It almost seemed too…normal when what was going on between us was anything but. It was like the powers that be were watching, taking it slow, and then once they decided enough was enough—all hell was going to break loose.
It almost felt familiar to how they usually operated. Even when they wanted a man dead, sometimes it took years to do it. It took planning. Scheming. The right time to execute.
Thinking of the things I knew about the organization, other things started to come to mind that I remembered from my time working for Club D. Odd little facts. Like there were some men who had aversions to killing on certain days. One man in Aniello’s crew, I knew, refused to take a life on a Sunday. Others were superstitious to a fault, and if it didn’t seem like something was right with the hit, he would refuse to do it. The mark would get a pass.
All things to take into consideration.
Maybe that was why I knew things were starting to shift the moment a familiar man walked into Club D.
This guy, he had no aversions.
I’d seen him before at Club D. He was of medium height, medium build, and nothing about him stood out, except for his eyes. I was pretty sure they were a direct connection to hell, even though the color was a dull brown that wouldn’t even be remembered if it wasn’t for the torture chambers behind them.
He always looked around Club D like he wanted it—and everything in it. It almost seemed like his eyes had already claimed ownership, but Aniello stood in his way.
This time after he stepped through the doors, the look of ownership was already on his face.
I tried not to be too obvious, but every so often I’d steal glances at him. I couldn’t remember his name off the top of my head, but when Big Bismo came out to meet him and called him “Boy,” it relieved the pressure in my head.
It was hard to tell if Big Bismo was happy to see him or not. He was respectful, offering to show him around, but the look on his face when Boy was looking the other way told me that maybe he was worried or irritated.
When they went to pass me as I was talking fireworks with one of the girls who oversaw the display, I realized it was a combination of both.
It was as if the moments happened in slow motion, and the scene was cut into two parts. I knew I’d never forget the look on Big Bismo’s face as he narrowed his eyes at me, and then took out a handkerchief from his pocket and dabbed at the sweat on his head. I’d never forget Boy, either, who grinned at me, and every hair stood up on my body.
My feet refused to move, but a voice in my head kept yelling at me to “RUN!” while the other one shouted, “It’ll only make him want to chase you more if you do!”
While those two voices went back and forth, indecision at its finest, I tried to remember more about him, but I couldn’t. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d seen him. Or what he’d been doing. I just remembered that I’d seen him before, his eyes, and how much he seemed to want this place for his own.
“Baby girl.”
I blinked at the body—Quentin, some distant voice in my head said—suddenly standing between me, Big Bismo, and Boy. One blink seemed to return my mind to usual operations, and the two men passed in what seemed like normal speed.
The body standing before me hadn’t moved, though.
“Quentin.” His name was out of my mouth before I could stop it. I’d never really spoken to him. I only crept around, spying on him and Abe before I knew what the deal between Aniello and me was.
He narrowed his eyes at me, like he was trying to figure something out. Then he nodded in the direction of the back door to Club D. “Walk with me,” he said.
I told the girl who had been taking notes what was left to do. Club D always gave the heads of the events the day before off, as long as our second-in-charge proved capable of handling all of the responsibilities. Since I was the head of this event, and I trusted no one, the event was pretty much as solid as it could be, unless a huge issue came up.
No matter how long we prepared for those, though, sometimes life was out of our control. Still, it was a nice thing for Club D to do usually—give the head of the event the day off. It was one day that we were treated as guests, not as workers, and having the time off to prepare was appreciated.
“I’m done here,” I said to Quentin, stopping before we headed toward the exit. “Do you mind if I grab my things before we go?”
He looked in the direction Big Bismo and Boy had gone. “You’ll be quick?”
“Five seconds,” I said.
“Flat.” He grinned at me and then winked.
Quentin had an easy way about him that I liked, but there was also something about him that I wouldn’t cross if I were a man. It was always good to remember that. Even if a man wasn’t part of the crew that Aniello ran, they all had ties to some sort of organization.
Something told me Quentin was usually more amicable, though, until he wasn’t.
After I grabbed my things and met him outside of the locker room, I still had no clue why he was walking me to my car. Or why Abe Ruth stood against his own, arms and legs crossed, watching as we moved closer.
“You got the package,” Abe said, grinning at us. Then he waved at me, and after a second, I waved back. It caught me off guard.
