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Chapter one
TOMAS
ThedooropensandVinny steps in. The black leather jacket he’s sporting is rubbed almost bare. I’ve never seen him take it off, no matter how warm it is. His gray mustache is the only facial hair he has, and the light bounces off his bald head.
The noise behind him has me touching my temples.
“What is it?” I ask, opening the bottom drawer of my desk and taking out the bottle of vodka. I set it on the desk and open the second drawer, reaching for some painkillers to get rid of my pounding headache.
“The delivery arrived.”Vinny’s words have me chucking back the tablets and rinsing them down with vodka. I grab my black jacket from the back of the chair and follow Vinny out of my office. Two girls get up off the floor as I walk past. I pause at a door. Two of the lads are talking but stop and straighten when they see me.
“Coffee break, lads?” I quiz. Roman stops stirring his tea.
“Get the girls out of the hall and back to work now.” I don’t need an audience every time I leave my office. The moment I step outside, the light burns my eyes. I take a pack of smokes out of my pocket and light up a fag.
A lorry is parked out back. Vinny moves ahead of me and takes a box. Marat is standing on the bed of the lorry. The small square boxes are stacked six high. I pull one over while taking a pocket knife from my back pocket. Flicking it open, I pause and flick the ashes off my fag before holding it to my mouth. The smoke burns my eyes as I open the box. After placing the knife back in my pocket, I remove the fag from my mouth and stamp on it.
I turn the pink teddy bear around in my hands and tear the stitching open. The white bag inside is what I’m searching for. I drop the teddy back into the box and open the bag before I dip a finger into it. I snort it, and the rush is instant as it speeds through my system. I feel better already.
I dip my finger in again and run some along my gums before looking up at Marat as he jumps down from the lorry and closes the door. All the boxes sit neatly in the yard. He knocks on the back, and the driver starts it up and leaves the yard.
“It’s good stuff. Pure,” I tell them.
“You want to give us a taste?” Vinny asks.
“Get it all inside and weigh it, and then we’ll see.” I place the bag back into the box as I speak to Vinny.
“I’ll be out for a while.”
I leave through the back gates and jog across the road to my car. Climbing in, the car dips, but it roars to life when I turn the key in the ignition. The purr of my baby has me rolling down the window and putting my foot to the floor.
The freedom of driving is as nice as the clothes on my back. Being in prison for a six-month stint makes you appreciate the small things in life. I pull up alongside the curb. The normally flashing pink neon lights over the strip joint are off at this time of day, but that doesn’t mean it’s closed. The owner is a sleaze who begged me to bail him out with fifty grand and I did. Now I’m here to collect.
I light a smoke as I close the car door. I don’t bother to lock it; no one would dare steal from me. Walking down the side alley, I reach and pull the handle on the door, only to find it locked. I inhale another three tugs of my smoke before I flick it against the wall, sparks flying as I clear three small steps and hop the fence. The door out back is open. Music assaults my ears the moment I enter.
The bartender looks up at me while drying a glass. I see it in his eyes—he wants to warn his boss that I’m here. I shake my head, and he continues to dry the glass. Two lone girls swing around poles in the empty club. Their eyes travel across me and they both smile. The red-cushioned velvet doors open easily as I enter the VIP area, and there I find him.
“Lenny, I’ve been ringing you.”
He pushes the girl off his lap. A black suit jacket covers most of her, and her long, sexy legs disappear into black shoes. She doesn’t move but stays seated on the floor, her face covered by long, straight black hair.
“Tomas. Was that you ringing?”
I smile at his bullshit. “You got my money?”
He starts to stutter. I glance around at the bottles of champagne and cocaine splashed across the glass-top table. “Looks to me like you got plenty of it.”
I pick up a two-hundred-and-fifty-dollar bottle of champagne.
“I’ll get you your money.” His stutter doesn’t push any confidence into his words.
“I want all the juice on it right now.”
His mouth opens and closes like a fish. “That’s like one hundred percent.”
I always charge one hundred percent interest on my loans.
“All the juice, now,” I repeat. The girl is watching me through her curtain of hair, and when my eyes snap to her, she quickly ducks her head again. She looks familiar. Maybe I banged her once. But I would remember legs like those.
