Strange though. It’s not like I’d ever use it. Why was it so important to me to save it?
***
I get to my desk and my curls are only partially frozen as I remove my hat. I’m early so I head into the bathroom and use the hand dryer on my hair.
4
Killian
I’ve been in a shitty mood all day long. I can’t seem to fuckin’ shake it.
That girl.
Can’t get her out of my head.
The contrast between her three years ago and now? Still beautiful. Fuck - gorgeous. But wilted on the inside. No light in her eyes. Sadness I can fucking taste. Like another woman I knew who was beat into submission by life, yeah, but mostly by the men she’d keep offering her heart to.
And the way Violet took my business card like it was a lifeline and then fought to catch it when the wind tried to take it? Fuck me.
I can’t work it out. The only thing that makes sense about why she’s still there is she’s afraid of that stupid ass-wipe loser fuck.
Yeah, my opinion of Iadanza has always been low, but now?
Raymond is a big guy, my height, and he was in decent shape back in the day. Seeing him last night, he’s lost muscle tone and gained probably fifteen or twenty pounds of fluff, but still… he is a fuck of a lot bigger and stronger than she is. She’s probably five foot two or three, and curvy, but still tiny - the kind of tiny that evidently brings out protective instincts in me. And I’d seen him get mean with her in a controlled way more than once. I suspected by how she interacted with him that it wasn’t so controlled when there were no eyes around. Also figured if I didn’t react the way I did, it would’ve been worse. Her body language, the way she cowered, how she physically shrank from his touch when he showed attention… it said a lot.
But from what I gather, she works, and he doesn’t. He moved into her apartment with her way back, so unless they’ve moved since then it has to be her name on the lease. She has a car and a job. The furnishings are far from new and judging by the style, likely all hers. Her place, her car, her paycheck, and her stuff. Yet, he’s still there.
And puttin’ on a show for me after the TV and lights got shut off; I really fucking wanted to go in there and haul the bastard off her. The thin walls: I knew he was fucking her. I also guessed by how long it lasted that it was all about him. Not a surprise. Selfish prick.
Ugliness about him washes through me with recollections about some of the shitty things I’ve seen the guy do.
Back when we were no more than twelve or thirteen, I saw him take Halloween candy from a little kid my brother’s age and that was not the first time I tried to teach him a lesson. He was the kind of guy that’d find a wallet and keep it instead of trying to find out who owned it. In fact, when we were thirteen or fourteen, a girl who liked me said he bragged to her about mugging a grouchy old lady in our neighborhood the day she got her social security check cashed. Me and my buddy Dario were at the mall when this rumor started circulating, so we hunted him down and took turns taking the boots to him.
Fucker swore up and down he didn’t do it, but he had a new gold chain around his neck and a fat stack of bills in his pocket, the denominations no paper route would pay, and dirt-poor parents who barely had two dimes to rub together.
Iadanza kept out of my way for the next few years, but then he discovered gambling and I was taking bets, and didn’t discriminate on who was gonna make me money. And he did make me money – plenty of it for that time in my life - until he was late paying me, which at that point I would only allow to happen once. This was not long after I moved onto the food chain with Dario’s father’s company, a connected and dangerous organization backing me with cashflow and collections muscle if I needed it.
Raymond ended a winning streak with a big loss that he tried to dodge me on. I gave him one chance for old time’s sake, telling him he’d get his kneecaps shattered if he didn’t pay me within a week. Six days later, he handed the cash he cobbled together to Tino, a guy Mr. Ferrano let me use for collections. I directed Tino to warn with a 24-hour deadline before he’d deliver a beating. Ray called me and apologized, telling me he couldn’t believe I’d sent Tino Rossi his way with all our history.
“I can’t believe with our history you would let it get to a point where I had to send someone out,” I’d countered. “No further bets with me, Raymond. You’re done. Don’t ask to bet with me again.”
Once I had to send someone out, that was it, I didn’t care who they were or what their excuse was. I had the means to keep taking his money but knew how it’d eventually end, and I wasn’t about to have that on my conscience.
I had shit to do. Money to make. Goals to achieve. Those plans did not include fucking around with pissants who couldn’t keep their gambling in check or pay their debts.
If I had to shatter kneecaps or bust some jaws, I’d do it – make no mistake, but Raymond Iadanza with his small bets and small mind was not worth that risk or effort to me. I always weighed risk and effort against profit when I made business decisions. He wasn’t worth it.
He steered clear of me after that, for the most part, though we occasionally saw one another in clubs and at parties up until three years ago.
I think I know who he places his bets with these days, a bookie called Hennessy with a big heart that lets people away with shit too often.
I decide I’ll call Henny to see what the word on the street is with this fuckhead.
***
I’m at home, feet up, dressed in sweatpants and a tee after my workout and staring out at the view of the sunset millions could buy in my city.
I bought this place almost a year ago, thinking about the future. Three bedrooms, though I hadn’t bought furniture for two of them yet. Custom kitchen with pink marble countertops. I didn’t pick those counters for me. I’m not a guy that likes pink, also not afraid of it. It looks good and what I envisioned was a girl in there making me dinner. Or whipping up salad for us while I grill steaks on my patio. I haven’t bought the grill yet. I figure I’ll meet the girl first.
I’m recently out of a thing that wasn’t going where I wanted it to go. Or, more accurate to say it wasn’t going where she wanted it to go – me, wrapped around her little finger and led around by my dick for little to no payoff for me. I bought the place before I met her, and she hinted repeatedly at moving in. Kept trying to leave shit in my bathroom, and I kept tossing it out. I didn’t bite and she didn’t like that. After I threw the third toothbrush and second box of tampons in the trash, she threw a fit and demanded a commitment.
I ended it and my love life has been quiet for a couple months. Before Kenya, there was some bullshit with the twin sister of a buddy. That one was supposed to be strictly fuck buddies and it got sticky. I warned my buddy Jag his sister was veering into bunny-boiler territory with me and my buddy handled it, apparently. She hasn’t harassed me in a while.
I won’t be having just anyone move in. I’ve always known I’d wait for that step, wouldn’t let just anyone move into my space, until it felt like the right girl.
The right girl…
I shake the thought off about a dark-haired girl with sad brown eyes and great tits, a sweet ass, and killer legs. A girl wrapped in nothing but a red towel who wears underwear with poker chips, playing cards, and little dice on them. My cock twitches in memory of her that morning as I scroll to find the phone number I’m looking for.