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“But why? Give me one good reason why you’re not out there on the dance floor, rubbing your dick against some girl’s pussy. Why you’re not taking her to the bathroom and having her suck you dry. Why you’re not in pound town every night when quality snatch is always trying to ride your dick!” Beefer slams his fist on the table.
He’s worked up about something and it’s not my lack of fucking around.
“Well?” he asks. There’s sweat on his forehead. He’s feeling stress from Arturo, I guess. And babysitting Cesaro is a shit job.
For all of those reasons and because Beefer saved me, I give him an explanation he isn’t owed. “One time you told me to find an anchor. I did, and I’m not going to cut that chain for a quick lay with some random woman.”
I stay in my lane because Bitsy would know. She’s insightful like that. She can read every mood of mine. And if I did any of those things that Beefer suggested, Bitsy would see that something had changed. And there is no one, not a casual encounter that lasts five minutes, ten minutes or even a full day, that would be worth marring the perfect oasis that is my home with Bitsy.
Beefer’s jaw flaps open, wanting to argue with me, but Cesaro struts up to the table. It’s the first time since I laid eyes on the asshole that I’m even marginally glad to see him.
“These two ladies have a hankering for a little VIP action.” He squeezes the two girls tight against him.
“Best take them to Oak Street,” I say, and for once Beefer agrees with me.
“Yeah, let’s roll.”
* * *
It’s five in the morning when I let myself in. Mrs. M is asleep on the sofa.
Since she likes to make breakfast for her husband, I give her a small shake on the shoulder.
“That you, Leka?”
“Yes.” It wouldn’t be anyone else. “I got you a car. It’s downstairs. How’s Bitsy?”
“She was a doll as always. Such a sweet girl.” She rubs her eyes and then rolls to her feet. “And you’re a good brother, Leka.”
I give her a nod and help gather up her things. I can’t walk her downstairs because I’m not going to leave Bitsy alone, but I do stand in the doorway and watch until the elevator doors open.
She gives me a wave. I go to my laptop and fire up the building security cameras I’ve tapped into. Mrs. M makes an uninterrupted trip down the elevator to the lobby. The doorman waves to her and makes a note in his book. The outside camera shows her getting into the car I called for her.
Once she is safely away, I go check on my girl.
I give a passing glance to her bedroom, noting that her bed is empty. I’m not worried, though, and as I stop in the doorway of my room, my suspicions are confirmed by the small lump on the left side.
Lightly, I cross the room. She’s lying on her side, her hands tucked under her face. In the circle of her arms is her bunny that I bought so many years ago at Macy’s. I’ve given her others since, but this is the one she loves the most.
I grab my sleep clothes off the top of the dresser and walk to the bathroom. In the shower, I realize that I ran out of bar soap this morning. I’m stuck with Bitsy’s stuff. I unscrew the strawberry-shaped cap and give the contents a whiff. Shrugging, I squirt pink stuff onto my palm. So I smell like strawberries. There are worse things. After the shower, I towel off and throw on a pair of sweatpants and a T-shirt.
I make my way back to my room and lower myself onto the other side of the mattress. Cesaro is going to be a problem if he sticks around. One of the girls balked when it came to taking off her clothes and Cesaro punched her. It took a shit ton of money and a well-worded threat to buy her silence.
What bothered me the most was that Cesaro wasn’t high or drunk. He got off on being cruel. He liked it when the girl resisted and liked it even more when she cried.
Beefer drove the girl and her friend home while I watched Cesaro grow angrier and angrier as he struck out with the girls at his uncle’s club. When the club began to close, he called his uncle demanding a fresh whore. Mary showed up fifteen minutes later. Cesaro wasn’t pleased at first. He called her every name in the book and asked her why she thought he’d wanted to fuck her loose meat sandwich again.
Mary didn’t even flinch. She closed the door and a half hour later, Cesaro came out, somewhat subdued. Mary followed behind. Her hair was fucked up. Her red lipstick was smeared all over her face, and there was a cut on her cheek she didn’t have when she arrived. But she wore a satisfied expression.
