“No, no,” Roscoe states, shutting me up. “We run this my way. Bobby V has been waiting for my ass to trip up, but if I bring him you and the newest Dio Lavoro recruit, then I’m pretty fucking sure I’ll be paid off beautifully.”
“Do you really think I’m about to let you or him lay a hand on her or me?” Zane speaks up, taking a calculated step forward protectively. He’s moved slightly so he’s shielding me with his body. “The last man who wanted my girl had his face pummeled in with a hammer. It’s not against me to do a recreation of it on one of you.” Zane snickers as both men look to one another a little worried. “Who’s first then?” he asks and takes a few more steps forward, this time cracking his knuckles as he does so to show his readiness.
“Whoa, whoa,” Roscoe says and although he’s looking warier of Zane than ever, he does take a step forward. “Clearly, we underestimated you, but this is a business deal. You’re late, you pay. I don’t get paid overtime for standing around for an extra fucking hour. My pay check stopped at four when you were supposed to be here.”
“I’ll make sure you’re made up for your time,” I comment, stepping out from Zane’s guard. I stand beside him, showing us as equals. “Now either Lurch shows me to the cigars or we leave empty handed and Bobby V will have something far worse to worry about than our punctuality.” I anticipate a response, but when I don’t get one, I decide to really show I’m serious. “Fine,” I say and reach into the pocket of my blazer and pull out my cell. “I’ll just make one phone call to my father to let him know the change of plans and be out of your hair.”
“Wait!” Roscoe hollers, stopping me from pulling my father’s number up. “Take the fucking cigars and get out of my face. If you’re late for the next pickup, then I won’t be so lenient.” He pushes his henchman, Lurch, and glares at him as he lights up a new cigarette. “Show her to the back room.”
I had already spotted the small shipment of cigars in a room to the right, so I feel excited that things are finally going back on track for us. I follow Lurch to the side room, spotting the branded Cuban cigars as they sit in on the table, but my eagerness has the better of me as Lurch turns to me, surrounded by abandoned sheets, rumble, paint pots, gas canisters, and what I can only make out as old shipping crates.
“And remember, don’t go easy on her!” Roscoe calls out behind us and the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end.
“You fucker!” Zane bellows, and all I hear is him issuing Roscoe the initial punch the moment the words resonate with him.
As I hear them brawl, I look back and seeing Zane getting the upper hand with a punch square to Roscoe’s jaw. However, when I turn back, Roscoe’s wingman is right before and from the predatory glare I’m receiving, I can only presume I’m not about to get just the cigars.
I’m not used to greedy men who do the big boss dirty work because I’m not usually placed on the front line like this. The incident with Carmello was the first time I had been out with just three of us doing a drop, but now my father thinks it’s time to teach me all areas of the family business. The one thing he doesn’t know is that I’ve grown extremely bored of men thinking I’m easy. I’m tiresome of men thinking I’m just an object they can touch and grope because I’m not and I’m not afraid to show them that.
So, I allow him to pin me to the wall. He’s a silent man, but his eyes speak volumes. Even glowering at me, a cigarette hanging from between his lips, I know Roscoe’s henchman is just obeying orders. This is something they had discussed – separate us and then strike. They clearly didn’t know who they were taking on and I’m little fucking disappointed that my reputation still doesn’t precede me. If Lurch doesn’t know, then it’s time I enlighten him.
He stands over me, the cigarette burning between his chapped lips, his peppered grey hair lops forward, and the face that stares down at me has been worn and tortured with years as the silent partner.
“Do you do all his bidding?” I ask, taking a drag from the half-burnt cigarette. He nods mutely, so I lift my hand up to his forehead, pushing back the one unruly strand out of his face. “Let him push you around all the time?” I query and again he nods. “Do you know what sort of trouble that can get you into?”
Now he shakes his head and while one hand travels up his chest, the other falls from his face and onto his shoulder. I keep his eyes locked on mine, the intensity of the moment all too consuming. While I watch him lose himself in this moment of foreign intimacy, I draw him toward me while propelling my knee up into his crotch and connecting the hardness of my kneecap with his penis. I feel the sudden exertion of air traveling from his lungs before I release him and he crumples into a heap on the floor.