Pull (Push #2) (11 page)

Chapter 19

Matt—Present Day

It smells like a cocktail of smoke and vomit. Devon is next to me, and as soon as we open the door, his hand flies up to cover his face. He’s walking down the hallway now, trying to keep the foul smell from seeping through his fingers and into his nose and mouth. He doesn’t want to taste it. But it doesn’t bother me that much. It smells like my college fraternity house on a Sunday morning. Only more metallic. The undertones at the fraternity were always woody; this is more like sheet metal slathered in puke and cigars. It’s never smelled like this in here before. It’s always smelled…I don’t know…sexier. I wonder what’s changed.

When we get to the big metal doors at the end of the hallway, Nate knocks on them hard. A second later, Brad peeks out at us. His face is pulpy and red. Like he got smacked around or something. His eyes move from Nate to Devon and then settle on me.

“You’re here,” he says. “It’s about fucking time.”

“Yea, well, some of us had to work today,” I say with a flip of my middle finger. “A
real
job. We don’t get Tuesdays off just so we can get ready to play hostess to a bunch of losers sitting around a poker table.” Shit. I think I just referred to myself as a loser.

“Screw you,” Brad says as he opens the door and the three of us walk in. “David wants to talk to you. He’s over with Carl.” Brad lifts his arm and points. Carl’s fat ass is parked in a seat at a green-felted table across the room. David’s standing next to him. His back is toward me, but I see him lift a cigarette up to his mouth. His shoulders expand with a deep breath. It’s then that I notice the fingers of his free hand rapidly tapping against the side of his leg. David is nervous. Why?

The only other time I’ve seen him nervous was in the parking lot under the 9th Street Bridge.

Something is going on.

I scan the room, looking for anything askew. Hannah and the girls are here, as usual, delivering drinks in their up-the-booty short shorts. Cameron is busy swapping chips for cash. And nearly every table is filled with players. Nothing seems out of the ordinary. Except for the smell in the hallway. And the fingers bouncing off of David’s jeans.

As I watch them move in a slow rhythm, Emma pops into my head. I know for a fact there’s nothing up with her because I just spent the entire day working with her, and she was as happy as a sugar-jazzed kid on Christmas morning, prancing around the office like she owns the world. After work, while I sat in my car and waited at the stoplight, I saw her climb onto the 61C and head for home. That was only a few hours ago. She’s fine.

After all, if there were a problem with Emma, David wouldn’t be here, would he?

He must see me coming because as I get closer, David turns toward me and steps over to greet me with a handshake. He offers me the hand with the fingers that, seconds ago, were pattering against his leg. I look down at his extended arm and see the birds coiled around it. It’s like they’re a bunch of colorful little pieces of David all put together to form a whole
him
.

“Hey,” he says, lifting his cigarette up to suck in another drag as we shake hands. “How’s it going, man?”

“Good. Good.” I nod my head a few quick times. He looks at me only briefly before returning his gaze to the rest of the room.

“You guys have a good day at the office?” He’s never asked me about work before. And, really, he isn’t asking me about it now, either. He’s asking me if
Emma
had a good day today, but he doesn’t want to come off sounding like a jerk. I know his question has nothing to do with me, and that’s okay.

“Yeah. It was a pretty good day. Emma was on cloud nine or something. Seriously. You guys must have had a good weekend,” I say, trying to set his clearly distracted mind at ease. “She was still bouncing when she got on the bus after work. I saw her from my car.” That should do it.

He looks visibly relieved.

“Good to hear. Thanks for watching out for my girl at work, man. Means a lot. And, um, thanks for playing it cool with her about what happened last week.”

“No problem. Seems like she’s doing okay with the whole thing.” I wonder if he knows about Emma’s Saturday-morning phone call.

“Yeah.” His arm lifts, and he runs his hand down the back of his head. I hear him sigh as he continues to look around the room.

“What’s going on, David?” I ask. Mostly because I can’t help it.

“Poker. Why?”

“I know it’s not just poker. Something’s up,” I counter. “You’re nervous about something. And the hallway smells like a fucking lion puked up its kill.”

“That’s ’cause one did,” he says with a lift of his eyebrows. And just like that, his back is to me and he’s walking away. Clearly he has no interest in telling me what’s going on. So I shut up, walk back to Devon and Nate, and find a table.

I watch David all night. He pours drinks and cashes out chips. And his eyes shoot to the door every time it opens. I watch him talk to Brad then to Carl then to Cameron, all in between more casual conversations with an occasional player or waitress. All the while, his fingers are tapping against his thigh every chance they get.

And then, something happens. Brad opens the door and some guy and his friends walk in. Let me correct myself:
Some cocky-as-hell, badass guy and his fucking entourage strut in
, and the attitude in the room completely pops. As soon as the dude’s in the door, David’s face lightens, and he slowly starts making his way across the room toward his new guests.

I look around the room, and it appears I’m the not the only one who noticed. Cameron and the rest of the guys working here tonight are watching this guy, too. And they’re all smirking, just like David. None of the other players seem to notice, though. Except for Carl. He’s staring at the badass man with a scowl the size of Kansas, but he makes no move to stand up, nor does he stop playing the game. I, on the other hand, drop my cards onto the table and announce that I’m out. I want an eye on whatever’s happening.

David shakes the man’s hand, and from my seat, I focus carefully on their words.

Badass: “She told me she lied, David. And right now, she’s paying for your trouble.”

David: “I hope you’re making sure she doesn’t forget. I’d hate for her to try something like that again.”

Badass: “Trust me, she ain’t gonna try any shit like that ever again. Between what you did and what I’m doin’, she isn’t gonna tell another lie ever again.”

David: “I already made sure of that.”

Badass: “I heard. But I want you to know I made
double
sure. When she stumbled into my office, I about thought she had a run-in with a goddamn honey badger. Her hair was a fucking mess, full of dirt and puke and blood, and caked to her head like goddamned glue. What the hell did you have her so fucked up on?”

David: “She was already high when we found her.”

Badass: “I’m gonna have to find out what it was ’cause the shit I got don’t do nobody like that. Unless she overindulged. Which sometimes she does. Hell, we all do from time to time. Isn’t that right, my friend?”

David: “I guess so, Ray. I guess so.”

The badass named Ray pats David on the shoulder and smiles. He’s got a pair of gold teeth in the front, probably to mask the meth-rot. I cringe at the thought of the pigeonhole the poor man has shoved himself into. Once you have gold teeth, a career change isn’t an option. Badass Ray is either a drug kingpin, a rap star, a pimp, a slum lord, or all of the above.

The pair of them walk together between the tables. They disappear down the back hallway, and Badass Ray’s entourage spreads out across the room, taking empty seats wherever they can find them.

What the hell has David gotten himself into?

Chapter 20

David—Present day

I can’t believe it worked. It’s a motherfucking miracle that Nikki went back to Ray and owned up to her lie. The two of us really are even now, I guess, which has to count for something. I know she was only trying to exact some kind of revenge for what happened with Ricky, and to tell the truth, I feel a little bad about the whole thing.

Ray sits down on one of the black leather swivel chairs and motions for me to join him. I need to give him my full attention, so I close the door behind me and have a seat.

“This is quite an operation you boys got goin’ on in here,” he says with his gold-garnished mouth.

“Yeah, we do pretty well.” I cross my ankle up on top of the opposite knee and lean back in the chair. “But we’d like to do better.”

“I’ll bet you would.” He lights a cigarette and draws a deep breath through the filter. “New place will be ready in a few days. Think Carl’s gonna shut his mouth about it anytime soon?”

“He’s done bitching. I told you before, he’s only a customer. He’s not a partner. The only reason he thinks he has a fucking say in this whole thing is because we’ve been using his building. He’s got no control over anything now, and it’s driving him mad. But it doesn’t matter because the choice isn’t his to make. It’s mine.”

“You and your boys are gonna like the new place,” he says with a grin. And it’s true. We
are
going to like it. It’s twice the size of this place; there’s a stage and a sound system, two bars, and six private rooms in the back. Rooms we can use for anything we want. Plus, the location is more private. “When you wanna talk about the extras?” he adds before I can tell him how right he is.

“Now.” I put both my hands behind my head and weave my fingers together. He picks up on my signal-flare confidence and narrows his eyes. I actually think he’s a little nervous. Good. He should be.

“We gonna have to negotiate all this. It ain’t as easy as all that.” He’s trying to fuck with my confidence.

“Yes it is.” I lean forward in my seat and put my hands on my knees. I stick my face toward him and drop the tone and cadence of my words. “There’s no negotiating here. It’s pretty damn straightforward. You provide the extras and get seventy-five. We bring the customers and keep twenty-five. Plain and simple.”

“What if I decide I want ninety?” He’s trying to intimidate me. It won’t work.

“Then we’ll take our business elsewhere,” I say calmly. “Come on. You know that. But you don’t really want ninety, do you? You know how easy this is going to be. You know the seventy-five isn’t going to require any more than an hour of your time every week. You’d be a fool to push me on this.”

He looks at me and stands up from his seat.

“And I know you don’t want to be a fool,” I add dryly.

“Oh I’m no fool. But I’m telling you right now, you’re gonna wanna consider upping my share to ninety.” He bends over me and puts his hands on my shoulders. “Hell, maybe you even gonna wanna consider handin’ over your whole damn game.”

“That’s not going to happen.”

“Now don’t go and say shit like that before hearing me out. There’s no need to be hasty. You see, our friend Nikki mentioned some pretty little redheaded piece of sunshine you’ve got hanging on your arm these days. She said you seem to be very interested in keepin’ that young lady happy. I’m guessing you wouldn’t wanna see nothin’ happen to her now, would you?” He straightens himself and lifts his hands from my shoulders.

I stand and step up to his face. Our chests are perfectly aligned, and his cocky-ass smile makes me want to send those motherfucking gold teeth straight through the back of his skull. But I don’t lift a single finger because I don’t need to. Instead, I do what I always do. I calculate and control.

“Like I said, you don’t want to be a fool,” I say.

“All I’m askin’ is for you to reconsider your offer. That’s all. I’m just givin’ you something to think about.” He steps back away from me and walks toward the door. “We’ll see you and your boys on movin’ day. Enjoy your game tonight, and promise me you’ll think about things.”

“I’ll be doing plenty of thinking. Don’t worry about that.” He walks out into the hallway, my brain already filling with thoughts and ideas. It appears, after all, that Ray is indeed a fool. He has no idea what powerful seeds he’s just planted. No idea at all.

I follow ten paces behind him and stop at the end of the hallway. He looks at his associates sitting at the tables, and as soon as they see him, they drop their cards, leave their chips on the table, and follow him out like a bunch of pussy-whipped gangster ducklings.

When the door closes behind them, Brad tips his chin to me in question. I nod my head, turn my back to the room, and start to walk back to the office. I need to think. On my way down the hallway I reach into my back pocket and pull out my phone. I want to check in with my pretty little redheaded sunshine.

Hi.

It’s after midnight. She’s probably already asleep.

Hi back.

Were you sleeping?

No. Watching CSI. How’s the game?

The usual.

That’s ’cause I’m not there.

True.

Aren’t u usually too busy to bother me on Tuesday nights?

Wanted to make sure u were alright.

I’m fine. Just missing u.

Yeah?

Terribly.

Good.

Lying low this evening?

Not a chance. Just been too busy to partake.

Well, get to it, then.

Yes, ma’am.

While u r at it, win me one of those indescribable benefits I was promised.

Like what?

Surprise me.

You might not wanna leave your request so open-ended…

I’m willing to risk it.

Brave woman. I’ll do my best.

That’s all a girl can ask for. Well…that, hot sex, and a superhero to watch over me (no pressure or anything).

Anyone who touches you will meet their maker before they can blink.

Atta boy. But what about the hot sex part?

That’s a given.

:) Shouldn’t u be getting to that drinking and winning?

I’m on it.

Night, David.

Night.

I press
Send
, but it feels unfinished. A half-minute later, I touch Emma’s name again and type.

Love you.

Inside my head, I hear her sigh. And then I picture her mouth flexing into a smile.

Best.

It’s her only reply, but I know exactly what she means. Because we’re two of the same. I slide my phone back into my pocket, take a deep breath, and sit down in the office.

                            --------------------------------------------------------------------

Matt is inebriated. No. He’s plastered. It’s three a.m., and he’s somehow managed to lose not only his money, but also his car keys. I hope he didn’t put his car up against his hand. That would be an idiotic move, but it’s one I’ve seen him make before. He won it back the last time, but this time, I don’t know what the fuck happened. His friends are gone. They left an hour ago without so much as a goodbye.

When I realize how shitfaced he is, I haul his sorry ass back to the office and tell him to sleep it off while we clean up and count. A minute later, he’s on the floor snoring. I bend down and roll him over onto his side, patting him on the cheek affectionately and calling him a clown. He smells fermented.

When the boys finish their cleanup rounds and Brad and I complete our count, I distribute the cash and ask if anyone found Matt’s car keys. Cameron produces them from his pocket and hands them to me. Turns out Matt didn’t lose them, he gave them to Cameron to keep his drunk friends from taking them and driving themselves home. The blatant irony is not lost on us, and we enjoy a good laugh at the expense of the clown passed out in the back room. After everyone else leaves, I rouse Matt and carry him to his car piggyback-style.

When we get to his apartment, I sling him up over my shoulder, take him up the elevator, and drop him onto his bed. I take his shoes off and, once again, flip him onto his side. As I’m working on setting his alarm, his eyes open and a drunken voice rolls out of his mouth.

“Thanks for the ride, man.”

“No problem. Get some sleep. Work comes early.” I’m looking down at him as he’s lying on the bed. With his buttoned-to-the-top plaid shirt and gelled-up hair, I can’t help but think about what a Poindexter he is. The cartoon rocket ship tattooed on his forearm doesn’t help. Matt’s a stand-up guy and someday, some girl is gonna come along and rip his heart out. And he’s gonna let it happen because he’s too damned nice. The best I can do is hope that when it does happen, it doesn’t jade him. I hope he never changes. I hope he’s always a Poindexter.

“Who was that guy?” he asks with a slur.

“What guy?”

“That guy with the gold rabbit teeth and the fucking entourage. Who
was
that?” He’s looking up at me, and his eyes are practically crossed. He’s more smashed than I’ve ever seen him, and his voice is so high it’s bordering on a squeak.

“No one you need to know. Go to sleep.”

“Are you in trouble?” he says while pointing his finger up at me and poking at the air. He’s worried about me. It’s almost sweet.

“’Cause Emma doesn’t deserve any shit from you,” he adds. Ahhh. He isn’t worried about me at all. He’s worried about Emma.

“No worries. There’s no trouble. And there’s not going to be any either. That guy is just helping us out with some stuff.” I’m trying to reassure him, but when you’re this drunk, you don’t want to be reassured. You want to speak your mind.

“He looks like a gangbanger pimp guy. What are you doing with him? You’d better watch out, because if you do something that hurts Emma, you’re gonna have to answer to me.” He’s sitting up in the bed now, trying to look tough and repeatedly pointing at his own chest.

“I have no intention of hurting Emma. I love her, remember?” I say, hoping to placate him and shut down his drunken rant before he says something he’ll regret.

He draws in a quick gasp. “Is this about her brother? Was that her brother or something? No…her brother wouldn’t have gold rabbit teeth, would he? Shit. Did he come back to make sure she’s dead? Was
that
her brother?” His face looks completely astonished, as if his own fictitious revelation has completely blown his mind. He’s in a near panic. I want to laugh at him.

“That wasn’t her brother, you douche. And this has nothing to do with Emma. I told you before, her brother isn’t coming back. He got what he wanted. You really need to go to sleep now.” I push him back down on the bed and toss the covers up over his body. I’m nearly out the door when he decides to add one more thing.

“Good,” he says as I flip off his light switch, “’cause I don’t wanna have to kick his ass
and
yours. Don’t fuck things up, David. Just don’t fuck things up.”

“That seems to be my mantra these days,” I tell him. “And you have no idea how hard I’m trying.”

I close his bedroom door and call myself a cab.

                            -----------------------------------------------------------------------

I take off my clothes, climb into the bed, and spoon myself behind Emma, flexing my hips against her backside. It’s five o’clock in the morning, only an hour until she has to get out of bed and get ready for work. But I want to wake her now because I can’t wait.

I hold her chin in my hand, bending it upward so my mouth can slide across the side of her neck. I slather her skin with kisses until she whimpers and tries to wiggle away from me. I hold her tight and whisper “hold still” into her ear. I reach down and tug off her pajama bottoms, running my fingers up and down her soft flesh. And then my hand is between her legs, my fingers parting her thighs. She whimpers again, but this time, she doesn’t try to pull away. Holding her chin and sucking on her neck, I press myself against her back. Her whimpers turn to groans as I rub my fingers over her. I’m spooned behind her, breathing dirty, shameless words into her ear. Words to make her know I can’t exist without her and I will do anything it takes to keep her safe.

My hips sink forward, and I push myself into her. Entering her body is like being on a blockbuster heroin high. It’s a moment—and a lifetime—of pure bliss and raw feeling every single time. With each shift of my hips, I use my hands to force her body down against mine. Our bodies move together, bending front and back.

“Touch yourself,” I whisper into her ear, and when she reaches down between her legs, my arms tighten around her. Her fingers dance across her body, and she sighs.

“That’s it. Keep going.” She twists her fingers against herself, feeling her own soft, slick pleasure. Each time I push into Emma, her fingers press downward, trapping herself between her own fingers and my body. Her mouth opens, and her hips grind backward into mine. My lips are on her neck again, kissing the spot just below her ear, lapping at her flesh.

“Can I?” she asks a minute later. “I’m close.” Her voice is coarse and quiet, still tinged with sleep, but her body is vibrating. Shouting.