“No, I am seeing this now,” he smiles wickedly, and I feel my mouth grow dry as I realize I’ve played into his trap, “maybe this success of yours over the past few months, it was just ah, how do you say, ‘riding the coattails’ your father left for you in the middle of the season?”
Involuntarily, my fingers ball into a fist on the couch next to me, and I shudder as I feel Konrad put his clammy hand over it warningly.
Oskar crosses his legs and folds his hands over his knees. “But look at me, I’m being terribly presumptuous! I would never want to question your skill as a businesswoman, Miss Foss.” The name is said with biting condescension, and I realize there’s nothing I can say to persuade these pigs of anything. They’re here for their own amusement.
“The club scene is not one you can predict so easily, and even the best of businesspeople can have a club go under, if the limelight shifts on a whim.” He’s looking out the window wistfully, trying to contort that sleazy face of his into a philosophical expression. It really just makes him look like he’s trying to pass a kidney stone.
The next moment, Oskar stands up abruptly, leaving Konrad with me on the couch. As soon as Oskar’s back is turned, I feel Konrad’s hand copping a feel up my back, and goosebumps rise on my arms.
The fair-haired mobster steps around the house, perusing the items that have been taken down to be sold off. My heart sinks as I realize he’s putting two-and-two together.
“But a shrewd woman like you, she puts away some money for the hard times like this, no? That would be the wise thing to do, I think. Otherwise, even a lovely woman like yourself could be pushed to give away things she doesn’t want to part with.”
Oskar’s perceptiveness astounds me as his eyes fall on the box of Dad’s baseball goods. My heart sinks in my chest, and the faintest, cruelest of smiles comes across his face as his eyes catch sight of the blanching of my face.
He bends down to pick up a signed baseball, tossing it up and down in his greasy hand as though it were just a toy.
“Hah, I used to play a little, you know?” He turns his eyes to Nic, who’s been standing like a statue by the door. “Used to be a pitcher, and they told me I had a damn good arm, too. What do you think, Nic?”
Without further warning, Oskar winds up his pitching arm and sends the signed baseball full-force at Nic’s stomach, and the sound of the pop the impact makes evokes a wince from even Konrad. Nic’s face is utterly unfazed, but he gives an approving nod.
Oskar has heinously aggressive “short man” syndrome. Little shows of masculinity like this are all too common, I imagine, but to interrupt them in any way would be more destructive to everyone around him by a long shot. He chuckles to himself as the old ball rolls back to his feet across the floor.
“Really though, Katy, back to business,” he says, making his way into the kitchen and opening my fridge to rummage around a little, finally taking out a beer and popping the top off as he helps himself to it.
“I used to own a club just like yours, Katy,” he sounds suddenly friendly, stepping forward and smiling at me. I notice that Konrad’s hand is still on my back, even though Oskar is looking at me evenly.
“Well, okay, not quite like yours, but close. Mine was a little more, ah...it catered to different tastes, to a different crowd.” I can hear Konrad suppressing a laugh as his grin grows wider.
“And all my employees, they were the loveliest women Brighton Beach had to offer. Some of them with golden locks that spilled down their back like a golden river, some with eyes like rainy skies you could get lost in forever as they danced for you…!”
I suppress a grimace. The strip clubs around town are full of hard-working women, and I can’t stand the thought of those dedicated workers being at the whim and mercy of this pig.
“Some of them were fine little things with long brown hair,” he adds, his eyes narrowing at me as he reaches out to take my chin in his hand, turning me over like a piece of meat. My jaw clenches.
“I would hate for a fine business like yours to fail at paying its dues, Katy,” he resumes a facade of professionalism, stepping back and peering out the window. “If you aren’t able to pay the debts all the other hardworking business owners can pay responsibly, well, you know I can’t guarantee the safety of your business.”
I know it’s a threat, and I know better than to derail his machismo. “Of course, Oskar, that won’t be a problem.”
“Won’t it?” He casts a sidelong glare at me that is almost as terrifying as Konrad’s subtle groping.
Oskar lets out a deep sigh, turning to face me with a sudden longing in his eyes that chills me to the bone.
“My girls, Katy, they were so dedicated. They often left the men who visited my little establishment wanting so much more, you know? And who am I to deny paying customers?”
He moves closer to the couch, looming over me with a deadly serious face.
“All the paying men of the city really want from such lovely women is satisfaction, Katy. They can’t control their desires. And if talented women tease such men who can’t control themselves, are they not to blame when such men throw money at me to help them satisfy these cravings of theirs?”
Konrad is breathing heavily next to me, and I want more than anything else to be somewhere else. Anywhere else. To just tear away from these men and flee, to Natalie’s house, to the nearest train station, anywhere but here!
Oskar crouches down, and I can see the quiet hunger in his eyes. “Do you ever leave your patrons with such lingering cravings, Katy? Do you ever suppose some of them might pay to slake such a thirst?” He tilts his head to the side. “Four thousand a month, maybe?”
“More than that,” Konrad rasps practically into my ear, and now he slides his cold hand up my arm and to my shoulder where it stops to play with my hair, and I hear him lick his lips even though I deny him the satisfaction of looking him in the eyes while he plays with my helplessness.
Oskar laughs with cruelty. “Ah, see? You could have your first customer, you pretty little minx. Konrad here has had such an arrangement on his mind for quite a while, you know. He’d be a fine regular for you. Maybe even Nic would like a turn with such a lovely thing as you?” He turns to the door, and Nic is only staring a cold, dead stare at us.
“But you wouldn’t have to worry, dear,” Oskar resumes, running a hand through my hair after brushing Konrad aside, “with someone like me watching over you, you’d be safe as you are now. Safe and secure.”
The lust in his voice is palpable.
I say nothing, not because I’m restraining myself, but because I’m speechless, staring at Oskar aghast, wanting nothing more than to shove him out the window and face whatever retribution would come from Nic and Konrad afterwards.
The thug shrugs lightly, standing up as though he’d been having light conversation with me all this time. “Something to think about before tomorrow, no?”
He gives a nod to Konrad, who gives a rueful look and hesitates before withdrawing his groping hands and standing up, taking his place at Oskar’s side.
“Sleep well tonight, Katy,” Oskar says after finishing off the beer, tossing it into the box of baseball stuff. It lands on an autographed photo, and the frame cracks loudly. “We’ll see you bright and early tomorrow. It’s a big day for you, I think!”
I nod numbly. The thugs don’t wait for a response. They never wanted one: they’ve done what they came to do.
Nic opens the door as Oskar mutters something to him in Russian, and I can hear the three of them chattering to each other as they exit, slamming the door behind them so hard it rattles the windows.
Before I realize it’s over, I’m curled up into a ball on the couch, staring at the door after them. When the sounds finally die off, a sob bursts out of me, unable to be held back any longer. I bring my sleeves up to my face and cry into them, utterly shaken by how easily they invaded my home and touched me, just barely held back by their boss’s orders.
They c
an’t do this. They can’t do this. They can’t threaten me like this, why are they doing this to me? Why me?!
I don’t know how long I’m on the couch crying, but by the time I withdraw my sleeves, they’re soaked in my tears, and my chest feels sore. I suddenly feel ashamed of myself.
What, some goons come in and try to scare you, and you’re just gonna let them have the satisfaction of succeeding? My shaking hands ball into fists, and my jaw clenches as my eyes look to the box of Dad’s stuff. I stand up and pad over to it, picking up the beer bottle and staring at the broken glass from the shattered frame.
Fine, I decide, they want to play this game? I’ll play. I move back to the coffee table and pick the box of stuff up, accessing the sites where I’ve been posting all the items I’ve been trying to sell.
One by one, I start taking out Dad’s old stuff and listing them online.
Natalie was right, I discover before long: some of these old relics are worth a hefty sum. If those creeps think they’re going to march into my club tomorrow and use me as collateral, they’ve got another thing coming.
Of course, that’s not what I want to do. What I really want is to call up Natalie, get her to round up a mob out of whatever connections she’s got, track down those goons, and have their houses trashed, but my better judgement decides it’s probably best not to start a one-woman war with the Russian mafia.
As I post my Dad’s memories online for sale, I make my way to the medicine cabinet and take out some sleeping aids. I’ve got a little wine left, and I’m going to need all the help sleeping tonight I can get...even if that does mean a little self-medication is in order.
Tomorrow is going to be the longest day of the month.
5
Katy
I’m slow getting ready for work today.
Every tick of the clock on the wall reminds me of how harrowing my situation is. Today is the day, and I have nothing for them. I stand in front of the foggy mirror in my tiny bathroom, searching for my face amidst the condensation clouding the reflection. I rub a circle of clarity into the mirror’s surface and blink sadly at myself. I look like hell.
I spent the whole night agonizing over what to do, and I’m still at a loss.
At three in the morning I was still digging through online auction sites, posting ads for every piece of decent clothing, every nonessential I own. My eyes are pink-rimmed from hours of staring at a laptop screen in the dark, and my back aches from the tense position I was perched in all night. I guess I must have fallen asleep sitting up around eight o'clock, my neck bent at a totally not-normal angle. I was certainly feeling that now, as I stretch my limbs in the shower and tried my best to feel like a regular person.
For as long as I can remember, taking a long, hot shower has been the best form of therapy for stress. After my dad died, I used to sit in the bathtub and let the steaming water pelt my cheeks until the tears stopped falling. And it is still what I turn to in times of stress — which comprises most of my waking hours these days, as it turns out.
I always thought that by this age, I would have things more figured out. Then again, I never expected to lose my whole family by the age of twenty-two, either. But life has a funny way of forcing you into places you’ve never been, and forcing you to become a person you never planned to become.
I blow-dry my hair and plait it into a simple braid over my left shoulder, then apply just enough makeup to make it less obvious that I haven’t really slept. My phone starts buzzing on the bathroom counter and I press the stop button — my eleven AM “get up and go to work” alarm. I sigh and slip into a pair of dark jeans, black kitten heels, a scarlet off-the-shoulder tank top, and throw a black blazer on top of it all to inject some professionalism into the look. I need an outfit that is both comfortable and indicative of my position as the owner of the club.
I’m trying not to think about the fact that I may be selecting an outfit for my own appointment with the gallows. Or, more accurately, the mafia.
My mom used to always say that if you’re going into a bad situation, you might as well look good getting there. It’s a piece of advice that has stuck with me ever since. I swing my purse over my shoulder and take a final glance in the full-length mirror hanging on the back of my bathroom door. I do look pretty good, especially considering the lack of sleep and, well, everything else I’ve got going on at the moment. Thank God for small miracles, I suppose.
Locking the door behind me, I click-clack down the hall to the elevator and ride it down to the first floor. There’s a hunched little old man in the elevator who gives me a sweet smile. I’m sure I’ve met him before — he’s probably one of my neighbors. I try to remember his name as he checks his wristwatch and comments on the weather.
“Supposed to rain,” he says quietly.
I nod politely, and he continues.
“You look very nice today. Don’t forget an umbrella,” he adds with a genuine wink as he stops off on the second floor before I can muster a thank you. I notice then that he’s got a small bouquet of daisies tucked under his arm, and just before the elevator doors close, I see one of the doors open and a grinning, elderly woman throws her arms around him. Despite the anxiety brewing in my gut, a smile springs to my lips. Sometimes it’s actually a relief to know that there are so many people leading happy lives out there. And some small, stubbornly optimistic part of me still hopes that one day I will find happiness, too.
The rain clouds are gathering in gunmetal-gray clusters overhead, threatening to spill at any moment. I hurry down the street to where my modest white sedan is parallel parked, unlock the door, and slip inside — just as the first few sprinkles of precipitation start speckling the windshield. With a heavy sigh, I start up the engine and make the trek to the Amber Room.
Upon arrival, I notice that Natalie’s motorcycle is parked in back, with two helmets hanging on the handlebars. I can’t help but roll my eyes fondly, wondering which girl she’s romancing today. I remember when I first started coming around the club, back when my dad was still alive and he’d just hired Natalie, she clearly had a bit of a thing for me. It wore off quickly, after my dad died. She shifted straight from pick-up mode to caregiver mode, always checking in on me and being supportive however she could. Nowadays she is one of my very best friends, and there’s nothing remaining of the former vibe.
I fish my umbrella out from under a pile of jackets and scarves in my backseat and step out into the light rain, leaping a few puddles as I cross the parking lot. Once inside, I am immediately greeted by Charles, whose wiry frame pops out from under a booth.
“Good morning, sunshine,” he calls out with a cheery smile. I squint in confusion at the screwdriver in his hand and he promptly explains. “Oh, this metal table leg has been kind of wobbly and a couple patrons pointed it out last night, so I brought my tool kit to fix it up.”
“You’re a lifesaver,” I reply warmly, fist-bumping him as I walk by on my way to the bar, where Natalie is wiping down the counter. She’s humming to herself and clearly in her own little world. I clear my throat and set my purse down loudly on the stool beside me. Suddenly she does a double take over at me and breaks into a wide grin.
“Hey, short-stop,” she greets me. Then she narrows her eyes and adds suspiciously, “You look rough. Did you sleep okay?”
Damn it. Count on Natalie to be the perceptive one. “Thanks,” I say sarcastically.
“Oh no. Today’s the day,” she continues, catching on.
“Yep,” I reply, resting my chin on my hands and giving her a what-can-ya-do shrug.
“What are you gonna do, kid?” she asks, leaning in closer.
“No idea.”
Her eyebrows shoot up and she purses her lips. “Down to the wire, huh?”
I change the subject quickly — this is a topic I don’t need her worrying about. It’s my problem, and I’ll deal with it. Natalie, Ashton, Charles — they’re all innocent bystanders in this situation, and all I can do is hope that my
failure doesn’t put them in any danger. So instead, I say softly, “I couldn’t help but notice the two helmets hanging off your bike. Wanna tell me how dinner with your mother went last night, Nat?”
Her cheeks went pink and she bit her lip. “Okay. Now that I can explain—”
“You didn’t bring your mom to work this morning, did you?”
“I was actually being a perfect gentlewoman and giving Ashton a ride to work, thank you very much,” Natalie retorted, fighting a smile. “She always takes the bus and you know how dangerous public transportation can be for a girl like that!”
“Oh, like she’s really safer on a motorcycle with you?” I goad her teasingly.
Just then, Ashton comes around the corner with her blonde hair in a flouncy ponytail, looking very sweet and totally oblivious. Natalie gives me a pinched look, shakes her head ever so slightly, and I stifle a laugh.
“Hi, Miss Foss,” Ashton says brightly.
“Hey, Ashton. And remember you can call me ‘Katy,’ okay?”
“Yes, ma’am — Katy,” she replies.
“Alright, people. I’m going to be in the lounge working on some business stuff for a while if anyone needs me,” I say, loudly enough that Charles can hear me from his place underneath the table. He extends a thumbs-up.
I give everyone a brave smile and head to the VIP room to lock myself in with my misery and ponder what the hell I’m going to do. It is noon now, and from previous months I’ve gathered that the mafia guys prefer to strike around this time. I suppose it’s somewhat considerate of them to show up before we actually open at one o’clock. The last thing I need is for my patrons to catch the club owner in mid-shakedown. I’ve gotta put on a tough façade. It’s hard enough just being a woman in charge, especially in such a male-dominant industry. Most of the other clubs around the area are run by paunchy older guys in sleazy business suits. I wouldn’t be surprised if some of them are actually members of the mafia themselves. But me, I’m just a pawn, low on the totem pole. Financially, I’m barely holding it together. Emotionally, I’m starting to really fall apart, living in my dad’s shadow and trying to keep his dream afloat.
Sold to the Hitman Page 21