Desperate to Touch

“Absolve me… please. Please, absolve me of my sins.”

Fear strikes me, witnessing the dire need of this girl. Watching her reality slip to the point where she truly believes I could help her.

“What is my penance?” she asks as her wide eyes beseech me.

“I’m not-” I start to get out. I can barely breathe.

“Please,” she begs me. “How many Hail Marys? He never did anything ever when I told him what that man had done to me. He always did nothing. He sat there. He never did anything but listen. I didn’t know he’d go… I didn’t know he’d die! Please! How many?”

“As many as you need,” I answer her and she shakes her head, releasing my hand to wipe the new tears from under her eyes.

“I keep saying them, but I don’t feel better. Please!” she screams, on the verge of a breakdown, arching her back as she does and I answer, gripping her hand in both of mine.

“Fifteen,” I yell and then swallow, quietly repeating myself as Melody lies back down, calming herself until she’s eerily still. I have no idea how many is a lot or a little or whether she’ll even accept the answer. I’m not Catholic. I’ve never been to confession, although I have plenty to confess.

“Is that all?” she answers sweetly, in a tone not unlike the one she used when she told me the names of the art on the wall. “Fifteen,” she marvels.

Seth

There are at least two hundred bodies in the bar. It’s packed for a Monday night. The Red Room is never quiet though. Never a dull moment. Just like Allure. Long legs barely covered by short skirts, hard bodies clad in tight jeans sway and grind on the dance floor. The bar is dark, but the lights transition with every beat of the vibrant music.

The dark red paisley wallpaper that lines the walls and the black chandeliers hanging from the sixteen-foot-high black ceiling keep the atmosphere sinful and decadent.

Alcohol is a constant and tonight I stand behind the bar, waiting for one person in the hundreds to show. The liquor bottles behind me give plenty of light, even in the half beats of darkness. They’re lit. This entire side is always lit which is why I stay behind the bar, always watching the moves made in the crowded place.

“Did he say when?” Jase asks me, fixing his jacket as he walks behind the bar to join me and the three bartenders.

“Around one.” Walsh left a message on my voicemail. One o’clock tonight in The Red Room. The last time we met, he blackmailed us. Tonight should be a better experience than that.

“Good. An update in a public place. Maybe Walsh has what he wants.” Turning to Jase, I watch the background fade and focus on him. Freshly shaven with his tailored suit, he looks more like a CEO than he does the head of a crime organization. It’s the air around him though and the way others look at him, with a hint of fear, or perhaps jealousy, that give it away. He stands apart from everyone in here. I’ve been doing my best for years to blend in, but right now, I wonder if I stand out the way he does. I wonder if the way he’s perceived now is the way I was perceived years ago in my own club.

“You think he really found Marcus?” I ask Jase, barely breathing the name aloud. Marcus. His gaze meets mine and we share a look. If that list led him to Marcus, Marcus wanted it to happen. We’ve been following his men for months and we still haven’t identified the man in question.

Movement from the corner of my eye catches my attention. Walsh doesn’t blend in like the other men in this club. They all have smirks, smile easily, laughing and enjoying the atmosphere. A few watch the dance floor, taking notes on potential women to pursue. Even the ones who are less than fine, and come for a strong drink after a long day, look like they belong.

Walsh is all business. He’s always all business. Even without his uniform, he looks like a cop. As he takes a seat on the leather-enveloped barstool, a man in the corner of the room stills, the pause at odds with the remainder of the club, grinding recklessly and swaying to the music. That man I know well and I’m damn sure he can tell Walsh is a cop just from the straight rod shoved up Walsh’s ass that keeps him perfectly upright with that grimace on his face.

Jase catches the eye of the man in the corner and waves him off.

“Drink?” I offer Walsh, watching every detail of his expression. His eyes are narrowed as he does the same to me.

“I thought the list would be something you’d find agreeable,” Jase comments after a moment of silence. “You don’t think it’s helpful?” he asks Walsh.