Abel, p.9
Abel, page 9
“Get a prospect to do it. I’m teaching BJ 101!” I yell back and my wife slaps my ass. I reach our room, dump her on the bed and start unzipping.
“Class is in session.” I’m a lucky fool. She’s crawling up to the edge of the bed when someone knocks at the door.
“You have got to be fucking kidding,” I grumble as I zip back up, head for the door, and make sure Dylan’s decent before opening it.
Cane is standing in full uniform looking stressed as hell.
“Fire at the strip club.” He spits at me and then he’s running off.
“Shit.” I reach for my phone. I text Satan cause I know Pinky is busy but it’s her club.
“What’s wrong?” Dylan asks. I look at her and say “Eat Me is on fire.” She gasps. Can we catch a fucking break?
“That can’t be a coincidence.” She ain’t wrong.
“No way in hell. Cane will figure it out. Remind me again why we didn’t leave for Bora Bora after the chapel?”
The rhetorical question looms in the air as we wait for more information.
16
DORIAN
The prospect I named Tweek because of his mousy behavior and voice is singing like a fucking canary. Guess the name is fitting. It only took me pinching his balls with a clamp before he spilled the whole story. Pussy, how did he get in as a prospect.
According to him, he was approached by a Latin man at a bar in Vegas. The stranger asked him if he wanted to make a cool hundred thousand for getting information about the club, more specifically Dylan and mine's daily routines.
Offered him half upfront and the second after he got into the club. Except he didn’t stop informing on us. After he joined because Abel found tracking devices on his phone and bike.
This twenty-one-year-old bitch of a man was going to die tonight over chump change. Sickening. “Ugh!” I grunt as I swing him away from me. I point at his partner who passed out when he saw the clamp on Tweek’s balls, just hanging there like the limp dick he is. “He in on this too?” He sniffles and shakes his head.
“No, please let me go. I’ll give the money to you. I don’t want it anymore.” He cries. I look at my dad. Is this idiot for real? The old man is losing his touch.
“Where did you find this moron?”
Satan is leaning up against the door jam, reading something on his phone. His ears are red. That ain’t good. My pulse increases. Fuck what happened to cause that reaction from him.
“WHAT!” I shout at him.
He slips his phone into his pocket. Walks across the room, pick up the keys to the chains and a gun. He shoots Tweek in the head and then unlocks the chains on the other fool. He falls to the ground.
“You gotta go. I’ll have Doc meet you at Eat Me. It’s on fire.” Shit, my girls. I grab my phone off the counter. I have five missed calls and twenty text messages.
“I’ll send updates,” I say as I run for my bike.
The scene outside my strip club is beyond words. My girls are in full costumes huddled around each other watching the fire crews work. The back half of the club is engulfed in flames.
“Everyone out and ok?” I ask Billie, my club manager as I rush to take a headcount. I’m looking each girl up and down for injuries. Other than the scared looks, they all seem ok.
“Dorian, I’m so sorry.” She's crying. My head snaps back to her.
Fuck. “Who?” Cause I know we lost someone. Dammit.
“Skye was on stage doing her silk act when the alarms and sprinklers went off. She fell Dor. From about thirty feet up. The way her head hit,” she trails off sobbing.
FUCK, Skye was twenty-two, premed at U of N. No family, she was a foster kid. I see Cane waving me down.
“I’ll be back ladies.” I start walking to Cane.
“Phoenix, can I get my girls out of here?” He nods.
“Yes, we can interview them all later. But Pinky, this was definitely arson. See that glittery green color in the flames? Only a few accelerants I know burn that color and none of them were in your club legally.” He finishes looking me up and down. I’m sure he’s wondering if I can handle more stress.
“I’m putting the girls at the hotel overnight. Come find me over there when you’re done.” I say to him in answer. It’s going to take more than this to break me.
I walk back over to my girls. I need to get them away from the fire to safety.
“Alright girls, I want you all together in one place tonight. Cops and fire marshals will be around in the morning to ask questions. Do we need alibis?” The question is necessary since not all of my girls are completely legal.
Being eighteen is my only requirement. I pay them cash every week because most are trying to escape something. So unless they show up with bruises I don’t ask much about their home life. That shit is personal.
Doc pulls up next to us in the van, hops out with his med bag. I stop him and shake my head. “Load them up, you can check them over at the hotel,” I say while dialing Bear.
He answers on the third ring.
“Hibernation Station, do you need a reservation?” I’m so glad we vetoed his dam jingle.
“Bear, we have a fire roaring at Eat Me. My girls need rooms for the night. Doc’s gonna drive them over now.” I nod to Doc giving him the all-clear to head over.
“How many Pinky?” I take a quick headcount.
“Twelve and the bouncers make fifteen total.”
“I’ll take care of your girls. Kitchen?” He asks thinking it was an accident.
“I fucking wish. See you soon.” I hung up before I have to answer any more questions.
I text dad next.
“Girls en route to the hotel. Phoenix ruled it arson.” I watch the little dots waiting for a reply.
“Copy.” Satan is not a man of many words.
17
ABEL
I’m so far into my work that I didn’t realize that Dylan fell asleep. It’s probably for the best. It’s coming up on 3:00 am and I am nowhere near done. My phone buzzes on the desk. I read the screen, it’s from Pinky.
“Girls at the hotel. Cane ruled it arson. Have you found the connection?” I blow out my breath. She is not going to find my evidence comforting.
“Yes, and you need to see it to believe it.” I type back. “Church at 10 am.” I hit send.
Jesus, it’s only Tuesday morning. I look at my wife, curled up in a ball in bed alone. Has it really only been four days? Friday night feels like it was just a few hours ago. I start rubbing my head, the migraine that I feel coming is going to be a doozy.
I text Doc. “You up?” Setting my phone back down.
I must doze off cause I almost face plant at the soft knock on the door. I glance at Dylan, she’s still snoring. I creep the door open to see Doc with a syringe in his hand.
“How’d you know?” That needle is my salvation from this god-awful pounding in my temples.
He shakes it at me and says, “You only ever call me when you need a Sumatriptan injection. Arm or ass?” I shake my head at him. Regretting it immediately.
“Dam Doc, no dinner first? Your bedside manner needs work.” I say as I lower my pants.
I need both my arms to keep working and that stupid shot makes the arm useless for hours. Dylan chooses that moment to wake up. She clears her throat.
“Got something you boys wanna tell me?”
My wife catching me with my pants down, ass out for another man would be rather funny if my head wasn’t ready to explode.
Her eyebrow is up but she’s biting her lip to stop from laughing. “Your husband can handle me, no worries.” Doc deadpans. Making me chuckle despite the pain it causes me.
“Fuck how about I don’t want to. Your sexual appetites are unreal Doc.” I swear he jabs that needle in my ass harder than necessary. I will definitely have a bruise, the asshole.
“OUCH!” I look at him like he’s lost his damn mind.
“Price of a 3:30 am house call. Later.” He waves at Dylan on his way out our door. My payback for this will be epic, I vow to myself rubbing the injection spot before pulling up my sleep pants.
My dear wife is pouting at me “Migraine?”
She’s trying to climb out of bed to help me. I try to stop her with a hand up but she gets out and starts for the other side of the room.
“Just started.” I get into the bed she just vacated and watch her move about our room.
This all seems reversed. She’s shutting off the computer monitors, lowering the phone ringers. Heading into the closet next, she spends a few minutes in there before coming out. Bless her she’s holding my gel eye mask and noise-canceling earplugs.
“I need to hear the alerts.” I wish I could tune out but we have way too much going on.
“I’ll check them and wake you if it’s urgent ONLY. No fighting. The sooner you get to sleep the better you’ll feel to handle whatever is coming.” Can’t argue her logic so I accept the earplugs too and she kisses my head lightly.
“I'll get the ice packs. Close your eyes.” This woman is a god sent I’m thinking as I put on the eye mask and earplugs.
I wake with a start. My eyes won’t open. Shit am I dead?
“Calm down you freak.” I barely heard that.
Suddenly I hear crystal clear. My wife’s soft laughter and then I see her beautiful face as she takes my mask off. She’s holding my earplugs out in front of me as a reminder. Fuck sensory deprivation is a bitch.
“You ok now?” Dylan asks as she smooths my hair off my face softly.
I nod. “What time is it?” My head feels a lot clearer.
She looks at her phone, “Just after 8:00 am.”
Well, my head is only slightly throbbing behind my eyes so I should be good by the time church starts.
“Any notifications come up?” She hands me my phone and computer.
“None that couldn’t wait. I told Cane and dad you were out from the migraine.” I kiss her lips and pull her to me.
“I love you more than anything.” I just hold her for a few seconds because I can’t imagine not having her and taking it for granted just seems wrong.
“Coffee?” Dylan asks me as she gets off the bed and puts on a robe.
“Yes please, and a donut if we have any,” I say already checking my tracking software, video tapes, and text messages.
“Jelly or Boston cream?” She knows I can never decide.
“Yes please.” She chuckles. I have the worst sweet tooth.
“Put your glasses on Abel, don’t make it worse.” She steps out into the hall and closes the door.
I hate my glasses. I’m ok with my nerd status but the glasses are overkill. Can’t stand contacts either. I’m fighting a no-win battle. Computer glare wrecks havoc on my eyesight. I reach over to my nightstand and reach in to grab my glasses. I feel a box and pull it out. Oh shit, how old are these condoms. I don’t even remember buying them. I throw them into the trash and try again. Finally finding my glasses I start working.
Dylan comes back in followed by my haggard-looking brother. She’s carrying a tray with three coffee cups, a carafe of OJ, a bowl of fruit, a plate of danishes, croissants, jams, and donuts. Guess Cane is staying for breakfast. She lays the tray on our bed in front of me, climbs in next to me and we watch Cane pull my office chair over to the end of the bed.
We all start drinking coffee and munching on the food in silence. A few minutes of peace to just enjoy before we go back to all the heavy shit. I hate to start it but someone has to.
“Arson. What did you find?” I ask Cane.
“Boric acid was found all through the site where the fire started. Which was Pinky’s office. I also found what looks to be a few kilos of coke in her safe.”
Cane takes a sip of coffee and reaches for the Boston cream at the same time as me. We stare at each other, about to come to blows over a damn donut. My wife must feel the tension cause she snaps at us.
“For fucks sake Abel. Just eat the jelly.” She smacks my hand away and Cane snatches it.
“Who invited your ass anyway,” I grumble as I grab the jelly. Dylan is shaking her head at me. I grin at her with powder all over my lips and jelly in my teeth.
“You're going to be the best mom. You’ve got so much practice with us.” I chuckle as she just snorts at my antics.
“Well, I have a lead on the assholes that set this up. I need to talk to Pinky to connect the dots though.” I’m going for a danish when the woman in question walks into our room without knocking like I just summoned her.
“How’s your head?” She says as she lays across my wife's lap and grabs a croissant. Dylan starts to play with her pink hair absently. I’m jealous of my sister-in-law. I need to get a grip.
I clear my throat. “It’s fine but you may need a shot of whiskey before church starts.”
“Just tell me.” She says, chewing. I look at Cane and he shrugs. I sigh.
“Fine, your new girl Skye. How well did you know her?”
I ask hoping I’m wrong, but knowing I’m not. Pinky drops the croissant she’s eating. Crumbs go all over the bed and Dylan hisses at the mess. Pinky gets off the bed and starts pacing.
I swear the woman is psychic. I can see the wheels turning. It takes her less than two minutes to put it together.
“She was a foster care runaway from Miami. Her parents died on the trip from Cuba. I picked her up off the streets six months ago, hooking in South Beach. She said her parents were carnival performers in Cuba and her mother taught her the silks. Billie said she fell last night and thought she died. You didn’t find a body did you?” She looks at Cane now.
“No, but I did find evidence to make it look like you were making and selling cocaine out the back door of your club. Luckily that will never see the light of day.” Cane says, rubbing his neck.
“Fucking pricks don’t have all our connections but have enough to try to bury me. All leads come back to me don’t they?” She looks at me now and I nod.
“I’m gonna go get that whiskey now.” She says as she leaves the room. Dylan is staring out the open door her sister didn’t bother to close.
“Dy, love go grab a shower and get dressed.” She nods and goes into the bathroom. I look at Cane.
“Where’s the coke now?” It needs to be disposed of.
“In Satan’s office. Along with a couple of grand, I hope is hers and not planted too.” He shrugs, gets off the bed, and leaves, closing the door.
My laptop chimes and I click on my facial recognition program and just stare at the face on my screen. I hate when I’m right.
I check the date and time just to make sure. Whoever is fucking with Pinky is in for a world of hurt. I need to find the head of this snake quickly because she can’t kill the dead again. Fuck who’s going to tell her.
“Not it,” I whisper to the room.
18
DORIAN
I’m pacing around the table making myself dizzy. Whiskey on an empty stomach wasn’t smart. I finally sit when the guys start coming in. Dylan sits next to me without argument from her husband. Must be worse than I thought. He's letting her comfort me instead of stealing her away. Greedy bastard.
Satan walks in, kisses both of us on the heads, and takes his seat. He leans forward and staples his fingers in front of him. Rubbing his lips back and forth. It’s such a familiar posture for him. It’s his concentration pose. All eyes are now on Abel. He’s wearing those damn rectangle glasses making him look like a college professor douche bag.
He pushes a button on the remote he’s holding. The lights dim and a white screen drops from the ceiling. More clicks and we’re looking at the back of my burnt club.
“I’m still piecing together the timeline but here’s what I’m one hundred percent clear on. The fire started in Pinky’s office at 1:45 am.”
He clicks and the picture changes to show a video of Skye setting the fire in a trash can. He pauses the video. That fucking bitch. I saved her from the streets, helped her get her apartment and stuff for school. She always seemed so grateful. It doesn’t make any sense.
“Pinky gave me Skye’s backstory but I found this about an hour ago.” The screen changes to a picture of Skye in a Cuban military uniform.
“THE FUCK!” I yell. I’m fuming. She was nothing more than a cunt in sheep's clothing. I’m going to be vicious when I get my blades on her.
“Pinky. Shit, this is just starting to unravel.” Abel looks so sorry to have to show this to me. I nod, sitting back down. I don’t even remember standing. Dylan grabs my hand. She squeezes two times. It’s our way of saying love ya, I’m here without words. I take a deep breath.
“Continue.”
“Skye aka Marisol Santos was a Cuban national recruited into the Cardona cartel two years ago.” He changes screens and there she stands in a beautiful evening gown on the arm of none other than Wilfredo Cardona. My rage skyrockets.
“She started a sexual relationship with Little Willy, doing special work just for him and his uncle about eight months ago.” He’s fucking her! Wait, why am I jealous? I school my face quickly.
“I can track her entrance into the US, her working the streets in Miami, and Pinky recruiting her to perform at Eat Me. What isn’t clear is to what end.” A new picture loads on the screen. It’s her and Matteo outside my fucking club. Timestamp says it was just a week ago.
“I’m guessing she was our mole along with,” he clicks again “dear old Tweek.” I’m looking at a picture of them kissing inside one of the club's private dance rooms. I look at my dad and his eyes move to me then back to the screen. I’m really wishing we could kill that backstabbing weasel twice.
Abel turns off the screen and it raises back up to the ceiling, lights come back on.
“My cameras caught Skye leaving the club out the side door during the evacuation of the club. Her fall was a carefully coordinated act. She’s very much alive.”
