The man, who in no way resembled the character from the Stephen King book he took his alias from, rolled down the window and nodded. "You're Eddie Dean, I take it?"
"Yeah," I replied. Working with Tomasso had opened me up to more formal learning, but I still remembered the years of reading pop novels from the library, and even still, I thought our aliases were borderline over the top. I wondered if this guy would have called Tomasso 'Roland of Gilead' or something. "How's the antiques business?"
"Good. In fact, I have the item you ordered at my shop. Follow me," the man said, our little charade completed. It was total bullshit, but just in case, it paid to be paranoid.
I followed the man in the truck to an auto body shop on the outskirts of town, where he had me pull around back. Sliding the pistol into the back of my pants just in case, I closed the money up and walked with him into the back of the shop, where I found two other men, both armed, but with their guns clearly resting out of the way. "So you've got the money the Don was supposed to send with you?" 'Alan Pangborn' asked after closing the door. "Don't worry. This shop is owned by us, and we're using an electronic jammer. Cops can't hear shit, and besides, we own the local cops."
"Okay then. Here it is," I said, tucking my pistol into the back of my pants before setting the case on the workbench next to me. "To be honest, though, I don't know how much is in the case. I'm just supposed to get two things from you guys. Product, whatever that is, and information."
"Of course," Pangborn replied, nodding to one of the two armed men. "You must be one of Tommy Bertoli's new boys. The Don and us have good relations, but it takes balls to come do a pickup like this by yourself."
"I do what I'm asked and get the job done," I replied, not threatening, but just letting these guys know that I wouldn't be tolerating any intimidation crap. I wasn't the same Dante Degrassi who'd been pushed around by Danny Huong a few months earlier. "So where is it?"
"On the hydraulic lift," Pangborn replied. "If you don't mind, my boys can back your truck up to the bay doors here, and we can wheel it right out to you. The parking lot's a little tight for a three-point turn, and they've done this before."
I looked over at the hydraulic lift and saw a single wooden crate, already lifted into the air. "Why'd you guys want me to get a fifteen-footer for one box?"
"Weight," one of the gunmen said, sliding his rifle off his shoulder and putting it aside. "The box is heavy as fuck, and you'd fuck up the suspension on most trucks. You could have fit it in an F-350, but I guess the Don don't drive Fords."
"You know him,” I said. I took out my keys and held them out. "If you don't mind, I'll watch the backup and loading job."
The Portland boys were professionals, and there was no screwing around. Within ten minutes of my walking in, I was driving out, my Beretta sitting on the seat next to me while the back of the truck was locked. Driving back to Seattle was more difficult, mainly because I was stiffening up and was sleepy to boot. Finally, I pulled over into a truck stop to do some stretching and a few jumping jacks, getting the blood flowing and the kinks worked out.
I was about halfway through my little routine of making myself look like an idiot when I saw the kid approaching me, the hood on his dirty sweatshirt pulled up and his hands already trembling as he tugged at his scraggly, matted beard. "Hey man, can you help me out?"
"Sorry, not tonight," I replied, trying not to start something. He was obviously a tweaker. Considering where I was, more than likely, it was meth. "Can't help you right now.”
"Come on, man, I just need a few dollars," the kid said, his eyes widening. "Why you gotta be a dick?"
"Not being a dick. I’m just busy. Now move along, man. Go chill out and sleep it off."
I saw his hands clench and knew what was coming. While I was nowhere near an expert yet, the tweaker's punch was telegraphed, and I blocked it easily with my left arm, stepping in and snapping his head back with a viscous uppercut elbow that sent him crumpling to the ground. I looked around, seeing that the clerk was already stepping out of the minimart, probably after seeing the whole thing. "You okay?"
I nodded, dusting off the sleeves on my shirt. "Yeah. Fucker took a swing at me."
"I know. It's all on video, and I saw it personally. You want to call the cops?"
I shook my head, waving it off. “He needs detox, not county jail. You want to call the cops?"
The clerk shook his head. “No. I know him. He's on his second strike already. Drugs, as you'd guess. I call, he goes down for a long time. I know someone who might take him in, see what he can do."
"All right then. Have a good night," I said, walking away and getting into the truck. I made the rest of the drive back to Seattle, adrenaline still pumping through my system. The fight had been so quick. I hadn't had a chance to even be nervous, and I floored the guy with one shot. I hadn't even thought about it. It had happened on pure instinct, and I was starting to realize just how changed I was.
Getting back to Seattle, I noticed that it was nearly midnight as I delivered the truck to the warehouse that Tomasso had instructed me to go to, turning the truck over to Julius Forze, of all people. "Here you go," I said, tossing him the keys. "It's going to need the gas tank topped off after you get the box out of the back."
Julius nodded. His demeanor was different than it had ever been with me—not friendly still, but without that air of derision around him that said he didn't respect me. Instead, I was just another co-worker, which was a big step. "Cool. Everything went smoothly?"
"Kind of. I'll tell Tomasso about it. Is he here?"
Julius hooked a thumb toward the office. "Of course. He almost always picks up his crew when he sends you guys out. You got yourself a good new boss, man.”
"Don't I know it." I went to the office, where Tomasso was waiting, his feet propped up on the desk and a book in his hands. "I'm back. Had a little incident at a gas station about an hour south of here though."
"What happened?" He asked, setting his feet down. I told him about the tweaker and the punch, and he nodded. "Okay. That's no big deal. The truck's not in a real name, and I doubt they'd be able to peg you to a video anyway, not with as shitty as those video systems are at those places, even if someone wanted to start some shit. Come on. I'll give you a ride home. By the way, you earned a rest tomorrow, so after your dance and training, you've got the rest of the day off."
We left, and I felt myself walking on air. Not only had I done a good job on the mission, but I'd handled myself well. My first test, if you could even call it that. Going back to the diner where my car was parked, I pulled out my phone and sent Carmen a text message. You awake?
Yes. What's up?
Want to get some dinner tomorrow night? I've got the night off.
Sounds great. Where?
I don't know yet. Let me think. See you at practice tomorrow. Good night.
Buenas noches.
* * *
I was still feeling it the next day while picking Carmen up for our date, and I knew that was what it was, a real date. Carmen looked stunning, as I'd expected, with her hair pulled back and a light blouse on that matched her skirt. She was a woman who knew how to wear a skirt, that was for sure.
The Metropolitan Grill was another of those places that I always wanted to go but never could have afforded. Not that it's super expensive, mind you, but when a steak salad is thirty bucks, and I was making barely over minimum wage, even a salad was out of my reach.
"So have you ever been here before?" Carmen asked as I escorted her to our table.
"Never. You?" I asked. I felt like I could take on the world, and I was ready to show it too. Last time, I'd been laid back with her. This time, I would show her exactly who I was and what I wanted.
"Once," she admitted, giving me a little smile as I held out her chair and helped her in. "It was a birthday gift."
"Good friend," I replied, coming around and sitting down. "Well, tonight is a great time to make it your second trip, and my fir
st. To us?"
"To us," Carmen said, raising her glass and tapping it against mine.
Unfortunately, that toast was the highlight of the date. The shit hit the fan—and hard—when the waiter came over to take our orders. "Can I start you with some drinks?"
"Two glasses of the Columbia Crest Merlot, and I think we can order the food as well." I charged ahead, not noticing Carmen's reaction. "New York Strip for Two, medium rare, and let the chef choose the veggies to go with it. And the Dungeness crab appetizer."
The waiter nodded and snapped his booklet closed, walking away without even talking to Carmen. I looked over at her, smiling, the smile faltering when I saw the look in her eyes. "What?"
"You didn't let me order," she said, clearly upset. "What the hell?"
"I figured we'd have coordinating dinners, that's all," I replied. "Chill, it's all good."
"Chill?" Carmen echoed, her voice rising slightly before she clamped down on it. “Do you think this is a joke or something?"
"Not at all. I'm just saying . . . you let me take the lead on the dance floor, why not at dinner too?” I said with a chuckle. "Is it that big of a deal, babe?”
Carmen blinked, and her mouth pinched in a way I'd never seen before, like I'd slapped her across the face. I saw the fire in her eyes too, however, and I could tell she was pissed off. "Babe? Excuse me. I think I should go home . . . before I do something that I'll regret later. Have a good evening."
Getting up, she stormed out of the place so quickly that I sat there stunned, barely comprehending what had just happened. I got up and stumbled toward the door, calling out to her, but she was too quick, and she jumped in a taxi before I could get her to stop. Watching the taxi drive away, I mentally kicked myself, trying to figure out what to do. When the restaurant's host touched my shoulder, I spun, my anger at myself for my fucking stupidity making me almost knock the man out. "What the fuck do you want?"
"Sir . . . your order," the host said, trying to calm me down. "Do you still want it?"
I sighed, shaking my head. "No. Here, sorry for your trouble. Cancel the . . . whatever. Just here."
I peeled off a hundred bucks from my wallet and handed it to the host, walking away. I got to my car and slumped inside. I felt a buzzing in my pocket, and I pulled out my phone, seeing it was a message from Carmen.
U R an asshole. But U R my dance partner. Six tomorrow, and for now, I’ll keep my mouth shut about this.
I felt a mixture of fear, disgust, and relief as I read her words. Fear that I'd fucked up yet again, disgust at the way I'd acted, and relief in that I would at least see her tomorrow.
Six. I'll be there. And I'm sorry.
Six.
Chapter 12: Carmen
I was still seething the next morning when Dante came into the studio, looking much different than the night before. "Carmen, I'd like to say—"
“Don’t,” I hissed, completing my stretches. "Get stretched out, and we'll start with some foxtrot work today."
He sat down and started changing his shoes. As he did, I felt the anger inside me, that had been building up all night, finally explode. "What were you thinking last night?"
He actually flinched at my yelling, and he set his shoe aside, looking up at me and saying nothing. I continued my rant. "Seriously, what the hell was going through your mind? Ordering for me? Calling me babe? I don't care if you're the baddest motherfucker in the entire Bertoli organization. You treat me like I deserve!”
I was staring at him, halfway across the room, my fists clenched at my sides and my chest heaving. I was so angry, and I didn’t even know why. I mean, I knew why I was mad, but was it really worth being that mad over? I was expecting anger in return, or yelling, or something along those lines. Instead, Dante stood up and came over, his face actually still calm. "Carmen," he said softly, with an intense look on his face. "I'm sorry. I don’t know if I was just trying too hard or if I was still riding the high from my latest job. But I don’t want to make excuses. I'm sorry."
"You’d better be sorry!" I yelled, jabbing him in the chest. “What did you think was going to happen? You were going to throw down a couple of bucks for dinner and play the big player for me, and I'd just spread my legs? Well guess what, buddy? I don't do that shit anymore!"
Dante blinked, confused. "Anymore?"
I stopped, shocked. "You . . . you still don't know, do you?"
"Know what?" Dante said, stepping back and holding his hands out wide, not understanding. "What do you mean?"
I felt tears come to my eyes as I stepped back myself, until I bumped against the wall. I blinked, looking up before shaking my head. I waved with my hand and headed toward the back. "Come with me."
I walked into the back of the studio, where I'd never let anyone else in since giving up my apartment. Dante followed, his socks swishing slightly on the wood floor and parting the curtain that I had strung up to hide the area. In the back room, off the toilet area, I opened the door to what was supposed to be my office, and for the past seven months, had been my sleeping quarters. I went over to my sofa and sat down, reaching for the photo album I kept next to the sofa.
“What do you think of me?" I asked as I patted the cushion next to me. "Tell me the truth, no holding back."
He sat down, his elbows resting on his knees, and looked down, thinking intensely for a moment before answering. "I think you're smart. You know more about just dancing than I think I know about anything, and on top of all that, you keep this dance studio running by yourself. And every time we're together, I feel like we’re both truly having fun. Well, aside from last night.”
I felt my throat close up, and I handed him the book. "I know when we had those drinks and coffee, I left out a big chunk of my past, basically from the time I turned eighteen until I was twenty-three. Here's why."
Dante took the photo album and looked at the cover. "Never forget," he said, looking at the title I'd had inscribed on the leather cover. "Never forget what?"
"Open it," I said, an unfamiliar stab of fear in my belly. "See who I was before the studio.”
He opened the book to the first page, a picture of me standing in front of the Starlight Club next to the marquee by the door, where my name was in bold letters next to my head. I was in a tight t-shirt and shorts, and while I wasn't in my work clothes, I was still dressed pretty skimpy. It was from my first night as the top billed dancer for the club, and at the time, I'd been nineteen and so proud. I thought I'd made it.
Turning the page, he swallowed when he saw the picture. It had been taken inside the club and given to me by one of my regular customers as a strange sort of gift. I still had my clothes on, but the way I had my hands by the closure of my skirt, you knew exactly what was going to happen.
"I started stripping two months after I turned eighteen," I whispered, looking as Dante flipped through the pages. The pictures were mostly of me clothed, but there were a few of me topless or nearly nude. The most shameful ones were the ones in the back, where I was posing with the sugar daddies, the high-rollers.
"Dancer," Dante said, closing the book. "I didn't know."
I nodded and took the book from him. "So the supposedly beautiful, classy woman you think you're dancing with? She's just a stripper from Georgetown who sometimes was expected to do a little more.”
I buried my head in my hands, weeping miserably. Sure, for years, I had presented a strong face to the world, saying I was confident and secure, but as the years had gone on, I regretted it more and more. "Last night . . . when you took me to the Metropolitan, I told you that I'd been there before."
"That it was a gift from a friend," Dante recalled. "A birthday gift, right?"
"Yeah," I said miserably. "But not my birthday." I didn’t need to explain more. He got the point.
Dante set the book down and reached over, taking my hand. "Carmen, I'm sorry. I didn't know."
"How could you not have?" I asked, crying again. "Every other Bertoli man who came through those d
oors over the past three years has known, and even though Tomasso and Daniel have made sure none of them are fucking stupid enough to try it, I can still see it in their eyes."
"I didn't," Dante said softly. “Before that night when Eduardo grabbed you, I'd never seen you before in my life. Can I ask, did Eduardo—you know?"
"Treat me like a whore?" I asked sarcastically. "Oh yeah. He even mentioned it too. He thought I was a fucking party favor."
Dante held my hand, his thumb stroking the back slowly, not saying anything. I shivered, then looked at him. "Last night, you made me feel just like what I used to be. I've tried for three years to put that behind me, and last night, I felt right back in that game once again."
"I'm sorry," Dante said again. "I knew when you walked out that I screwed up, but I didn't know how much until just now. Our first time out, I felt like we had a perfect time until right at the end. Were you expecting more?”
"It hurt me when you walked away. I thought that maybe you knew and decided against it. A lot of guys, they'll have fun with a good time girl but not take her on dates, if you know what I mean. Or those who date, but then when they find out, they end it like I have a disease."
Dante nodded. "I know what you mean. Anyway, the whole time driving home, I was kicking myself. I wanted to kiss you so badly I could taste it. You’re Luisa and Tomasso’s friend, and I didn’t want to push it and end up in a ditch somewhere.”
He paused for a second and then continued. “When Luisa told me that you took it the wrong way, I was worried that you wouldn't want to see me. Instead, the past few months have been electric. I'm becoming a man that I can actually respect. So I told myself if I got another chance, I was going to take charge and show you exactly what I wanted. But I fucked it up big time.”
"That you did," I agreed. "But you didn't know the things that really triggered me. That, you can't be guilty of."
Dante shook his head. "Still, for what it's worth, I never knew. I asked you out because I enjoy spending time with you."
Dangerous Love: Bertoli Crime Family Box Set Page 48