Chapter 33
Chapter Thirty-Three
Henri
For some reason I’m not scared anymore. Mom always says, if someone’s gonna shit on you, showing fear and begging is not going to make them change their mind.
But showing attitude makes you feel more in control.
More powerful. And maybe makes them respect you.
She says none of the women in our family take shit. If we go down, we go down fighting.
Oscar knows this too. He’s cool that way. Like his dad. But he’s kind of pissing me off trying to protect me. I mean, I appreciate him having my back, but he’s not gonna be able to save me if Renfrew gets hostile.
We’re standing in front of Renfrew. Oscar’s next to me, holding my hand. His grip tightens as Sadie, the Blackbeard that mom almost got, weaves his way up to us.
“Hey,” he says in a loud voice. “I know that brat!” He’s clearly high or drunk or both, so his finger wavers as he points at me. I figure Oscar and I are dead now.
“Oh, hell,” I whisper.
“I seen you before,” he says to me.
Time to keep the Fleming legend alive. “Where?” I taunt. “Because I’ve never seen anyone as ugly as you!”
Sadie sneers. “I’ll figure it out, you little c—”
Oscar steps in front of me and I so want to kick him, but don’t, because, obv.
“Watch what you’re calling my girl, asshole,” he says, sounding so cool, like he’s a badass biker.
Sadie staggers back. “I seen you, too. Not sure where from.” He taps his temple. “But I’ll remember, then you’ll be fucked.”
As Sadie walks unsteadily away, Oscar says, “When you do let us know.”
“It was probably at that AA meeting he accidentally stumbled into,” I say to Oscar. “He thought it was Asshole’s Anonymous.”
“Stop, Henri,” he says sharply.
What a hypocrite. “Stopping, Lord of the Universe,” I reply.
Renfrew’s not amused. “Who the fuck let him in?” Then before anyone can reply, he says to me, “How does he know you?”
“He dated my mom once.” I give myself a mental high-five for thinking so quickly.
Renfrew grimaces. “She need glasses?”
I shake my head. “She’s got plenty. They’re all full of booze.” I am on a roll.
Renfrew tires of the conversation as he looks me up and down. “You ain’t much to look at.”
“Is that a requirement?” I reply, feeling a little hurt even though I tell myself his opinion doesn’t matter.
He smiles, but it doesn’t meet his eyes. “If it was, I’d be the only one in the gang.”
“Hey,” Soprano interjects.
“Shut up,” Renfrew says to her. He turns his attention back to us, or more specifically, Oscar. “You’re pretty fucking young. You’re not from the slums.” He tilts his head towards Oscar’s runners. “Why are you here?”
Oscar shrugs. “Why not? Mom’s dead, dad’s an asshole. Never home. And when he is, he kicks me around.”
He looks at me. “And you?”
“I’d follow him anywhere,” I say sarcastically.
Renfrew laughs and I actually get a smile out of Soprano. “Would you now?” Renfrew says. “Well, that’s good, because you wander around on your own, you’re gonna draw attention. A lot of the guys like them young.”
Oscar stiffens. “They better keep their hands to themselves,”
“I can take care of myself!” I snap at everyone. “Quit being so misogynist.”
Renfrew raises his eyebrows. “That’s the last thing I am. Everyone here is involved in the business and does what’s needed to keep my gang strong.”
“Whatever,” I say.
Renfrew stares at us for a moment longer, then he shouts, “Benji! Lola! Get your asses over here!”
A minute later, a guy and girl stumble up. They’re pretty young, especially the guy. They both smell like booze and cigarette smoke. The girl, Lola, is pretty enough and pretty filled out. Her tank is practically painted on and her jeans hug her hips. She’s wearing flip-flops on her feet.
But it’s Benji who draws the eye. He’s wearing a knee-length red jacket with black cuffs and a lapel that has gold color thread stitched as swirls.
It hangs open to reveal a gold vest over a white shirt.
The shirt’s buttoned all the way to the top and a red bow tie wraps around the collar.
His pants, tight like leggings, are tucked into knee-high black boots.
The outfit is topped off with a black top hat with a gold ribbon that matches his vest wrapped around it.
One of his white-gloved hands is holding a whip.
Basically, he’s a ringmaster in the circus.
“Holy,” Oscar murmurs.
He’s got that right.
“I was kinda busy, Ren,” Lola snarks.
He ignores her. “I have a job for you.”
I start to quake inside again as my imagination goes into overdrive. What is Renfrew gonna tell them to do to us?
“What?” Benji slurs.
“Are you high?” Renfrew asks him.
“As a kite.”
As cliches go, that’s the worst, but also spot on. Now I’m worried they’re gonna shoot us up with meth or something.
Oscar’s thinking the same thing. “Not doing drugs.”
“That’s the spirit, kid,” Benji says in a ringmaster voice. “Just say ’no’.”
Renfrew points to his forearm, which has a dripping, misshaped, ghostlike skeleton on it.
It’s all in black. “You want to join the gang, you have to get initiated. First, you’re getting inked.
Our gang logo. Everyone has to have it. Then tomorrow night, we beat the shit out of you.
You’ll survive but you’ll wish you hadn’t.
” He tilts his head towards Oscar. “Then you go home with a couple of the guys and put your fucker of a dad in the hospital.”
“You,” he says to me. “You’ll stay here. If the boyfriend passes the test, you get to live.”
Even though I heard everything Renfrew said, my mind kind of froze at ‘tattoo’. “They’re doing the tattoos?” I say about Benji and Lola.
Oscar swivels his head. “That’s what you’re worried about?”
I can’t say what I’m really thinking, which is that mom is gonna freak out when she sees the tattoo, so instead, I reply, “Look at those two. You won’t have to kill us. We’ll die from a staph infection.”
“Henri, stop,” Oscar says tersely.
“And the tattoo will look horrible because those two can barely stand, let alone hold a needle steady.”
Renfrew gives me a big smile. “Yep. Girl like you, clearly entitled. Be fun to have you around.” Then he sobers. “Hope we don’t have to end you.”
Oscar tenses. “I hate my old man, so we’re good.” He’s such a good actor. I’d believe him if I didn’t know better.
“Let’s get it done,” Renfrew says to Lola and Benji. He looks at his watch. “It’s fucking late and I’m tired. Get started. Get finished fast.”
He turns to Cam and Soprano. “Put them in the cooler after so they can’t take off, just in case they don’t like their ink.”
“Cooler?” Oscar says warily.
“Yeah. That’s where we keep the people we don’t like and any dead bodies we might stumble upon. Lucky for you, we’ve got room for a couple more, because otherwise, we’d have to put you in barrels.” He snickers.
My heart leaps, not at the barrel threat, but going in the cooler. If mom and Eight are here, that’s where they’ll be. We’ll have a chance to rescue them. I glance at Soprano and Cam. We can take them, I decide. Oscar’s looking at them like he’s thinking the same thing.
As Benji herds us over to a table in a dark corner that’s pretty much hidden from the rest of the warehouse, I think our plan is working except for the tattoo part, especially when I see the setup.
There are a couple of tattoo guns on a table that look like they haven’t been cleaned in a century and an open bottle of black ink laying on its side.
Some of the ink is spilling onto the table.
Oscar stops in his tracks. “Where’s the rest of your gear?”
“What are you talking about?” Lola says looking confused.
“Geez. Sterilizer stuff mostly. Those tat machines definitely need cleaning.”
Benji rolls his eyes. “Fucking rich kids.” He stumbles around, eventually checking under the table. “Here it is,” he says as he pulls out a cardboard box and sets it on the table.
Oscar grimaces when he looks inside. “What a mess!”
I peek over his shoulder. “At least there’s some alcohol rub and gloves.”
“They’re used,” Oscar replies in a pissed-off voice.
“Better than nothing,” I retort.
Oscar pulls out the gloves and the antiseptic. “I need a cloth,” he says to Lola.
She rips off her tank, revealing a pink lace bra, which is propping up her boobs.
Oscar stares at her chest while I wait for him to take the tank.
When he doesn’t, I elbow him in the ribs.
“Eyes on the equipment, jerk face.” I grab Lola’s tee and shove it into my fake-boyfriend’s hand.
I don’t know why I’m so angry at Oscar. He’s the annoying jerk who got me kicked out of school. Nothing else.
He glares at me, then rips the tank into rags.
Lola says, “Hey, I was gonna use that later.” She gives Oscar a sexy grin. He gives her a stupid grin.
I grab the antiseptic bottle out of his hands, resisting the urge to throw it in his eyes. Then I root around in the box for needles. I find some fresh ones and lay them on the table.
“Put these on,” I tell Lola and Benji as I shove the gloves into their hands.
“I don’t use gloves,” Benji says as he tries to shove them back.
Oscar manages to unglue his eyes from Lola’s chest and says to Benji, “Oh, yeah, you do. Put them on.”
“You’re so bossy,” Lola purrs as she puts the gloves on her hands. “I like that in a guy.”
Oscar nods his head grimly. “I’m with her.” He throws a thumb my way and I almost rip it off.
“Clean the guns!” I snap.
While he’s doing that, I wipe down the gloves with the antiseptic.
Benji sniffs his fingers, then laughs hysterically.
No explanation about what’s so funny. I don’t care anyway.
I dribble some more antiseptic on the cloth.
“Are you tattooing us in the same place as you have yours?” I nod towards Lola’s bare arm.
“Inking.” Oscar mutters.
“What?”
“Be cool. It’s inking, not tattooing.”
Don’t punch him, Henri. Don’t punch him.
“Can we get this over with,” I snap as I rub the cloth over the skin on the back of my forearm, then toss it to Oscar.
As Oscar catches it, he whispers, “Dad is so going to kill me.”