Chapter 18
Chapter Eighteen
Selkie
I’m shoved into the back seat of a big ass Lexus with the guy I took a chunk out of crowding me. He grabs the sleeve of one of my best T-shirts and rips it off, then wraps it clumsily around his hand.
“You should probably get that stitched.” I sneer.
“Fuck off, bitch,” he replies as he knots the fabric, then pulls at it with his teeth.
The wheelman starts the car and pulls away from the curb. We pass my Yaris, and I watch forlornly out the side window as a tow-truck backs up to it. “You guys are gonna pay for the impound.”
“You should be more fucking afraid,” Russian with the bite warns.
I am. Inside I’m a quivering mass of jelly, my legs are vibrating and I feel like vomiting. These are Russian thugs and for some reason unknown to me, they seem to think I have something they want.
Still, in the world of fight or flight, I am genetically predisposed to fight. I inherited it from my mom who once punched a cop in the face because he told her she had she great tits. Her mother almost beat a guy to death with a baseball bat for calling her a whore.
What would they do in this situation? Mom would go for the damsel in distress pretending she’s scared to death.
I’ve seen her in action at the bar when the boys have had too much to drink and start to bump chests.
It works for her but I can’t pull it off.
I don’t have her great tits. Still, thinking about her settles my heart rate.
Enough so that I say, “So should you, asshole. I have friends who’ll bury you. ”
Wheelman chortles. “Who the hell would want to be your friend?”
“I have friends,” I say sulkily. Oscar would be my friend. He likes me enough to try to help.
Which reminds me. Little shit. I’ll be talking to Eight when this is done. He needs to teach his kid to know when to back off. Oscar could’ve been killed. They want me, not him. He’s expendable in their eyes.
I shudder and bite-man notices. “Scared now are you?”
“No,” I lie as I channel Hannibal Lector. “I was just anticipating how tasty your liver will be fried and served with fava beans and a nice Chianti.” I grin at him with big teeth and googly eyes.
His face goes slack as he tries to sort out how serious I am.
Wheelman isn’t as impressed. “Hannibal quotes are so fucking overused. Try watching some Tarantino.”
Bite-man says, “Why don’t I just punch her in the face and knock her out?”
I throw my hands in the air. “No need. I’m done talking.”
He looks like his Christmas present was taken away, but he doesn’t touch me. I give myself a mental high-five for knowing when to shut up.
For a couple of minutes anyway. “Where are you taking me?” I ask as the car accelerates on the highway.
“Reno,” Bite-man replies. “We don’t do business in a shithole like Sagebrush.”
Wheelman laughs heartily at what he perceives is the clever comeback of the decade.
Bite-man is kind of right about Sagebrush, but it’s my shithole and big-time city boys don’t get to talk trash about it. “Sagebrush is not a shithole. At most it’s boring and uninviting, but it has its advantages like hot running water and electricity. It even has schools to educate the young.”
“Punch her, Igor,” Wheelman says.
“Don’t punch me, Igor. Or I’ll find a way to rip your hand off.”
Once again, Igor aka Bite-man looks uncertain. I’m not sure he’s ever kidnapped a woman before because he seems to have a preconceived notion of how kidnapped women should react.
I roll my eyes and offer him the cheek that he didn’t hit back in the alley. “If you’re gonna punch me, do it on this side so that I’ll have matching bruises.”
“Shut the fuck up,” he says.
And I do, because there’s no point in further antagonizing him. It’s not going to make them stop the car and let me out. I may as well save my breath until we get to where we’re going.
Turns out the destination is Reno’s classiest Hotel and Casino, the Grand Sierra. Wheelman pulls into the underground garage and parks in a spot reserved for hotel guests.
“Let’s go,” Igor says grimly as he yanks me out of the car.
“I have a gambling problem,” I say because I do - it’s called lack of money. “You take me in there, you’ll have to cover the debts I rack up.” Little do I realize this is foreshadowing of what’s to come.
They drag me to an elevator and when it arrives, Igor gives me a shove between the shoulder blades making me stumble inside.
“Hey, I’m cooperating so you can cut the tough guy shit.
” Then I stamp his foot so hard he releases me, which gives me time to bolt, or I would have if the elevator doors didn’t choose that time to close.
Igor grabs me by the throat and shoves me up against the wall. “When this is over, I’m gonna rip you apart.”
“Easy, Igor,” Wheelman says. “We give her to the boss, then our job is done.”
“Better fucking be done,” Igor replies, but steps back.
“When we get to the room,” Wheelman says to me, “You’ll wanna shut your mouth and behave yourself because the boss isn’t as nice as us.”
The boss turns out to be Denis Kozlov, a small-time Russian thug who thinks he’s gonna take over Vegas from the real Russian mob. Still, he’s stupid and deadly, which makes me pause.
The other thing that makes me pause is the sight of my father ruining a nice white leather couch by sitting on it. He stands when he sees me.
Father, aka Jonathan Fleming aka Jonny Fry to his friends for some unknown reason is a tall guy in his late 40s.
He’s broad, but angular and since the last time I saw him, which was almost two years ago, he’s grown a bit of a paunch.
He’s considered relatively good looking though, except for his narrow long nose, which I unfortunately inherited. So did Henri.
Unlike me, he has a real gambling problem and when he runs out of money he usually comes knocking on my door. As if I have any to give him.
“What are you doing here?” I exclaim. It’s clear he got the same welcome-wagon treatment I did. His face is slightly bruised and he’s holding his stomach like he’s been punched one too many times.
“He’s a good friend of mine,” Kozlov says like he’s being clever.
I’m no longer feeling anything but rage because this is so fucking typical. Dad, tough guy when I was a kid, made mom and me fend for ourselves after he walked out. “I wasn’t talking to you!” I snarl at the Russian.
“Selkie,” dad says in a commanding voice. “Shut it. This isn’t the time or place.”
“Don’t you tell me what to do! I haven’t seen you for two years. Two years! And this is your idea of a reunion!” As much as I hate to admit it, there’s still this little girl inside me who wants her dad to love her and sometimes I forget to keep her buried.
“Selkie, we can air our dirty laundry another time.”
“He’s right,” Kozlov says as he scrutinizes me. The tangled hair, the bruised cheek, the ripped T-shirt. Then he says to Wheelman and Igor, “I told you to bring her in, not maul her.”
Igor lifts his bandaged hand. “She objected vigorously.”
Kozlov tsks at me. “Why would you be so reckless?”
“She has no common sense,” dad answers for me.
I explode. “One of you bastards better explain what the fuck I’m doing here or I’m gonna set this place on fire!”
“Stop with the bullshit,” Igor says, grabbing my arm again. Same arm that he keeps grabbing.
I turn and punch him square in the face with every ounce of strength I have. He reels back, lands ass down on the carpet and starts howling.
“You broke my fucking jaw, you bitch,” he wails.
I lift my foot to stomp his balls when I’m wrestled away by my dad.
“Settle down for Christ sake, Selkie! This isn’t kindergarten.”
I yank out of his grip and turn on him. “Explain, right now!”
He sighs. “I needed a loan to cover a debt. Denis gave me one.”
I give him a death glare. “And you accuse me of not having common sense!”
Kozlov says, “Payment is overdue. You’re going to hang out here while your father goes and gets it.”
“Why would you think that I’m collateral? He doesn’t give a fuck about me.”
“That’s not true,” Dad protests. “I love you and your kid. I don’t come around because I don’t want you to get corrupted by me.”
I roll my eyes. “Fucking hell is that a load of crap.”
“That’s enough soap opera for one day,” Kozlov says. “Jonny Fry has two hours to bring me my payment or I break one of your arms. Another hour passes, another arm and so on.”
Holy shit!
“How much?” I’m actually stupid enough to think I can pay out the loan to save my ass.
Kozlov grins maliciously. “Fifty grand originally, but with interest, it’s grown to $120,000.” He shrugs modestly as he adds, “But because Jonny Fry and I are friends I’m knocking it down to $100,000.”
I turn to dad in disbelief. “Are you kidding me! Why would you take a loan from this guy? And that big. You have no hope of repaying him.”
“I can repay him. I’ll get a loan from someone else.”
“Then why haven’t you already?”
“Interest is steep on loans like that. And I won’t get enough time to repay it.”
“Right, and Kozlov’s giving it away for free.”
“I charge more moderate terms,” Kozlov interjects like he’s trying to close a deal on a used car. “It’s good business. Get a lot of customers that way.”
“Oh my god!” I grab my head and start pacing. “I can’t believe you offered me in exchange for the loan! You sold me out for $100,000 grand, you sonofabitch.” I feel tears threatening. Face reality, stupid little needy girl. He’s a deadbeat with no heart.
Kozlov shakes his head. “Your daughter sold you out, not your father.”
I freeze and look at Kozlov incredulously. “Henri! What the hell are you talking about!”
“I met your little sweetheart when Hell’s Jury came here for a meeting.”
“They took Henri to a meeting with you?”
He’s enjoying my reaction too fucking much. “Yes. Hangman’s daughter was also with them, but of course, she has nothing to do with this little problem. I contemplated taking Henri instead of you, but given her association with Hell’s Jury, I decided you were the better choice.”
I’m stunned, so much so that I collapse on the couch. Eight! That fucking bastard. My instincts were right to get Henri back. I can’t believe he brought her to a meeting between Hell’s Jury and the Russian mob. What the fuck was he thinking?
Uh Selkie, hypocrite much?
Yeah, well that was different. I made Oscar stay in the car.
Wheelman chortles in Russian again. “Finally, she’s speechless.”
To prove Wheelman wrong, I say to Kozlov, “What makes you think I don’t have an association with Hell’s Jury? After all, my kid’s with them.”
He shrugs. “I don’t know why they had your daughter and don’t care. I do know that their president won’t insert himself in this little problem. He doesn’t get involved in business that isn’t his.”
Then he looks past me to my dad. “Go. You have two hours.”
“I’m sorry, Selkie,” dad says as he bolts out the door.
To Kozlov, I say, “You know he’s never coming back.”