Evan Arden 05 Irrevocable (10 page)

I park the car at the valet station and get a table for two inside the restaurant.

“Is everything all right?” Alina asks once the server has left with our order.

“Everything is fine,” I reply automatically.  “Why do you ask?”

“Well, you’re early, for starters.”  Alina places her napkin neatly in her lap before meeting my eyes.  “You’ve picked me up very late at night the other times.  The whole dinner thing is unusual.”

She’s observant; I have to give her that.

“Those things go together,” I tell her.  “It is the dinner hour.”

She concedes the point and sips at some water.  I was right about her clothes bringing out her eyes.  They practically sparkle over the glass.  She has long lashes, and they frame her eyes beautifully.

“Try one.”  I take the sushi roll with my chopsticks, dip it in the soy sauce, and hold it up to her.

Alina keeps her eyes on me as she leans in and opens her mouth so I can slide the roll inside.  My throat constricts as she wraps her lips around the whole thing, and my pants are suddenly a little too tight for my cock.

I watch her devour the roll and then run her tongue over her lips, catching a little soy sauce that escaped.  I can practically feel the moisture from her tongue on my dick, and I want dinner over though we haven’t even finished half the sushi rolls.   I need to take a drink of my water to clear my throat.

“You about full?” I ask, my voice still raspy.

“I’d like to be,” she responds softly.

Jesus.

It could be an expletive; it could be a prayer.  I’m not sure which.

“I’ll get the check.”

There’s a line of people waiting for the valet.  The club next door hosts a lot of fancy, exclusive parties, and one of them must have just let out.  There are so many people milling about the valet station, I can’t even get out of the restaurant.

Glancing around, I see a small alcove over to the side of the hostess station and make my way toward it, holding Alina by the hand.  The light doesn’t quite reach the area, which appears to be storage for a few jackets, likely for the staff.

I pull Alina into the shadows with me and stare into her bright blue eyes.  I wet my lips as I bring my hand up to her cheek and use my arm to bring our bodies closer together.  We’ve been close before, even mostly naked, but this is different.  I’m aware of every part of her that touches me.  I can feel the warmth and softness of her skin beneath her clothing.

I stroke her lower lip with my thumb and then lean in.  Our mouths touch softly and briefly, and I can feel her breath on my lips.

Kissing her again, I take longer to explore her lips this time.  She runs her fingers up my arm and tightens them around my shoulder as she presses her body against mine.  I can feel her breasts as they smash against my chest, and I grip her tighter.

I slide my tongue between her lips, and she opens her mouth and turns her head to give me access.  I take it, pressing my lips firmly against hers and moving together.  I keep the rhythm slow, and all I can think about is fucking her at the same pace.

My hand is still on her face, and she turns toward it.  With her eyes still on mine, she opens her mouth slightly and sucks at my thumb.  I feel her teeth bite down lightly on the pad, and it sends a shiver from my hand straight to my cock.

“I need to get you back to my apartment.”

“Yes, you do.”  She stands on her toes and pulls my ear close to her mouth.  “I want to feel your cock in me tonight.”

If she had placed her hand on my dick first, I would have come in her hand.  I can’t even form words.  All I can do is nod dumbly, grab her hand, and force my way through the crowd waiting for their cars.

I glance down the sidewalk as I approach the valet.  Next door, there’s a big sign proclaiming some charity event going on tonight, and everyone around is wearing their finest.  Couples mingle and chat, laugh at each other’s jokes, and all wait to retrieve a car from the same group of valets.  As the voices rise into the air in a stream of white noise, I hear Rinaldo’s voice above the rest.

“I’m not going to argue with you about it.  You’re troubled, so I’m staying with you tonight.”

“You don’t have to do that, Naldo,” Felisa responds.  “I know Lele has to be wondering.”

“She’s fine.”  Rinaldo waves his hand dismissively, then takes Felisa by the arm and leads her to his waiting car.  I grab Alina and pull her to the other side of the doorway to keep from being seen.

“Evan?  What is it?”

“Shh.”  I place a finger over her mouth.  “Just wait a minute.”

“I still worry about it, Naldo.”

“Lele knows her place,” he says.  “She isn’t going to make trouble.”

“I realize that, but she did bring me here from New York, and I…”  The rest of the sentence is cut off as the car door closes, and they drive away.

If I hadn’t already been sure of what needs to be done, I am now.  Every muscle in my body is tight as I stare at the back of Rinaldo’s car as it heads down the street in the direction of Felisa’s apartment.

“Evan?  You’re hurting me.”  Alina’s voice is soft but enough for me to notice I have quite a grip on her forearm.  I release her and stomp up to the valet to demand my car.

Alina is silent as I speed down the street, whipping past other cars as drivers shout at me.  I’m reminded of one of those daytime talk shows where they go on about road rage and how you never know if the guy in the next car is carrying a gun.

Yeah, I am.  I’ll use it, too.

The faces of various people I don’t trust flash in front of my eyes as I park the Camaro and head for the elevator.  Beni, Becca, Joshua Taylor, Paulie—everyone.  I don’t trust any of them, but they aren’t my biggest concern right now.

Someone’s trying to get in the middle of my family.

All right, they aren’t really my family, but I don’t fucking care.  No one messes with them.  No one.

I barely remember that Alina is still with me until I turn around and she’s in the apartment.  She standing near the door and looking at little like a beaten puppy—refusing to make a squeak for fear of being noticed.

I take a long breath and walk into the bedroom.  I can’t imagine I’m going to sleep well at this point, but that doesn’t mean I don’t need it.  I’ll need all my wits about me tomorrow because tomorrow I will put an end to this.  I can’t stand it another day.  I’d do it tonight, but Rinaldo would be there.  I can’t let that happen.  I can’t let him know.

I begin to formulate a plan as Alina quietly crawls into bed with me.  She doesn’t speak and waits until I put an arm around her before reaching around to cradle my head.  The position calms me slightly—or maybe it’s the lavender scent.

I relax, emotional and physical exhaustion collide to overcome the rapid thoughts in my head, and I sleep.

As soon as I awake, I know I’ve overslept.  The sun is coming in through the northern window, and Alina is already up.  I can hear her in the kitchen.

Shoving myself out of bed, I grab for the nearest clothes and head to the bathroom.  After a three-minute shower, I’m toweling off and dressing.  Alina’s in the kitchen, and she smiles as I enter.

“I gotta run,” I tell her.  I shove money into her hands.  “There’s extra in there for a cab.  They can hail one for you down in the lobby.”

“Okay.”  She looks from the cash in her hands back to me.  “Do you want something to eat before you go?”

I glance at the clock.  It will take hours to get everything set in motion, and I don’t have a minute to spare.

“No time.”  I see a plate of biscuits on the counter, and grab it.  “This will hold me over.”

“All right,” Alina says quietly.  She walks into the bedroom and gathers her things.  I type out a quick text message to Jonathan, telling him to meet me at Rinaldo’s office.  I only hope he doesn’t ask too many questions.

“I’ll see you another time.”  Alina closes the door before I respond.

From the front closet, I grab my duffel and empty almost everything out of it.  I grab a few things I will need, but I’ll have to shop for the rest after I meet with Jonathan for a little lesson on hacking smartphones.

I grab the biscuit I had left on the counter and bite into it, surprised by how delicious it is.  I only make those that come in a can, but these must be homemade.  I look over to the kitchen table, and see that Alina had laid out quite a breakfast spread.  There are eggs, bacon, gravy for the biscuits, and orange juice.

“Motherfucker.”  I should have set a damn alarm so I didn’t have to send her away so quickly, but it’s too late to do anything about it now.  I need time to get everything into place, and I want to take care of it quickly.  I still need assistance from Jonathan, but I’ll have to keep him from knowing why.  There can’t be any trace this time.

I can’t stand another day of Felisa in Rinaldo’s life.

With a new battery in my rusted, nondescript Volvo, I head back south.  I hadn’t planned to move so quickly, but my plans have officially changed.  My head is full of possible betrayals from a dead former bookkeeper and the obvious connection between him and the only living major player from the Seattle mob.  Somehow, they’re using the southern gangs to dig into our gun business, and they all need to know they can’t get away with taking things that belong to us.

There’s also another person who needs to understand she can’t get away with stealing from my family.  I need to take care of that first so I can focus on what’s important.

Omarie is easy enough to locate and easier still to follow.  When he seems to have had his fill of handing out “samples” to the neighborhood kids, he jumps into a dented Lincoln and heads west out of town.  I follow at a safe distance, but he’s far too interested in bouncing around to the radio than in the car behind him.

The southern gangs have always perplexed me.  They deal with similar illegal business ventures as the organized groups, but they rarely end up ahead.  They spend too much time fighting within their own outfits and using their own products to come close to financial security.  They maintain they’re in this for the money, but they still live in crappy apartments and drive around in cars that should have been junked years ago.

Omarie drives west all the way to the river and then turns south.  There’s very little out this way.  The neighborhoods end abruptly for the sake of a nature preserve.  Beyond the wooded area, there are some industrial buildings and a dusty lot filled with rusty ocean containers.

He drives into the lot and parks, and I drive past him slowly, watching which direction he walks.  The nearby rail station is deserted, so I park near the building and cross the street on foot.  From the near side of the line of ocean containers, I can see him heading to one near the end of the line.

There isn’t a lot of cover, so I stay on my side of the line and listen as he fumbles with the metal door on the second to last container.  I hear voices coming from inside, but I can’t make out the words.  After about thirty minutes, someone walks out of the container and wanders off across the dirt to smoke.

His back is to me, and I can’t see his face.  What I can see, shoved into the back of his pants but still over the top of a bright orange hoodie, is the butt of a Ruger.

Creeping across the dusty ground, I ease up behind him.  He’s got a cigarette dangling from his fingers as he taps away at a game on his phone.  I stretch my fingers, slide up behind him, reach around, and break his neck.

Slowly lowering him to the ground, I fish the Ruger out and take a look at it.  It’s identical to those that went missing from Rinaldo’s shipment.  I’d have to do a more thorough check to verify it is one of ours, but I don’t really care.  It’s close enough for what I need.

I back away quickly but quietly.  It will be a few minutes before the dead man is missed, and I have plenty of time to get out of the area.  There’s a shed near the rail station where I’m parked, and I’m lucky enough to find what I need inside.

With a shovel tossed into the back of the Volvo, I don’t even have to go very far.

*****

With everything set in motion, I switch cars—making sure all the necessary equipment is moved from the Volvo to the Camaro—drive to Rinaldo’s office, and wait.

Sitting on the couch in Rinaldo’s office, I check the Ruger in my duffel bag.  It’s fully loaded and ready to go.  There’s also some duct tape and plastic bags shoved in the bottom of the bag, but I don’t think I’ll need them.  I’m wearing an orange T-shirt I found at a thrift store.

I’ve spent a lot of time in various shrinks’ offices over the years, and I have a pretty good idea what to expect from them.  They’re observant—it’s part of their job—and I’m going to have to be very careful about exactly what I say and do around Felisa.  If I make a wrong move or say the wrong thing, she could get suspicious.  Suspicious will turn into messy, and messy leaves evidence in the wrong place.

For once, I don’t want anything to lead back to me.

My phone makes a small chirping sound, but I ignore it.  It will happen again in five minutes, just as I set the phone’s alarm to do.

I sit quietly on the couch in the empty office, patient and calm.  I’ve positioned myself on the edge of the couch, an unlit cigarette dangles from my fingers, and my elbows are on my knees as I stare at the floor.  Attempting to look stressed-out isn’t a major hardship.  I’ve got anxiety to spare.

With a little luck, I’ll be removing one of those stressors before nightfall.

Twirling the cigarette, I ignore Ralph as he sits on top of Rinaldo’s desk with his feet folded under him.  He glares at me, crosses his arms, and huffs.  It doesn’t matter.  I’m not seeking his approval.

The door opens, and I glance up, feigning surprise.  Tucking the cigarette into my shirt pocket, I wipe my palms on the thighs of my jeans and stand.

“Sorry,” I mumble, “I was looking for Rinaldo.  He’s not answering his phone.”

“No need to apologize.”  Felisa smiles politely.  She crumples a small piece of paper in her hand and shoves it into her jacket pocket.  I recognize it as the one I left in her mailbox.  I’m actually quite good at faking Rinaldo’s handwriting.

“Have you seen him?” I ask, sounding hopeful.

“I was hoping to meet him here,” she says.  “I thought I was going to be late.”

My phone chirps again, and I slip my hand into my pocket to bring it out.  Tilting the phone toward the left, I make sure Felisa’s line of sight won’t allow her to see what’s displayed on the screen.  I tap at the phone before returning it to my pocket.

“It’s okay,” I say as I stand up.  “I just wanted to talk to him, that’s all.  I’ll find him later.”

Felisa’s phone goes off, and she glances down at the text message displayed.

Right on cue.

“Evan, wait!”

“Yeah?”  I stop in my tracks and look at her quizzically.

“It looks like Rinaldo isn’t going to make it, and my ride has already left.”  She shrugs her shoulders and smiles sweetly.  “I was hoping we could chat a bit.  Then maybe you could give me a ride home.”

“Chat?  What about?”  The key is to be reluctant.  Shrinks want to believe they are dragging information out of you against your will.  As long as they think they are getting what they want out of you, they aren’t looking for what you are trying to get out of them.

She continues with the sugary smile and sits on the opposite end of the couch.  Tilting her head to the side, she pats the cushion next to her.

“Sit down for a minute.”

I wonder if the inclusion of a couch in the room was her idea.  It’s a new addition to the office since the time I was out of town.  There used to be two chairs here instead.

I move tentatively but sit next to her. Not too close; I don’t want her to think I’m being friendly.  I pull the cigarette out of my pocket again to give myself something to fiddle with to feign nervousness and run my hand through my hair.  Tapping my fingers against my knee, I glance over at Felisa.

She’s still smiling.

“I haven’t had a chance to get to know you at all.”  Her start is innocent enough, except no one ever tries to cozy up to the guy who does the killing unless they need a job done.  I’m pretty confident she’s not going to request my services.

“I’m just me.” I shrug one shoulder and look down at the floor.

“You’ve been with Rinaldo a long time.”

“A few years.”

“He thinks very highly of you.”

I narrow my eyes a little.  I’m careful not to give her too hard a glance.  I don’t want her scared—not yet.

“I get the job done.”

“He’s told me a little about you,” she says.  “About your history before you moved to Chicago, that is.”

The information doesn’t surprise me.  Rinaldo has spent a lot of time with her, and talking about me would have come up eventually.

“Yeah?  So?”  I lean back on the couch and cross my arms.

“So, that’s a lot for a person to take on without help.”

“I’ve had
help
.  Thanks anyway.”  I start to get up, but she reaches out and coaxes me back to the couch.

“I’m not trying to pry, Evan.  I promise.”

“Sounds like prying to me.”  I don’t meet her eyes, but I keep my voice low enough to be defensive but not hostile.  It’s a balancing act.

“He worries about you, you know.”

I clench my hands.  The motion is involuntary.  Her words aren’t what I am expecting, and I have to process the information before I can respond.

“I’m fine.”

It’s her turn to cross her arms and give me a hard look.  It reminds me of Lele in a way that pisses me off, reminding me of my goal.

“I don’t sleep well.”  The statement is careful enough.  It doesn’t give her anything, but her widened eyes and the way she leans a little closer to me tell me that she feels she’s made progress.

“What’s going on, Evan?  You seem troubled.”

I rub my chin with my fingers and clear my throat.  I start biting at the edge of my fingernail and pretend to contemplate.

“You know whatever you tell me won’t be repeated, right?  Not even to Rinaldo.”

Believe me, you aren’t going to be saying anything to anyone.

“Oh yeah?” I say.  “I thought you shrinks had to report shit if I said I wanted to hurt someone else or myself.”

I laugh humorlessly.

Felisa smiles and nods.

“Maybe,” she says, “if I worked in a clinic or if I was concerned about losing my license.”

“I would hope you’d tell Rinaldo anything you heard,” I tell her.  “You work for him, right?”

“Yes, I do.”

“Well, he’s the boss, and you shouldn’t keep shit from him.”  Placing her on the defensive is a risky move, but if I can pull it off, she’ll buy anything I say afterwards.

She keeps her eyes trained on mine.  I can read the thoughts in her mind as easily as if they were displayed across her forehead.  She thinks I’m trying to divert the conversation—steer it away from myself.  She waits patiently and silently for me to get back on track.

I let out a big sigh.

“I haven’t talked about it for a long time,” I say.  “I had a shrink a while ago, but I haven’t seen him.”

“I’m happy to listen to whatever you have to say, Evan.”

I lick my lips, going for nervousness.  I glance at the open office door and furrow my brow.

“Would you like me to close the door?” she asks.

“Yeah…well, actually”—I pause and look up at her—“would you mind if we went somewhere else?  Fuck knows who will walk in here.”

“Sure,” she says, smiling again.  “Where shall we go?”

“My car’s outside.  Maybe just go for a little drive?”

“That would be nice.”

No, it won’t be, but it’s necessary.

“I’ve wanted to get to know you a little better,” she says as I open the passenger door of the Camaro and take her hand to help her inside.

Felisa smiles up at me as I close the door and get in on the other side.

“Well, what do you already know?” I ask as I put the car in reverse.

“I know you were in the Marines, and I know what happened to you over there.”

“Yeah.”  I lick my lips.  I know there will be a certain amount of actual talking just to get where I want to be.  I need to keep her focused on me and not where I’m going.

“Being a prisoner of war, captured by people who aren’t exactly following any kind of rules about your treatment…”  She lets her voice trail off.

“No,” I say, my throat suddenly dry, “they didn’t.”

I merge onto the main road and head southeast.

“Can you tell me about some of it?”

“I got beat up a lot.”  I laugh, and the sound is too loud in the small car.

“I’m sure you did.”  She doesn’t say anything else.  She only watches me and waits.

“They kept me in a hole most of the time,” I tell her.  “Just a hole in the sand, tied up with the sun beating down on me.”

“That must have been terrifying.”

I grip the steering wheel a little tighter.  If I had a bullet for every time someone said those same words to me, I could take out half the city.

“That’s what I wake up thinking about in the middle of the night.  I wake up thinking I’m still there.”

“A lot of people who have been in such terrible circumstances sometimes think their real lives are a dream, and they are actually still in the midst of what happened to them.”

“I know what’s real and what isn’t.”

“Of course you do.”  Felisa leans forward in the seat and turns toward me.  “But sometimes you might feel like what is happening now isn’t real.  When you first wake up, what’s going through your head?”

“Who’s there.”  The answer is too abrupt to be dishonest.  It also sounds like the second part of a child’s joke.

“Who is where?” she asks.