It's a Chagall.
No offense, but it's weird.
Vin laughed and regarded the piece of art...or shit, depending on your taste...with grave appreciation. It's relatively new. I got it the night I met Devina. God, I haven't looked at it for a while. Reminds me of a dreamscape.
Jim thought about the life the guy must live. Work, work, work...come home...not see all the expensive stuff he owned.
Do you see your girlfriend? Jim said abruptly.
Vin frowned and took a sip of his brandy.
Well, wasn't that the answer.
It's none of my business, Jim murmured. But she really sees you. You're a lucky man.
Vin's brows drew together, and as the silence expanded, Jim knew he was running out of time for tonight. Chances were good he was going to be shown the door in another fifteen or twenty minutes, and although he had a feeling he'd ID'd Vin's problem, he wasn't even close to the goal line, so to speak.
He thought of the little television hanging from the ceiling in that hospital room and of the two chefs who had gotten him into this dinner-from-Hell situation. So...you got a TV around here? he asked.
Vin blinked and seemed to come back into focus. Yeah, check this out.
Getting to his feet, he picked up a remote and came around the desk while punching buttons. All at once, the shelving split across the way and a flat-screen the size of a twin bed came forward. Man, you love your toys, huh, Jim said with a laugh. I so doI'm not going to lie.
The two of them parked it in the chairs in front of the desk as Vin played with more buttons. While the channels switched, Jim felt like a schizoid as he prayed for a clue from what was shown looking for guidance from the television? Next thing he knew he was going to think satellites were tracking his every move.
Oh, wait...been there, done that.
As the screen flashed, he took note of the various shows: Who Wants to Be a Millionaire?'Vin had and he now was. Lost? Well, duh, that made two of themthough Jim was the only one who knew it. Home Improvement? Plenty of that to go around on both sidesbut it was hardly a newsflash.
The channel changing stopped on Leonardo DiCaprio in some kind of movie.
There's actually a better model coming out this year, Vin said, putting the remote to the side. It's going in the new house.
Jim tried to read into what was going on in the movie, but it was just Leo dressed like something out of a renaissance fair emoting to a chick in a similar wardrobe.
Shit, no help.
Jim, I got to be honest. Vin's cool gray eyes were clear. I don't know what the hell you're playing at here, but I like you, for some reason. Ditto.
So where does this leave us? Just what Jim was wondering.
Up on the screen, things were abruptly not going well for Leo. Medieval-esque bad guys were doing a snatch-and-drag of the poor bastard. What the hell movie is this?
Vin fired up the remote and an info strip popped up at the bottom of the screen: The Man in the Iron Mask. Leonardo DiCaprio, Jeremy Irons (1998). Only got two stars, evidently
Oh, fuck him. The Iron Mask? Damn it, the last place he wanted to be was back in that club. Especially with
Devina appeared in the doorway of the study. I don't suppose you two would like to go out? Well, if that wasn't an opening.
Jim cursed to himself as he tried to imagine being there with her againonly this time under the watchful, suspicious eyes of her boyfriend. And he'd thought this whole dinner thing had been awkward?
Except the movie had to be a sign, right? The four lads said he'd have help. Yeah, let's head downtown, he muttered. To the...How about the Iron Mask. Devina's eyes flared as if she were shocked by his choice of club. Schmega dittos there.
There was some conversation at that point and Vin got to his feet. Okay, if that's what you two want, I'm game. He went over to his woman, and like he was trying to make an effort, leaned in and kissed her. I'll get your coat.
Devina turned away with him and followed her man down the hall. Jim, left behind in the study, dragged a hand through his hair while wishing he could rip the stuff out of his head.
Maybe he had to stop thinking TVs were sending him messages. Because this was a dumb fucking idea.
CHAPTER 11
Marie-Terese saw the man first.
As she stood by the bar closest to the Iron Mask's front door, she was inspecting the crowd when he walked into the club. It was, as they say, right out of the movies: Everyone else disappeared the instant he came in, the other people fading into dim, blurry shadows while she focused on him and him alone.
Six-three-ish in height. Dark hair and pale eyes. Suit like something out of a Fifth Avenue window display.
On his arm was a woman in a red dress and a white fur coat, and beside him was a taller guy with a brush cut and a military manner. None of them fit in among the crowd of leathered and laced and chained, but that wasn't why she stared.
No, the staring thing was all about the man himself. He was eye-catching in the same sharp, hard way her ex had been: a wealthy man with a shot of gangster in him, a guy who was used to being in charge of whatever was going on around him...and someone who was probably about as warm and caring as a meat locker.
Fortunately, shutting down her instant attraction was easy: She'd already made the mistake of assuming wealth and power made guys like that some kind of modern-day dragon slayer.
Very bad assumption. Sometimes dragon slayers...were just slayers.
Gina, another one of the working girls, came up to the bar. Who is that by the door?
A customer.
Of mine, I hope.
Marie-Terese wasn't so sure of that. Going by the looks of that brunette with him, he had no reason to buy sexual companionshipwait...that woman...she'd been here the night before, hadn't she, and so had the other guy. Marie-Terese remembered them for the same reason they stood out tonightthey didn't belong here.
As the trio sat down in a dark corner, Gina adjusted her wing-and-a-prayer bustier and pushed at her now-red hair. Last month it had been white and pink. Month before that jet-black. She kept this up and she was going to be sporting a Telly Savalas, thanks to all the chemical warfare on her roots.
I think I'll just go over and introduce myself. Laters.
Gina sauntered off, her black latex skirt and stiletto boots the kind of thing she wore with pride. Unlike Marie-Terese, she got off on what she did for a living and even had ambitions to become what she referred to as a major multimedia erotica star along the lines of Janine Lindemulder or Jenna Jameson. Whoever they were. Marie-Terese knew their names only because Gina talked about them like they were the Bill Gates of porn.
Marie-Terese hung back and watched the drive-by. As Gina sauntered up, the woman in the white fur took one look at what was so obviously for sale and her stare went blade sharp. Which was unnecessary. Her businessman boyfriend didn't give Gina a glancehe was too busy talking to his buddy. And all the back-off-that's-my-man did was encourage the come-on: Gina positively preened in front of that territorial hatred, lingering until the man finally looked up.
He didn't focus on what was in front of him, though. He gaze shifted past Gina's latex buffet and trained on Marie-Terese.
Instant. Cosmic. Attraction. The kind you couldn't hide from other people and you couldn't bottle up and you couldn't turn off if you ever got the chance to act on it. With their stares locked, they were both naked and in each other's arms, not for hours, but for days.
Which meant she wasn't going anywhere near him and not because he had a possessive girlfriend. If what she'd felt at first around her ex had been trouble, this moment between her and that stranger had the potential for catastrophe.
Marie-Terese turned away and wound through the crowd, seeing nothing in front of her or around her. Those steel gray eyes of that man consumed her, and though she knew he couldn't see her anymore, she could have sworn she felt him staring at her still.
Hey, honey.
Marie-Terese glanced over her shoulder. A pair of college boys dressed in hip-riding jeans, Affliction T-shirts, and skulled-out accessoriesi.e., the bell-bottoms of the twenty-first centuryhad come up behind her and were once-overing her body. Given the sly way they looked at her, it was pretty clear they had pockets full of their daddies' money and heads vacant of everything but the confidence typical of big, dumb football players.
She also got the impression they were on something: Their eyelids twitched rather than blinked, and both had lines of sweat over their upper lips. Great. Just what she needed.
How much for me and my friend? the one who'd spoken up said.
I think you'd better go see someone else. Gina had no problems with threesomes, for instance. Or video cameras. Or camera phones. Or other women. Hopefully she drew the line at the Catherine the Great equine stuff, but you couldn't be sureit was entirely possible that a lusty whinny meant suck harder to her.
Mr. Talker got in close. We don't want anyone else. We want you.
Taking a step back, she looked them both right in the eye. Find someone else.
We have money.
I'm a dancer. That's all I get paid to do.
Then why haven't you been up in any of the cages? He leaned in again and she got a whiff of his cologne: eau de beer. We've been watching you.
I'm not for sale.
Bullshit, baby doll.
If you continue to harass me, you're going to get banned from this club. All it takes is one word from me to management. Now back the hell off.
Marie-Terese walked away, knowing damn well they were pissed and not caring in the slightest thank you very much, Trez. As much as she hated asking for help from the man, she would in a heartbeat if it meant keeping herself safe.
Over at the bar in the back, she ordered a Coke with extra ice and regrouped. It was still early, only about ten thirty, which meant she had another four or so hours.
Those two steakheads giving you trouble?
She looked up at Trez and smiled. Nothing I couldn't handle. She eyed the leather coat in his hand. You off?
Just over to my brother's for a meeting. Listen, the bouncers are all tight and I should be back in about an hour, two at the most. But you call me if you and the girls need anything, 'kay? Phone's going to be on the whole time. I can be back in the blink of an eye.
Will do. Drive carefully.
He gave her hand a squeeze and strode through the crowd, his height dwarfing everyone in the club.
That your pimp? Maybe we should just talk to him.
Marie-Terese glared over her shoulder at the college guys. He's my boss, and his name's Trez. Why don't you go and introduce yourselves to him?
You think you're too good for us?
She turned and faced them. Do yourself a favor and leave me alone. Unless you want to be taken out of here in an ambulance.
The one who had been doing all the talking smiled, revealing sharp white teeth. Do us a favor and stop thinking that whores like you have the right to an opinion.
Marie-Terese recoiledbut only on the inside. Does your mother know you talk to women like this?
You are not a woman.
Marie-Terese's throat closed up hard. Leave me alone, she said hoarsely.
Make us.
***
Vin scanned the crowd for the dark-haired woman and got frustrated when he couldn't find her. They'd made eye contact for one electric moment and then she'd disappeared into the sea of bodies like a ghost.
He'd seen her before. He couldn't place where...but he'd definitely seen her before. Who are you looking for? Devina said in a low voice.
No one. Vin nodded at a waitress, who came over quickly. After drinks had been ordered, Devina edged closer and eased in, her breasts pushing against Vin's biceps. Let's go back.
Back where?
To the private bathrooms.
Vin frowned as a dark-haired woman in the far corner turned.... No, it wasn't the one. Maybe... no, not her either.
Black hair, blue eyes, heart-shaped face that he wanted to take into his hands. Who was she?
Vin? Devina pressed her lips behind his ear. Let's go...I'm hungry.
Unlike the night before, this do-me-now stuff annoyed more than tempted him. He knew damn well that the seduction routine was less about sex between the two of them, and more about that prostitute coming over and pulling a whole lot of how-about-some-of-this. The thing was, Devina didn't mind including other women as long as it was on her termsand evidently those didn't include half-dressed ladies of the night making like they wanted to mount him and ride him off to an orgasm in public.
Nope, the women had to be more attracted to Devina than him for her to be cool with it. I want some privacy, she purred. We have a guest.
It won't take long. Her tongue licked up the side of his neck, making him feel like he was a fence post getting pissed on. I promise you that. I'm hungry, Vin.
Sorry. His eyes searched the crowd. I'm full at the moment.
Devina dropped the act and sat back in the seat. Then I want to go home.
At just that moment, the waitress came over with a beer for Jim, a shot of Patron for Vin, and a Cosmo for Devina.
We can't leave now, Vin murmured as he gave the woman a hundred and told her to keep the change.
But I want to go home. Devina crossed her arms over her chest and pegged him right in the eye with the demand. Now.
Come on, Devina. Enjoy your drink
Before he could tell her there'd be plenty of privacy as soon as they got back to the duplex, Devina cut him off with, Maybe I'll just go buy that red head for myself then, since you're not going to take care of me.
Right, okay. Wrong thing to say. Absolutely wrong button to hit.
Easing to the side, Vin took the keys to the M6 out of his pocket. Do you want me to walk you to the car? Or do you need cash for the prostitute?
Devina's eyes flashed black in the silence that erupted between them. But she should have known not to play hardball with him.
After a moment, she snatched the key out of his hand. Oh, I wouldn't dream of troubling you. Jim will walk me out. That way you can stay and enjoy the view some more.
With a small nod, Vin glanced at the other man. Jim, would you mind doing the honors?
The guy slowly lowered his beer. Look, if she wants to go
Then she's free to. And she wants you to escort her to the car.
The poor bastard looked as if he'd rather have his fingers filed into stubs than get in the middle of things, and Vin didn't blame him.
Uncrossing his legs, Vin stood up. Ah, hell, man, you just relax here and I'll Devina shot to her feet. Jim, please take me to his car. Now. Vin shook his head. No, I'm going to
The hell you are, Devina snapped. I don't want you taking me anywhere.
It's cool, Jim muttered. I'll do it.
The man got up, but he left his leather jacket, as if he were not expecting to be gone long. I'm just taking her to the car. We clear on that?
Thanks, man. Vin sat down again and swallowed his Patron on a oner. I'll be here waiting.
Jim indicated the way to the door, and Devina walked off, her chin up and her shoulders back, her fur in her arms.
As Vin watched them go, it was times like this that made him question the ring thing. He'd done nothing to encourage the prostitutehe hadn't even looked at her. But you had been staring at someone, an inner voice pointed out.
Vin resumed scanning the crowd, all of whom seemed to have black clothes and dark hair. Damn it...why did she have to be in a club like this, where everyone was a brunette?
Except...well, the why had been pretty obvious: She hadn't been dressed as a customer.
With a curse, he glanced up at one of the cages, where a woman was aglow in blue light, writhing as if she'd lost a cold penny down the front of her thong and wasn't allowed to use her hands to get it out. Was his dark-haired woman a dancer...or what that first female had been?
Oh, who the hell was he kidding. No doubt you could buy what was in the cages as well.
Still, prostitute or not, that had been some kind of moment when they'd locked eyesthe pull had been undeniable, even though it made no sense. It wasn't that he'd ever judge a woman for being a professional, but he couldn't imagine being with one who'd done that for a living. Was doing it for a living.
Nope. No way. Even if she were as safe as she could be, even if she chose to do it because she liked it, his mind was not hard-wired to share. There's was too much of his father in him, and the paranoia would kill him.
Cursing, Vin wondered how in the hell he'd gone from taking one look at the woman across a club to trying her on for a relationship. When he was already in one. And had a diamond the size of a grape waiting at home for his
Abruptly, his dark-haired woman burst through the crowd in the back. She was walking fast, her shoulders knocking into people as she went, her face grim and tight. And right on her tail were a pair of guys who had necks larger than their heads and nasty expressions.
Like they were ten-year-olds about to pick the wings off a butterfly.
Vin frowned...and got to his feet.
CHAPTER 12
As Jim walked around the back of the Iron Mask, he was not cool with what was doing on so many levels. And his outlook did not improve as Devina slipped her arm through his and pressed herself close to him.
It's chilly again, she said in a low voice.
Yeah, it was, but he wasn't going to warm her up like he had last night. Let me help you put your coat on, then.
No... She stroked the fur that was over her arm. I don't want to wear this right now. Which, gee, wow, probably meant Vin had bought it for her. This was really not a good turn of events.
Jim got her over to the BMW, and the moment she killed the security alarm with the electronic key, he opened the driver 's-side door.
I'm not good at stick shifts, she said, staring into the interior of the M6. I really can't drive them. She waited like she expected him to say something. Jim
Let's get you into that car.
She glanced over at his truck, which was parked two spaces down. Although she didn't come out and say it, given the way she angled her head, she was asking him a question. I can't. Jim took a step back. I'm sorry.
Devina hugged that white mink closer to her chest. Didn't you like last night?
Of course I did. But I know him now, and no matter what you say in this moment, you will regret it later.
There was a long, tight moment; then Devina nodded and slowly sank into the bucket seat. Instead of closing the door or pulling the belt across herself, though, she just stared out over the steering wheel, the lights of the dash illuminating her gorgeous face.
I'm sorry, Jim. I don't know why I asked.... It's not fair to you or him or me. I'm just so empty that I'm making bad choices and not acting right.
Shit, he knew exactly what that was like. It's okay. People do that.
He crouched down so he could look into her eyes, and as he did, he got pissed with Vin. Didn't tile guy know what he had? For fuck's sake, no one was perfect, and the spat they'd just had in the club proved that on both sides. But come on.
Look, Devina, have you talked to him? Tried to explain... Goddamn it, Jim couldn't believe the f-word was about to come out of his mouth. Have you tried to explain how you're feeling?
He's always so busy. Her eyes were dark and deep as she looked over. But maybe you would speak to him for me? Tell him that I love him and I want to be with him
Wait...whoa... Okay, that was almost as bad an idea as their having sex again. I'm not the kind of guy
Please. Jim, please. It's clear he likes you, and believe me, that doesn't happen all that often. You could just tell him that you and I talked out here and that I miss him even though he's in my life. I mean, I'm not a fool. I know what kind of man he is. Making money is always going to be important to him, and there are benefits to being with someone like that. But there has to be more. Her eyes seemed to flash. Don't you think there has to be more to life, Jim?
As he felt that ensaring pull reach out and grab onto him, he got to his feet. Yeah, but you need to be saying those things yourself.
For a moment he thought he saw something hard flash in her eyes, but then she nodded again and stretched the seat belt across her breasts.
Vin is not who I thought he was. Devina started the engine and put the M6 in gear. I've been waiting for him to warm up and trust me and love me, but it hasn't happened, and I'm losing the strength to hang on, Jim, I really am.
He's bought you a ring.
As her head whipped around, Jim was totally aware he'd not just overstepped his bounds, but bombed the shit out of them. Keeping her in Vin's life was the important thing, though. He has? she breathed.
Just hold on a little longer. Christ, maybe he could talk to Vin tonight. God knew Jim was a good liar, and in this case, for once his motivations were good: He could try and argue that marriage is something worth believing in. Look, let me sit down with him, okay?
Oh, thank you. She reached out and squeezed his hands. Thank you so much. I really do want this to work.
She blew him a kiss and shut the door. Stepping to the side, he watched her ease out of the parking lot and accelerate down Trade Street, the engine going through its gears slick as shit through a goose.
Jim frowned and thought that if that was what she classed as not knowing how to work a stick shift, he wanted to know exactly what proficient would be.
Man, he needed a cigarette.
With a rattle and a whir, a car pulled up to the brick wall of the club and parked under one of the staff-only signs. Two barely dressed women with Playboy breasts and legs as thick as toothpicks got out and stopped when they saw him.
Hey, the blonde said with a sexy smile. You coming into the club?
Her friend had an Amy Winehouse beehive and a necklace that spelled out SLUT in diamonds. Yeah, how'd you like to come with us through the back door?
The innuendo was way too obvious for Jim's taste, and that dangler around her neck meant he was far more interesting in going if she were involvedbut if it saved him a trip all the way around the club in the cold night? Fine and dandy, thank you, ma'am.
Jim walked over as a bouncer opened the door for the ladies.
He's with us, Blondie said to the guy. He's my cousin.
'Sup, man. The bouncer put out his knuckles and Jim gave them a pound. Good to meet you.
After they were inside, the guy relocked the door and talked into the Bluetooth clipped on his ear. Up front? Okay. Coming. Shit, girls, we got a rumble in general population. You're gonna wanna harig here till it's over.
Oh, we'll find something to do, the blonde quipped.
Or somebody, the beehive cut in, taking Jim's arm and rubbing up on him.
He disengaged himself. I got a friend waiting for me.
Male or female? the blonde asked.
Male.
Perfect for a double date. Club's that waysee you in a bit.
The one with the beehive leaned up to his ear. You think I look good now, wait'11 you see my work clothes.
They hustled off through a door marked LADIES LOCKER ROOM, leaving him in the dark hall thinking that if they were changing into something smaller than what they had on, the pair were going to come out dressed in postage stamps.
As he started down for the club proper, a dark-haired working woman turned the corner up ahead and came toward him. He recognized her instantly as the one Vin had actually been staring at when
Devina's latex nemesis had been begging him for attention, and Jim was not happy to see who was on her tail: That pair of big, young guys were way too close, and they had looks on their faces like they'd chased her into this dim, secluded hallway because they wanted something she clearly wasn't interested in giving them.
Jim glanced up and back. The corridor was a good forty feet long and about ten feet wide, and aside from a door marked OFFICE, which was way far down by the exit, the locker room was the only shot she had at losing them.
And the bouncers were already busy with some kind of disturbance.
Jim planted his feet and got ready to intervene...when from out of nowhere, Vin appeared in the archway at the club end of things, looking like he'd come to the same this-ain't-right conclusion. Striding down, Vin closed the distance fast, but the drama reached Jim first. I said no, the woman snapped over her shoulder. Your kind of female doesn't get to say no.
Okay, so the wrong thing to say, right there. Jim stepped into the path of the guys and spoke to the woman over his shoulder. You all right?
As she turned to him, it was clear by her hard face and her terrified eyes that she was keeping it together by force of will only. Yup. Just taking a break.
Why? Is your mouth tired already?
Jim faced off at the guy who'd spoken. Why don't you back the fuck off.
Who are you? Another one of her pimps? The SOB reached around and grabbed her wrist. Why don't you let her do
Vin diPietro, who had closed the distance, moved like the street was still in his blood. Before Jim took action, he was on the unwelcome contact, catching the biceps of that arm and breaking the guy's hold on the woman by snapping the kid around. He didn't say a thing. Didn't have to. He was ready to pop the motherfucker, gray eyes no longer cool, but volcanic.
Let go of my goddamn arm! the punk yelled.
Make. Me.
Jim glanced at the woman. My buddy and I are gonna handle this. Why don't you grab a cup of coffee and tell those other two girls to hang with you. I'll give you a shout when the attitude adjustment is finished.
Her eyes drifted over to Vin. It was clear she didn't like accepting the help, but she wasn't stupid. Given the buzz in the college kids' eyes, there wasn't just booze fueling them, but some coke or meth, too. Which meant the chances of things going downhill fast were high.
Til call for a bouncer, she muttered as she opened the locker room door.
Do me a favor, Vin said, still vapor-locked on his boy. Don't call anyone.
She shook her head a little and ducked out of the hall.
And that was when the knife appeared in the quiet kid's hand.
Leaving Vin to deal with the chatty Cathy of the pair, Jim stepped forward and anticipated which direction the lunge with the blade was going to come from. Ah, yes, fidiot with the sharpie was going to cruise in from the right because he was right handed, so it was just a case of waiting
Jim grabbed the guy in midcharge, snagging his wrist, whipping him around, and applying pressure to the joint until the weapon dropped to the floor. And just as he introduced the bastard's face to the wall, Vin broke into a fistfight, ducking a wide punch, then coming up with his bare knuckles like a boxer. His impact was a cracking stunner...but the trouble with illicit stimulants was that they carried, in addition to the possibility of felony and addiction, the certainty of anesthetic properties.
So the kid with the ugly, and now bloody, mouth didn't seem to feel a thing. He slammed a return hook into Vin's face and it was on. The pair of them went hog wild, turning the hallway into an MMA octagonand check that shit out: Vin was both the aggressor and the punisher of the pair.
To give him plenty of room for the beat-down he was delivering, Jim dragged his deadweight out of the way, prepared to keep things civil as long as his load of crap kept the trouble and the opinions to a minimum.
Fucker had to open his mouth, though. Just had to: Why do you give a shit what some whore does? She's just a heartbeat and a hole, for fuck's sake.
Jim's vision flickered on and off, but he got a hold of himself and glanced up at the ceiling. Sure enough there were pods at regular intervalswhich meant this was all being recorded. Then again...he and Vin had been smart enough to let their opponents throw the first punch and take out the weapon, so legally they could argue self-defense.
But more to the point, two college-aged fuck-twits who'd been doing illegal drugs weren't going to want to report shit to the police.
So no reason not to finish this.
Jim tightened his hold on that wrist, secured another grabber on the upper arm, and yanked the kid back so he could whisper in his ear. I want you to take a deep breath. Come on, now...concentrate. Calm down and take a deep breath for me. That's it...