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chapter 19: The Word on the Street

Jude watched Indigo’s swinging hips disappear through the crowd, his mind scrambling. She’d transformed before his eyes, the woman he knew disappearing, another person taking her place. Luca chuckled, and Jude swivelled, finding him grinning.

“You have expensive tastes, my friend.”

Jude’s gaze moved back to the crowd but Indigo was gone, the front door swinging.

“How do you know her?” Jude asked. The realization was there, just at the edge of his consciousness, but he didn’t want to know the truth.

“Oh I’ve known Indigo since she was just a pickpocket ,” Luca explained. “In those days I was still working my way up the ladder, doing odd jobs. Making my mark.” He snorted with laughter. “She stole my wallet at a rave. I caught her, of course, but when I saw her face, it seemed a pity to let that…” he nodded toward the closed door, “…go to waste.”

“A waste,” Jude repeated, memories of The Vault, and how she’d refused to come in, intruding.

“Indigo’s a tricky one,” Luca said wryly. “A goddess in bed, but you can’t hold on too tight. I’ve been trying to catch up with her for months.”

Jude opened his mouth, and closed it again, the room spinning. Everything made perfect sense. One part of him was horrified, the other still reeling with the discovery.

Luca put a heavy hand on his shoulder.

“You should consider yourself lucky to have her attention at all,” he said, tone changing. “But your luck can always change.” His fingers tightened, and Jude winced. “King wants the file on the commissioner. I’ll be coming to get it from you in…” he checked his watch, “…twenty-three and half hours.” Luca stood up from the booth, straightening his jacket, and smirking. “Have something for me then, or you’ll wish you did.”

“I will,” Jude said in a strangled voice.

Jude waited until Luca left, then reached into his pocket, dropping a hundred on the table and standing. He headed out onto the street, aiming for the subway station.

He had to find Indigo.

: : : : : : : : : :

The night was frigid, an arctic gloom settling down on the city. Out of O’Reilly’s, Indigo sprinted up the street, lungs aching with cold. She was shaking in horror, her mind trapped three years before. A car drove by, and she jerked in surprise. Like a nightmare, the old feeling was back: the one where she was trapped. She had believed that school and a respectable job would take her out of it, but she was wrong.

“F*ck you, Jude!” she gasped, eyes burning with unshed tears.

Another car passed, and Indigo moved to the far edge of the sidewalk, eyes flitting from one end of the road to the other. The subway station was up ahead, but she changed her mind at the last minute, veering off onto the side-streets instead. A new layer of snow was falling, painting the scene white. On the blank page, images appeared, pulling her back into the past...

Rocco Cerritos had been a prince in the mafia underworld: His pedigree linked him to families that controlled all aspects of illegal commerce along the Eastern seaboard and his marriage to Tyrone “King” Fischer’s sister, Sonia, was as much a medieval alliance of two feuding families as a love match. For Indigo, he’d been just another friend who Luca had introduced her to. Another dick to service.

“Mr. Cerritos is in town for a few days,” Luca’d said as he helped her into Rocco’s chauffeured car. “I want him to have a good time tonight, Indigo.” He’d winked. “I know you’ll make me proud.”

At the time, Indigo hadn’t known what that would mean, but she’d learned fast.

Cerritos had had a penchant for pain. He’d liked to wield power – both over those he worked with and those he f*cked – and Indigo had learned that denying him only made it worse. She’d had a broken lip the first time she’d come to work after a night with him. A black eye the second.

“It won’t get better until you get out,” Shireese had warned her. “I know that from experience.”

“Get out, where?” Indigo had retorted. “Got no place to go!”

Indigo hadn’t seen a way. It wasn’t bad enough… yet.

Indigo hadn’t seen Rocco for a few months. He’d worked different circles than King did, whereas Indigo’s trade revolved around Luca and his friends. She laughed and talked, and escorted men to fancy dinners. She played a hundred parts, tailoring them to her patron like the actress she was. She and Shireese talked of other places and other lives, the two of them hatching a pipe-dream of escape. She’d never actually expected she’d need it.

And then Rocco had returned.

He’d been in a foul mood that particular night. Rumour amongst Luca’s friends had been that Rocco and King had fought over a lucrative drug deal involving the import of hashish. By the time the two of them had arrived at The Vault, both Rocco and King were spoiling for a fight. Indigo’d been working the floor when they’d come in, and she’d cringed as Luca nodded toward her. But a job was a job, and for a girl with her background – and her looks – there was one particular line of work.

It’d started the way it always did: suggestive talk, and open flirtation, but partway through her shift, Rocco had become rough and obnoxious. He’d slapped her when she’d brought him his drink too slowly, then laughed when she’d backed away from him. When he’d invited her to join him in his car, she’d declined. Furious and drunk, Rocco’d begun raging. Indigo had retreated into the back room, refusing to come out.

King had followed.

You didn’t say no to the King: every girl on the floor knew it. But Indigo had. He’d been incensed, punching her hard enough to bloody her nose. When she’d come back out, coat over her arm, she’d held her head high, but terror was in her heart. Luca’d caught her eye and held it.

Luca she’d trusted. But even he couldn’t help her.

Rocco had taken her back to his apartment – the one he kept in the city, separate from his wife and children – and had ordered her to undress. Indigo had dallied, earning a punch to the jaw. She’d already been bleeding at that point, and long after the night was over, she remembered how Rocco had stretched his fingers afterward, laughing.

“Now the gloves come off,” he’d sneered.

“Don’t touch me!”

“Everything OFF!” he’d roared, spittle splattering his chin. “Do it NOW!”

She had taken several steps toward the door, heart pounding, but he’d lunged. Rocco had caught her around the waist, the two of them going down hard. Indigo knew the second she started fighting back she was going to regret it, but it wasn’t even a choice. She wouldn’t go down without a fight.

Indigo remembered him tying her up. She remembered his fists, but she refused to remember beyond that point. When she’d awoken, she was in a hospital room filled with pink roses, a card for ‘the prettiest flower of them all’ on the table beside her. It had been signed: Love Rocco.

She’d sworn it’d never happen again.

The last time she’d seen Rocco Cerritos was three weeks later. It was one of her first shifts back on the floor – concealer only hid so much, after all – and she was feeling rusty and off her game. When Rocco and King had walked in together, she’d felt her world begin to crumble. She’d taken it once, but no one would do that to her again.

She’d die first.

Indigo had walked into the back room, signed off her shift without permission – grounds for immediate dismissal – and had gone back to the apartment she now shared with Shireese. An hour later, Luca had called.

“I’ve got a couple guys coming over tonight, baby. Think you could stop by and visit?”

Inidigo’d had a moment’s hesitation, but she’d pushed it aside. If she lost her job, one more night’s pay would make a difference.

“For you, Luca?” she’d purred. “Anything.”

“Great! I’ll be waiting.” In the background, she could hear another man laughing.

She’d headed over to Luca’s apartment in a cab. She remembered now how the doorman hadn’t been on that night, and it’d struck her as strange. She’d buzzed, and Luca’d answered, letting her in. Again, she hadn’t thought it odd until afterward.

She’d knocked twice on the door. She could hear music inside, but no voices, and that’d seemed strange too. Luca had opened the door, ushering her in.

Two things had struck her at once: first, that the room smelled awful – sweat and blood and human feces – and that Rocco Cerritos was tied to a chair in the centre of the room, his face a bloody pulp.

“Oh Jesus!” Indigo’d yelped, stumbling backward in her haste.

Luca’d already closed and locked the door. He’d turned to her, smiling. The sight of that amidst the horror had shocked her into silence.

“Oh no, baby,” Luca’d whispered. “This one is for you.”

He’d taken Indigo by the wrist, dragging her forward until she’d stood before Rocco. He’d been tied to a wooden chair and he’d stared at her with the inhuman rage of a trapped animal. His chest had been cut to ribbons, the floor under him protected by a tarp. She’d turned away from the sight, stomach roiling, but Luca had forced her to look. He’d held a blade in his free hand and he wiped it on the side of his pantleg. He’d had his ‘game face’ on; the one he used when King sent him to check up on people.

That night, he, more than Rocco, terrified her.

“I want you to remember this, baby,” Luca’d growled. “I take care of what’s mine.” He’d put the blade along the edge of Rocco’s cheek and Rocco’d begun to thrash, a trail of blood like the line of a marker appearing underneath.

“No, don’t!” Indigo’d gasped. “Please, Luca! You can’t!”

“Yes,” he’d barked, “I can and I will! First, you’re gonna watch, and then you’re gonna help me clean it up.”

Shaking, Indigo stumbled into the darkened alcove of a doorway, her mind awash with crimson. That night had marked the end of one part of her life; breaking it into before and after. Changing her forever. She’d returned to The Vault, but she’d started saving her money, her mind on the future. No more parties and drugs. No more efforts to forget. She had a goal! A random meeting with Cal Woodrow, months later, had given her the idea of attending the City University of New York, and her life had changed again. With her acceptance letter in hand, she’d made the final break with the club, starting over.

Until tonight.

Hand against the rough brick, Indigo took slow breaths, single moments flickering like damaged film. The bloodied body, limp and heavy… the coppery tang of blood… the two suitcases Luca had brought into the room… Indigo vomiting over and over again, Luca’s hand gentle on her back, Indigo’s skin crawling with the memory of what he’d done… She forced herself to breathe, chest heaving. She blinked until her eyes refocused, the past back where it belonged.

Indigo wiped her face and cleared her throat, cautiously looking up and down the street before stepping out of the doorway. She trudged through the snow on weak legs, her eyes on the sidewalk ahead. More snow was falling, haloes of it around the streetlamps. Her phone buzzed as a text appeared.

I went to the subway station, but must have missed you. Where are you? We need to talk. PLEASE!

She dropped the phone in her pocket, and started running. Around her, the flakes came down faster and faster. The cold settled into her chest, the sensation spreading until her whole body was numb. Her phone rang, a call this time, not a text. She turned it off.

It didn’t matter what she felt for Jude Alden. Sometimes you just had to be smart, and cut your losses.

: : : : : : : : : :

Unable to get hold of Indigo, Jude had spent the night hacking, finally breaking through the barriers just before dawn when someone in Fran’s house – one of her teenage sons, most likely – had gone onto an unsecured gaming site. Jude piggy-backed his way into the computer, downloading everything he could find. He worked frantically, the concern over what he was doing masked by dread.

Time was running out!

When Luca showed up the next day, Jude gave him a mish-mash of random items: bank statements, family photos, and personal information. For the first time, the report he’d submitted was a mess, but he didn’t care. This was going to be the last time he’d work for King.

“I knew you could do it,” Luca said cheerfully. “Mr. Fischer will be happy to see this, but I’m sure he’ll let you know that himself.”

Jude felt his stomach drop, his exit plan slipping out of sight.

He needed to talk to Indigo, but she wouldn’t take his calls. On Monday, he came by her film class. “F*ck YOU!” she screamed. “We are DONE!” And slammed the classroom door in his face. Tuesday he did the same thing, carrying two coffees, but she stormed away on him instead. Wednesday, one of the doughy campus security guards was waiting outside the computer lab door. Jude recognized him on sight.

“Hey Allen, what’s up?”

“Um, sorry, man, but one of the students said you were harassing her.” Allen said nervously. “Professor Yamamoto told me to ask you to leave if you showed up again.”

Jude went to the apartment that evening, but Shireese was waiting. Her threat was the real police, and that’s when Jude decided he’d give Indigo a few days to cool down.

Saturday, he’d try again.

: : : : : : : : : :

Early Saturday morning, Indigo came out of the apartment, taking her first steps into the bitter chill. The winter weather had been a perfect match for her emotions lately: the terror of Luca’s return freezing her heart until she was numb through. The temperature had dropped overnight, and a heavy layer of hoar frost covered each branch on the trees. Indigo pulled out the video camera and tripod from her backpack, taking a long shot of the scene. She crossed the road, setting up across from the apartment so she could take a slow pan from one end of the street where a line of busses sat lined up, all the way to the coffeehouse where the first customers were getting their morning jolt.

A single figure was standing outside the café, two coffees in hand.

She jerked her head up away from the viewfinder, scrambling to unhook the foot from the base of the tripod. Jude walked up the street, watching as she struggled to disassemble the camera.

“Hey, Indigo.”

She didn’t answer, just threw the items into her backpack, and started walking toward the subway station.

“Look, I um, I was wondering if we could talk,” he said, pacing her as she strode away.

“I’ve got nothing to say to you!” she hissed.

“I get that,” Jude said, following. “But I’ve got things I need to say to you. Could you just slow down a sec?”

She spun on her heel, and the coffee sloshed over the spouts of the paper cups, splattering his jacket and the ground.

“There is nothing you could say that would change anything that happened!” she roared. Her face was blotchy with the cold, bright patches of pink on her cheeks and nose. “I finally got my life together, and I am not f*cking it up again!”

She stormed away.

“Wait!” Jude shouted, running after her. “Indigo, just WAIT! I’m sorry!”

Halfway to the subway station she turned back. She was crying.

“I don’t care!” she screamed. “It’s too f*cking late now!”

Jude tossed the coffee to the gutter, staining the snow brown, and chased after her. Indigo was at the subway, sliding her card across the turnstile when he reached her side.

“Just wait,” he pleaded, putting a hand on her arm, “I can explain. I really can!”

She shrugged his fingers away, stomping toward the platform as Jude scrambled to find change for a ticket. The train had arrived by the time he made it to the platform. His eyes skipped from dark-haired woman to dark-haired woman in desperation, finally catching sight of her near the end of the train. He sprinted, making it through the door just as it began to close.

Indigo sat against the window, earbuds in ears. The only other people in the car were an old lady in a parka and a couple of teenage girls, giggling over a magazine.

“Hey,” Jude panted, sitting down on the seat next to Indigo.

She glared but didn’t answer.

“I… I know I was wrong. And I’m sorry, but if you’ll just listen, I can explain.”

Indigo lifted her mp3 player, turning up the volume until Jude could hear it himself. The heavy beat of Slayer began to rise in a tinny cacophony.

“So we’re not talking,” Jude said quietly. “Alright then.”

On the seat across from them, the elderly woman chuckled. With a heavy sigh, Jude slumped lower in the seat, the train speeding into the darkness.

: : : : : : : : :

Gina Cerritos stood before the desk, paper in hand, squinting at the silhouette of King across from her. The early morning light from the windows in front of her was less kind to the circles under her eyes than she would have wished, but he’d chided her for dallying last time. Today King would have no such complaint.

“Officer Brodie got another call this morning,” she said, laying the paper on the desk. “Another tip about your wayward programmer, Jude Alden.”

The black shadow moved, reaching out and fingering the paper.

“Saying what exactly?”

“Nothing in particular,” she answered, folding her arms over her chest, “other than the caller was certain Jude was up to something. That was it.”

King swore, and Gina fought down the urge to smirk. King was quick to take offense, and she had no intention of putting herself on his radar. Things were still tenuous between them.

“Who called it in?” King growled.

Gina’s mouth twitched. It was wrong to feel good about this, but she couldn’t help it.

“Brodie couldn’t trace it,” she said lightly.

“What?!?” The single word dripped acid.

“The call was too short,” Gina explained, dropping her hands to her side. “Whoever called in was smart. He knew what he was doing.” She paused. “When I heard that,” she said smugly. “It made me wonder...”

“Wonder what?”

Gina stepped forward, the first hint of a smile ghosting over her lips. This close she could see King’s face; his nose was flared, dark eyes flinty.

“Seems like it might’ve been someone from the inside.”

King’s chin jerked up, as if on a string. He turned to the side, putting himself in profile, features chiselled by light.

“Patel!” he barked.

Patel moved closer, and Gina’s eyes narrowed. She hated Patel more than she hated the others. He wasn’t just a thug, he was smart. The man unnerved her, the way he watched and followed.

“What’s the word?” King asked.

“The word, sir?”

“On the street,” he sneered. “You always hear it first. What’re people saying out there?”

Patel looked directly at Gina before leaning into King. She held her breath, desperate to hear. “There’s a power struggle,” Patel whispered. “Someone’s getting ready to move on you.”

Gina released her breath, heart pounding. So the rumor was true!

“Who?!” King snapped, and Gina cringed.

Patel leaned closer, his hand cupping his mouth, words fading in and out. “…just talking… different families… an old grudge… waiting for you to react.” King’s gaze swung back up, his attention on Gina, and she took another step backward. Like this, his face was in shadow again, but she knew what she’d see if she could: hatred and distrust.

“Stop!” King growled. “I’ve heard enough!”

Patel nodded, leaving King’s side. For a long moment, no one in the room spoke. Gina wished she’d waited longer before calling this meeting, but it was too late for regrets now. She lifted her chin. A Cerritos didn’t cower. Rocco never had, and neither would she.

“This discussion is over,” King announced. “Gina. You find out who sent that message, or I’ll hold you personally responsible.”

“But I—”

“Personally responsible!” he bellowed.

“Yes, sir.”

She turned, walking out of the room on stiff legs. King waited for the door to close behind her before he spoke again.

“Jude Alden is starting to cause me more trouble than he’s worth,” King muttered. He glanced over at Luca. “We’ve got someone watching him?”

Luca smiled.

“Marq Lopez is your eyes.”

King nodded.

“Well, tell him to do a better job. I can’t risk any loose ends where Alden’s concerned.”