Leverage (The Mistaken Series)

by Nancy S Thompson

  He swung back around and said, “I predict a boy. You mark my words.”

  Then he was gone. And I was left to wonder how much more fucked up my life had just become.

  CHAPTER 21

  Conner

  Whether he jumped from that balcony or was pushed, I understood now the fear Leo must have felt before he died. Wednesday was three days away. Three days. That’s how long I had until my next gig, ‘til I came face to face with Greg again. And Janek. Crap, I didn’t know what to think about that guy. He never said a word to me after I lost that last hand. Just that look of nothingness. It scared me.

  Steve had said he was mean and twisted. I wondered what had precipitated that characterization, if he’d ever been under Jan’s thumb like I was now. I pulled out my phone and dialed Steve’s number. Better to know what I was up against than be surprised when Jan caught me alone out back in the alley some night. Steve’s phone rang six times.

  “S’better be good,” he finally answered, his voice groggy.

  “Hey, man, it’s Conner. Sorry if I woke you.”

  “Maguire? Dude, you up already? Or did you sample a bit of blow after I left last night?” He laughed.

  “Nah, man, no blow, just…ya know…” I sighed. “Long night.”

  “Yeah? How much you make? You were up pretty high when I left.”

  “Yeah, well, um…that’s kinda why I’m callin’. Things sorta took a bit of a turn. I’m in a real bind now.”

  I heard some rustling, like maybe Steve sitting up in bed. Guess I had his attention.

  “A bind? How bad?”

  “Pretty fucking bad, I’d say. I was wonderin’…yesterday, you said Janek was mean?”

  “Don’t forget twisted,” he added.

  “Just how mean and twisted are we talkin’? Is he gonna break my legs or what?”

  “Um…I dunno, dude. I mean, I’ve only been down once, and he just asked me to do him a favor and he’d call it even.”

  “A favor? Like what? Something illegal?”

  “Nope, just recruit some fresh meat for the games, like you.”

  “Like me?”

  “Yep.”

  “No, I mean, like, specifically me? He didn’t ask for anyone else in particular, just me? He used my name?”

  “Nah, man, just you, and yeah, by name. Why? You think he’s up to something, like, fuckin’ with you or somethin’?”

  “Shit, I have no idea,” I said and paused, wondering what the hell was going on, why Janek was setting me up. “So why d’you say he was mean and twisted? He must’ve done something.”

  He snorted. “You could say that. He threw a dude out the window once. Thought he might’ve palmed the deck or somethin’. Didn’t say one word. Just walked up, no expression on his face whatsoever, pulled the guy into a headlock, and dragged him across the room, kicking and screaming, as much as a dude being strangled can scream, anyway. Then wham, out the window he goes, glass and all, three fucking stories. That’s why that whole corner window was all boarded up.”

  “Shit, man. No way.”

  “Yeah, way. And I don’t know if you noticed or not, but those marks…on the ceiling?”

  “Yeah, what the fuck was that?” I asked.

  “A warning, I think.”

  “That’s just great. And you fucking brought me into this shit?”

  “Sorry, bro, but…you said you needed the money. And wouldn’t you do the same to save your own ass? I don’t wanna end up face first on the street. And if I were you, dude, I’d do whatever it is Jan asks you to do.”

  “That’s what worries me. What’s he gonna ask?”

  “I dunno, man. I’m sorry.” He sighed. “Look, I gotta go. You take care of yourself, all right? However ya gotta do that. You do it.”

  “Yeah, right. Whatever.”

  I would do whatever I had to, within reason. Question was, why would Janek want me to do anything? There had to be something in it for him. Why me? What did I have to offer him, a guy with all the money he could ever need, with friends way more powerful, way more influential? It made no sense.

  It was just one more thing cluttering up my mess of a head at night. There was so much shit in there now, I couldn’t keep track, and I damn sure couldn’t sleep. Nor could I eat. By the time Wednesday rolled around, I looked and felt like death warmed over. I’d lost over five pounds already, my skin was sallow, and my eyes were red-rimmed with dark circles below. And I was twitchy as hell, too. Couldn’t help it. Every little sound and shadow scared the crap out of me, and that was in my apartment. I was way too nervous to leave.

  Katy didn’t seem to notice my paranoia or my deteriorating appearance. She just continued to putter around the apartment like nothing was wrong. My silence was fine with her, I guess. But I’d had enough. I couldn’t live like this for one more day, afraid of whom might come knocking. So I cleaned myself up as best I could, grabbed my guitar, and headed down to Rush Hour early. I wanted enough time to confront Jan and hopefully recover before I went on stage.

  I came in through the front door, so people would see me, so there’d be some kind of trail in case I went missing later. I shook a few hands, said a few hellos, greeted the nightshift behind the counter, then took a deep breath and went back to the kitchen.

  Though Steve was on the schedule, he wasn’t around, and the dishes had stacked up in the sink and on the counter. I went back to the storage room and tossed my cords in my guitar case, threw it over my shoulder and grabbed my amp. When I turned for the door, Janek was standing there with his hands crossed at his waist, blocking my way.

  My heart pinged rapid-fire every which way, and my breath caught high in my throat. I froze and just stared at the man, hoping to God I wouldn’t pass out alone with him in the closet. Jan’s face was inscrutable, his eyes blank, and beneath that flattened thing he called a nose was a relaxed straight line of a mouth, until he opened it to speak.

  “Greg would like to see you,” he said in a voice as toneless as his face was void. He turned to leave.

  “Wait,” I called out, just wanting to get this over with.

  His imposing form rotated in the doorway, and he peered at me over that mountain he called a shoulder. “Yes?” he replied.

  “Um…about…the money…”

  Janek raised his hand. “It’s been taken care of. Paid in full.”

  I lowered my amp to the floor and took a step closer. “What? Paid? How?”

  Though his eyes remained flat, his brow and mouth both pulled up at the corners. “Greg. Make sure you thank him properly.”

  “Greg?”

  “Yes. He is a most generous benefactor.”

  “But…why? I already owe him a shitload.”

  “Let’s just say, he has the utmost confidence in you.” Then, like a Nazi salute, he clicked his heels together once and bowed his head before he turned and left the closet.

  My lungs deflated in a long rush of air as my shoulders rolled forward. I sank down and sat on my amplifier with my elbows on my knees and my hands clasped tight to stop them from shaking. I breathed deep to ease the nausea twisting my stomach. I took a full five minutes alone in the closet, then stood, gathered my equipment, and walked to Greg’s office. I knocked three times.

  “Come in,” he said.

  I pushed the door open and took a step inside. Greg stood up from behind his desk and motioned to the corner. “Please, drop your stuff and have a seat.”

  He sat down and pulled in close to his desk, rearranging files and shuffling through papers until he found what he was looking for. He stacked everything else to the side and shoved the lone sheet of paper to the far edge of his desk, directly under my nose.

  “Tell me, Mr. Maguire, is this an accurate account of what you lost last night, of what you now owe?”

  I stared at him, my mouth slung open.

  He raised his full brow and leaned forward, tapping the paper with one finge
r. “Go ahead, take a look, please, and tell me if it’s correct.”

  I dropped my eyes from his to the paper. There wasn’t much to go over, just four lines.

  $4,300 JD

  $25,000 GD

  $2,930 interest

  $32,230 total

  Though I quickly became lightheaded and my heart began to race, I looked up at Greg and nodded. “Yes,” I confirmed. “It looks right.”

  “Good,” he replied and snatched the paper away, sliding it into a folder with a few other pages I couldn’t read. He filed the whole thing away in a side drawer. “That’ll be all for now. You’re dismissed.” He rose from his chair and walked to the door then opened it.

  I stood, too, but didn’t move an inch more. “What…was that?”

  He cocked a brow at me.

  I shook my head. “Forgive me, but…that’s it? You’re not gonna kick my ass?”

  Greg left the door open and stepped to the side of his desk where he leaned back against it, his arms crossed over his chest and a grin on his face. “Do you have the money to repay me, Mr. Maguire?”

  I shook my head.

  “I didn’t think so. So there’s not much either of us can do about that right now, is there?”

  I shook my head again.

  “Then we’ll just see how it goes. If you come up with the cash, then by all means, let me know. But until then, there might be other ways in which you can repay me, ways in which only you can, ways that benefit me far more than the money ever would.”

  “Like…what?”

  He shrugged. “Well, that remains to be seen. For now, just do your job, keep the house entertained, and if there’s anything else required, I’ll let you know.”

  “Well, that’s a little vague, don’t you think? I mean, what if I don’t want to do whatever it is you ask?”

  “Oh, but you will.”

  “But…what if I can’t?”

  He dipped his chin. “You can and you will.”

  “But—”

  “Mr. Maguire, do you know what the word leverage means?”

  I snapped my mouth shut and pressed my lips together as I nodded. “Yes. I do.”

  “Good. Then this discussion is over,” he said and motioned to the door. “Now get to work. You have a family to support and protect.” He marched back to his desk and took his seat, his head down, concentrating on rearranging the files he’d set aside earlier.

  I stared at him as I shuffled slowly through the doorway.

  “Don’t forget your stuff,” he said without looking up. “And close the door on your way out.”

  I returned, grabbed my equipment, and left, closing the door behind me.

  ***

  I don’t remember hooking up my amp, tuning my guitar, or setting up the mic. I didn’t even know how long I’d been standing there. I just kind of came to on stage with my guitar slung over my shoulder. Must’ve been the sight of Greg in the kitchen doorway that snapped me out of it, the way he looked at me with that half-smile of his. When he walked away, the hum of the waiting crowd came rushing back. Where there was just the two of us a moment ago—me and Greg—now there was a house full of restless onlookers, impatient for me to perform.

  I pulled the mic closer, making it squeal and further irritating the crowd. One couple got up and left before I could even play a single note. And that was just the beginning. It was my worst night on stage. I played my standard set, the crowds’ favorites, but my nerves were on edge, and I fumbled over the strings and forgot the lyrics more than once. I just sounded off, even to my own ears.

  I closed my eyes and tried to refocus, but I could hear the chairs scrape across the concrete floor as people got up and left. And instead of the normal quiet, the crowd murmured amongst themselves, some just chatting, but others complaining, heckling. The usual standing-room-only audience gave way to empty tables as the crowd thinned to half its normal size. Even Nova, who’d come on duty mid-set, cringed a few times, though she gave me a sympathetic smile instead of the disgusted headshakes everyone else seemed to offer.

  I apologized and took a break, hoping the time would allow me to calm down and collect myself, but when I came back five minutes later, there were only a handful of people left. The wait-staff was starting to grumble, as well, unhappy their tips had just walked out the door. At the end of the first hour, Greg reappeared from the back and cut his forefinger across his neck, my cue to stop playing and pack up. It was a total disaster, and I was completely humiliated.

  Before I could stash my equipment and sneak out, Greg summoned me back to his office. I slinked through the door and closed it before I even noticed Janek hulking in the corner. He had his custom-made jacket pushed back at his waistband, held in place on each side by two very different holsters—one for a gun, a silver semi-automatic, the other for a knife, brass knuckles for the hilt. I felt my heart plummet to the soles of my feet. I swallowed and tore my eyes away, focusing instead on Greg, waiting for him to look up and acknowledge me.

  He didn’t bother.

  “Did we not have an agreement, Mr. Maguire?” Greg asked, his attention on the yellow legal pad he was writing on.

  I glanced back and forth between Jan and Greg. “No. I mean…yes, of course we did.”

  With a huff, Greg placed his pen down, folded his hands on the pad, and looked up. “And what? You weren’t clear on the ground rules? Is that it?”

  I nodded. “No, I…I understand.”

  He nodded back then slipped both hands to his chair, where he gripped the armrests so tight, his knuckles bleached white. “Then what the fuck was that!” he screamed, standing and pointing toward the door.

  I jumped back, my hands raised in front of me. “I-I’m s-sorry, I-I just, just…I…got all flustered and…it won’t…it won’t happen again. I promise. I…I-I’ll get it together, I swear. I will. Please, I…I can’t lose this job.”

  The anger faded from Greg’s face and he started to chuckle. Then he flat-out laughed. “Oh, Mr. Maguire, you’ve risked far more than just this fucking job. You do realize that, don’t you?”

  My mouth flapped open and closed, but no words would come out. Every last one was strangled high in my throat. I could barely breathe. I just stood there wringing my hands as I glanced over my shoulder at Janek in the corner, then back at Greg.

  Greg’s brow pulled up. “What does that mean?” he said, flapping his own mouth, mimicking me. “Speak godammit!”

  “Yes! Yes, I...I do realize that, and…I’ll do…whatever…just…please, don’t…don’t…”

  “Don’t what, Mr. Maguire? Don’t what!”

  “Don’t fucking kill me, okay! Please! I-I gotta kid on the way, you know. I…just…tell me what to do, all right? Just…tell me how to fix this and I will. I swear!”

  Greg’s face melted into a knowing grin. He walked from behind his desk right up into my face, nose to nose. I was already backed up against the door, Janek a mere three feet to my left. I couldn’t move. I could only stand on my toes, raise my chin, and press my back tighter into the door.

  Greg tilted his chin as he, first, studied my face, then the rest of me, his eyes sliding up and down my body—seductive almost, provocative—scrutinizing every inch, analyzing my worth. Then he leaned in even closer, his chin over my shoulder and his mouth at my ear. I turned my head away, forced to look at Janek as I felt Greg’s hot breath on my neck. I heard him inhale deep through his nose then exhale with a quiet moan.

  “And what if you don’t want to, Mr. Maguire?” he whispered, throwing my words back in my face.

  The first tear rolled from the corner of my eye. “I will. I promise.”

  He snorted a chuckle. “But what if you can’t, Mr. Maguire?”

  A sob choked up from deep within my chest. “I-I…can, and I…I will. I swear to God. I-I will.”

  I lowered my chin to my chest, no longer concerned with Greg’s proximity, only staying alive. My body s
hook so hard, my cheek touched his, and I raised my hand to my mouth, afraid I would puke all over the both of us.

  Greg slid back to his desk and took his seat. With a loud sigh, he resumed writing, his eyes downcast on the yellow legal pad. “You can start by washing the dishes. Seems our head busboy had a tragic accident this afternoon and won’t be returning…ever. Now get the fuck out.”

  I gasped and almost pissed myself when Jan took a step in my direction. He chuckled as he grabbed the knob and opened the door a crack.

  “Pussy,” he muttered as I slid out of the way and through the door.

  I ran straight to the restroom where I dry-heaved into the toilet. Above my retching was the sound of Greg and Janek’s laughter, echoing across the kitchen and straight through the bathroom door.

  CHAPTER 22

  Conner

  I put an ad up on Craigslist for my guitars and all my equipment. I knew it wouldn’t add up to shit compared to what I owed, but it would show I was committed to paying Greg off. I was even ready to sell my car. I needed to do something, anything to buy a little time. I was in way over my head. As embarrassing as it might be to admit the fiasco to my mom and Ty, it was nothing compared to what might happen if I didn’t live up to Greg’s expectations.

  Ty said he had a friend in the FBI. I wondered if he could help get me out of this mess. It had to be extortion, right? Loan-sharking, illegal gambling, something. Surely it was against the law. They damn near came right out and threatened my life, and Katy and the baby, too. Greg knew exactly what he was doing when he’d brought them up.

  Leverage. Fuck.

  It took just four days to sell my guitars, but I made a nice chunk of change. At first, it was hard to part with it all, especially my Les Paul. My father had bought that for me as a consolation gift when he and my mom first split. Everything, in fact, had been purchased by my dad, usually to buy my understanding over some stupid thing he’d done, like forgetting to attend to my graduation. The more I thought about it, the more I realized every piece was a payoff of some sort, the guitars, the Marshall half-stack, my bass. Knowing that made it easier to give them up. My dad’s failures would buy me some time. The irony was not lost on me.