She imagined looking up to find him there, at the foot of the stairs, looking at her like he used to.
She felt her body screaming for her to go to his show. It seemed that, somehow, he still loved her, but she was terrified to find out for sure. Either way, she would save that grocery bag forever. His handwriting was strong and sure. She wanted to go to him, but she was scared. Not only because she had betrayed him, but because she would have to tell him about the money, about her crazy father. How would he react, knowing who she really was? That messed up little girl from the news. Would he go to New York with her?
She hadn’t had blow in almost three weeks. She thought she had been feeling better, but this morning she had been so emotional. Like the drugs had been a plug in a dam of dysfunction. Whitney had been her Florence Nightingale of at-home detox, and she knew she should be thankful. Whit predicted it would get worse before it got better. And Via hated her for being right. So many problems and nowhere to bury them. She couldn’t go back to her secret life, but couldn’t go back to being Sister Christian either. She had nowhere to go.
The nightmares had been torturous, and now she woke up alone with nobody whispering “shh.”
The bell above the door jingled. She looked up to see Beth coming through the door, then Sarah and Nate’s father, Ben Kester. They all wore strong smiles, but nobody said a thing. They just walked past the counter and pulled up a few chairs next to the rocking chairs.
Beth came over for a big hug, but still didn’t say a word. Just offered an odd sort of smile.
Mr. Kester, still smiling, nodded to Via. “Please, sit with us.”
As she did, she realized they all looked nervous. She was clueless as to why at first, and then it hit her.
“Is it Dan?” She hadn’t talked to him since that day waiting for the ferry. The day she went to see Carlos. The day she ruined her life. “Has there been an accident? Is he dead?”
“Gosh no, Via,” Beth said. “No.”
Via should have felt better, but she didn’t.
“Via,” Mr. Kester said. “You may not know this, but I am a chemical dependency counselor.”
She was confused. He had helped Dan with his taxes. He coached football. He was a counselor too?
They all stared at her like she was an injured bird and they were going to coax her into a shoebox. Sweet Jesus, she realized. This was an intervention. Her internal organs lurched like they were trying to escape through her throat.
“I’m fine,” she said. “Please, I’m not using drugs.”
“Denial is the norm with drug addicts and alcoholics,” he said.
“But, I’m not denying anything,” she assured them. “I’ve already quit.”
“A couple of days ago, I got a call in Montana, about you,” Beth began. “Sarah was worried that you’d been absent from youth group and ladies’ bible study and services. I know you’ve wanted your privacy, but—”
“We have been concerned, so we’ve been praying for you,” Sarah interrupted, seemingly too excited to wait her turn. “But then, it was recently brought to my attention that you’ve had liquor on your breath while working here.”
Alcohol? How could she possibly argue the fact that alcohol hadn’t even been her drug of choice? She couldn’t say, “No worries. The vodka just helped me come down off the cocaine—really it was nothing. The Ketamine, that was a real bitch though.” She kept her observations to herself.
“You’re right,” she said, just needing this conversation to die. “I was wrong. I won’t work in the nursery anymore.”
“Via, please,” Beth said. “We aren’t trying to offend you. We understand the past few months have been difficult for you and Dan.”
Via put her hands over her face. She didn’t have an inch of emotional slack left. No faith to grasp onto. Fine, she thought. If they wanted an honest conversation, so be it.
“Dan can help you,” Beth added.
“How?” she asked. “He’s not here. And since he’s been out doing God’s work, I’ve been alone and vulnerable to the wiles of the devil.”
Sarah maintained her composure. “You’ll learn, being a wife isn’t easy,” she said. “But we need to remain faithful to the guidance of our husbands, just as Jesus was faithful to the church.”
Oh, it’s so on now, Via thought. “You forget that Jesus hung out with prostitutes and freaks and not the rulers or Pharisees.”
“Via, can we get this back to you?” Mr. Nester asked. “Your addiction issue?”
She ignored him and kept her focus on Sarah. “Jesus loved. The church corrupted,” Via said. “You see, while you have been gossiping and offering up condescending prayer requests, I have been teaching your children the word of God. I know my fucking bible, lady.”
Sarah stared back, aghast. Via knew she was projecting her anger at the wrong person, but she just didn’t care. Sarah somehow represented years of passive-aggressive, self-righteous teachers who spoke so often of Jesus and his all-encompassing love, but who led judgmental, petty lives.
Beth stepped between Via and the pastor’s wife and delivered the classic bouncer block. “Please stop.”
“Now, Beth is a real Christian,” Via added. “She and so many others, they treat people like Jesus did. They’re the quiet ones. If only people understood how many decent Christians there are—but bitches like you are too loud.”
“That’s enough,” Sarah said walking past the counter and to the door. “I’ll keep her in my prayers.”
“Fuck you—and your prayers,” Via shouted after her. “Me and Jesus are cool. Thank you very much.” She watched Sarah walk out and make her way down the path to the church office/gossip mill.
“Won’t you please sit down?” Mr. Kester was asking. “You obviously have a lot of stuff going on. Addiction is a complicated issue.”
Beth started to offer up a smile, but then nervously rescinded it. “We love you, Via,” she said. “We are your family.”
“Beth,” she said. “I have no family, don’t you see? I have no family!”
The bell on the door jingled and she looked over to
see him walk in. Her brain couldn’t make sense of what her eyes were seeing.
Could that really be him?
***
VIA
THIS IS NOT HAPPENING, she told herself. Not yet. I can’t do this. I’m not ready. Her stomach twitched and churned. Dan reached her in four long strides. Before she could reconcile what was happening, he was holding her in his arms. He was so thin. His grip on her was so tight.
“I’m home,” he said and gave her a kiss on her forehead. “Back early. I’m here.” He lifted her a few inches off the ground and swished her back and forth as he spoke. Other than nauseated, she didn’t know what to feel. His breath was cold and smelled of peppermint. It had been three years since their first kiss. That windy day in front of the fountain in Red Square. That kiss had been sweet and full of promise, but now she hated him.
“I’m sorry if I’m late. I had to stop at the house and—”
“It’s fine,” Mr. Kester said, smiling. “Come and sit with your fiancée. Let her see you are here to support her recovery.”
Dan took off his coat and hung it over the back of a folding chair. Via sat down next to him in a rocking chair. She felt him watching her, but she could only offer him brief sideways glances.
“Mom, she looks sick,” he said to Beth as though it was her fault. Via stifled a laugh. He should have seen her three weeks ago. “She’s so skinny,” he added.
I’m working on it, she thought. Whit had found a little smoothie shop in town that made thirty-gram protein kale smoothies, and they weren’t half bad. Dan’s weight comment made her think of Matt, who had been bugging her about her weight loss for at least a month. She knew she must love him. Why else would she be thinking of him now?
Dan lurched forward in his chair, reached over, and grabbed her hand. “You’re wearing a wedding ring?”
“It was my mother’s,” she said. “Uncle Erik gave it to me. On my birthday. When I was alone. When I started to realize.”
“Realize what?”