Never Kiss a Bad Boy (17 page)

This place was so similar to my old club that it was unsettling.

I stood up, sliding out the exit door. Back there in the alley, it was grimy and poorly lit. No bouncers reigned here, just one girl with a cigarette between two long, neon pink painted nails.

She gave me a quick look, smoke fleeing her lips. The bottom one was bruised. “Looking for a special girl?” she purred.

Daisy,
I thought helplessly.
She reminds me of Daisy.
I didn't want to think about the past, especially not something as depressing as the fate of a poor dancer I'd once known.

My smile was shallow. “No thanks. Have a good night.”

With a bored shrug, she turned away, engaged in her tobacco.

Heading back inside, I settled on a bar stool and simply... waited. I was early, I wanted to be able to see the man who was coming to 'sell' cocaine to me.

Ordering my second beer, I twisted it in my hands. The condensation left a ring on the bar. I hadn't taken a single sip before
he
entered.

Young. Jeez, way too young.

Hollow circles under pinprick eyes, skin the color of dishwater. He looked like he hadn't eaten well in days—or ever.

I hadn't really suspected an undercover cop would meet me, but it was always a risk. Now, seeing this kid's exhausted, lifeless face... I wasn't concerned about that. A face like his didn't happen accidentally. No one could fake this brand of desperation.

He stood by the door, hands deep in his ratty hooded sweater. Looking left, then right, then left again, he finally settled on watching the stage. He didn't have the patience to pretend he was here for the girls, though.

There were three other men in the club, two of them getting dances and one sitting across from me. The scraggly kid moved closer, perching on a stool and tapping his shoe on the floor. In our anonymous online chats, we'd agreed to meet at the bar.

When he glanced at me, I feigned a smile. That had him narrowing his eyes and looking away, fast.

Turning towards the other man, the kid folded his hands. Not so subtle, he drummed his fingers. He clearly thought
this
was the guy he was supposed to meet.

Smoothly, my seller leaned his way. He whispered, “Yo, man. You buyin'?”

Instantly, the thick fellow leaned away from the kid. Wrinkling his forehead, he laughed uneasily and hopped off the chair. “Not me. Sorry.” Escaping, he headed towards the stage.

The young guy made a fist, cursing under his breath. He was anxious now, and I imagined he thought his buyer hadn't shown, or had never planned to.

I bent towards him and flashed a knowing grin. I hoped it made me look both slimy, and sympathetic. “Your guy didn't come either, huh?”

“What?” Sitting so straight I heard his back crack, the kid stared at me.

“Sorry, I overhead you.” Lifting my beer, I pretended to take a deep swig. “I was supposed to sell to someone tonight, too. Nine on the dot, he said.”

His shoulders slumped, bitterness in his voice. “Fuck. Yeah, that's right. Son of a bitch, you think we got hit by the same flake?”

Shrugging, I put my bottle back down. “Seems that way. What luck, right?”

Groaning, he grabbed his hood and pulled it over his eyes. “Dammit dammit fucking—why do people gotta do that?” Peeking my way, he let the hood go. “Why waste our time?”

I shook my head. “World is fucked up. Used to be you could buy from your dealer and sell to whoever, and people would swarm at the chance to get a hit.”

His frown softened. “Yeah man, that's right. It's costing me more and I'm not fucking
selling
more.”

I chose my next words carefully. “Guy I used to buy stock from straight up vanished. Good shit, too. Haven't seen him in forever,” I chuckled sourly.

The kid scrunched his eyebrows together. “That sucks. Who was it? Maybe I know him.”

That was exactly what I was betting on. “Frankie,” I said, taking a slow sip of my drink. I let the name hang in the air, studied the guy for his reaction. I wasn't disappointed.

“Frankie?” he asked, scooting his chair towards me and lowering his voice. “Frankie the fucking
Razor?
He sold to you?”

Tapping the base of my glass on the bar, I nodded. “Yeah. He did until he didn't. No clue where the guy is now, guess he left town.”

“No man, no!” His fingers went up by his ears. “How the hell do you not know? It was all over the news, like, months ago and shit!”

“What are you talking about?” I asked, narrowing my eyes suspiciously.

Cupping the side of his mouth, the dealer huddled closer. “Frankie is
dead
. Shot, right in broad daylight.”

I put the beer down heavily, like this was the worst thing I'd ever heard. “He's dead? How the... that explains why I haven't seen the guy.”

Breathing out sadly, the kid looked me up and down. “I bought from him when I could, too. You're right about the quality. Guy who sells me blow now, it's like baking powder. What's your name?”

“Dennis,” I lied, reaching out to give him a rough handshake.

“I go by Juice.” He waved for the bartender to get him a drink. “Man, I still can't believe you didn't know.”

“It's a shame,” I said, trying to change the direction of the topic. “You said he was shot?”

Lifting two fingers, Juice mimicked a gun firing into his own chest. “Bam. Right in the heart. Word is it was a hit, real professional.”

Kite would have loved hearing that. “Someone wanted him dead. Who?”

“Got me.” Taking his can of beer, he lifted it for a toast. I clinked my bottle on the cheap drink. “Guy could be dangerous, you had to know that if you bought from him.”

“Yeah,” I agreed. “In fact, I heard he was involved in some real bloody shakedowns. Insurance runs, big fires, that sort of thing.” I was thinking of Marina's story. Her raspy voice and clenched fists roamed my brain.

Juice was lost in his own thoughts, drinking his beer fast. “That's normal for them mafia families. When I chilled with him and Hecko, he was real friendly. Took us to the best titty bars.”

Mafia?
My heart began thumping. “Who's Hecko?”

Burping, he crushed the can. “I haven't seen him in forever. We have no reason to hang out these days, what with Frankie gone. Wonder if he still has the same crazy green hair.”

Green hair? Hecko didn't
sound
like the man I was searching for, but... “I think I remember him,” I said casually. “Guy used to always hang out with Frankie at that place—that uh, shit...” I snapped my fingers rapidly, screwed up my face. “You know where I mean. I swear the name is right on the tip of my—”

“Tail End!” He clapped his hands once, grinning proudly. “I haven't been there in forever. Bet Hecko does still hang there. It was his regular place, though I preferred the strip clubs, myself—especially when Frankie paid the cover.”

My excitement was buzzing with this new lead. “Listen,” I said, patting Juice on the shoulder. “It sounds like things have been rough.” Glancing deliberately at one of the woman who was lounging nearby, I waved her over. “Let me buy you a dance, kid.”

Juice perked up, wriggling like a puppy as the girl approached. She leaned in to give him a hug, whispering in his ear. Meanwhile, she peered at me over his shoulder.

I slid her a fifty, winking.

Day one had gone well.

****

T
ail End was squat, the outside crafted from faded bricks. The place reminded me of the old sea-side bars from decades ago. The kind that crouched on the edge of a dock, swirling with fog.

One bouncer sat in a chair outside. He looked asleep, but I fed him a twenty as I passed and his open palm closed around it.

This place was only slightly cleaner than the strip club had been. I repeated the same cautious steps I had there: find the bouncers, look for anything suspicious.

Hecko wasn't here. Or, if he was, he looked nothing like Juice had described. No one had green hair.

The only thing I could do was stake out the club and wait.

Across the street was a cracked, dirt colored motel. I rented out a urine-smelling room that faced the club's front entrance. I paid in cash, and the man who gave me my key barely looked up from the toaster-size television on the front desk.

Locking the door, I fell back on the stained blankets. Everything smelled like cabbage, but I'd camp out in whatever festering hole I had to.

Am I doing this to keep the plan moving?
I wondered.
Or am I doing this for her?

Marina.

Just thinking about her had my stomach tightening. When I was done with this mission, I planned to do something... nice for her. And for me.

Mostly for me.

That night, as I had every night since meeting her, I dreamed of Marina Fidel.

Day two arrived.

I cracked my eyes and stared at the grey clouds. Inhaling until my lungs hurt, I sat on the edge of my stained bed. The day melted into night. My legs were cramping, I started to pace.

This part of the process was the worst. Sitting in a wretched motel room and counting the cracks in the windowsill was not exciting.

Finally, I saw my man.

It had to be Hecko, though his green hair was fading towards yellow. Even from behind, I could see he was too young to be the killer from Marina's past. He'd have been a child sixteen years ago.

It didn't matter. He was my only lead.

Leaving the motel, the weight of the gun comfortable under my jacket, I gave the bouncer another few bills and kept walking.

Hecko had been inside the bar for no longer than fifteen minutes. The three empty glasses in front of him and the fourth drink in his hand implied otherwise. The guy was a drinker, putting away the stuff with efficient practice. That was good. People let slip much more information when they were drunk.

He was alone in his corner of the bar, tucked onto his stool like he was holding out for a downpour to stop outside. There was no rain, the skies outside were calm. But I was coming for him.

I was the storm.

Nodding to the bartender, I ordered a gin and tonic and approached Hecko. He didn't see me, his body jerking in surprise when I put my arm around his shoulders. “Hot damn!” I cried out. “Is that you, Hecko?”

Spilling liquid on his lap, the guy shoved at me. “What the fuck, man? What are you doing?”

Leaning away, I lifted my glass high. “You're kidding! Don't tell me you don't remember me? I hung out with Frankie all the damn time!”

He was skeptical, and he should have been. I was relying on the power of time and alcohol—mostly alcohol—to aid me in convincing him.

Hecko flicked blood-shot grey eyes to my shoes, then to my face. “Did you? I don't...”

“Man, all the titty bars he would take us guys to,” I laughed loudly. Shaking my chin, I clapped Hecko tightly on the shoulder. He glared at my hand, but didn't push me off this time. “I miss the guy. Still can't believe he's gone.”

He looked down into his drink, taking a big gulp until the bottom was empty and I could see his face through it. Breathing out, he slammed the container on the bar. “I do miss him, yeah. But I don't remember you. Sorry, what was your name?”

“Cory,” I lied, swirling my glass. I hopped onto the stool beside him. “I'm only a little offended that you don't remember me.” I winked. “To be honest, we never talked much. I was too busy throwing dollar bills at the girls. I recognized you from the doorway, though. Your hair hasn't changed at all.”

His smile was hesitant, but real. “Frankie used to call me the Gecko.” Self-consciously, he scrubbed at his short clumps of hair. “He always told me to change it. I never listened.”

Sipping my gin and tonic, I watched his face closely. “Guy could be scary.” Hecko's eyes jumped to me, flashing. “But he meant well, most of the time.”

“Scary,” he muttered. His chuckle was cynical and empty. “Yeah. That's right.”

Sensing I was onto something, I waved for the bartender. “Another drink for my friend.” When the woman poured it, and when Hecko was nodding appreciatively and swallowing half of the caramel colored junk, I leaned close. “Honestly, Frankie did some messed up shit. You know?”

Holding the glass like it was a shield, the guy squinted at me. I saw the beads of sweat on his forehead, noticed him fidgeting. “Maybe. I don't know. He's dead now, either way.”

“True, and bless his soul,” I said, saluting to a man I didn't give a damn about. “But come on, Frankie was no saint. Neither was that guy who worked with him.”

There. A riptide of fear roamed across Hecko's face. “What are you talking about?” he hissed at me, acting dumb but failing.

I put my drink down heavily, swaying as if I was growing drunk. “Come on, Hecko! You're young but you
knew
Frankie, right?”

“Of course I knew him.” He looked side to side.

“Then you know what I'm talking about. The big motherfucker who was missing a tooth, used to pull the 'pay us so we'll protect you or else' shit with him.” I was making a lot of assumptions, but it was intentional. If this guy knew Frankie, he'd slip and give me something I could use.

Shuddering, Hecko's brows hooded his eyes. He bent towards me, furious and with foul breath. “Would you
shut the fuck up?
Don't bring him up here, I'm not supposed...” He trailed off, eyeing me with sudden paranoia. “Did
he
send you?”

My stomach prickled. Here was what I wanted. “What do you think?”

Like a falling star, Hecko crumpled. He grabbed his glass and finished it with a cough. “I'm not involved in that dark shit anymore, I had my fill. Tell him to leave me alone.”

Controlling my smile, I broke the tension with a laugh. “Forget it. My bad. Let's just toast to Frankie and clear this heavy air.”

I ordered two more drinks, keeping my eye on Hecko the whole time. He never saw me slide the packet from my sleeve, never spotted me tapping the powder into his drink.

I would have tried to ply him with more alcohol, but I knew it was pointless. He had sealed the topic. Hecko didn't trust me.

It was a wise decision.