The Nightlife: New York

Page 11

Konowicz stared hard at Talco, making certain to impart the severity of his request. “This baby here’s got your name all over it. You find her and we’re square for the last payment you owe. Think you can handle it?”
Perhaps the girl was involved in something serious, heroin or something. Maybe she needed to be taken in. Maybe it was legit. “I’ll ask around, see what I can find out. I’ll put in the time. I’ll try, but I can’t guarantee anything. And what if I can’t find her? All this for nothing? You still gonna be on my case, man? I gotta life too, a wife and kid!”
“Hey, you better remember a few things. You gotta do everything you can to protect that sweet little chica at home. You get popped on a probation violation and you’ll be doing twenty-four months. That ain’t gonna be so good for the mamasita. Maybe she’s gonna have to work the streets again to pay the bills. You wanna see that? You wanna see her on her back again while you’re locked up?” Konowicz threatened in his nasal voice.
He knew these weren’t idle threats. With nothing but a phone call to his probation officer from either detective, Talco would be immediately thrown in lockup. Since he was already convicted, and on probation, he had no rights to speak of. And he wasn’t exactly keeping his nose clean, running a prostitution racket on the side. His life had been a living hell from the moment the detectives had pressured one of his girls into revealing the name of her employer. They had owned his ass ever since.
Talco seriously considered the idea of killing these two disgusting pigs. They could sit here in front of him, calmly drinking beer at his expense, and discuss the ruination of his life. His temper flared, his fists and jaw clenched tight. Generations of hot-blooded Puerto Rican genetics warred against his better judgment. Evita warned him constantly to calm down and think before acting. He had to cool down, that’s what Evita always said, “Cool it pappy, te quiero mucho. No te asustes.”
It was his hot blood that put him in prison the first time, after he beat some asshole senseless for smacking around Evita when she refused him anal sex. She’d been so appreciative that she’d stood by Talco’s side through every court appointment while he was prosecuted for aggravated assault. In the face-off of an obnoxious fast-talking Puerto Rican vs. a respectable white businessman, the jury’s verdict against Talco was a foregone conclusion.
The one witness whose testimony could’ve brought to light all the mitigating factors in his defense had remained silent. Talco refused to let Evita take the stand. She’d wanted to defend him, to return the favor, she’d begged Talco to let her testify. But the prosecutor knew the score. He’d threatened to have Evita deported back to Colombia if she testified. Talco had forced her to stay out of it to protect her immigration status. He took the rap. He actually was guilty. He’d beat the living shit out of the fat bastard who’d laid hands on Evita. He was no slouch in a fight.
Found guilty and carted off to prison, Talco learned real quick who his true friends were. Evita was the only one who stuck with him when the chips were down. It was her money he spent on a shyster attorney who did little if anything for his defense. Evita was a keeper. He married her two days after his release from serving twelve months, a two year suspended sentence hanging over his head. She’d waited the entire year without complaint. She was there when no one else gave a damn. She’d proven her worth a hundred times over.
He owed it to Evita to keep a cool head. He swallowed down his pride and fury and tried reasoning with the detectives. “Hey, take it easy! I’ll do what I can, but don’t expect miracles. If my people know who she is, then we got her. I’m on it.”
“Damn straight you are, and you’re gonna pay the fuckin’ tab too!” Oberman motioned to the waitress, “Hey, can I get another round over here?” Oberman and Konowicz always drank their fill when someone else was paying for it.
* * * *
CHAPTER 8
Awake in bed at sunset of the following evening, Michelle lying next to him, Aaron knew he needed to contact his roommate Kyle very soon. Besides, if it was Michelle’s wish that he live with her, he needed to get his stuff from Kyle’s place.
He couldn’t imagine sleeping anywhere but her bed after the phenomenal sexual acrobatics of the night before––insanely erotic things he’d never imagined in his wildest fantasies. To top it all off, there was no fear of STD’s or pregnancy. Another one of those fringe benefits of being vampires. Nothing but purely awesome, condom-free sex and a whole lot of biting.
The downside? He was now madly, irrevocably, undeniably, hooked on Michelle. It scared the crap out of him. His limited experience with serious relationships taught him one lesson very clearly. Women can destroy a man’s peace and turn the whole world on its head in a matter of seconds. Michelle was no exception. If she ever got truly angry with him he’d be royally fucked.
Despite this fear and uncertainty, he couldn’t ever recall having felt this strongly for another person. His relationship with Delia couldn’t hold a candle to the intensity of emotional attachment he felt toward Michelle. His whole world revolved around Michelle. He could actually sense her thoughts, feelings and emotions, 24/7. In a way he was Michelle, and she him. It was becoming difficult to tell where her feelings ended and his began.
He wasn’t sure how to bring it up without sounding like a lovesick puke. He decided to just go for it, put it out there and see what happens. He approached the subject of Kyle and his apartment cautiously. “Should I assume that I’m living here now, permanently?”
Michelle was engrossed in her iPhone, texting like mad. “Oui. Is necessary for the moment.” She paused, sent another flurry of text flying through the airwaves, and continued, “I have a new job for you. I sent your pictures to the escort service and they like you. There are several women scheduling appointments to see you.”
She has pictures of me? When were those taken? OMG––I hope I had clothes on. He opened his mouth to protest and thought better of it. It seemed prudent to say as little as possible when it came to Michelle. She already knew way too much about his thoughts and feelings.
“You have a date tomorrow night with an older woman who likes sexy, young boy toys. Five hundred dollars an hour. Is much better than strip clubs. The ladies, they pay you for the bite. Is parfait. Sex is not necessary, but maybe later, when you have learned control. One good bite with a happy ending is enough to satisfy. Is easy when they look you in the eyes, you have dominance. You lead with suggestion.” Michelle dropped this bombshell in his lap without ceasing her flurry of text activity or one moment of eye contact.
“This we practice tonight. Remember to be very careful not to cause the addiction. Is very important!” There it was again, the veiled threat. She didn’t quite say it, but he knew she was thinking it. Thinking about how she’d kill him if he proved uncontrollable.
“Is there a problème?” After seconds of stunned silence from him, she jumped up and pecked him on the cheek with her most sincere look of innocence. He was fast learning to regard that look with suspicion. It seemed her faux innocence became more convincing when she was up to something, like roping him into a job as a male escort.
He snapped back at her sarcastically, “No. No big problem. But don’t you think you should ask before making plans on my behalf? I do have a job you know. I had a life before I met you.”
She popped her head up to peg him with a stare that communicated her irritation. “This restaurant is no good for you. You must sever ties with those you knew before. You are very much changed now. People are not stupid. They notice the difference.” She spoke with an air of impatience as though telling him something he should already know.
He scowled, his mind awhirl at the prospect of working as an escort in the sex trade. He knew escorts were rarely ever just an escort. It was nothing but a technically legal term for prostitution. Escort rolled off the tongue a little easier, but it still left a sour taste in his mouth.
She continued explaining that which he should have understood by now. “Is better we live the nightlife alone. No relations with friends or family. They are like cattle. We feed from them, but nothing more. Is a dangerous game to play. You will risk they learn the truth?” She surveyed him with the raised eyebrow of you-know-I’m right-and-you’re-wrong.
He shook his head in denial of her truth.
“Le prix à payer est lourd. The price we pay for this life is obscurity. They can never know our true natures. We would be hunted. We take many pains to avoid this. No relationships with the food! It cannot be.”
Her logic began to sink home.
He shook his head in resignation. “I suppose you’re right. I should have seen this for myself. I guess I didn’t think about it. It’s probably best to break these connections now. I should go to my apartment, get my things, and give my roommate some excuse. Maybe I’ll give him a bit of the truth. I’m living with you now, and I work with an escort service as eye candy for lonely, wealthy women.” He was being sarcastic, but Michelle took him seriously.
“Oui, is a good idea. Tomorrow night. Tonight is more training. You still have much to learn.”
And that was that, subject closed.
As they exited the apartment building, she laid her hand on his chest to stop him. “Wait for me here, cher.”
Ten minutes passed, and then ten more. He stood in the wet drizzle, on the sidewalk where she’d instructed him to wait. He waited, and waited some more. At the point he was ready to head back up and find out what the hell was keeping her, it happened.
“COME TO ME.”
It hit him with a massive adrenaline surge. He needed to be there now, now, now. He darted into the alleyway, zinged past a stack of pallets and leaped over the five foot high dumpster in his way. In another second, he’d leaped up in the air snatching the metal railing of the fire escape. Up and over, and he was running. As his feet pounded out a rapid fire staccato beat up the metal stairs, his mind filled with the urgent need to get to Michelle on the roof. Within seconds he reached the top level catwalk of the fire escape, leaping to the edge of the roof, thirty feet above. With a desperate scrabble of hands and elbows he made it over the edge. She was right there, he could feel it. His vision zoomed in on her as he ran balls out to reach her.