Strings

by Dickson, Allison M.

  But Benny Rosen was trying to change that way of thinking, buying up a lot of the smaller and struggling hotels and restaurants. Most people thought it was a fool move, like acquiring all the purple properties on a Monopoly board, but the Madam knew that was just smoke and mirrors. Most people didn’t know Rosen’s real bread and butter: online banking and stock market scams, international real estate, Chinese casinos. No construction, waste management, and drug dealing crap that kept the Cassinis on the fast track to eventual irrelevance. Rosen knew where the real riches lay. He was a true visionary.

  Victor wasn’t a fan of the man, though. “Let him have that clam digger fuckhole down there if it makes him feel important,” he’d said the first and the last time they’d spoken about their new friend to the south, about six months ago. “We’ll keep looking in on him, making sure he stays put and pays his regular respects. If he doesn’t, I got no problem reminding him who we are and how we play ball.” She wasn’t privy to the details, but she thought her brother was nervous. He rarely wasted words on people he thought were inconsequential. Her intuition told her Victor tried to make some sort of deal with Rosen, but Rosen had turned him down.

  After that, the Madam saw her opportunity. She contacted Rosen and told him she was very interested in what he was trying to accomplish in Atlantic City, and she was prepared to make a very large investment to ensure Victor was eventually pushed out of the picture. Rosen perked up at that point, and they regularly kept in contact over the last few months. Mostly it was small talk, which was cheap. She was waiting to bulk up her purse a little more so when she made her move, no one would doubt she was serious. But the game had changed. Her purse was now gone, and she didn’t have anyone else she could confide in who wasn’t in Victor’s pocket. She needed her secret ally more than ever. She just hoped he would be there now that she was completely powerless.

  The Madam stepped into the Blue Diamond casino and gasped. Chrome, glass, and blue neon glinted and gleamed on nearly every surface. Representations of the namesake were everywhere, from the patterns of the floor tiles to the wall sconces to the elaborate light fixtures overhead. The place looked like some kind of set for a futuristic science fiction movie, though not too far ahead was the gambling pit, where the green felt tables, dinging of slot machines, and the smell of stale cigarette smoke reminded her how the gleam of the future was nothing more than a mirage. Rosen told her to go to the hotel desk and let one of the clerks know she had arrived. The Madam hoped they would know who she was, her new eye patch and hat, with a few layers of veil, concealing half her face.

  They were all young women, all blonde, all in deep blue jackets with red ascots around their necks. Practically clones. That couldn’t have been a coincidence. Rosen clearly had hiring preferences, and none of them looked like one-eyed middle-aged gunshot victims. Swallowing back her rising bile, she walked up to the counter and spoke to the nearest girl. “My name is Cassini. I am here to see Mr. Rosen.”

  Blondie flashed a wide, pearlescent smile. No broken teeth. “Certainly, Madam. We’ve been expecting you. I will escort you to Mr. Rosen’s private lounge.”

  She walked to the end of the long counter and led the Madam down a short hallway to a dim room the cosmetic opposite of the cold and sterile lobby. Dark wood, overstuffed leather couches, and humidors dominated the space. A small bar stood at the end of the room, as well as a flat screen television big enough for the Madam to step through without having to duck. It was a man’s paradise. “Feel free to pour yourself a drink, Madam. Mr. Rosen will be right down.”

  After the girl was gone, the Madam walked to the end of the bar and poured herself a neat glass of single malt scotch. The sip rolled down to her belly, settling in like a cat on a fireplace hearth. She took her drink to one of the couches and sat down, savoring the way the furniture cradled her sore body.

  Oh what would Victor think if he knew she was here? She wondered if he’d sat in this very spot, trying so hard not to be impressed by Rosen’s grandeur as he made a pathetic attempt to woo the man into an archaic and likely insulting business deal. She’d gone to great lengths to ensure her brother wouldn’t know her whereabouts, but if he asked, she planned to tell him she wanted to have a little time to herself and had gone for a drive in order to see if she could still function with one eye. And that wouldn’t exactly be inaccurate.

  After what happened this morning, she knew if she had to remain cooped up in that horrible house another minute, she might just go on a killing spree. Her celebration of making it out of the bedroom and down the stairs to her office had been short-lived. She opened the door and found one of Victor’s surrogates, a fatso prick named Sully Barone, in her office with his feet up on the desk, eating a jelly donut and flipping through her business files. She stabbed his hand with a letter opener and he fell down the stairs as he ran away screaming.

  A few of the girls, who for some godforsaken reason weren’t working, stood there watching him beg for someone to call an ambulance because he couldn’t feel his legs, even though he was obviously moving them as he squirmed around like a pathetic infant. Most of the whores hadn’t seen the Madam since the shooting, and they goggled up at her. Thin to begin with, she’d lost a great deal of weight in the last week, and her gaunt face, riddled on one side with red and black pockmarks, looked especially savage with her new black eye patch. She would eventually be fitted with a prosthetic eye, but for now she rather liked the new look and the effect it had on the girls.

  “Get your useless twats back to work!” she’d screamed at them, and they fled like frightened ghosts.

  She drained her glass and set it down on the heavy wood coffee table, checking her watch in the process. It seemed like she’d been waiting far too long for someone who seemed so interested in meeting with her.

  “I like a woman who can drink like me.”

  The Madam turned her head and saw a short man with a receding crop of curly black hair and round glasses perched upon his stereotypically Jewish nose. He wore a decent suit, but it wasn’t tailored well and it made him look like he was playing dress-up with his father’s clothes. This was Benny Rosen? He looked about as intimidating as an accountant. A very young and inexperienced accountant. She felt like she was on a blind date that had gotten off to a somewhat unfortunate start, but she didn’t have any choice but to endure. Allies, she needed allies. She worked up a suitable smile to conceal her broken teeth.

  “Mr. Rosen, I presume?”

  “In the flesh.” He glided over and took her hand, which he kissed tenderly. The pasted on smile was starting to feel painfully false, so she decided to settle on her standard icy grin.

  “It’s a pleasure,” she said.

  “No need to conceal your surprise. Most people expect a Jewish Michael Corleone, but they wind up getting a weird mix of Rick Moranis and Howard Stern. I blame my father.” He went to the humidor, plucked out a thick cigar, deftly clipping off the end. His self-deprecating humor was a little disarming. Rosen didn’t look like much, but once he opened his mouth, he commanded her attention. She respected that.

  “After everything I’ve been through, you are the last person in the world I’m disappointed in, Mr. Rosen. Believe me.”

  He sat down beside her, crossing his short legs and leaning back as he filled the air around him with the sweet smoke of his cigar. Now that he was sitting, she could focus a little less on his height. His eyes were on her face fully, no judgment or disgust or pity. He was just seeing her as she was, prepared to help. Something about it excited her in a way her eyes couldn’t reconcile. She wasn’t ordinarily attracted to anyone, let alone diminutive men in ill-fitting suits—the kind of men who usually showed up on her doorstep looking for a little bit of discreet fun—but when Rosen looked at her that way . . .

  “I want you to start from the beginning,” he said. “Tell me everything.”

  The Madam, whose only experience with spilling guts usually involved a blade and someone’s actual guts, t
ook a deep breath and started talking. She began with the Ballas house deals, the money she’d been socking away, and ended with the confrontation with Ramón after she figured out he’d stolen from her. While she told him about Victor discovering and taking her hidden fortune, she didn’t reveal what happened after. That would have been unbecoming, and she wanted him to keep looking at her the way he was right now. Very much.

  Rosen listened with his full attention, offering sympathetic nods and hand squeezes. She sifted through her memories, trying to find a time anyone other than Dante had looked at her in such a way but coming up short. And even Dante regarded her as something unfortunate, something he chose to endure because he felt responsible in some way. But not Rosen. It was enough to make her want to break down crying, but she would just as soon tell of the incestuous rape than cry in front of someone else.

  “My poor, beautiful Contessa. Your story breaks my heart.” He kissed her cheek, her heart swelling with gratitude. You’re pathetic, lady.

  “I’m powerless at this point. All of my momentum, all of my plans have been ripped away. I’m afraid our arrangement will have to be put on hiatus until I can manage to secure more funds, and there is no telling how long that will be.”

  “You said the bulk of your money came from this man Ballas, is that right?”

  The Madam nodded. “Yes. A very odd man. A hermit. Some sort of sadist. He . . . Well, let’s just say that the girls who visit him don’t exactly come back fit for duty again.”

  “Interesting. He must have a lot of liquid assets if he’s able to drop that much money on a single night’s fun. Have you considered encouraging him to become a silent partner of sorts?”

  She figured he would ask this. “Ballas doesn’t work that way. He has a very archaic way of doing things. He refuses to be seen in person. Communicates only in writing. He doesn’t even have a phone. And I’m telling you, judging by the condition my girls are in when they leave his house, I doubt the man is even human.”

  Rosen’s eyebrows rose. “You’re kidding. That bad?”

  “Trust me when I say Ballas is better left off the table.” She didn’t even like talking about Ballas. It wasn’t just because of his brutal handiwork, either. She had nearly died on her way to dealing with him. As far as she was concerned, the man was bad luck for a lot of people. Maybe his money was too.

  He got up and took her empty glass with him to refill. “Okay, Contessa. If you say so. It’s difficult to let go of all that capital, but if there is too much risk, then there is too much risk.”

  “I’m glad you see it my way.”

  Rosen brought her back another drink. This one was clear and sparkling, with a twist of lime. One sip told her it was a gin and tonic, her favorite drink. His instincts were impeccable, and so was the drink.

  “Have you considered a more direct approach to your problem?”

  “Such as?”

  “Such as handling your brother the old fashioned way. He’s an old man. You could even make it look like natural causes. Do you know the state of his will?”

  “All of the money and controlling stakes in the companies would go to his children.” Never mind that she herself was one of his children. She could use her own twisted lineage to fight for what was rightfully hers, but that would be grotesque. It would ruin her family’s reputation, not to mention her credibility, as marginal as it was. No one would ever work with her if that secret were to make the light of day, because they wouldn’t blame him. They would blame her, the living freak who never asked to be born.

  We must never speak of such horrors outside this room. Dante’s words as the chess pieces danced.

  “Understood,” Rosen said, as if he’d heard the inner run of her thoughts, or at least some of them. “In that case, I think we have no other option than to find a way to bring your brother into my operation. I have a lot in the works. International things. How do you think he’d feel about investing in Chinese casinos? My resort in Macau was only the beginning. This is the wave of the future.”

  The Madam gaped. He couldn’t be serious. Bringing Victor in was the last thing she wanted. Victor would steamroll over everything and do whatever it took to assume control. Then she’d be right back where she started, with her brother more powerful than he’d ever been before. No. This was her time to shine. “Mr. Rosen, I strongly advise we don’t—”

  He placed his index finger delicately on her lips, shushing her. There was something oddly arousing about it, and she felt her clit tingle. She shifted in her seat. What the hell was wrong with her? This part of her was dead. She was sure of it. “Calm down, beautiful Contessa. I have a plan. Do you trust me? Do you trust that I am thinking of our best interests?”

  The Madam considered her credo, her vow never to trust a man as long as she lived. Had there ever been one who hadn’t scammed or hurt or disappointed her? Even Dante, her beloved chosen father, had let her down in the end when he’d let his monster of a son take over the family fortunes because, at the end of all the horrors (of which we must never speak), the man was a stubborn traditionalist like all the rest. It was the Italian curse. Better to pass the lineage off to a child raping monster of a son than to a more worthy female.

  But Rosen was different. He wasn’t one of them. He was his own man with a new sort of vision. None of that Family bullshit standing in the way. He was like a shiny red Ferrari in a stable of Rolls Royces. “Let’s hear your plan,” she said. She would hear it and then she would decide. She could always say no. At worst she would just leave this place, leave it and everything and start over somewhere far away from here. It wouldn’t be impossible.

  He leaned forward and kissed her. Passionate yet gentle. The Madam felt like a melting glacier, her old bulwarks crumbling. No one had ever made her feel that way with a single kiss, and she had been with some beautiful men in her day, the sort of men who could easily be mistaken for gods. And yet here she was, wet and quivering for a man who was nearly young enough to be her son. A short, skinny Jewish nerd. But a brilliant and calculating short, skinny Jewish nerd.

  He stood up and extended his hand. “I think we need to go somewhere a little more private and discuss our plans. What do you say?”

  The Madam took his hand without hesitation.

  Chapter 10

  Nina’s Passenger

  Ever since Nina’s attempted prison break, the freak hadn’t been nearly as generous about leaving her unbound. In fact, unless it was for supervised meals or cleanings, or assists onto a bed pan to relieve her bowels (which miraculously sprang back to life a few days ago), or one of her regularly scheduled turnings—Nina guessed it was to prevent bedsores—she remained strapped to the bed with locking leather restraints, like a mental patient. Kali did all of the work, and she was at least gentle about it, but she refused to talk beyond occasionally telling Nina what day of the week it was. She kept track enough to roughly estimate the date. Four Mondays had passed and the daylight sometimes sneaking around the edges of the blinds also clued her in. It was approaching late October. She’d been here over a month and Halloween was approaching. It used to be her favorite holiday, but now she was living it and decided if she ever got past this, she would become more of a Christmas fan.

  One day, while she was getting a sponge bath, she asked Kali, “Is it Halloween yet?”

  The woman cleared her throat, and for a minute, Nina thought it would be another one of her non-answer answers. A cleared throat usually meant the answer was the one Nina least wanted to hear. Then, surprisingly, Kali spoke.

  “Not yet. You will know when it comes.”

  The words almost had an omen-like quality to them. “What do you mean?”

  “It’s his favorite holiday. He likes to put on a bit of a show for it.”

  The words hung in the air like frozen fog, chilling her bones. Of course, Halloween was his favorite holiday too. Why should she have expected any different? Now she had something new to dread, and the worst part was it could be as
soon as today or a week from now. “What does he do, perform a human sacrifice to the puppet god? Does he give out body parts for trick-or-treat?”

  Kali refused to say anything more on the subject.

  Junior came in several times a day to just sit and watch her from his web in the corner of the room. She was grateful for the shadows concealing him from full view, though she could hear the rattle of his breathing. That couldn’t be healthy. Do you suppose he has asthma or emphysema? Maybe he’s dying. Oh what a blessing that would be. She eventually came to the conclusion he was at least human. A very deformed one. Likely the result of heavy incest or maybe some chemicals he’d been exposed to in the womb. Who could say for sure? Nina could only imagine the torture Junior’s mother must have endured, if she’d even survived the birth of him. She imagined young Junior eating his way out of the womb with his sharpened teeth and felt a little sick. And what of his father? Had he been there for the raising of his hell spawn too? It had to have driven him completely mad. Nina was amazed Junior had lived beyond infancy with his defects. Aside from the Cyclops-like eye, which she was now pretty sure wasn’t makeup, and bulbous cranium, Nina also noticed he had six fingers and toes on each limb that, while stubby and not fully formed, probably helped him with all the climbing he did.

  She knew he could speak, but he only seemed to do so through his puppets or when she was blindfolded from seeing him. He spoke in “their” voices, rather than his own. When it was just him watching her, the only sounds he seemed capable of making were grunts, screeches, and heavy breathing sounds.

  As endless hours passed with him doing little more than watching her, Nina came to believe Junior was waiting for something to happen. Maybe he was just waiting for her to die so she could join his dead puppet show, but then again if he wanted her to die, why was he nursing her back to health? The obvious answer was he was waiting for her to get better so he could ruin her all over again. Start the torture machine back up, strap the spiked dildo back on Pop and let him take another spin.