Evan Arden 05 Irrevocable (22 page)

“You can’t buy me, Evan.”

In the back of my head, I know how horribly wrong she is.  If I want to buy her, I can.  Her consent is irrelevant.  I have the means and the connections to do exactly that.  I can keep her against her will as long as I want.  It has nothing to do with Teto, either.  The phone call to him was nothing more than a business courtesy.  Pimps keep a hold on their hookers through fear—whether it’s fear of being on the streets without protection or fear of the pimps themselves—and I’m far more dangerous than any pimp.

But Alina doesn’t appear to be afraid.

“I want you to stay.”  I move over to the edge of the bed and place my feet on the floor.  I lean over my knees, trying to come up with the right words.  “I don’t care what we call it; I just want you to stay.”

“Why, Evan?”

“I need you.”

“You need another body in your bed so you can sleep.  What does it matter if it’s me or not?”

“Not all of them work.”

“Why?” she asks again.  “Do you even know the answer?  What difference does it make who it is?  I’m sure there are plenty of women out there who want a guy to take care of them.”

“I want it to be you.”  I huff out a breath and run my hand over my head.  “I’ve tried lots of other girls.  I’ve done hookers and women I meet in bars.  None of them ever work out.  Either they get scared off because I’m fucked up, or they just…just drive me nuts.  You’re different.”

“In what way?”

“You’re…you’re quiet.”  I don’t know if I’m making any sense or not.  “You don’t ask me a lot of questions.  You don’t pry into my business or my past.  You know who I am, but you keep coming back with me.  You know…you know some of the things I’ve done in the past, but you aren’t afraid of me. You know what I need when I need it.”

She sets her purse down on the dresser and walks back to the bed.  She sits beside me and places her hand on my thigh.

“Tell me what you really need, Evan.”  Her voice is soft—kind, even.

“I don’t want to be alone.  With everything going on right now, I can’t trust myself to be alone.  Trying to find you when I need you just puts me on edge.”

She runs her hand down my thigh and tightens her grip around my knee.  She wets her lips and then turns to face me.

“I don’t know what’s going on in your head,” Alina says quietly.  “I want to help you, Evan.  Honestly, I do.  I’m not sure this is the answer.”

“Will you try it?”  I look up, hopeful.  “I mean, maybe just for a few days or something?”

“A trial, live-in hooker?”

“Yes.”

“Evan, this is crazy.”

“I’m a little crazy.”  I shrug.  Some things just can’t be denied.  “You already know that.”

“You’ve been hurt, Evan.  You’re suffering.  That’s not the same thing.”

“Tell that to all the shrinks who have diagnosed me.”  I try to crack a smile, but I can’t quite pull it off.  I speak slowly as I look at her.  “You know enough about me to know I’m a mess.”

“You
are
a mess,” Alina says with a nod.  “It’s an understandable mess though.  You’ve been through a lot and you’re
going
through a lot right now.  Your job has to be incredibly stressful even when things are going well.  I think being a mess under those circumstances is normal rather than crazy.”

I’ve never thought about it that way.  I suppose my job can get a little complicated, but I’ve never considered it stressful.  In fact, it’s the job that keeps me cool.  All the other stuff that happens in life is what gets to me.  However, I don’t want to argue with her about it.  I just want her to agree to stay.

“You’ll stay, then?” I ask.

She stares at her hand where it still grips my knee.  She turns to me slowly, studying me for a long minute as she contemplates.

“All right,” she finally says.  “We’ll do this for one week.  After that, I go back home, and we both think about it.”

“I can live with that.”  Actually, the idea of her leaving after only a week makes my stomach flutter, but I’ll cope with it.  That’s a decent amount of time to get her to change her mind.  “But you’ll stay the whole week, right?  No backing out.”

“No backing out,” she agrees.

I really want this to work.

The liquor store is simply gross.

My shoes are sticking to the floor and making that horrible squeaky-scratch sound when I lift my feet.  I can see little grey footprints all over the place from everyone else who has been in here, and I wonder how much of it is from vomit.  It’s disgusting.

I consider abandoning the whole plan, but I’m not going to do that.  I want to get a good look at this guy.  If he’s done what I think he’s done, I want to get a good look at him before I kill him.

Just after four o’clock, I hear the little bell on the door ring, and James Marino walks in.

“Good mornin’, Jimmy,” the store owner says with a laugh.

“Fuck you, Mac.”

“Just tryin’ to be neighborly!”

I feign examining some cheap bottles of blended scotch and watch Jimmy through my dark sunglasses.  Despite the thin, greying hair and hollow cheeks, I can still see a hint of Alina in him.  His eyes, though sunken, are the same color as hers, and there’s something about the way he stands that seems familiar.

He steps immediately up to the shelf full of whiskeys near where I stand and grabs for a bottle of Jim Beam.  He doesn’t take any notice of me as he mumbles something about the shopkeeper jacking up the price and takes his purchase to the counter.

“It’s a buck more than yesterday.”  His complaint is ignored, and he slams a few bills on the counter.

“Sign up for the lottery,” Mac says.  “Gonna pick a winner every day.”

“Whatever the fuck,” Jimmy grumbles.  “Is this supposed to make up for you fucking around with the prices?”

“I only work here, Jimmy.  You know that.”

Jimmy leans over the scrap of paper Mac has handed him and scribbles on it before shoving it into a cardboard box near the cash register.  He exits without another word.

I reach for the nearest bottle and take it up to the counter.

“Will this be all for ya?” Mac asks.

“Yep.”  I push my sunglasses up on my nose.

“Hair of the dog, huh?”  Mac chuckles.

“Something like that,” I say with a smile.  Mostly I don’t want to make my looks too easily recognizable.  I also don’t want to look like I’m trying to disguise myself, which makes people look at you longer.

“Wanna sign up for our lottery?”

“What’s the prize?”

“Twenty-five dollar gift card.”

“Sure.”  I scrawl out a completely illegible entry and shove it in the cardboard box.

“Have a good one!” Mac calls as I head out.

“You, too,” I reply, and the door closes behind me with a bang.

Jimmy is no longer in sight, but I assume he’s headed back to his apartment.  He’s collecting disability for a supposed back injury and doesn’t appear to go out much.  I toss my bottle of cheap liquor into the passenger seat of the Volvo and drive off.

I don’t go far.  There’s a park just a couple of blocks away, and it’s as good a place as any to kill some time.  I don’t want to be out terribly late even though Alina said she needed a couple of days to get herself in order before she moved in.

I’ve delivered Teto’s money.  I have no idea what she’s going to tell him, if anything at all, but at least my business with him is done.  I talked to the landlord about moving into a two bedroom unit as well.  I figured Alina might like to have her own space, and I want to do anything and everything to make this work out.

At some point, she’s going to hear about her father.  I don’t know how she’ll react, and I’m not sure I can play dumb well enough for her to think I had nothing to do with it.  No matter how good an actor I might be, she’s going to have her suspicions.

That doesn’t matter.  Assholes like James Marino need to be handled.

Shortly after nine o’clock, I drive to the post office around the corner and hoof it from there.  Most of the streetlights are out of commission, and there’s little light to show my passage.  The apartment building where Jimmy lives isn’t secured at all, and I just walk right in and find his unit.  I pull on a pair of leather gloves and knock on the door.

“What the fuck do you want?”  Jimmy’s words are slightly slurred.

“I’m from the liquor store,” I say through the door.  “Mac sent me.  He says you won today’s lottery, but ya gotta come pick it up before ten.  He tried callin’ ya.”

I hear the chain lock slide to one side, and I brace myself.  As soon as the door is open a couple of inches, I throw my body weight at it, and Jimmy goes flying.  I shut the door behind me and follow him inside.  A second later, I’m straddling him, and my gun is in his face.

“You scream; you die.”

He stares up at me with bloodshot eyes, nodding rapidly.

“I ain’t got no cash.”

“Isn’t that a shame?”  I lean back and haul him up by his collar before roughly throwing him into a threadbare recliner.  I point the gun at him again.  “Take off your shoes and socks.”

“Why the fuck?”

“This is the part where you do exactly what the guy with the gun tells you to do.”

He eyes me blearily, but he seems to be sobering up pretty quickly as he removes his shoes and socks.  When he’s done, he sits back in the chair.

“Put these on.”  I hand him a fresh pair of socks and some wool gloves.  He eyes me, confused, but does as I instruct.  I pull out some zip ties from my pocket to secure his hands and feet, making sure the ties are on the outside of the cloth and don’t leave a mark.

I look at him for a long moment.  I can see an artery hammering in his neck, and there’s sweat on his forehead.  He’s nervous and rightfully so.

“Feeling a little helpless?”  I raise my eyebrows and give him a cold smile as I pick up one of his socks and ball it up in my hand.  It’s slightly damp and leaves a mark on the gloves.  I’ll have to pitch them when I’m through.  Taking a step closer to the chair, I shove one of the dirty socks in Jimmy mouth.  His hands are bound in front of him, but when he reaches up to try to get it out, I stop him with the gun in his face.  “Now, now, leave that alone.  We’re going to have a little conversation.  Or rather, you’re going to listen to me because I don’t really give a fuck what you have to say.”

I grab a folding chair and turn it around before I sit in front of him and lean over the back, gun dangling.  I look at him with my head tilted to the side and just stare as I count to sixty.  He’s really sweating now, and it’s difficult for him to swallow with the sock-gag.

“So, what is it about young girls, anyway?” I ask.  “Grown up pussy isn’t tight enough for your measly dick?”

His eyes widen and he starts to shake his head.  I point the gun at his face and tell him to be still.  He obeys immediately.

“If I ask you a yes or no question, you can nod or shake your head.  So far, everything I have to say is pretty much rhetorical.”

I roll my shoulders one at a time and then stretch my neck.  I let him wait and wonder for another minute before I speak again.

“It’s too bad you aren’t locked up.  Instead, you got off on some bullshit technicality,” I say.  “I mean, if you were in prison right now, I would have a little more difficulty getting to you.  Not that it wouldn’t have been done, but it might have cost me a little money or at least a pack of smokes.”

I pull out a cigarette and light it, letting the smoke trickle out of my nose.

“Here’s the thing,” I say slowly as I stare back into his eyes.  “I know your daughter.”

I give him props for remaining perfectly still as he hears this, but his eyes still crease a little more at the corners.  He’s breathing a little faster now as well.

“I actually kinda like her, ya know?”  I shake my head and smile.  “I can’t say I was expecting that.  I mean, she’s a hooker and all.  Who gets attached to a hooker?”

I laugh.

“Can’t lie.  It’s not the first time.”  I take a long drag off the smoke.  “It gets a little lonely in this business, and it’s good to have someone to rely on.  I hope I can rely on her, anyway.  I think I can.  We’ve talked about it, and I think she’s going to be all right with it.”

I point my cigarette at him.

“We’ve talked, you know—she and I.  Not a lot.  She hasn’t given me much in the way of details but just enough to get me thinking.  There’s always a reason people end up on the street, and it doesn’t usually start off as their fault.  I don’t ordinarily expect to hear someone’s own father got her started as a whore before she was even in high school.”

“That’s pretty sick, ya know.”  I glare at him.  “I know I’m crazy, but that shit is sick—
really
sick.  I couldn’t let that slide.”

Taking another puff, I stand up and crouch down in front of him.  I balance carefully just in case he does decide to kick out at me.  He can’t really hurt me with his bare feet in the restraints, but I still don’t want to be surprised.

“The more I thought about it, the more I realized you probably weren’t just whoring her out.  You were using her, too, weren’t you?  You were fucking your own daughter and then selling her to anyone else who was interested.”

He shakes his head rapidly.

“Lying sack of shit.”  I move the lit end of the cigarette close to his foot, and he moans through the gag.  I don’t touch it to his skin –I don’t want that kind of evidence left on his body—but I let him wonder for a moment.  “I had a lot of thoughts about how to deal with you.  Considered bringing over a few buddies to use your ass until you bled to death from it.  Funny thing is, Alina doesn’t want me to do anything.  She just wants to leave it all in the past, but I have problems letting go of that kind of shit.  I don’t forgive—that’s God’s job.”

I walk around the back of the chair, and he follows me with his eyes.  Standing behind him, I take hold of what little hair he has and pull his head back.

“I don’t think God forgives fuckers that rape their own daughters, though.  I’m pretty sure they got a special place all ready for you.”

I shove the gun into the back of my jeans and pull out a knife instead.  I hold it up to his eyes so he can see it.

“I’ll give you one guess what this is for,” I tell him.  “Oh, and here’s a hint—it’s not to cut you out of those ties.”

He tries to talk through the gag, which is pointless.  I smack him in the back of the head to shut him up, but he keeps trying until I place the knife at his throat.  He stills.

“Good boy,” I say.  “You just be nice and quiet.  Well, as much as you can.  Frankly, I’m going to hurt you, so I don’t begrudge you the odd scream.  That’s what the gag is for.  You try to take it out, and I’m going to slice off your dick, though.”

He nods ever so slightly, likely afraid the blade will cut him if he moves too much.  I’m not going to slice his throat though—that would be far too quick.

“I’m not usually into the torture thing,” I tell him.  “I’m more of a distance shooter, you know?  Been tortured though.  I’ve been tortured a lot.  Never told them anything.”

A shiver runs through me, and my skin goes cold in the aftershock.  Bile comes up to the back of my throat, and I swallow to get the taste out of my mouth.

“I was close though,” I say quietly.  “I never told anyone about that.  No one.  Ever.  There was one day when I nearly cracked.  They’d already tried to beat it out of me.  Beat me, burned me, left me alone without food or water—none of that would have ever opened my mouth.  There was that one day when they thought they’d try something else.”

A wave of nausea threatens, and I have to swallow again.  My vision goes a little dark, and for a moment, I can’t breathe.  I never think about this—not even in my dreams.  I barely remember it at all.  I shake my head and pinch my forearm hard to bring myself out of it before I pass out.  Crouching in front of Jimmy, I raise the knife up to his eye.

“I know what it’s like to be raped.  I know what that does to someone.  I nearly cracked as a grown man, and she was just a little girl when you did that to her.”

I lower the knife and cut into his stomach through his shirt.  It’s not a mortal wound, by any means, and the knife is sharp.  He probably barely feels it.  As I shove my fingers in the hole I’ve made and twist upward, he closes his eyes, screaming into the gag.  He twists his legs, trying to free himself to kick at me.  I pull my hand from his gut and punch him on top of the wound.  He doubles over, and I stand in front of him, wiping the blood on the back of his shirt.

“Now that I think about it, I’m surprised Alina doesn’t seem to be as fucked up as she probably could have been from all of that.  She’s really pretty put together.  Maybe that’s just comparing her to me, though—I’m not a great baseline for that, ya know?  Still, she fucks guys for a living and has you to thank for that.”

I walk away from him.  As far as I’m concerned, he’s getting off easy, but I want to give the impression of a burglary gone bad, not an execution.  I would have preferred to cut him to death.  Alina would know it was me for sure if I did that.

“She’s smart, you know.  She figures things out really quickly and isn’t afraid to speak her mind.  I don’t think she got that from you.  Makes me wonder who pulled her out of the gutter and taught her to stand up for herself.  Maybe no one did.  Maybe that’s all her.”