Dirty

by A. C. Bextor

“I’m fuckin’ with you, Max. Christ, that’s some twisted shit and you believed it.”

  As opposed to everything else around here, sure.

  “C’mon. I need a drink. You with me?”

  “Sure,” I confirm casually, happy to escape the scene in front of me.

  * * *

  “Cilas is out for a bit,” Hoss states, pouring whiskey into two glasses as he stands behind the empty bar. “Some family bullshit. Sick mother, drugged-out sister. I don’t know or care, really.”

  “All right,” I answer, accepting the whiskey that’s been set up in front of me.

  “This means I’m down a man to see to the girls.”

  Surprised he’s speaking so brazenly about the ‘property’, I tempt his waning mood and prod, “The girls he and I saw to before, right?”

  Laughing briefly, he answers, “Well, yeah.”

  “What are those women?” I ask, then correct, “Other than property, I mean.”

  Exhaling then slamming the whiskey, Hoss straightens his posture but leaves his hands on the edge of the bar. “Those women aren’t mine. I’m holdin’ them for someone who’s gonna be pickin’ them up.”

  Now slamming my own drink down, I slide my glass in his direction, indicating I’d like another. “You holding them for a sale.”

  “In a way, yes.”

  “And the young girl, the one you said was Dee Dee’s daughter. Is she for sale, too?”

  “In a way, yes,” he repeats.

  “Explain . . .”

  When he slams his glass down, I realize the conversation is over. “We’re done talkin’ about business. Maybe another time, Max, but you ain’t been around here long enough for me to know if you’re in this for the long haul and not just to get what you need from me.”

  “I’m not in this indefinitely,” I answer honestly.

  “And your no-bullshit answer there tells me the information I’ve already given you won’t leak,” he states, looking me in the eye and pinning me with a malevolent stare. “‘Cause I’ll remind you, if it does, I know Emilyn.”

  Biting my tongue and holding my body still, I count to ten in my head. He watches me struggle and smiles smugly as I do.

  “Exactly,” he utters. “Come on, you need to get to work. Cilas is always on time. Fucker don’t talk much, but fuck if I don’t enjoy the silence. You say too many fuckin’ words.”

  “He doesn’t say much,” I observe casually.

  Hoss smirks. “Unsure if he has a tongue, to be honest.”

  “How’d he make his way into Creed?” I ask as he unlocks his office door.

  “He beat the living fuck out of Hangar, Iron, Dog, and Wick. My entire officer pool was beat to a bloody pulp by that giant son of a bitch.”

  “How the hell did he manage that?”

  “‘Cause those boys out there are fuckin’ pussies. That’s why I got ’em shovelin’ shit half the time. Sorry bastards.”

  “Interesting.”

  “Yeah, it fuckin’ was. If it weren’t for Cilas, though, sometimes I wonder if I’d wake up one morning with my nut sac slit open. The boys fear him like the devil.”

  “He could be intimidating,” I agree.

  “Could be?” His eyebrows rise.

  “The girls we saw don’t seem to be afraid of him.”

  Shaking his head, he tells me, “Nah, he’s different than the others. All the money he gets from the club goes to his mother and his sisters. He’s constantly on his phone texting them about some shit or another. Think he’s got like five sisters or something.”

  “I wouldn’t have guessed that,” I admit.

  “Gentle giant,” he returns. “Till you piss the fucker off. That’s when shit gets messy. Hangar pisses him off daily. Pushes every one of his buttons.”

  “I could see that,” I smile. “What’s Charlie’s story?” I ask in regards to the man who appeared to be the sanest member of this group.

  “Benaim’s in and out. He likes to roam more than the others. When I need him, he’s here. Other than that, he’s got a wife at home and about three on the side. They keep him busy.”

  “Sounds like it.”

  “Women complicate shit,” he puts in after a few seconds of silence.

  Nodding and watching Hoss dig in his drawer, he pulls out the set of keys Cilas uses and hands them to me, I confirm, “I go to the kitchen first then to each room.”

  “I’ve only got three girls left. Expecting more next week. Viktor’s got some comin’ in, so you’ll have more then, if Cilas isn’t back.”

  Viktor?

  Trying not to sound intrigued, I start to ask, “The girl in the kitchen . . .”

  “Anna,” Hoss replies, giving me a name to the face.

  “She for sale?”

  Hoss’ eyebrows raise and a smug smile crosses his face. “You interested? I could use more help around here. You patch in and I’ll let your cut pay for her.”

  “No,” I say, refusing Anna and the ridiculous club membership.

  “Didn’t think so.”

  “She just works here?”

  “Yeah,” he tells me. “She means something to Viktor. Be careful with her. She’s a sweet-looking piece of ass, but unless your cock is of no value to you, watch yourself. She’s not to be touched. She’s got some spice left in her, and Vik’s made it fuckin’ clear she’s off-limits unless he makes that call.”

  “I’ll be careful.”

  “Thank fuck you’ve got some fuckin’ sense, Max. The others do not.”

  Before I’m able to make it to the door, Hoss stops me. “There’s a poker game next Friday night. Just a few of the boys and me. Think it’d be good if you’d come hang out for a while. Get to know ’em. We’re not bad people.”

  Right.

  “I’m not sure . . .”

  “Wasn’t an invite you could deny, Max,” he adds. “You’ll be there.”

  Of course.

  “All right. I’ll finish and leave the keys with you or Hangar before I head out.”

  Hoss corrects me immediately, “No, you give ’em to me. Be goddamn sure I get ’em. Hangar’s got no business around those girls. One of ’em in particular.”

  * * *

  On my way to the kitchen, I pass Iron and Wick standing outside it. Hangar is nowhere to be seen.

  The guys are engaged in a hushed conversation which silences as I walk by. Neither of them makes direct eye contact, so I continue down the hallway until I reach the lighted area where Cilas had taken me to before.

  I hear a woman crying near the closet on the other side of the large area. When I make my way in, I find it’s Anna.

  Her hand is bleeding and the mess at her feet tells me why. She’s dropped at least one or more glasses.

  “Hey?” I call out, posing my greeting as a question.

  When her eyes come to mine, her body freezes. One hand holds the other as it drips blood onto the floor. She doesn’t look to be breathing as she remains frozen in position.

  “Anna?” I call her name and her eyes close.

  “I’m so sorry,” she stresses. “I got interrupted earlier and . . .” Glancing down, I notice her bare feet stand surrounded in a mess of glass.

  Looking around the kitchen for a broom, I find it behind her, so I walk slowly in her direction. She looks completely frazzled and insecure.

  “I’m gonna step behind you. Don’t move. There’s glass everywhere.”

  As I tell her this, I notice exactly that. There’s glass which surrounds her in all directions. It’s as though they fell from the ceiling and she’s got nowhere to walk without cutting the bottoms of her bare feet. Her shoes have been removed and sit at the kitchen’s entrance.

  This was done intentionally.

  Hangar was checking on the girls, he’d said.

  Motherfucker.

  I don’t ask her any further questions. It’s obvious that son of a bitch has been in here.

  As I start to sweep the area around her, I advise her, “
Don’t move. I’ll get you. There’s still small bits of glass around your feet.”

  She nods as tears start to fall, and she continues clutching her hand tightly with the other. The blood, which had fallen to the floor, has started to dry. She’s been here for a while.

  After moving enough big chunks of shattered glass from her path, I walk to her shoes and bring them back to her. They’re no more than a pair of tiny black slip-ons, but they’re enough to keep her feet protected until the glass is clean.

  “Who did this?”

  Anna shakes her head, protecting who’s responsible.

  Talking to myself, since she remains quiet, I bend down and lay the shoes at her feet. When my hand reaches out to touch her arm to give her balance, she jumps in her place.

  “I’m not going to hurt you,” I say quietly. “It’s okay.”

  Her eyes dart throughout the room, apparently scanning for the others. When she’s made sure the area is clear of on-lookers, she turns back to me. “Thank you,” she says her first non-panicked words carefully.

  “You good?” I ask, nodding to her feet.

  “Yes.”

  Straightening her posture and lifting her arms in the air, she signals to the sink. Close enough to catch her in case she slips, I walk with her and turn on the water. She doesn’t move toward it, so I grab her hands and position them under the running faucet.

  “You don’t have any glass in there,” I inform her and she doesn’t look surprised. This causes me to look at her wounds closer.

  Grabbing the hand that’s cut, I pull it near my face and carefully spread the slit. She tries to deny me, so I pull harder and hear her whimper in fear.

  It’s a clean cut. It’s been put there on purpose.

  Motherfucker.

  “Hangar,” I state out loud.

  She tries to pull her hand from mine again, but I grasp the wrist tightly and force it to remain under the running water.

  “You don’t need stitches, but this is a nasty cut.”

  Handing her a used brown towel, I help her wrap the wound first then tie it around her hand and wrist tightly. It’s not bleeding as it was before, and this will secure it in place.

  “Go sit,” I instruct.

  “No! I have to . . .”

  “You have to fuckin’ sit,” I demand. I hate that I probably sound like the others.

  As I moved to the chair at the small butcher table behind us, I notice Anna can’t sit still. I ignore this for now and rummage through the kitchen, looking for what we brought Casey before. Pulling out all the items to make sandwiches, the best I could find, I bring them to the table and take a seat next to Anna.

  “You can do whatever your job is from here. I’ll wait.”

  Relief rushes to her face and she starts to use her good hand to arrange the bread first. As I watch her put the sandwiches together, her hands begin to shake uncontrollably.

  “How long have you been here?” I ask, grasping them in my own to keep them still.

  Her eyes come to mine. I’ve not seen such a transition from scared to strong from a woman like this before.

  “About a month. I’m new,” she tells me with certainty and a little attitude.

  I’m reminded of what Hoss said. She’s Viktor’s girl.

  “Where’d you come from?”

  “Doesn’t matter,” she says. “This is where I’m supposed to be.”

  “Do you really believe that?”

  “Yes.”

  “Pardon me, Miss, but you’re wrong,” I tell her, still watching her make four sandwiches in front of me. We only had two before.

  Either Anna’s really hungry or there’s another girl. I was only supposed to have three today.

  “Casey,” I state, and she drops the sandwich on the table and sits up straight. “I know that’s her name. I’d like to know why she’s here.” My voice lowers to a whisper. “She doesn’t belong in this place, Anna.”

  Anna’s lips purse and she goes back to arranging the sandwiches as if she didn’t hear me.

  “Why’d you give Cilas those papers? Were they for her?”

  “Yes,” she answers and starts to stand.

  Walking slowly to the cabinet, I watch as she pulls down four plates and brings them back to where we’re sitting.

  “What are they for?” I ask again.

  Tears fill her eyes and she positions a sandwich on each plate neatly, before acknowledging my question. “She draws on them.”

  “Draws?”

  “Yes, Ci and I give her those supplies without Hoss’ knowledge so she can draw. She’s just a little girl still. She sits in that room alone with no one to talk to and nothing to do.”

  “I see,” I reply, then ask, “What are they going to do with her?”

  Her hands, once settled briefly, begin to shake with nervousness again.

  “Answer me,” I prod.

  Standing up, arranging three small plates on a round tray, she bends closer to me and whispers, “I can’t.”

  Closing my eyes, I sit back in my chair and stay quiet. I’ve rattled her, which isn’t what I wanted to do. Anna seems important to Casey’s survival. I don’t want her to fear me.

  Anna fills three red plastic cups with water and sets those on the tray, as well. The fourth sits in front of me.

  She made me lunch.

  Pushing it back in her direction, I tell her. “Sit down.”

  She moves to sit in her chair and I stand, setting the meal in front of her. “You eat it. I’m not hungry.”

  “I’m not supposed to eat until you do,” she argues.

  “Says who?”

  Her face holds a blank expression. I’ve confused her, so she doesn’t answer.

  Bending down, I whisper, “Tell me exactly who Viktor is.”

  She remains quiet.

  “Anna,” I try to reason. “I can’t help her if I don’t know who I’m dealing with.”

  Anna sighs and doesn’t look at me directly. “Right now, she’s safe from harm. That’s all I can tell you.”

  “That’s enough then, for now. Thank you.”

  She nods, looks at her hands then catches a tear before it hits her cheek.

  “You don’t belong here, either,” I say, grabbing the tray again.

  “I don’t know where I belong,” she whispers.

  “Then let me help you find out.”

  I lift the tray and walk toward the door. Her voice calls out to stop me, “Sir?”

  Turning around, hands full and blood fueled from a hot temper, I respond, “Yeah?”

  “She’s a sweet girl. Don’t hurt her. I’m doing what I can, but soon that won’t be enough.”

  “I’m going to save her,” I reply, heading down the long hallway behind us and not waiting for a response.

  I don’t know that I’d get one anyway.

  * * *

  Knocking on the first door in the hallway, which has a light on above it, I wait for an answer. I know the door can’t be opened from the inside, but I offer a second for whoever’s behind it to gather themselves as best they can.

  Setting the tray on the floor, I notice a string of mice feces along the wall by the door and cringe.

  Christ in Heaven.

  After popping the lock, I open the door slowly, unsure what I’ll find. This room is much of the same. Bed, desk, and no light other than the sun coming through the top. This specific room’s skylight pane is cracked down the middle.

  The woman in here sits slouched on the bed with a pillow on her lap. She looks to be of Asian descent. She also looks older than those I’ve seen before. The dark circles beneath her eyes and her faded skin hauntingly contrast one another.

  Unable to stomach looking at her for long, I set the plate in the same spot I’ve seen Cilas put it. Her eyes come to mine briefly before I scan her body and notice the black band wrapped around her ankle. She catches me staring and clears her throat but says nothing as I walk out, closing the door behind me.

 
The next room I enter is much of the same. A blonde woman I haven’t seen before lies in her bed. The sheet is pulled up around her waist and she appears to be sleeping. When she hears me enter, her head turns in my direction but doesn’t raise from her pillow.

  “I’m here with food,” I tell her casually, putting it down by the door.

  She‘s wearing a red anklet. She notices the attention I’m placing on it and it’s then I hear her laugh. Startled by her odd behavior, I stand up and step back in the door’s entrance.

  “What’s your name?” I ask.

  “Whatever you want it to be.” Her voice is raspy, not mirroring a soft tone.

  “How old are you?”

  “However old you want me to be.” Her face is void of emotion now as she answers robotically.

  “How long have you been here?”

  “However long . . .” She stops talking and looks to where I’m aiming my gaze.

  Between her legs is a pool of blood. It’s not natural bleeding. She’s wounded in some way.

  Walking toward her, she holds her hands out to stop me and starts to sit up.

  “No,” she says, shaking her head and moving carefully. “Don’t come closer.”

  “You’re hurt.”

  “No,” she returns.

  “You’re bleeding,” I tell her.

  “We’re all bleeding in some way, aren’t we?” she asks as if she’s bored.

  What the fuck?

  Wrapping the sheet in a ball, she sets it gently on her right inner thigh. “I’m not hurt.”

  “You did this to yourself?”

  More laughing. The sound of it makes my skin crawl.

  “He did it.”

  “He?”

  A serious expression crosses her face and she answers, “Thank you for my food. Now, get out.”

  I don’t understand what I’m seeing. I haven’t seen anything like this before. Other than Anna’s hand and these living conditions, I haven’t seen any outward signs of abuse.

  “Tell me who did that to you.”

  Lying back down, she covers her eyes with her arm. “It doesn’t matter anymore.”

  “It does,” I remind her.

  “Go!” Her voice rising startles me briefly. My urgency to get to Casey and find out if she’s hurt wins over my concern for this woman, who’s refusing to speak.

  “I’ll be back for the tray later. Eat it before it goes bad.”