by Lisa Libby
The wall outside the elevator reads Presidential Suite. It is the largest hotel suite I’ve ever seen. The windows span the wall from the floor to ceiling. White shiny marble covers the floors, a matching color on the walls. The furnishings are high-end modern, but work well with the traditional moldings, fireplaces and detailed woodwork. There are paintings and sculptures throughout the many rooms. There are a ridiculous number of decorative pillows on every chair, couch and bed. The hotel room is the entire size of one side of the hotel floor, with the private elevator sitting in the middle as if it is a centerpiece for the room. There are three bedrooms and a study, with a tiny balcony in every room. The main room has a large terrace that wraps around two sides with a jacuzzi, lounge chairs and an outdoor dining table. There’s no reason to leave the suite; you have everything you need right here. The view from the terrace takes your breath away – there are rows of buildings, the smell of seafood cooking makes my stomach growl, and in the far distance I see the dark water of the Mississippi river. All I can think is, What a beautiful city, full of life and culture. I could see myself visiting here more often but would never picture myself living anywhere outside New England.
There is a table spread of fruit, vegetables, cocktail shrimp and a dessert table nearby. I am suddenly starving, so I pick at the fruit.
“Grab a plate and come sit with me.”
His bossy ways and dominance are attractive. I obey my master and sit beside him with a plate of fruit. He’s removed his jacket and shoes. Both of his arms are resting on the top of the sofa and his feet are comfortably resting on the matching ottoman.
He gently grabs the plate of fruit from me and starts feeding me, one piece of fruit at a time. In between bites, he rubs his free hand on the back of my head, moving his fingers in a circular motion through my hair, turning me on. I’m no longer interested in the plate of fruit. I stand in front of him, grab the fruit and gently place it on the ottoman. I place my hands on the tops of his legs, grabbing a handful of his thighs while leaning in for a kiss. I bring myself to my knees kneeling in front of him. I unbutton and unzip his pants, pulling his penis from the hole of his boxes. He is fully erect. I’m not in the mood for sex, but I feel this will help get me get my way when the time comes to ask for favors. I place my cold lips over just the tip and begin dragging my tongue in a circular motion and occasionally pressing my tongue in the pee hole. I grab him with both my hands and start moving my head up and down, keeping my mouth around his penis. He grabs my hair and pulls gently. I can feel his excitement rise with his moaning and moving his hips. He is now pushing harder on my head to move my head in a faster motion. I can feel his penis pulsing as if he is about to explode. Then he stops my head moving, holding it so I can’t take it out of my mouth. I feel it pulsing as the warm stickiness fills my throat. I gag but hold back the urge to throw up. I’ve never gagged with Johnny in my mouth because he’s not as thick as Ruben, but they’re similar in size. When he finally let’s go of my head, I get up in a hurry, rushing to the bathroom and spitting into the sink and rinsing my mouth. I look up at myself in the mirror and Ruben is behind me.
“Just making sure you don’t plan to keep any of that to harvest babies.” He’s smiling.
“I don’t want kids, trust me I’m not the motherly type.”
My thoughts scream out in my head: Egotistic pigfucker. If he only knew I’m thinking of aborting the baby growing inside me.
While he’s cleaning up in the bathroom, I check my phone.
Johnny has responded to my text. He wants to know where I am.
I write back, I’m safe don’t worry and put my phone away.
Ruben orders dinner without asking me what I want. I find that unattractive, but I’m not a picky eater, so I brush it off. We eat jambalaya, crawfish and steak on the outside terrace. The night would’ve been perfect were I not thinking of all the shit I need to handle back in Boston. I’m uncomfortable with the amount of cash, my house is a crime scene, Johnny is having a baby, my father is working with the Mob against me and all trying to build a defense without pissing off the Irish. I’m afraid to ask Ruben for cash to pay my lawyer. I’m hoping he just offers cash up like the first time we met. I know I don’t have enough to pay for my lawyers, and Alterman made it clear he would not be paying.
At least I’m in the company of a rich, sexy man. Life isn’t so bad now, if I keep my mind positive and try to remove my anxiety and negative inner monologue. I know I can depend on Paul and having one person is sometimes all you need. For now, I choose to live in the moment, fuck the trial and the Mob.
After dinner, Ruben says he must grab something from the concierge. He seems to be nervous and sneaking out for some reason. He likely needs to call his wife. I’m nuts, I make up these things in my head. I don’t know for sure that he has a wife. I just have a feeling that he’s hiding something.
I’m lying on my back smoking a cigarette when I hear the elevator ding and the doors open. I hear a heavy thud hit the floor. I lean over and put my cigarette out in the ashtray.
“Ruben, do you need help with anything?”
I get on my knees and lean over the back of the couch for a better view of the elevator. I hear mumbles and a gurgling noise. I see Ruben’s leg sticking out from near the elevator. I immediately see two masked men turn the corner, charging towards me. I run to the bedroom and slam the door closed. There’s nowhere for me to go. I reach for the phone, when the door is pushed open.
“Ava, it’s me Johnny, put the damn phone down,” one of the men says, ripping off his mask.
I’m relieved, but embarrassed that Johnny has found me with another man. I don’t ask him why he’s here because I already know he’s here to take me back to Boston.
“Is this guy ya boyfriend?”
“He … he is someone I like.”
“What the fuck does that mean?”
“Please don’t hurt him, let’s just go.”
“How cute, Ava has a boyfriend. I’m sure Daddy will be happy to hear, considerin’ I doubt he’s Irish by the looks of him.” He is pacing the floor looking down at his every step.
“If you hurt him, I will... I will hurt Casey.”
He stops pacing and turns his head, looking at me.
“You’re ah slut and a liar. Get ya shit and let’s go before I shoot that bastard in the head.”
I hurry around the hotel room gathering my things. I notice Ruben’s wallet and take the cash and the bag of coke next to the lamp. I walk over to Ruben who has a gun to his head and his face to the ground. I say nothing, hoping this will prevent any further aggression from Johnny and his guys. Ruben starts to get up on one knee before the elevator doors close.
Johnny is holding my arm so tightly and pinching the back of my arm. I’m embarrassed and angry. On this trip, I have accomplished nothing, just made matters worse.
We pile into the SUV in the hotel garage.
Johnny’s his usual angry, quiet self for the next hour. It’s going to be a long drive back to Boston.
I take the coke out of my pocket, a mirror from my purse and a hundred-dollar bill I stole from Ruben. Maybe the coke will help me miscarry. Johnny looks at me in shock, but he’s intrigued by the coke lines I draw up on the compact mirror. I snort a line and offer the mirror and a bill to Johnny without saying a word. He accepts. He hands it to the passenger who snorts two lines, his large nose sucking up both lines at once. The driver and the passenger look like twins, tall, skinny redheads with large noses that look like they have been broken once or twice before. The coke quickly changes the mood in the car. Johnny is chatting with his criminal twins, no one is really talking to me, but I don’t give a shit. I’m happy because my high has kicked in, but still contemplating the injuries I could sustain from jumping out of this moving vehicle. I’m tired of running from problems I brought on myself.
After four hours of drivin
g, we pull into a hotel parking lot. We all get out of the car and go into the motel and to our separate rooms. The rooms are directly across the hall from one another.
Johnny hasn’t spoken to me directly, but now that we are alone in the hotel room, he will eventually break. Whenever I get Johnny alone, he’s most vulnerable. He likes to act hard, cold when he his Mob buddies are around, but when we’re alone, he’s weak for me, I can have anything I want. His anger with me always subsides. He resets his mind, forgetting all my wrongdoing, and we start all over like we just met.
“I’m scared Johnny, scared of being killed. This wasn’t the first time I was kidnapped and almost murdered. I saved myself from being thrown in the harbor with concrete chained to my feet.” I can feel myself rushing my conversation. “In New Hampshire, I was thrown in the trunk of a car and duck taped to a chair in a motel. Johnny, someone wants me dead, and they won’t stop until I’m gone.”
I fall to my knees.
“Who wants me dead, please just tell me!” I yell.
Johnny sits on the bed, runs his hands through his hair over and over.
“Get off the floor.”
“Do you blame me for running away?”
Johnny finally speaks. “Ya father is an important member of the Mob, one step from bein’ in Claire’s position; this is information ya shouldn’t have kept from me. Ya father has never liked me and probably wishes he could break my legs.”
“Johnny, I didn’t know he was my father until I hired a private investigator.”
“Ya hired a private investigator? Ya going to get us both killed. I’ve gravely underestimated ya and ya have underestimated your worth.”
“It doesn’t matter that Jimmy is my father because he still wants me to be a witness in the trial.”
Johnny looks at me as if he doesn’t believe what I’m saying. Maybe he’s right, I may have overlooked that. He’s acting strange and seems more anxious than usual.
“If the Irish wanted ya dead, it would have happened already. You are underestimatin’ them. If I had to guess, Atlantic is behind the New Hampshire incident – and Jose’s crew at the Harbor, whoever they are, they’re either inexperienced or ya are just one lucky bitch.”
Johnny walks behind me and hugs me and kisses my neck. He whispers in my ear, “I’m glad yah okay, but shocked at your choice in boyfriends. He hardly looks Irish; yah father will wish ya stayed with me.”
Johnny knows he cannot be too mad, maybe jealous, but not mad. He has his pregnant girlfriend.
He spins me around so I’m facing him. He kisses me hard, holding my face in his hands. While we are embraced in a kiss, someone knocks on the door.
Johnny grabs his gun and tells me to get in the bathroom. He peeks through the door.
“What do you want?” Johnny yells through the door.
“I want to make sure Ava’s okay; I don’t want any trouble with you or your men.”
I know that voice anywhere.
“Johnny it’s Ruben, just let him in, so he can see I am okay.”
Johnny hesitates, but opens the door.
Ruben doesn’t enter until I ask him to.
“I need to have a word alone with Ava,” demands Ruben.
“Fuck you, just have your words here with me in the room.”
“How can I really know she is okay with you standing here?”
Ruben gets in Johnny’s face and they stare at each other for an uncomfortable time. I’m holding Johnny’s right arm, not that I could stop him from breaking Ruben’s face or worse, shooting him dead.
“I should’ve killed ya when I had the chance. I’ll give ya two lovebirds some alone time.”
Johnny goes into the hallway and knocks on the twin’s door.
“Ava, you haven’t been forthcoming with me, but I’m not here to judge the skeletons in your closet, I’m just as guilty keeping things from you.”
I try to speak, but it’s clear he’s not done talking.
“I had my men follow you because I wanted to make sure you’re okay.”
Ruben leans down and pushes the loose hair behind my ear.
“I’m okay, I promise, I don’t have enough time to explain everything, but I ran from Boston to avoid some trouble from my past.”
“And this is your boyfriend?”
“He is not my…”
“It’s okay, you don’t have to explain. How can I help you out of your trouble?”
This is my opportunity to ask him for money.
“I need to pay a lawyer, then I should be free from any jail time.”
“Give me your lawyer’s information and I will personally make sure he’s paid.”
I rummage through my purse for the cryptic note from Mr. Alterman. I write the information on the hotel room’s note paper.
Ruben puts the note in his pocket and locks the hotel door quietly so as not to alert Johnny. He drops his pants and sits in the chair. Then pulls my pants and underwear down around my ankles, so one pant leg is out. He grabs me by the ass and pushes me to down on his condom-less erection. I ride him slowly, teasing him, allowing the tip of him to almost come out of me before pushing back down on top. He comes before I can get the chance, but it’s exciting to ride him with Johnny outside the door. We clean up in the bathroom and smoke a cigarette before Ruben leaves. He assures me that he will reach out to my lawyer today and pay all the fees up front. This is the major difference between Johnny and Ruben.
Johnny returns to the room in a shitty mood. I’m too tired to pay him any attention. I lay on the bed, staring at the popcorn ceiling, smoking a joint.
I awake to one strip of sunlight shining through the opening of dingy floral vertical blinds. I put my arms behind my head and turn over to see Johnny laying on his stomach. His hair is getting long, it’s covering his entire face. His biceps have grown since the last time we were together. I want to wake him for morning sex, but don’t feel sexy. If I can catch a shower before he wakes, he won’t bother trying to have sex.
I sit on the toilet smoking a joint while the shower water warms up. Johnny really doesn’t care where he sleeps. He always picks motels over hotels. It’s really a turn off. He chooses the biggest shitholes.
My mind has convinced me last night was a dream and Ruben never showed up like a Prince and offered to take care of my lawyer’s fees. I almost want to ask Johnny if it is real. It’s probably all the drugs I’ve been doing. I text Mr. Alterman asking him to reach out to the lawyer to ask if he received the payment. Without Ruben paying for the lawyer and Mr. Alterman doing me this favor, I’ll be fucked. Mr. Alterman is not doing all this for nothing, and I need to know what’s in it for him. That’s at the bottom of my list of things to do. I also need to deal with my roommate’s murder. Let’s hope Ruben makes the payment in time for me to contact my lawyer before I get back to Boston. My lawyer will instruct me on how I should proceed.
MR. ALTERMAN
CHAPTER 30
Ranch
Wilson’s ranch sits on over 100 acres of Texas farmland just outside of Waco, TX. His driveway alone is at least a mile long and today my drive feels longer; maybe it’s because of my excitement to see my old friend. The tires kick up dust making it near impossible to see more than a foot in front of me. The driveway is barely wide enough for one car at a time and forget about trying to pull over if a car is coming in the opposite direction. The fences run on both sides leaving no room. If another car is driving in the opposite direction, one of the vehicles would need to reverse backwards. It’s happened to me on several of my visits.
Waylon is not your typical criminal attorney; he gets down and dirty and only chooses to represent cases that he finds interesting. People will pay him just for advice. He’s practically retired but makes time for friends even if they come to him for business. I met Waylon in college when he was studying to be an a
ttorney and I was studying criminal justice. I wanted to be a detective. He practiced in Boston for many years before going country on me and moving to Texas. He was tired of the corrupt judges, and I can’t blame him; Boston is a politically corrupt city. He lost his passion for being a lawyer. His practicing license almost got taken away from him permanently when he beat the shit out of one of the judges in a parking garage. Waylon was tired of this judge scheming the system. He was putting away the innocent, so gang members could be free to walk. I admit I too was tired of seeing these sorts of things, but I didn’t have the balls to stand up to them like Waylon. After this incident he decided it was time for him to move on, but we always stayed in touch. He lent me his ear when I wanted to complain about my boss and other detectives. We are both old men now, overweight, gray haired and balding.
I pull up to his modest one-story white farmhouse with a full wrap-around porch. Waylon and his wife Carol are sitting in their matching rocking chairs with the dogs lying lazily at their feet. Never far from his side is his rifle and his wife’s shotgun. Carol is a true Texan, very familiar and comfortable with guns, but her love is the double-barrel shotgun. She likes that one shot is all you need.
My friend is looking old, but his wife doesn’t look a day older. Waylon takes credit for his wife’s ageless beauty. He jokes with her that he bottles up all the stress, so she can live carefree. Carol always responds with “My love for animals and nature keep me looking young, not this old man”.
Waylon has since trimmed his salt and pepper beard. He’s wearing a cowboy hat, leather boots to match, and a white t-shirt with suspenders and jeans. He dresses the same each time I see him, until of course he has his day in court, then he cleans up real nice.
Waylon assures me over the phone that Ava paid him handsomely for his time, more than what was due upfront. The cash was wired over by a man named Ruben with no last name.