Captive Beauty
“Ben,” I say. “What are you doing here?”
“I didn’t like how we left things.”
I just look at him.
“Can I have a drink?” he asks.
“It’s early for that, isn’t it?”
He’s agitated, on edge. “I just need a drink.”
“Sit down.” I pour him a whiskey and sit across from him. “What are you doing here, Ben?”
He swallows half the whiskey before speaking. “I want you to know I’m loyal to you. We’re family.”
I sit and silently wait.
“What my father did, it was wrong. Didn’t feel right I brought that up the other night. Ginny was a good friend to me.”
I nod my head. He’s the last person I want to talk about this with, but he’s right. He and Ginny were friends and her death impacted him badly. It’s one of the reasons I’ve always felt a responsibility to him.
“You came here to tell me that?”
“No, there’s something else. I need your help.”
Ah. “What now?”
“I’m in trouble, Kill. Real trouble.”
“What was it, two months since you were last in real trouble?”
“It’s worse this time. For real.”
“M-hm.”
“I owe money.”
“Same trouble, different day.”
He sighs. Grits his teeth.
“Is that why you put Jones up to stealing that bag of coke from me?”
“I wasn’t stealing from you. It’s Benedetti’s coke.”
“You know I almost broke both his arms and legs for it, right? Yet you walk away scot-free.”
“But you didn’t,” Ben says, surprising me with his seemingly sudden sobriety. His rage. His knowledge.
“Watch your tone.”
He takes a deep breath, drinks more of the whiskey.
“How much do you owe?”
“Twenty-grand.”
“Hefty sum,” I say, eyebrows raised.
He drinks some more.
“To whom do you owe twenty-thousand-dollars?”
Here he hesitates and I have a feeling I’m not going to like his answer.
“Who, Ben?”
“Arturo Antonino.”
He has the grace to hang his head. I stand up, shaking my head as I look at the top of his. “I can’t help you this time, cousin, but I think you already knew that.”
“What?”
“You heard me.”
“Why not?”
I go to him, push my finger into his forehead, poke him while I speak to make my point. “Because he’s Benedetti’s enemy which means he’s my enemy. I’m not putting twenty-grand into his pocket. I’m not fucking stupid.”
“You don’t understand, he’ll fucking kill me!”
“He won’t kill you but he will beat you and maybe you’ll learn something.” I check my watch. “What the fuck are you doing borrowing from him anyway?”
“I didn’t borrow it. I was at a poker game—”
“Why am I not surprised?” I check my watch. I want him gone. “I have a meeting in a few minutes, Ben.”
I hear the shower go on just then. Cilla. Ben glances down the hall, then looks at me, eyebrows raised.
“Your meeting having a shower?”
I don’t want him to know about Cilla. “Yeah. She is. And she’ll get anxious if I don’t get in there.”
“Girl from last night? Jones’s sister, right?”
How the fuck does he know? “Time to go, Ben.” I push the button to open the elevator doors. He glances down the hall again, looks like he wants to say something, but shakes his head and steps onto the elevator.
“Enjoy your meeting,” he says, handing me the empty cup and putting the word meeting in air quotes.
I don’t respond, but watch him until the elevator doors close. This conversation isn’t over, I know, but right now I have another priority. I walk to the guest room where the shower has switched off. I knock before entering. Cilla’s there in the same bathrobe combing her fingers through her hair.
“What do you want?” She folds her arms across her chest.
“You ready to go pick up some clothes?”
She watches me. “From my apartment?”
I nod.
She nods too, like she’s scared to talk and fuck it up.
“I’ll take you to see Jones after that.”
“Why?”
“Because you asked me.”
“So you suddenly decide to be nice to me?”
“I guess so.”
“I asked you for something else too.”
“And I asked you to tell me why. I can’t agree until I know the whole story.” I take a step toward her. “I’ll find out anyway, Cilla. I’ve got a man in Florida who’s about to meet with the judge.” Slight exaggeration, but close enough to truth.
“You what?” Panic widens her jade eyes.
“It might be best if you tell me yourself,” I say.
The way she looks at me, it’s like she’s trying to figure out if I’m bluffing. “Just leave it alone,” she says, clearly deciding to take her chances. “Please.”
“No.”
Cilla’s apartment is in a building about thirty minutes from mine. It’s in a decent neighborhood. Not one I’d live in, but not bad. I follow her up the stairs to the second floor. When we reach her door, she stops and turns to me.
“I don’t have my key.”
I take it out of my pocket and hand it to her.
She rolls her eyes. “Of course.” She slides it into the lock and turns it. “Do you have my wallet too? My driver’s license? Credit cards?”