Lacey Luzzi Box Set

by Gina LaManna

  I stomped my foot for added emphasis, then immediately regretted it as he looked at my foot with a wry smile and slowly, painstakingly dragged his gaze upwards: past my lady bits, over my hips, a pause at the boobs, and a stare at my lips.

  By the time his eyes reached mine, I was feeling quite tingly all over and rather like I either needed to do something about it or get out of that gym ASAP.

  “I didn’t shoot at you.”

  “You liar, I saw you outside before you came in!” I crossed my arms. “There’s no mistaking those...”

  I was about to say muscles, but I didn’t want him to get too cocky.

  “That fat head of yours,” I finished lamely.

  The corner of his mouth twitched.

  “Doll. I was helping out. I live in the neighborhood. Heard shots. The presence of my fat head scared the guy away before I could catch him. You’re welcome.”

  I gave him squinty eyes. “Then why haven’t I ever seen you in the neighborhood before? I would’ve remembered...”

  Again, I paused where I was initially going with that thought. “I would’ve remembered someone of your size.” I slapped a hand over my mouth. “I didn’t mean that.”

  Anthony’s twitching lips turned into a full-on, teasing grin.

  “Don’t be so sure,” he said.

  “Do you promise it wasn’t you shooting at me? Do you pinky swear?” I asked.

  “I’m not pinky swearing.”

  “Then I think you tried to kill me and I’m calling the cops on you.”

  “Doll.” He started to shift his weight, probably more out of exasperation, based on the sighs coming out of his mouth.

  “Pinky swear, then.” I gave a pouty lip and stuck my pinky out defiantly.

  He did the biggest eye roll I have ever seen (does working out help even your eyes?), before glancing at my chest. Then once more at my lips before returning his gaze to my extended hand.

  “Fine.” He clasped his pinky around mine, his skin much softer than I expected, and we shook up and down. I kissed the outside of my hand.

  “Kiss it,” I said.

  “I’m not kissing it.”

  “KISS IT. Or else.” I glared at him.

  “I’ll kiss something else.”

  I shot my gaze at him, and despite a little flurry in my stomach which I tried to push away, I shook my head resolutely. “You gotta seal the pinky swear.”

  A mischievous look shone in his eyes, and suddenly I wasn’t so sure this pinky swearing business was a good idea.

  “Fine.” It seemed to be his phrase of the morning.

  All thoughts left my mind as he bent over and took my entire pinky in his mouth and sucked on it lightly, his tongue swirling in ways I’d never imagined possible. When he pulled away and nipped the end of my finger with a peck, I was frozen.

  He looked down at me casually. “Okay?”

  “Uh,” I said. “Uh, okay.”

  “I didn’t shoot your house.” He raised an eyebrow at me.

  “Uh, okay.”

  “And I’m on your side.”

  “Uh, okay,” I said, ever the conversational genius.

  But the questions my mouth didn’t form, my mind did. If Anthony was intent on killing me, why hadn’t he? He could’ve easily asked me to a coffee date after the gym (I would’ve gone), or if he was lazy, scheduled me for an earlier training session and killed me in the gym. For crying out loud he could’ve asked me to step into his office to work out a repayment plan and I would’ve gone. It baffled me as to why I wasn’t dead, if he actually wanted me dead.

  “Would you like to work out some of that pent-up frustration?”

  I narrowed my eyes at him. “Frustration from what?”

  It was his turn to cross his arms. “Getting shot at? Seeing a dead body? Getting soaked on the way in today?”

  I looked down, realizing my white tee shirt had turned embarrassingly see-through. “Wait, how do you know everything? I came here to get answers and I’m more confused now.”

  “Doll. Get changed.”

  “I didn’t bring clothes.”

  “Well, then. I guess you could—”

  “Don’t go there,” I warned.

  Anthony clenched his lips together. “I was going to offer to reschedule our session for later this afternoon.”

  “Fine,” I huffed. I turned around and started marching back out. “We didn’t even have a session on the calendar, so for the record it’s a schedule for the first time, not a re,” I yelled over my shoulder. “Bye, Marge.”

  Marge had been watching our interaction closely, and at my retort she looked down quickly and started pecking at random keys on the computer. An alarm started beeping.

  “Oh, gosh. Yes, have a good day, Ms. Luzzi. Oh, Anthony? I’m not sure what I’ve done. Can you help me?” Marge babbled.

  I let the door slam shut behind me as Anthony deftly swiped a few keys and the alarm turned off. And for some reason, I couldn’t stop thinking about those damn fingers interlocked with mine.

  “I’VE GOT SIX DONUTS, three with sprinkles and three with filling and a sugar bomb coffee. You in?” I asked a sleeping Meg over the phone. I had about two seconds to catch her attention before she deemed me “not worthy” and conked back out until the afternoon.

  “Grawwp.”

  “Awesome. Five minutes. Be ready.” I clicked the phone off and pulled into 7-11, praying they had steamed milk and blueberry coffee. Talk about heaven in a flimsy paper cup. Delish.

  And enough donuts to satisfy a grumpy Meg.

  I rolled out of there seconds later with a large sugar bomb in the disguise of a latte and donuts with no disguise. There was no mistaking the greasy bag on the front car seat, which scented my car with a delectable flavor of fatty fried dough and frosting.

  Something resembling a bear in a green overcoat waited at the bottom of Meg’s driveway. She leaned against her mailbox, which was gradually tilting under her weight at an odd angle. Letters protruded from the mouth as if the box were puking up its guts.

  “Morning, sunshine!” I said.

  “Don’t friggin’ talk to me, asshole.” Meg opened the car door and sat down.

  I snatched the donut bag from the passenger seat before she squished the contents to smithereens and permanently smothered “my” car in the donut scent. Which would be super bad, on account of I didn’t need any more weight on my waist, and that donut scent led to very dangerous bouts of cravings. I wasn’t sure how many more sessions I could handle with Anthony before my panties fell off and I made bad decisions.

  “We’re going to see Vadim this morning. I’m sick of not getting any information. I’m awake earlier than I’d like to be. I’m hung-over and I got my finger sucked on this morning. And I’m in the mood to figure some shiznit out.”

  “You can say shit.” Meg ripped into one of the donuts. “Your grandma told me that it’s a word on account of Words with Friends.”

  “Careful.” I held my hand under her mouth as she splattered sprinkles like a two-year-old. Or a lion. Or anybody with no regard for crumbs and messes.

  “Wike dis caa’ is cween.”

  “This car is clean – ish,” I said. “I’m keeping it clean – ish, too.”

  I didn’t want to tell her the Bentley had been clean when I’d taken it yesterday. Its interior had deteriorated alarmingly in the past twenty-four hours.

  Meg swallowed. “What are you going to say to Uncle What’s-his-balls?”

  “Uh...” I was distracted by the odd slurping noise coming from her mouth competing with the uncomfortable sounding gurgle from her stomach.

  “I didn’t think about that,” I said, focusing on the road.

  “Ask why he killed his friggin’ nephew.”

  “Yeah, that’s a good place to start,” I agreed. “What’s my story?”

  “Why do you need a story?” Meg looked at me. “Just tell him you had dinner with Andrey last night and it went friggin’ awesome and you want
to sleep with him. So where is his cute little Russian ass?”

  “Not bad,” I said. I could edit it a bit, but all in all it wasn’t a terrible idea.

  I parked in front of the house where I’d found Andrey yesterday, taking his permanent nap. The car was suspiciously gone.

  “Maybe they dropped that car in the river. Or compacted it. Can you tie cement shoes to a car? They heavy enough?” Meg asked.

  “How am I supposed to know?”

  “You’re working for the Mafia.”

  “So? I don’t kill people. I just find stuff. I’m like one of those people that walk up and down the beach with a metal detector looking for the good stuff.”

  “Sure thing,” Meg agreed. “I’ll kill people for you.”

  “That’s not necessary.” I shook my head. “You don’t have a gun, do you?”

  “’Course. Got one for you, too. I always knew you was a pansy.”

  “I’m not a pansy. I’m going to the gym to get buffer for my job.”

  “It’s not working.” Meg leaned over and squeezed my biceps so hard I thought they might pop like bubble wrap.

  “Ow! Stop it. I’m working on it,” I said.

  “Just use my method,” Meg said. “Booze and sex. Carry a gun. Put some meat on your bones. Nobody’ll eff with you then.”

  “People don’t eff with me now,” I retorted, knowing instantly that wasn’t true.

  Meg didn’t justify me with a response. “You’re a twig. I could fold you like a pretzel and eat you for lunch.”

  I turned and patted her on the shoulder. “Thank you. I needed that – nicest thing anyone’s told me all day.”

  Meg shrugged. “We bustin’ Uncle What’s-his-balls or what?”

  By the time we exited the car, Meg had a gun in each one of her camo jacket pockets.

  “Where’d you get those guns, anyways?” I asked. “Did you steal them from the force?”

  Meg grunted. “Did you eat a donut? Thought I told you to friggin’ bulk up.”

  She removed half a jelly donut from another one of her endless pockets and shoved it into my mouth.

  “Gaargg,” I mumbled, spitting it out along with a disgusting dime that’d wedged its way into the frosting. “Don’t do that. I almost chipped my tooth.”

  “Good,” she said. “It’ll help your tough image. Nothing like having a missing tooth to make you look tough. ‘Cept maybe a tattoo on your ass. Or on your forehead like that Mike Tyson. Ohh, man. If I saw that man on the street...”

  She did a full body shudder as I flinched with disgust. “Let’s get this over with.”

  Meg tucked a sprinkly ball of dough into her pocket. “Ooops, wrong one. Don’t wanna eff with the gun.”

  I wrinkled my nose as she removed the dough ball and shoved it in her mouth. I walked towards the door, feeling like my sidekick was an overgrown mix between a wooly mammoth and a chipmunk.

  “Swallow,” I encouraged her.

  She barked a laugh. “That’s what Hot Cheeks said when you left.”

  I rolled my eyes and knocked on the door.

  I wasn’t sure exactly what I’d see on the other side of the powder blue door, but what I didn’t expect was a long-legged, shockingly blond chick with boobs as large as Meg’s and a body much smaller than mine. This girl did not eat any donuts. And if she did, they went straight to her voluptuous breasts.

  “Uh, hello?” I asked. I cleared my throat. “Hello.”

  “Vat you vant?” she drawled in a thick Russian accent.

  “Who are you?” I asked.

  “Who are you?” she shot back.

  “I’m Lacey and this is Meg.”

  The girl lit a cigarette and eyed us up and down.

  “And you are?” I prodded.

  “I Trina. Why you bother me now, asshole? I thought you were Jimmy John’s delivery.”

  It sounded more like ath-hole, but I wasn’t going to correct her English.

  I could see guards flanking her sides, and I took a step backwards.

  “I’m looking for Andrey,” I said.

  “She wants to get laid,” Meg added, her mouth full. “They had dinner last night and she didn’t get ‘nothin.”

  “Ah. I see. Andrey is not here. But I have another man if you like. You want sex with him? You’re prostitute?”

  I reddened. “Actually, no.”

  “’Yeah, she tried,” Meg butted in. “Her mom was a good one, but Lacey here lasted only one day. She didn’t have the goods, if you know what I’m saying.”

  “She was a stripper!” I crossed my arms. “There is a definite difference. Although – there’s nothing wrong with being a prostitute as a profession, it’s just...uh, not my first choice...” I backpedaled quickly, hoping not to offend Trina.

  “What she’s saying is no,” Meg said. “She just wants Andrey’s sweet cheeks.”

  “He not home. But I have another one. They look the same – iz no difference. If you want sex, they are the same.” She blew out smoke. “Belief me.”

  “Do you live here?” I asked.

  She shrugged and blew out smoke. “I guess.”

  “Uh, okay. Are you dating Uncl– er – Mr. Vadim?” I asked.

  “Date? No.” She shook her head and let out a raspy cough. “Do things for money. Yes. I stay here. You want to join?”

  “No.” I shook my head, but Meg held up her finger and leaned forward.

  “I’m curious,” Meg said. “You don’t mind if other girls sleep with Vadim?”

  The blond wrinkled her botoxed skin against all odds. “No, why? Is good thing, that. Like a vacation for me – you understand? I be happy if you want some.”

  “How much does it pay?” Meg held her hand over my mouth.

  “Vat you vant? I maybe work something out.”

  “No, that’s okay,” I butted in. “We’re going to leave now. If you see Andrey, tell him I stopped by?”

  “Yes.” She shut the door quickly, but not before I detected something in her eyes. Fear? Understanding? Menace?

  “We’ve got to get out of here. I don’t trust her,” I said to Meg.

  “Why? She seemed nice. Skinny bitch, but other than that okay. ‘Cept I bet even if you put her in cement shoes she wouldn’t sink. Those boobs are big enough to float her to the moon.”

  I dragged Meg back to the car. Once safely inside, I locked the door and we split the last donut. I swiped a few little straggles of hair off, but it was overall okay. Warm and squishy, just the way I liked it.

  “So, we’re not getting in through the front door,” I said. “That means one thing.”

  “Uh uh, girl. No back door for me. Not ‘til date three – you crazy?” Meg chewed with her mouth open.

  “Gross,” I said. “I meant we wait until he comes outside and we corner him.”

  “Oh, okay. That’s okay, too. ‘Cept my ass is gonna get flat sitting here for so long. I can’t have that happening on account of dreadlocks dude likes a lot of ass. You know, something to grip onto.”

  “Know what I heard? If you clench your cheeks together it keeps your ass nice and poufy. You should try it.”

  “Okay, I think–” Meg went suddenly silent.

  “Are you okay?” I asked.

  “Yeah, I’m clenching. Don’t distract me. I’m not a multitasker.”

  A thud on the window drew my attention from Meg’s frame, bobbing up and down supposedly with her exercises.

  A very large, very ugly gun was shoved outside my window.

  “Meg, stop it.” I spoke out of the corner of my mouth without drawing my eyes from the gun. The man behind the gun had a squashy nose, a lumpy frame and a sneer swiped across his face. Up close, Vadim wasn’t extremely attractive. I understood Trina’s sentiment of wanting other ‘ho’s to do her job.

  I looked past Meg and saw that no-good blond ho lazing behind the front door looking like a mini chimney. “What a bitch.”

  “She’s a bitch alright. But I’d be one too if I
was living with that potato head,” Meg added.

  “What do we do?” I turned to Meg.

  “Drive away.”

  I cranked the car, but Vadim started shouting and waving his gun. “Uh, I think he doesn’t want us to leave.”

  “So?” Meg had a point.

  “Can you hear what he’s saying?”

  She scrunched up her face and looked at his mouth. “I think he says Geroff is here.”

  “Uh, okay. I think that might not be right.”

  She shook her head. “You got a point. I don’t know no Geroffs. Oh, I get it. He’s saying get off now.” She turned her big eyes to me. “I ain’t doing it. I think he wants you to have sex with him.”

  “Not happening. I’m off murderers.”

  “For now,” Meg said. “You never know.”

  “What?” I pantomimed not being able to hear him.

  A shot rang out and shattered the window, covering me in glass. I felt a warm, sticky liquid on my hand and almost fainted at the skittle-sized pool of blood on my hand.

  “I really dislike blood,” I said.

  “You beetches listen,” Vadim demanded.

  “Uh, okay. I can hear you now,” I said. “Much better without the window, thanks.”

  “Get out.” He waved his gun a bit more.

  How had nobody heard the shot? I wondered. Then I looked around and noticed lights flicked on and back off, heads poked out of windows like turtles and retreated just as quickly. Apparently Vadim’s business was generally accepted around here on a “didn’t see nuthin’’ basis.

  “Meg, let’s go,” I said. I turned towards my friend, but encountered her sprinkle-encrusted gun.

  “Get the eff out of my way. You interrupted my buttus clenchus and I don’t appreciate that. This gluteus super-maximus is getting flat on your dime. And I don’t appreciate it. So skedaddle.” Meg waved her gun, except sprinkles fell off, which probably wasn’t especially intimidating.

  I spit an errant pink sprinkle from the corner of my lip, which turned out to be a bad idea. Another gunshot rang out and my windshield shattered.

  “Don’t spit at meh,” Vadim growled.

  “Sorry, I didn’t mean to–”

  Another shot rang out, but this time it was Meg’s gun. A shower of sprinkles rained down on the glass already covering both of us and we were a mess of rainbow shards.