Otherwise Occupied

  “No, sir,” I responded. I hoped the tension I felt in my body wasn’t outwardly visible. I didn’t think it was – I tended to stand up pretty straight anyway. I didn’t miss Rinaldo’s jab – the reason I had been sent into temporary exile months ago had to do with putting someone down with my Beretta. Like Nick bringing it up wasn’t bad enough.

  I had never heard of James Carson prior to killing him, but he was apparently pretty important to his cousin, Miss Fiona Carson. When the wife wasn’t around, Fiona happened to be sleeping with Gavino Greco, my boss’s primary competition. Her cousin had been a witness to an assassination where Rinaldo had ordered the hit, and I had made it happen. I hadn’t known who the guy was; I only knew he had been behind the dumpster when I killed Robert Franco, the idiot who dared dip into Rinaldo’s casino profits.

  I thought I had cleaned up the scene, but it was a bigger mess than a witness, according to Rinaldo.

  “I’ll take care of it for ya, boss,” Terry piped up. “I took care of plenty for ya while he was on vacation.”

  Vacation.

  Asshole.

  I was sorely tempted to show him just how accurate I was with a shorter-ranged firearm.

  “That you did, Kramer,” Rinaldo said with a nod. “That you did.”

  I stood there and watched the exchange in silence. Showing any kind of annoyance at this point wasn’t going to get me very far. Rinaldo Moretti was watching me and watching me closely. I wasn’t going to let that stupid little shit Terry get to me.

  “So this one’s mine,” Terry said with a big, toothy grin on his face.

  Rinaldo cocked a half smile at the kid, who beamed back.

  Idiot.

  Nothing good ever came of that smile.

  “Not this time,” Moretti said. “I need Mister Arden for this one.”

  “I’m just as good as him,” Terry hissed back. He started to say something else when Mario placed a hand on his shoulder, effectively silencing him.

  I tried not to smile as the boss turned back to me.

  “The fact is,” Rinaldo continued, “he knows I’m gunning for him. Anyone who knows I’m gunning for them knows they can’t walk out into daylight, or they’re gonna have a bullet in their brains. Now I have you to thank for that, and I’m grateful, but don’t give me a line of bullshit. Let’s be perfectly clear, now – you are familiar with other firearms, are you not?”

  “Yes, sir, I am.”

  “This needs to be done quick, easy, and quiet,” he continued. “This isn’t your usual where you don’t give a fuck who sees you, Arden. Nothing can lead back to my organization. You got me?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Now you go collect your short-range, in-your-face weapon of choice and kill that motherfucker.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Everyone was dismissed from the office except for Nick and Mario. I tried to get the fuck out of the building before Terry could catch up with me, but it didn’t work out that way. I maneuvered to get a bit ahead of Jonathan to put some pace between me and Terry, but Jonathan was a quick walker.

  “You want me to help ya scope him out?” Terry asked as he ran up beside me. He reminded me of those hyper little terrier dogs, and I kind of wanted to kick him.

  “No,” I replied. I knew exactly where that would end – the little fuck would either get in the way and screw it all up or take the actor guy out himself. Though it would ultimately piss off Rinaldo because it wasn’t Terry’s assignment, credit was credit.

  Actually, he’d probably try to take me out first. The credit would be a lot higher then. Not only would he have eliminated the target, but he would have done it when I couldn’t. Just taking me out would give him a reputation that wouldn’t be easily matched.

  “What the fuck is wrong with you, Arden?” he yapped.

  “You’re annoying,” I replied.

  “And you’re an asshole!”

  “Whatever.” I passed Jonathan and shoved the door that led into the stairwell and began clomping down the stairs. As much as I wished Terry would stay where he was, I heard two sets of footsteps behind me.

  “You think you can treat everyone like shit,” Terry babbled.

  “Just some,” I countered.

  “You think you’re better than everyone else,” he continued, “just ‘cause you were all military hero and shit.”

  “Not a hero,” I muttered under my breath. I quickened my pace as Jonathan moved in a little closer behind me – separating me from the little shit trip-trapping down the stairs in my wake.

  “Like it takes a hero to get himself captured.”

  I stopped in my tracks, just at the bottom of the second landing. Jonathan had to veer to the side to keep from running into me. I turned slowly, my narrowed eyes finding the smirking little fucker standing just a few steps above me.

  “Crack in that armor, hey Arden?”

  “You shouldn’t speak shit you know nothing about,” I said. My hands were shaking a little but not enough that anyone would notice except for me. “Mention it again, and maybe I’ll go dig a hole and show you what it was like.”

  Turning on my heel, I quickened my pace down the rest of the stairs.

  “Fuck you!” Terry called out as I clomped down the steps and out the back door with Jonathan still beside me. The heavy metal door slammed with a bang.

  “You all right, brotha?” Jonathan asked as we walked across the parking lot to his white F150 Ford Pickup.

  “I’m good,” I replied. “Why?”

  He furrowed his brow a bit, looked back towards the closed door, and then shrugged. He knew me pretty well and knew when to change the subject.

  “Because since you got back, you’ve been a little off,” he finally said as he pulled a pack of Marlboro’s out of his shirt pocket and fished out a cigarette. He shoved it between his lips as he hunted around in his pants pocket for a lighter. “You were gone a while.”

  I just shrugged as I climbed into the passenger seat. Jonathan tossed his Luke Skywalker style hair out of his eyes as he maneuvered himself into the driver’s side.

  “I think that would drive me nuts,” he said, “sitting in some piece of shit cabin for half a year by myself.”

  “It was just a little over three months,” I corrected. “Not a half year. It wasn’t that bad, and I had Odin with me.”

  “Still…” He whistled low and shook his head. “Three months without pussy would suck balls.”

  I glanced sideways at him and raised my eyes at his choice of words.

  “Just sayin’ it would suck,” he said with a shrug. He turned the key and rolled down his window to blow smoke back past his shoulder. Reaching forward, he fiddled around with the radio controls until he tuned it to a classic rock station.

  “Well, you know me,” I said, “I always find a way to get shit done.”

  “You got blisters on your hand?” he snickered as he put the truck into reverse.

  “Nope.” The corners of my mouth turned up a bit as visions of that long, dark hair spread over the creamy skin of Lia Antonio’s back filled my head. I could almost feel her pussy gripping my cock as I thought about it.

  Jonathan blew smoke out the open window, shoved the gear shift back into park, and turned to look at me.

  “No way,” he exclaimed.

  “What?” I asked.

  “You were out in the middle of fucking nowhere and you still got laid?”

  I smirked.

  “Now that’s custom!”

  Jonathan had worked in an auto shop prior to his first stint in prison for dealing. He specialized in tricking out people’s cars with all kinds of shit, so anything remotely out of the ordinary was always “custom.” It was mostly his code word for anything he thought was worthy of his admiration.

  “I need some deets, brotha!”

  I rolled my eyes.

  “You that interested in what my cock does?” I asked.

  “I just don’t understand how you manage to get pus
sy to fall into your lap no matter where you go.”

  “It’s a gift,” I replied.

  Jonathan shoved the truck back into gear and started backing out.

  “So who was she?” he asked.

  “Just some chick lost in the desert,” I told him. “Her boyfriend, or whatever, was an asshole and dropped her off on the road when they were fighting. She didn’t have anywhere to go and it was getting late, so she spent the night riding my cock. That’s it.”

  “Custom.”

  “Worked for me.” I leaned back and let the smoke from his cigarette waft around me. I didn’t indulge anymore myself, but I liked getting some second-hand every once in a while. As much as Jon lit up, I probably smoked a couple cigarettes worth any given hour I was with him.

  “How was she?”

  “Fucking fine!” I responded.

  We both had a good laugh until Def Leppard started playing, and Jonathan quickly turned up the volume and started air jammin’ at red lights. I stared out the window at the line of people waiting for Garrett’s Popcorn and tried not to let thoughts of Lia invade my head too much. If I did, I’d start regretting shit, and I tried not to do that.

  Jon followed me up to my apartment, and we immediately started researching Brad Ashton. There was so much shit on him, it was hard to separate the real stuff from the gossipy crap, but we started with the basics.

  He was twenty-nine years old, born in Australia, six feet tall, blond hair, and grey eyes. Though he made himself famous with action films, he had his start in the porn industry, and I had to admit some of the footage made me feel a little uncomfortable.

  Maybe it was because Jon was watching it with me.

  “Do you really have to play more of that?” I asked as he flipped from a scene with one pair of writhing bodies on a bed to a video with two pairs.

  “It’s pretty good,” Jonathan said. “Might have to download a full copy of this one.”

  I shook my head a little, but my mind was wondering about the possibility of Bridgett spending the night again. I must not have hated the porn too much. I was going to have to take a little trip later.

  I’m going to kill a guy I’ve watched fuck two sorority chicks and a frat boy.

  Shaking my head again didn’t seem to completely rid my mind of the thought, so I headed to the kitchen and popped open a couple of beers.

  “Here’s his schedule of appearances,” Jon said as he yanked a piece of paper from my printer. “He’ll be here in the city three times between now and February.”

  “Not gonna kill him here,” I said. I silently berated myself for saying gonna. The nuns would have smacked my mouth for such abuse of the English language. I blamed Jonathan’s influence. The “Midwest meets southern twang” of his was addictive. “I think away from here will be better. There are ties to Rinaldo with anything done in Chicago, and I want nothing to look suspicious. Where else is he going to be?”

  We went over all the various options and finally decided Atlanta was the place. He’d be there the first week of January, and that was when he was going to die.

  Jonathan headed out, and I fed Odin and tossed his rubber bone around for a while. He actually got tired of the game before I did, which reminded me that he wasn’t a young pup anymore. He’d be nine in the spring, which was getting up there for a good-sized dog like him.

  I rubbed my eyes; it was getting late, and I was tired. After I tossed the beer bottles in the recycling bin and drank one of those protein shakes, I headed off to bed. Odin followed, whining slightly. I gave his head a rub, but he just kept looking at me.

  I peeled off my shirt, dropped my jeans, and tossed all of it into the hamper next to the dresser. My watch and keys went in one of those little ceramic bowls for such things, which made them clang against the set of dog tags on a chain coiled up at the bottom of the dish. With a heavy sigh, I lay down in the bed and stared at the ceiling until my eyes couldn’t stay open any longer.

  On my stomach…unable to bring my knees to my chest to try and right myself. There’s something cutting into my wrists – wire or those plastic ties – I’m not sure which. It’s pitch black, and I can’t even hear anything around me. The sand below me is cold, and I think I might be underground.

  Minutes. Hours. Days.

  I can’t tell the difference. I try to swallow, but I don’t even have enough saliva left to do that. I’m going to die of dehydration, and I wonder if it’s a blessing.

  Footsteps. Loud voices speaking in Arabic. I can’t make out enough of the words to make any sense of it. I hear and feel a presence beside me just before I’m grabbed by the neck and forced into a kneeling position. Water is poured over my face, and my mouth opens to receive it before it can choke me…

  Sweat was pouring into my eyes as I woke with a start. My breath was coming in short, staccato gulps, and my hands were shaking. Odin was there beside the bed, whining slightly. I should have reached down to him, but I couldn’t move.

  Why? Why now? I had barely thought about any of it in over a year.

  I wiped sweat from my forehead before I shuffled over to the bathroom to wash my face. I stared at myself in the mirror and kind of hated what I saw looking back at me. I was pale, and it made my dark blue eyes stand out in my face like I was in shock or something.

  Maybe I was.

  I reached up and rubbed at the back of my hair. It was getting to be kind of long for me, and I decided midnight was as good a time as any to give myself a trim. The clippers were in the linen closet, and within a few minutes I had a haircut that would make any Marine officer proud. It was very short around the sides and the back with just a little more on the top.

  It also seemed to make my dark blond hair look a lot lighter and kind of reminded me of how it would look in the summer when it got all bleached out in the sun and from the chlorine in the community pool. I shaved my face while I was at it, too. I hated having a face full of itchy scruff.

  Odin sneezed behind me, and bits of hair flew up into the air. I brushed some of the hair bits from my shoulders, but I started to itch anyway. Once I cleaned up the mess I made on the floor, I jumped in the shower to get the rest off of my skin.

  I found myself out on the balcony staring across the buildings towards Lake Michigan. I was wide awake, and I knew sleep wasn’t going to come very easily. It was just a bit past one in the morning, and I didn’t have any early morning plans other than some more research and the usual jog with the dog. I thought about ordering a pizza, but all the good places that delivered would be closed.

  Some company would be nice.

  A few minutes later, I was in the Mazda, heading to a particular street corner.

  Her pimp was there, but I didn’t see Bridgett. I had been telling myself the whole way over that I was coming out to get a hooker, not that particular hooker. That didn’t seem to stop me from looking for her as soon as I pulled up.

  “Mister Arden!” the pimp called towards my open window. His collection of ridiculous gold chains hung down, and I tensed a little. If it scratched my car, I’d kill him. “Pleasure seeing you again. You going to become a regular of mine?”

  “Depends,” I said noncommittally. “Where’s Bridgett?”

  “Blowing some dude in the alley,” he replied.

  I nodded as I ignored the creepy feeling the thought and mental image gave me. She was a hooker, for Christ’s sakes. Of course she was blowing a guy in the alley.

  “You wanna wait?” the pimp asked. He took a half step back away from the paint job, which helped me relax a bit. “Maybe you wanna taste of Candy over here?”

  Another slim brunette sauntered over with her hips swaying. She gave me a big smile and a show of tits as she leaned over the car, practically crawling up on the hood. Long legs, nice shape, cute as hell, but she had a totally flat ass.

  Definitely not my type.

  “I can wait a minute,” I replied with a shrug. Candy pouted and licked her lips at me as she backed up onto the sidewa
lk again.

  After about three minutes, Bridgett appeared from the darkness of the alley behind the liquor store. It was getting to be damn cold out, but that didn’t stop her and her coworkers from wearing those skimpy hooker outfits. The cold was making her nipples practically leap right out of her tank top.

  “Bridgett!” the pimp yelled out. “Git yer ass over here!”

  She walked up to him and handed him a wad of cash. He counted it carefully, jammed his finger under her chin, and said something in a voice too low for me to hear. She shook her head quickly in response, and he took a step back and pointed to my car.

  She climbed in and settled into the leather seat.

  “All night?” she asked quietly.

  “That’s how I roll,” I answered.

  She gave the pimp some hand signal, and I drove away from the curb.

  “It’s a little late for a good night’s sleep,” she said.

  “What do you mean?” I turned around and started heading back to my apartment.

  “Last time you didn’t even fuck me,” she reminded me. “We just slept.”

  “You blew me.”

  “You could have gotten that for a lot less cash.”

  “Maybe I’ll make up for it tonight.” I glanced over at her and half grinned.

  We didn’t say much the rest of the trip back to my apartment. Everything was closed, so we didn’t make any detours or anything, either. Odin was waiting by the door when we came in, and she reached out and touched his nose.

  Odin sneezed at her before he walked back to his dog bed and flopped down. I snickered as I headed into the kitchen and got myself a beer. I offered one to Bridgett, but she declined.

  I wondered if she was actually old enough to drink.

  I popped open the bottle and took a long pull from it. Bridgett looked at me, and I was trying hard to figure out her expression. She seemed almost shy, and it wasn’t just her general newness to the oldest profession but something else.

  Her cheeks suddenly darkened in a blush.

  Holy shit.

  You have to be kidding me.

  She had some kind of crush on me, and now that I was paying attention, it was obvious. Take the girl off the streets where she’d been hurt and treat her nice for a few hours, and suddenly you were some kind of goddamned hero.