by Sasha Pop
“Damn, Jess, what do you think you are doing? You’re getting a little bit too crazy” Marta cursed, pressing hard on the pedal to escape the cab driver, who was now beeping the horn furiously behind them.
Jess just stuck her tongue out at the redhead.
“You’re no fun tonight Marta…faster, go faster,” she demanded excitedly. Once the speedometer reached 50mph, a loud siren could be heard, causing the redhead’s heart drop to her stomach. Memories of the DWI she barely avoided her freshman year were still fresh. It took a lot of maneuvering from her dad’s lawyer friends in court to get a reduced probation sentence, and a sizeable donation from her parents towards the building of a new research lab at the university in order to bypass the zero tolerance policy for drunk driving that had been implemented on campus. The last thing she needed now was for the cops to pull them over in Jessica’s current state.
Seeing in the rear view mirror that it was only an ambulance, Marta slightly calmed down, realizing that they were almost at their destination as the Miami coastline began to show. Here along the white-sand beaches were located some of the trendiest clubs in the United States, where visitors from all over the country congregated in long lines the hopes of seeing some celebrities and getting a taste from la vida loca. The biggest line was forming near the exclusive club Docks, which with its distinctive Baroque architecture resembled a European palace, and stood imposingly among the many luxury yachts docked nearby. The front door could barely be seen due to the large main line extending several hundred feet across the entrance.
“Losers,” Marta thought with contempt at the crowd that appeared to consist of a mix of college students and tourists who were desperately trying to get in. Entry at Docks was dependent on a very strict dress code and face control, and unless one had the looks of Jessica Alba or Megan Fox, having some connections was a must as well, as the management took pride in admitting mostly successful classy men and gorgeous fashion models. Rumor had it that even A-level celebrities would stop by occasionally, for exclusive parties on the restricted-access third floor, which were supposed to include everything from crack cocaine to orgies.
Marta had been a long time insider of Docks and of similar venues; ever since her dad rose to CEO-rank of a local real estate company three years ago they had welcomed her with open arms. After circling around the building to approach the “real” entrance, as she liked to call it, reserved for the VIP crowd, Marta casually threw the keys to the valet who bowed to greet them.
“Help her instead,” Marta dismissed him, pointing at Jessica, who was having serious trouble to stay on balance, her high heels not helping in any way.
“Come on Jess, get a hold of yourself,” Marta said with a concerned look. She couldn’t deny however that seeing her friend’s pathetic state gave her a tiny bit of satisfaction. “At least tonight nobody will think she is the classy one,” a sudden dark thought ran through her mind. Marta quickly dismissed it as being foolish; after all she had decided that she was going to play nice to the blonde tonight.
At the door, a neatly-groomed man in a suit kindly welcomed them. Despite the scar on his cheek, he looked like the total opposite from the bouncer gorillas that stood at the main entrance.
“I hope you are having a pleasant evening tonight Miss Jones,“ he politely addressed Marta in a British accent. “I trust your companion is not feeling well too well?” the dark-eyed man added, throwing an evaluating look at Jessica, who had been singing to herself and touched the decorations like a little kid.
“Let me introduce you, this is my friend Jessica Perry,” Marta said, pinching hard on Jessica’s hand, causing her to emit a squeaky noise. At last she was behaving.
“Welcome Miss Perry – pardon my indiscretion, are you perhaps related to Robert Perry, the surgeon?”
Marta nodded for her friend, knowing that Jessica hated using her father’s name to get anything.
“Please go ahead now, and let us know if we can help you in any way,” the doorman concluded, bowing slightly to them. As the door shut behind the girls, he grabbed his transmitter and paged somebody in a secretive tone: “Keep an eye on those two, they might cause some trouble”.
Inside, the exquisite royal decorations were a treat to the eyes – along the corridor were standing majestic ancient Greek statues that reminded Jessica of the ones she saw in the Louvre, during her trip to Paris with her family last summer. The walls were covered with Renaissance paintings, and if it weren’t for the loud music, it would be hard to tell whether they were inside a nightclub or a museum. They continued further, going past a vast lounge with antique leather sofas and love seats set up for more intimate conversation, with the dark illumination ensuring privacy. At the end of the corridor, the massive arc-shaped door, golden in color, appeared to lead towards a massive ballroom, but instead, there was an ultra-modern dance floor, with a live DJ up on a rotating platform in the middle, and psychedelic lighting with smoke spreading in all directions, resulting in a mesmerizing trance-like atmosphere.
Holding Marta’s hands, Jessica began dancing wildly to the rhythmic music, throwing her arms left and right while shaking her body.
“We don’t need any men tonight,” Jessica yelled. Despite being only a foot away, with the loud noise Marta could barely hear what she was saying.
“We don’t need any men ever again!!” Jessica repeated, getting closer to Marta’s face and screaming in her ear. The blonde’s heavy breathing and the wild look in her eyes gave Marta shivers.
“Come on, let’s get a drink,” Marta said, pulling away after Jessica had grabbed the redhead by the waist as if about to start grinding. Drinking seemed like the last thing her friend needed right now, but Marta couldn’t think of anything better at the moment to escape.
While the girls were waiting for the barman to prepare their cocktails, a stylish young man who was sitting by the redhead struck a conversation with her. Marta, who was always glad to get male attention whenever Jessica was around, was more than happy to chit-chat with him, especially since he was not bad-looking at all. This stranger appeared to be an artist of some sort, with a long haircut and a bunch of mysterious tattoos, pendants and rings all over him. He turned out to be a singer at relatively well-known local band, and being quite charming, he was very soon playfully rubbing Marta’s shoulder, with the curly-haired girl being very receptive and giggly at all of his jokes. She would definitely like to get to know him better. However she felt bad about leaving her depressed blonde friend behind. Joseph, her new acquaintance, wasn’t making things easy for her; he had just offered her to join him at the end of the night at his place to smoke some hookah. Marta, with her experience, understood very well that he had more than smoking in mind, however his attractive rock star aura had a magnetic pull that made her very willing to accept his invitation, not thinking twice about any consequences or what anybody would think.
To her rescue, another good-looking guy with an athletic build approached them and took the empty seat near Jessica. Soon, he tried to start talking with her with the witty confidence of a typical jock. Hopeful that he would manage to keep the blonde busy, Marta exchanged glances with Joseph, signaling that she was ready to go to the more quiet section of the lounge where they could be alone. Eager to get away, Marta pretended not to notice that all the attempts of the newcomer to catch Jessica’s attention were being ignored. “Maybe he will be able to put an end to her ‘death to all men’ tirade,” Marta rationalized in an attempt to ease the guilt she was feeling.
“Jess, we will return soon, ok? You will be alright, yes?” Marta tried to get an answer from Jessica before leaving, who on her end had just buried her face in her hands with her elbows on the bar stand after finishing another glass. Not waiting for Marta to get a reply, Joseph pulled the redhead towards him, placing firmly his arm on her back, making her immediately forget all about the surroundings…
Meanwhile, Jessica continued to behave like it was beneath her to even acknowledge the presence of her ne
xt seat neighbor – she really was in no mood to talk with anybody, and all the alcohol she consumed was starting to make her feel dizzy. As the guy started leaning in to touch her, the blonde made a face full of disgust and stood up.
Looking around, she could see the ugliness of it all even better than if she had been sober: around her were either rich middle-aged sugar daddies chatting up young models, or cocky assholes like the guy (she didn’t remember his name, despite his repeated attempts to introduce himself) who was pestering her just a minute ago.
As the Martini she drank earlier started to fully kick-in, a remix of “I kissed a girl” began to play in the club.
“How appropriate,” Jessica sardonically laughed. “This might become my new favorite song.” Then, almost as if she were possessed, the blonde started climbing, first up the bar stool, and then up the table. She just wanted to do something crazy…something that she would never have dared to do before. Something that would make her forget about the hell her life had become. As she got all the way up on the bar table and began dancing wildly, in her tight leather skirt, the guys sitting nearby were fawning all over her with hungry looks, as if they were expecting a striptease to begin.
“You men…. You are all the same…you are so pathetic….you are all after just one thing,” Jessica blabbered in incomplete sentences to the audience that had gathered around her. Then she noticed that one square-faced guy, with a neck of the same size as his head and with arms that looked like two barrels was leaning in forward to get an even better view of the interior of her skirt from his seat. If only Jessica were sober and able to observe him in more detail, she would probably run the other way for her life. With more tattoos than 50 Cent at the peak of his career, and with a massive golden chain around his chest, this guy could very well be starring in a mafia flick. As it turned out, from Jessica’s distorted perspective, he looked like little more than some fat baldish geezer. His leery facial expression infuriated her to no end, reminding her of all the times when strangers would stare at her and make not so subtle remarks about how hot she was, even when she just barely came out of bed with no make-up on.
As she made a step forward ready to teach him a lesson, the gangster-type guy casually leaned back, spreading his legs wide like he owned the place, and started calling her over with his index finger.
“Come here baby…You look like you want it.” He said in the arrogant tone typical of somebody who was used to always getting his way. His cocky mannerisms and bulky frame reminded her somehow of Bob, with the alcohol amplifying the impression. Remembering all the pain she felt earlier, and totally losing control at this display of arrogance and disrespect, Jessica grabbed a half-empty cocktail that was standing right by her on the table, and threw the contents straight at the guy’s head.
This sudden move caused quite a stir, taking the audience aback at the sight of the petite angel-like blonde pulling such a stunt. The barman, experienced with such disturbances, waved to the security guards in the corner to come over, while Jessica, who seemed not to notice anything was about to get violent.
“Don’t you think you should apologize?” the guy said, getting up and grabbing her hand, liquid still dripping from his head.
“Don’t you dare touch me, you filthy man!” Jessica screamed. With her bag miraculously still on her shoulder after all her drunken dancing, she started hammering the poor gangster, almost as if she were in a pillow fight. Before things got too ugly, a security guard, who judging from the back side could very well be the victim’s twin brother due to his wide frame, started grabbing Jessica and pulling her down from the table. Despite her attempts to resist, he finally restrained her and got her up in his arms, carrying her over the shoulder. Usually, when conflicts like this happened at nightclubs, it was a safe bet that the bouncers would be on the girl’s side, with the male party ending on the street, since it was typically assumed that the girl was being harassed. The exception happened typically when either somebody influential or a friend of the club got involved, and in this case it was both: little did the blonde now that she chose to mess with one of the senior bouncers relaxing on his night off.
As she was being carried away, Jessica had found a new target for her bag, hitting everywhere she could on the guard’s back.
“Put me down, put me down, put me down!” she cried hysterically. “I want to… no I demand to speak with your boss!”
The guard just ignored her outburst and carried on. Dealing with drunkards was a normal part of the work. As they reached the lounge, he noticed that the blonde was struggling less and less, finally coming to a complete halt. It looked like she had reached her limit for the night, either losing consciousness or simply falling asleep, exhausted. Placing her quietly on the sofa and becoming worried, he looked left and right thinking about what to do with her, not wanting to keep her there ruining the view. Simply dumping her on the outside would be an option, however he had first to be sure that she was not the daughter of somebody important who would end up costing him his job. His train of thought was interrupted by the British doorman who came to check on the situation, remembering the blonde from earlier.
“What do you think you are doing? This is Jessica Perry, after all,” he scolded the wide-shouldered security guard for his insensitive behavior.
“What do we do now?” The name didn’t ring a bell to him, however the guard was now increasingly worried that he had mistreated a celebrity.
The British man grabbed his radio and pressed the red button.
“Maestro, could you spare one of your men for a few minutes,” his tone was so polite as if he were addressing the Queen of England. “We need to escort a lady and I don’t trust my brutes to do it.”
Chapter IV
It was a well-kept secret that the real office of the Docks administration was not on the first floor, despite there being official-looking rooms set up, but rather underground, together with a massive storage room full of containers with unknown contents. Rumor was it that besides the elevator, the only other connections to the outside world were the sewer tunnels that led both to a hidden section in the Miami port where several speed boats were parked and to a heliport that had a state-of-the-art chopper ready to fly 24/7. Despite the music from upstairs, everything felt chillingly quiet around here, especially whenever the boss, known to his underlings and the Miami underworld simply as Maestro, spoke. Nobody knew his real identity – he had set up a puppet director for Docks and the other clubs he owned while operating from the shadows. Anybody who tried to dig deeper into his past typically would end up deep in the Miami Bay. His reputation for ruthlessness would inspire fear even among members of rival gangs.
“Rodrigo, you are needed up there,” he announced from his Louis XIV-styled chair, looking very out of place in the basement. A young man in his early twenties, with a dark complexion, and a slender but strong build quietly got up. Unlike the other members of the gang, who shivered whenever the boss spoke, this youngster retained his composure, at least on the outside. Despite being a newcomer, he carried himself with dignity and pride, which had already earned him some disdain from the fellow gang members, especially since the boss seemed to respect and slightly favor him - a rare sight indeed towards somebody without a proven track record and who barely knew what the group’s real “line of business” was.
“Figure it out, we don’t need any extra attention around here,” the older man spoke rashly, disliking being distracted for such petty matters. “After that you can leave – and wash the car for tomorrow.”
The boss had been entrusting Rodrigo with taking care of his classic Ferrari Testarossa and running other small errands; this was a way to gauge how trustworthy the youngster was before allowing him to participate in the gang’s dealings.
Rodrigo always felt like a large weight had been lifted off his shoulders whenever Maestro allowed him to go home, as he never felt at ease with his “colleagues” at work, who despite supposedly being employed by one of the most
prestigious club’s in the city, at times seemed to be just a bunch of mobsters and headhunters. The main reason though was that his mother needed his support more than ever. While going up in the elevator, he had already could imagine that he would be dragging and dropping home some drunken doll-like drama queen. He already had to do it countless times before, and the drama that was typically part of the scene repulsed him.
Looking briefly at his reflection in the mirror, he was lost in thought. “Is this what you've dreamed about for your life? “ he silently asked himself, with a little bitterness. “To become a delivery boy…”
As the music got louder, and the elevator came to a hold, he quickly broke out of the melancholic trance that had been filling his head lately. “Now it is not the time to be complaining like a little girl! Concentrate on your goal,” he reminded himself.
As he walked down the palace-like corridor towards the club’s exit, to his surprise he found a very attractive young woman lying on a couch, who despite her angel-like appearance looked as if she was really mad and ready to tear the whole world apart. As John was about to explain what had happened, Jessica jumped up at the sight of the well-dressed young man who appeared. She assumed due to his imposing presence that this newcomer was the boss, and started frantically complaining to Rodrigo. It was some crazy story about how somebody dared to touch her, and how she beat them all up, and how all men were scum…and worst of all that she had lost one of her Prada shoes. The whole thing didn’t make any sense, but Rodrigo brought himself to smile politely and asked:
“John, would we be able to help this lady find her beautiful shoe?” he said, dropping an indirect compliment in an attempt to calm her down.
“I am afraid that won’t be possible, Sir,” John said, always keeping up the polite act in public, pretending to be a meager doorman, despite being far above Rodrigo in the hierarchy of the gang. It was all part of a greater plan to play innocent in case the police ever got involved.