by Skyla Madi
Chad’s excitement deflates from his chest and wipes the smile from his face. “She drank too much. I spent most of this morning holding her hair back while she puked.”
I laugh. How could I not? Like I said, he has the shittiest luck when it comes to women and sex. I thought he had Naomi in the bag. I mean, he could have, but he’s too much of a nice guy to take advantage of a woman who’s not in her right mind.
“She still here?” I ask, taking another sip of my coffee.
“Yeah. She’s in the kitchen.” He scratches at his disheveled hair and pushes off the bed. “I should go check if she needs more water.”
I turn and set my unfinished coffee on the bedside table. What’s the time, anyway? I have to go and get started on that job search. Like my late father always said, there’s no honor in laziness.
“You’re not going to stay?” Chad asks, lingering at the door. “We can hit Sonnie’s up for some breakfast or—”
I shake my head. “Can’t, sorry. I’ve got to find a job.”
I don’t even want to think about how much money I spent last night. Shots don’t come cheap, and those fucking bartenders know how to take advantage of people who are too wasted to keep track of what they’re spending. Chad leans against the doorframe, frowning at me while I hug the sheet to my hips and bend over the edge of the bed for my jeans.
“What about Terry? You gonna give him a call?”
I don’t look up as I slip my legs into their respective holes. “Who’s Terry?”
“My boss. I gave you his card last night. You said you were gonna hit him up for a job.”
I pull my jeans to my knees and stop. Chad works in private security, but he doesn’t do much due to his bad knee. Injury or not, I’m not the kind of guy who can sit around staring at a computer monitor, waiting for movement.
“Me? In private security?” I scoff, sliding my jeans further up my legs without exposing my junk. “No thanks.”
Chad turns around, giving me my privacy. “Why not? It’s easy, you get a gun sometimes, and, if it’s really quiet, you get to sleep on the job.”
“I’m just not looking for that kind of job. I want…” I stand up and pull my jeans into place before zipping the zipper. “I don’t know what I want.”
“Well, if you’re looking for something more exciting, Knox Private Security does armored vehicle cash collections, offers security for celebrities, and a whole bunch of other shit. Terry would snatch you up.”
I walk around the room, looking for my shirt. I know I tossed it somewhere…“I’ll think about it.”
I find my shirt by the leather armchair against the far wall. When I pick it up I uncover Sera’s heels. I stare at them for a second, contemplating what I should do. I could take them to her…
…but on second thought, I’d rather not.
I pull my shirt over my head and smooth my palms down the front, unable to rid the fabric of its wrinkles. Chad disappears while I gather my socks and shoes and put them on, but I find him again in the kitchen, sitting with Naomi, who’s seen better days.
She hunches over a cup of coffee in nothing but Chad’s shirt from last night. As I pass, she offers me a small smile, but it quickly fades with the obvious turning of her stomach.
“Let me know if you call Terry,” Chad shouts as I drag my tired ass down the hall, toward the front door.
“Will do.”
I grab the handle and tug the door open, stepping out into the corridor. No one else stirs in the hotel and I’m glad I won’t have to share the elevator with anyone on the way down. As I walk, I glance at all the trimmings and adornings, not remembering any of them from last night.
Good. It makes it that much easier to forget.
***
I spend the next forty-eight hours walking around Vegas, trying to find a job, and there’s nothing that suits me. My brother thinks I’m being childish by not settling for anyone that will take me, and maybe I am, I don’t know. I just…I just feel like I have to at least enjoy my job if I’m giving up the only one I’ve known and loved. Is that too much to ask?
At the end of the second day, when all I could find were jobs in ice cream parlors and strip clubs, I decided to bite the bullet and give Terry a call. It went smoothly. In fact, Chad had already talked me up and Terry didn’t even want an interview…
…which brings me to now.
I stand by Darius, who pulls stacks of cash out of his bag and fills up the ATM machine. This is the third ATM machine we’ve filled on our morning run, and each and every one has been as uneventful as the last…which I guess is good. Darius doesn’t seem like the kind of man that can handle anything dramatic.
I plant my hands on my hips and drag my index finger over the lock to the heavy gun in my holster. God, it feels good to have this bad boy on me—and it’s not just the gun that has me well and truly in my comfort zone. It’s my uniform. Everything is crisp and somewhat stiff, like a fresh pair of fatigues. My khaki button up shirt is snug, yet breathable, and my forest green pants are tight around the ankles and tucked into my big, black boots.
Yep. Almost feels like home.
The click of high heels to my left draws my attention like a dog to a bone, and a young, slender woman in a tight, black pantsuit approaches quickly, her attention focused only on the cell she holds in her hand. I don’t say anything as she closes in on the perimeter I set up in my head. In eight more steps, she’ll breach the distance I’ve set for Darius’s safety.
…six
…five
…four
…three
…two
“Excuse me, ma’am.” I step forward, cutting her off, and she startles to a halt, clenching her chest.
“Oh, my goodness.” She chuckles nervously, pushing short, walnut locks out of her face. “You scared me.”
“Sorry. Didn’t mean to scare you.” I extend my hand to her and she glances at it. “I just need you to step back a little so my coworker can safely finish his job.”
“Of course.” She slips her manicured hand in mine and I guide her around my invisible perimeter. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t see you two.”
Her gaze flicks between my eyes and my lips as she walks, and I wonder if she ever watches where she’s going. If she’s not careful, she’s gonna end up hurting herself.
I release her on the other side. “Thank you very much for your cooperation. Have a nice day.”
The woman glances over her shoulder with a gentle grin. “I will.”
I watch her walk away and I know she’s swinging her hips like that just for me. She sure as hell wasn’t walking that way before she knew I was here. I watch her, unashamedly, as she rounds the corner and disappears. A large hand clamping down on my shoulder pulls me from my thoughts.
“You’re a real ladies’ man, aren’t you?” Darius chuckles.
I shrug, grinning as he closes up the ATM machine and pulls his empty cash bag onto his shoulder. “Nah.”
I walk beside him toward the truck.
“For future reference, you’re supposed to set a physical perimeter so people know where they can walk and you won’t have to talk to nobody.”
“Oh. Right.”
I don’t mention to him that I haven’t actually been trained. Darius’s usual partner called in sick—late notice—and Terry threw me in last minute. All he said was “drive the truck and watch Darius’s back.”
For the most part, this job seems pretty straight forward, but there are a lot of fucking protocols I’m supposed to know about, and my official training period doesn’t start until next week.
Darius nudges me in the ribs with his elbow. “You’ll get the hang of it.”
He reaches for the passenger handle and the truck roars to life. What the fuck? Darius looks at me and all I can do is stare back at him, wide eyed, like an idiot.
“Tell me you didn’t leave the keys in the truck.”
Fuck.
The truck jerks forward, tugging Dari
us a foot before he lets go.
“Shit!” he shouts, plucking his radio off of his shoulder. Behind me, he shouts gibberish into the line, demanding that the paint be detonated and the police notified. The truck slowly picks up speed and I see it getting away. Are we supposed to wait? What the fuck did they give me a gun for then? My fingers twitch and my blood ignites at the thought of taking matters into my own hands. Would I get in trouble? Could I get in trouble?
Fuck it.
I take off, sprinting down the sidewalk like a mad man, ignoring Darius’s shouts behind me. I pull my gun from my holster and hear the gasps and squeals of people around me. It all happens so fast, my surroundings blurring as if I’m running faster than the speed of light, my target the only clear thing in my line of sight.
I clear benches without thought, shooting myself into the air and landing with a swift roll. As the truck takes a left, I hear police sirens in the distance, and if I’m going to salvage this, I need to get to the truck before they do.
A large crowd exiting a classy café blocks the sidewalk and I make the last-minute decision to dive onto the cars parked along the side of the road. I hope Terry has insurance. Metal bends and compresses under my heavy boots as I sprint along the roofs of the cars. One by one, I dent them with my weight, but I can’t stop. As I reach the end of the street, I see a bus approaching out of my right peripheral and I know I’m not going to be able to pass it in time.
So I take my shot.
I pull my hand gun up and straighten my arms. I close one eye, but it doesn’t help. I line up the back-right wheel, hold my breath and pull the trigger.
A shot rings out and energy from the round kicks into my hands. It vibrates up my arms, tickling my skin in the most delicious of ways. I inhale as the hairs on the back of my neck stand up and the nerves down my spine dance. I adjust my position as the truck begins to swerve out of control and I pull the trigger again, hitting the left tire.
The long, yellow bus I was expecting passes me and I wait, catching a glimpse of myself in the reflections of the windows. For the first time in months, I finally look like myself. The bus rolls by just in time for me to see the perp dive out of the driver seat and crash to the ground. His hood falls into his face as he hits the asphalt and rolls six feet.
I’m off the roof of the black car and sprinting toward him before I even have time to register what the fuck I’m doing. I should let the police handle it, but I’m still driven to go for that citizen’s arrest. I need it. This is the most exciting thing to happen to me since…since…forever. I feel myself smile as I run, closing the distance between myself and the man who thinks he can steal from me.
He scrambles to his feet fairly quickly, but I’ve already found my stride. I re-enter the sidewalk as traffic becomes congested. I push chairs out of the way and demand people move before I plow through them. A group of men in suits don’t listen to me and they’re thrown aside as I come through like a freight train.
I’m only six feet away from the thief now. He’s skinny, and young. He glances over his shoulder and he’s fucking terrified when he sees me. I contemplate shooting him in the shoulder, but change my mind since he’s just a kid, surely no older than eighteen.
The kid tries his hardest to outrun me, but he’s quickly losing breath. I’ve run miles through the desert for days. I could run this entire city without collapsing.
He’s four feet away now and I take the dive. The kid grunts as I crash into him, tackling him to the ground. The skin of my elbows catch the rough sidewalk and I clench my teeth as it eats away my flesh when we slide.
“A for effort, kid,” I pant, lifting myself off him to plant a knee against his spine.
“Fuck you.”
I grab his arms and pin them behind his back before handcuffing them in place. Exhaling, I pull the perp to his feet and drag him over to the nearest café, moving him out of the sun. Cops approach then and they take him out of my possession, demanding I sit and wait for them to take my statement.
A waitress at the small-time café brings me out a jug of water and some sliced orange while I wait. I reach for the jug, only to stop when the suited men from earlier approach, their shoulders squared, their dark eyes threatening.
I expect one of them to speak, at the very least, but they don’t. Instead, they step to the side—very dramatic like—and up strolls an older, rounder gentleman. He smooths a chubby hand over his round belly, seemingly straightening out his white, button up shirt. He looks like a tourist with his pressed, black slacks, leather shoes, and shiny Ray-Bans that hide his eyes, but I don’t think he is. No. There’s something too…comfortable…about him.
The man doesn’t say anything as he lowers himself into the chair across from me. I contemplate opening my mouth first, but decide against it. This is Vegas and this man could be anybody.
“Quite a show you put on,” he says, breaking the silence.
His voice is deep and rough, straightening my spine. It’s the kind of voice that sends alarm bells ringing in my head, the kind of voice every movie villain conveniently has. I glance over his exterior, not focusing on anything besides the graying hair at his temples.
“Just doing my job,” I say, peering out into the street as the cops work on freeing the traffic out of gridlock.
My phone vibrates over and over in my pocket, but I ignore it. It’s probably Terry ready to go postal on my ass.
“You’re confident and competent with your gun.”
“I’m a soldier,” I say with a shrug. “Or was…I was a soldier.”
“I could use a soldier like you for a special job I need done.”
I glance at his men and they all watch me intently. By the looks of them, I get the feeling their boss isn’t asking. Ah. It suddenly all makes sense. These guys are a part of the mob. The suits, the silence, the intimidation game. Five bucks says they’re all carrying. If I’m right, if they are a part of the mob, the man sitting across from me is none other than Marco Ventilli.
I’ve seen him and his men around Vegas from time to time. Now, I’m no casino rat or strip club fiend, so my interactions with the mob have always been minimal, but I know they’re not the type of people I should fuck with.
“With all due respect, I don’t do those kinds of jobs,” I tell him.
I bounce my knee as my nerves get the best of me. How do you turn down the mafia without pissing them off?
“What makes you think it’s one of those kinds of jobs?”
I lean closer. “You’re in the mob, right?”
He doesn’t agree nor disagree and I take it as my answer. I’m not going to go from fighting for my country to working for the mob. What does that say about me? It goes against everything I stand for. I fight against terrorists. I fight anyone who wants to do this country harm. I don’t join them.
“Why don’t you sleep on it and join me at my place for breakfast tomorrow morning to discuss the position.”
Again, he doesn’t pose it as a question. He pushes his chair back and the metal scrapes against the cobblestone sidewalk. I open my mouth to decline, but he cuts me off with the point of his finger.
“I’m being patient with you, soldier,” he bites out, whipping off his sunglasses. “Don’t deny my generosity a second time.”
I grit my teeth at the sight of his eyes. There’s something awfully familiar about the dangerous flare of gold amongst the brown, but I don’t think we’ve met before.
I can’t turn him down. Not for something as simple as breakfast, anyway.
“I’ll see you at breakfast.”
They look like they’re about to leave as a policewoman approaches me in her khaki uniform, notebook in hand, but decide to stay. “They’re not giving you any trouble, are they?”
I shake my head. “No, ma’am.”
She lowers her sunglasses to the slope of her nose, watching me with curious azure eyes. “What do they want?”
“To congratulate me,” I lie. “On catching the ba
d guy.”
“Is that so?” She pushes her glasses up her nose. “You’ve broken a few laws today, Mr…?”
“Campbell.” I scratch at the back of my head. “I was just doing my job.”
“Your job is to fill ATM machines, not open fire on the public.”
Is she kidding me? He would have gotten away if I didn’t stop him. “I didn’t open fire on the public. I prevented a carjacking and a lot of money being stolen.”
“Who’s your superior?” Marco cuts in, stuffing his hand into his pocket.
He speaks with fire in his tone. He couldn’t care less that woman in front of me is wearing a badge.
Straightening her top, the officer clears her throat. “Paul Hendrix.”
“Paul, huh? Well, you tell Paul that if he has a problem with our boy here, then he has a problem with me.”
“Your boy? This has nothing to do with you,” she grinds out, her blonde eyebrows disappearing under the metal of her glasses.
“Of course it does.” Marco flicks a finger at me. “He’s with us. Aren’t you, Ben Campbell?”
What the hell is happening right now? I glance between Marco and the officer. Both of them watch me, pulling me in two. Do I take my chances with the law and take the penalties on the chin? Or do I side with Marco and risk…well, everything? Marco has put me in a tight fucking spot and he knows it.
“Yeah,” I say, the excitement I’m supposed to feel not quite reaching my voice. “I’m with them.”
The police officer is glaring at me through her sunglasses, I just know it. “My superior will be in touch with you.”
She whirls on her heel and storms away. Just like that.
I knew when I drew my gun from its holster that there might be consequences, but I did it anyway and now—all of a sudden—I’m involved with the Las Vegas mafia and the police can’t touch me? What the hell happened in less than an hour?
“Breakfast,” Marco states, tossing a card onto the table as he turns away. “Oh-eight-hundred, soldier. Don’t be late.”
Don’t be late.
Code for: I’ll cut a finger off for every minute you keep me waiting.