Chapter 2- Simone
“He’s coming,” my brother had said and I turned around and faced him. He looked like he’d been through hell and back. Bumps and bruises covered his skin. Albert Lawrence Francis was my half brother through my father and at age thirty-six and counting, he had always seemed to depend on me, his younger sister.
After almost six months of not hearing from him, he had just stumbled into my brand new tattoo shop and startled the hell out of the clientele. An appearance from my older brother who I affectionately called Albie, usually meant trouble wasn’t too far behind. It had been that way since we were children growing up under the cruel hand of our father.
‘Albie, what the fuck is going on?” the lock fell into place on the door.
His eyes were wild with fear. I could see the whites of his eyes clear as day in bright white light shining from my desk.
“Nice place you got here,” he looked around and finally took note of my office.
“It was till you showed up…now answer the question,” I folded my arms and leaned back against the door.
All I could do watch Albie. His movements were short, stiff, and I knew he was in pain. Finally, he sat down in my plush desk chair and leaned his head back. Clearly, he was on the run from someone. However, this was Chicago and Albie didn’t exactly run with the most honest crowd. He never had. Not that I could say much with the past I had.
“Simone, I fucked up this time,” he stated and took a deep breath.
My fingers went to the bridge of my nose. Already a pain was beginning to form in the back of my head. A throbbing that seemed to be brought on only by the presence of my sibling. I knew the only way to get rid of said headache was to figure out how to solve his problem. Because let’s face it…this was now my problem.
“We can figure it out, brother,” I spoke. “But you gotta tell me what I can do…”
“You wouldn’t happen to have a hundred thousand laying around would you?”
My brother was dead ass serious.
If I’d had a gun laying around I would have shot him my fucking self.
“Albie, what the actual fuck?”
“Gambling,” he said simply. “I played poker with the wrong people…serious people. Russian mob…”
Holy shit,I thought.The Russian mob. Of all the hair-brained shit he could have done, he chose to play with some of the most dangerous people in Chicago. Who in the hell let him run up a game for that much money? The buy-in to play had to have been more than I’d made in the last few months.
He stood and began to pace the room. I watched him and counted it down.
“I don’t have that kind of money, Albie…not anymore.”
“You must have some jewels or something from thieving,” he turned to me.
Albie was biting his nails down to the quick. His fingers looked raw and angry much like the open wounds on his once handsome face.
“No,” I said simply.
“Everything that I had I’ve poured into the tattoo shop. I have employees now, Albie.”
“Can you steal it?”
The throbbing was intensifying and the selfish part of me, the part of me that was screaming for relief just wanted him to disappear for another few months.
“No Albie,” I spoke up. “I left the Thieve's Guild. I’m out of that life….I’m legit now.”
He smirked. “I knew coming here was a fucking mistake.”
Albie could turn meaner than a son of a bitch when he wasn’t getting his way. There was a vein near his temple the was pulsing in beat. He let out a holler and kicked at a filing cabinet nearby. The sound filled the air and finally I’d had enough.
“Here, these are the keys to my loft,” I shoved the keys at him that I had fished from the back pocket of the jeans that I wore. “I’ll be home once I finish up here for the night. Lay low and we’ll come up with a plan.”
He looked down at the keys and flinched. Realizing I was pressing into wounds that probably needed cleansing, I eased up.
