Skin Games (22 page)

“Won’t you be cold?”

“I have another one around here somewhere.”  As I started looking through my coat closet, I heard Griff mumbling something.  I found another dark-colored wool hat, and I turned back towards him.  “You say something?”

“Well, sort of.”

“Speak up, man.  What is it?”

“Are you like, dating Nicole Torretta?”

“Yeah.  You could say that.”

“Don’t you think that’s kind of risky?”

“Life’s a risk, Griff.  You could walk across the street and get hit by a car.”

“I guess, but it’s a lot more likely to get hit by a car when you’re dating Nicole Torretta.”

“I know.  Thanks.  I’ll be okay.”

“I hope so.”

“I’ll be fine.  Stop worrying.”

“Yeah, but Scrubby says you’re pushing your luck.”

“When did he say that?”

“The other day.”

“What are you doing with him, anyway?”

“I’ve been working with him.  Helping him out on jobs and stuff.”

“Why?”

“What do you care?  You don’t want to work with him anymore, so he needed a partner, and I need money.”

“I care because you’re my friend.  That guy is bad news.”

“Everybody’s gotta make a living somehow.”

“Yeah, but that’s a risky way to make a living.”

“You are gonna lecture me on risk?  You’re dating the boss’s daughter.”

“Okay.  You do what you want.  But watch your ass.  Scrubby Mike is dangerous.  The guy is careless.  One day he’s gonna fuck up bad.  I just don’t want him to take you down with him.  Why do you think I stopped working with him?”

“Okay.  Thanks for the concern.”

“You, too.”

“Let’s do this.”

“Yeah.  Let’s go.”

I checked my beltline.  The pistol was safely tucked behind my back.  I put on the hat and my black gloves, and we started outside.

Griff looked nervous as we got up to the car.  “We’re going to take Nicole’s BMW to the job?”

“You got a better ride?”

“No.”

“You wanna walk?”

“No.”

“Then get in.”

Griff got in.  I fired up the engine and cranked the heat.  I gassed the pedal and gave the car a minute to warm up.  Then we headed to the Bruckner Expressway.

I took the Bruckner all the way to the end of the Bronx and got off.  The neighborhood was for the most part deserted.  Underneath the expressway overpass was some garbage and debris, and in the dark I could see some cardboard boxes and a shopping cart.

“Man, it’s a shitty night to be homeless,” I said.

Griff looked over.  “Is someone living in there?”

“I hope not.”

“They’ll fuckin’ freeze to death.”

“I’m sure they are.”

The road came out from under the expressway and led into a long straightaway.  A tractor trailer was parked to the side, its cab dark.

“Someone’s gettin’ a hummer,” Griff said with a goofy laugh.

“Cold night for that, too.”

At the end of the straightaway, three girls were walking.  They had heavy overcoats on top but skirts showing leg on their bottoms.  They saw us and started waving.  I didn’t slow down, instead keeping the car moving.

“Goddamn, this neighborhood never takes a day off,” Griff said.

Bright red and yellow blinking lights came into view, and when we got closer, I could read the sign saying
Tavern
and next to it a cocktail glass that poured liquid in the form of flashing bulbs.  I pulled into the parking lot and a man bundled up in sheepskin walked towards us.

“I watch car,” he said with a thick Spanish accent as we got out.

I handed him a five-dollar bill and said, “Keep a good eye on it.”

He nodded, and we walked past him and to the door.  The entranceway was a partially covered wooden structure with Plexiglas, the glass marked up with scratches and magic marker scrawl.  I pulled open the door and walked through to a second door.

A burly black dude wearing black slacks and blazer stood in the area between the two doors.  He had fuzzy earmuffs on, and even though he was standing inside, when he spoke steam came from his mouth from the cold air that snuck in.

“Hands up.”

I stepped to the side and nudged Griff forward.

“Huh?” Griff said.

“I gotta frisk you.  No weapons allowed in here.”

“Okay.”  Griff raised his arms and the bouncer patted him down, starting at his midsection, then each leg, then back up the front of his body.

While the guy was busy with Griff, I reached into the back of my waistline and pulled out my piece.  I slid it into the arm of my heavy coat, then stepped forward.

“You next,” the guy said.

He patted my body, then my legs, and even tapped my balls with his forearm.  But he didn’t feel down the arms of my coat.

“Okay.  Go on in, fellas.”

He stepped to the side, and we stepped down a small stoop and into the club.  It was smoky and dark.  Hip hop blared from the speakers; not smooth tunes commonly heard on the radio but a straight ghetto mix with so much bass the fillings in my mouth vibrated along with the drum beat.  There was no hallway; once past the bouncer, we were just a few feet in front of the bar area.  Blue and red lights flashed.  I slid the Beretta back into my waistline and looked around to see if anyone noticed, but it was too dark.

A guy walked up to us wearing a similar black suit as the bouncer.  He was a white guy with a receding hair and a headset on.  I couldn’t really hear him, but he held up five fingers.

I reached in my pocket and handed him ten bucks and pointed to Griff.  “That’s for me and him.”

The guy nodded and took the cash, then stepped aside.

I leaned over to Griff so he could hear me and said, “Let’s head over to the bar.”

“Okay.”

The bar was a good thirty feet long and curved in an L shape at the far end.  It covered most of the joint.  In the center of the bar was a stage with three topless girls gyrating.  Two black chicks and a Latina.  One of the black girls was fat, and her tits were droopy, but she definitely had rhythm and was making her ass cheeks flip-flap along perfectly in sync with the beat.  The other two girls were pretty hot but weren’t putting forth half the effort as the fat chick.

There was a guy with a backwards baseball cap and gold in his ears, around his neck and shining in his mouth who was hanging over the bar almost touching the stage.  He was crumpling up bills and tossing them fiercely at the girls as they danced.  The girls smiled at him even as he pelted them with cash.

We stepped up to the bar, and I waved a ten-dollar bill at the bartender while taking a seat in a stool.  She walked over and when she came under the light, I thought she was far prettier than any of the girls on the stage.  She had on a tight top that showed a little cleavage but otherwise looked pretty respectable, at least by the standards of this dive.

“Bud and a seltzer with lime,” I told her.  She nodded and got the drinks.  I handed her the bill, and she walked away.  I was expecting change, but she went over to serve another customer.  I suppose I could have called her back but it was loud and she looked really busy; it just wasn’t worth the hassle.

I handed Griff the Bud. 

He took a slug and then asked, “So, what’s the plan?”

“No plan.” 

I looked up at the stage to see the Latina twirling her obviously-dyed red hair, windmilling her neck around wildly.  The rap music had given way to an up-tempo salsa number.  The girl—and she definitely was a girl, not a woman—turned and twirled her ass with the same ferocity.  Beads of sweat rolled down the angel wings tattooed on her back and then dripped off her ass.  I wasn’t exactly turned on, but I have to admit, I was impressed.  I took a dollar out of my pocket and reached out towards her.

She looked back and then turned towards me.  She put her hands underneath her breasts and cupped them together, then stuck out her chest towards me, signaling for me to put the buck in between her tits.  So, I did.

“Thank you, pappy,” she said.  She slid the dollar into a garter around her thigh; then she mussed with my hair before returning to center stage and resuming her wild dance.

“She can move,” I said to Griff.

“She’s fuckin’ hot.”

The song ended, and three new girls took the stage.  The Latina girl put a bikini top on and covered her shoulders with a sheer shawl.  As she stepped off the stage and exited the bar, she came right over to me and immediately sat in my lap.

“Hi, honey.  You’re cute,” she said.  Her nose rubbed my cheek, and she nuzzled under my chin.

I was taken aback by her forwardness, and I kind of squirmed backwards in the stool.  Over my shoulder, I saw Griffin laughing at me.

“Thanks.  You’re a great dancer.”

“Would you like a private dance?”

“Uh, I don’t think so.  But thank you.”

Her hand went around my waist and gripped my love handle.

Remembering where my piece was hidden, and how close her hand was to it, I brushed her off with my elbow.  I used a little more strength than I intended to.

She looked at me crossly.  “Okay.  Fine.”

I took out a five-dollar bill and offered it to her and said, “Sorry.  You’re a great dancer.”

Her smile returned, and she took the money.  “Thank you, sweetie.”

“Hey, do you know where Wally is?”

“He’s here somewhere.  You sure you don’t want a lap dance?”

“I’m good.  Thanks.”

“Okay.”  She gave me a quick finger-wave and then walked down the bar, working the room in search of a partner for her lap dance.

“Come on,” I said to Griff while gesturing with my neck to get up.  I got out of my stool.  “Let’s look around.”

He grabbed his bottle of Budweiser off the bar and followed me as I walked towards the back of the club.  It got darker, if that was even possible, and at the end of the bar was a narrow passageway.

I stopped and turned back towards the room.  Griff looked down the passageway; then he, too, turned and looked back at the action.  The room was packed.  Our two barstools were immediately filled, and there was a row of guys two or three deep surrounding the bar.  In the far corner, there was a second stage, this one smaller than the main stage, with only one girl dancing on it.  A crowd of dudes stood, elbows on the stage, tossing her money as they whooped and hollered out words I couldn’t decipher but figured were probably rude.  She didn’t seem to mind the obscenities, bending over to grab their cash then shaking her hips and ass with fury.

“What do you think?” Griff asked.

I looked down the dark corridor, then at Griff.  “Fuck it.  Let’s go,” I said.  Then I started down the passageway.

Dim light grew brighter as we turned a bend in the hallway.  There was a door slightly ajar.  When we reached it, I saw a small plaque that read:
Office.

I pushed open the door to see three men in a small room.  Two were standing, one facing me, the other looking down at the third man who sat at a desk.

The man standing, a pretty big dude with a haggard face that made him look fifty although I suspected he was probably younger, immediately saw us.  “Who the fuck are you?  No one’s allowed back here.”

The man in the chair whirled around, as did the other guy.

I stepped into the room while Griff stayed in the doorway.  “I’m just here to talk.”  I looked at Wally McGee.  I knew it was him sitting in the chair, pale white skin other than the centers of his cheeks, which were stark in contrast by their redness.  His gray hair looked uncombed and stood up in clumps, each clump with just a hint of brown left in it.  He was older than I expected, probably close to seventy, but he didn’t look frail.  His hands looked sturdy, and his shoulders were pretty broad for a guy his age.

He looked up at me.  There was no panic in him, unlike the other two guys who, despite being bigger and younger than him, looked scared or at least surprised.  Wally McGee barely looked concerned.  Almost like he was expecting us.  Maybe he was.

“What can I do for you boys?” he asked.  He spoke with a thick brogue.  I looked around the room and saw a crest mounted on the wall that said his name, McGee, and under it had shields decorated from his mother land.

“We’re here on business,” I said.

“Business, eh.  What kind might that be?”

“I think you know.”

“I see.  Mario sent you.”

I didn’t answer but not answering was an answer in itself.

“Mario sent you two lads to me?”

“We’re here, aren’t we?”

He laughed, a loud bellow that came straight from his gut.  His two buddies laughed along with him.  They didn’t look scared anymore.

“Yes,” Wally said.  “I see you are here.  And what is it you’re here for?”

“Money.  But you already know that.”

“I’m sorry to laugh at you boys, but why would Mario send you two little pissants to me?”

“I’m no mind reader.  But I’m here.”  I didn’t want to make demands.  McGee wasn’t going to be pushed around in his own joint.  I needed to massage the situation.

“Let’s stop beating around the bush, shall we?  Why are you here?  What is it that you are expecting from me?”

“You owe money.  He wants it.  He’s the boss.  He always gets what he wants.”

“Oh, does he?”

“Sooner or later.  Yes.  He always does.”

“Oh, I get it.  So you guys are like the first team.  And when I dispose of you, then he’ll send in the real muscle?”

“No, sir.  This ends tonight.”

The two goons stood upright; one started towards me.  I reached into my waistline and fingered my gun.  I flicked the safety off, but didn’t pull it out.

Wally put his arm out and stopped his guy from advancing.  “What’s your name, son?”

“Sean.  Sean O’Donnell.”

His expression changed.  He looked shocked.  “Sean O’Donnell?”  A look of recognition came across his face.  “I know your father.  I worked with him years ago, when he first came over.”

“Yes, sir.  That’s very possible.”

“From County Mayo, isn’t he?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Never liked him.  Not one bit.”

“I understand, sir.  He wasn’t always likeable.”

“Where is the old man?”

“I couldn’t say.”