Chapter 11
NICK
“Now that you got rid of her you have plenty of time for me.” She cups the underside of her mammoth breasts and offers them up. “You sure you don’t wanna fuck these?”
Gotta give the bitch credit. She didn’t give up.
I heave out a breath, then head back to the table. “I gotta go.” I swipe my smokes. “Where’s Samson?”
“He left while you were in the back fighting off Gia.” Cobra waggles his brow.
“Or maybe he wasn’t fighting her off.” Joker laughs. “Once she has her sights on somebody, it’s hard to resist.”
“Is that what you tell Daisy?” I deadpan.
“What the fuck do you think? My woman would cut my balls off.”
“Right, and I got one at home who would do the same damn thing.” I shove my phone in my pocket. “Thanks for the drinks.”
We all tap fists, and I elbow my way out of the bar. When I hit the street, I call Samson.
“Yeah?”
“What the fuck, man, you leave me at the Gold Mine?”
“Figured you needed to get your drink on.”
“What I didn’t need was Cheryl calling me while some bitch was making noise in the background.”
“Holy, shit, brother, what the fuck did you do?” Samson asks.
“Shit, you sound like Cheryl.” I stop at the corner of Flamingo and Las Vegas Blvd. and wait for the light to change.
“After that fight you two had earlier, I just thought—”
“Well, you thought wrong.” I cross the busy four-lane street. “Nothing fuckin’ happened.”
“Hmmm, try telling Cheryl that.”
“I already did, but she’s pissed off big time.” Entering the garage, I pull my car keys out of my pocket.
“Well, good luck.”
“See you in the morning.”
“Why don’t you take the day off and get your shit together with Cheryl?”
“Can’t—too much goin’ on.” I hit the key fob, the lights blink and the car chirps. “Gotta come up with a way to save Wicked from that bastard Pierce.”
“It’s your funeral.”
After swiping the call away, I shove the phone in my pocket, and head toward my Maserati. A shadow falls in my path. “What the fuck?”
“Nice car.” Sal grins. “I guess working nonstop really does pay off.”
“I thought I told you to stay away from me.”
Sal continues to grin at me. “I see you didn’t take my warning seriously.”
“Get the hell outta my way.” I barge past Sal and round the back of my car.
“Fancy car, fancy house, beautiful wife,” Sal calls after me. “You can lose it all like that.” He snaps his fingers just like the last time.
“Shut the fuck up.” I yank the door open, throw myself into the driver’s seat, turn on the ignition, and put it in gear. I swerve out of the parking space, purposely making the car tires squeal against the concrete floor.
I want to scare the bastard, but when I look up, he’s gone. I put my head on swivel, but he’s nowhere in sight. Probably hiding in the shadows again like a pussy.
I’m spooked the whole way home. When I pull into my driveway, I’m still pissed off that I let a loser like Sal get to me.
I enter the house, fully expecting Cheryl to be up waiting for me, swinging a frying pan at my head, but the kitchen’s empty.
I’m fuckin’ around about the frying pan, but my woman has a powerful temper when she gets going.
She can be a hot head like her mob boss father.
I leave the kitchen and find the rest of the rooms empty too, so I head upstairs to the bedroom. I check in on Portia. Her sweet sleeping face is barely visible beneath the fluffy comforter. When I enter our room, Cheryl’s snuggled into our bed sound asleep.
Her already asleep could mean two things: She’s so pissed, she doesn’t even want to talk to me, or she went to bed realizing I’d never step out on her. I almost wish she was awake so I could make sure she knows nothing went on with that slut, but I’m not gonna wake her just to ease my conscience.
My woman could piss me off with her independent side, but like Samson reminded me, I wouldn’t have it any other way. Staring at her beautiful face reminds me how keeping her and Portia safe is my first priority and main reason I have to beat Pierce at his own game.
Too wired to sleep after Sal’s repeat visit in the garage, I quietly go into the bathroom and change my clothes. Sal’s ominous message stays with me as I go back downstairs. I grab a bottle of Blanton’s from behind the bar, pull open the slider and head out to the patio.
Pouring myself two fingers of bourbon, I relax against the cushions of the couch, enjoying the tranquil sound of the wind rustling the water in the pool. It’s the first peaceful minute I’ve had all day, so I lay my head against the cushions and close my eyes.
“Hey, Nick.”
A strong wind blows over me. I shiver, then open my eyes.
I must’ve drifted off, but now the air is unusually heavy and damp with a lingering chill.
Like a rainy, humid night back in New York—except it hardly rains in Vegas, and it’s never humid.
I wrap my arms around myself, but I can’t stop shivering.
“Hey, Nick,” the whispered voice repeats.
A gusty wind stirs the pool into choppy waves, making the underwater lights shimmer brighter. Staring hard into the mist, I bolt upright when a figure appears.
“Holy fuck!” I blink furiously, but the image drifts closer.
“I tried to warn you, but you refused to listen to me,” Sal says.
It sounds like Sal, it looks like Sal, only I can see the pool lights right through him like a—fuckin’ ghost.
I rear back against the cushions, “Get away from me.”
But he glides closer. “Sorry, Nick, that’s not possible.”
This rumpled ghostly version of Sal looks just like him, except for the permanent grimace etched onto his face and the large red stain on the front of his shirt.
“What do you want?” I ask. “What are you doing here?”
“Those are two different questions.”
“Don’t fuckin’ play me.” I grip the empty glass in my hand. “This isn’t real. I’ve just had too much booze.”
“Sorry, no.” Sal hovers in front of me. The edges of his body shift with the wind—fuckin’ weird.
“What kinda scam are you pulling?”
“No scam. As a matter of fact, if you had listened to me earlier and taken my warnings seriously in the garage, all this could’ve been avoided.”
“What could’ve been avoided?”
“I tried twice, Nick, but, as usual, you think you know everything and blew me off.”
“I don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about, but if you don’t move your ass off my property, I’m gonna—”
“What? Blow me away?” Sal throws up his hands. “Some wise guys back in Queens already took care of that.” He points to a red stain on the front of his shirt. “You know how I had that problem of cheating at cards . . . Well, it finally caught up with me.”
“Then how can you be—” I run my hand through my hair, then squeeze my eyes closed, but when I open them, Sal’s still there, and the fucker is grinning at me just like in the garage.
“Sorry again, Nick, but I’m not leaving until I’ve done my job.”
“Someone sent you to off me?” I bolt off the couch, lunge at him, stumble, and regain my balance. Shit, I went right through the fucker.
“You can’t hurt me anymore.” His shoulders shrug. “No one can.”
“I know this isn’t really happening, but I’ll bite. What the fuck do you want?”
“You see, right there, you’re always so hyper, so pent-up, always expecting the worst.”
“Yeah, it’s called fuckin’ life.” Great. Now I’m arguing with a ghost. And not even a ghost I respect.
“And that’s what I’m here to talk about. Your life.”
“You’re gonna tell me about my life.” I glance down at the bottle of bourbon. Starting the new year, no more booze.
“No, my job is just to warn you and get you ready for the other ghosts who will be visiting you tonight.”
“Yeah, right, and how did you get this job?”
“That’s a very interesting question. Seems my eternal end came at the exact time the higher powers noticed you acting like an ass. Basically, not getting into the spirit of Christmas.”
My brain flits to both Cheryl and Samson calling me Scrooge.
“I get it. I’m having some kind of wonky dream, and all the bullshit of the last few days is coming out in my subconscious.”
Sal tilts his floating head. “Not exactly, but here’s the thing. I got this job as a last-ditch effort to save my own miserable soul, and also to warn you.” He points to the red stain again. “If you don’t wanna end up dying alone, with a bullet in your gut, you better make some changes.”
Sal’s image wavers.
“Wait, don’t go, tell me more.”
“Three more ghosts will visit you tonight, and I hope you’re nicer to them, but either way, they’ll show you your past, present and future.”
Sal’s image fades as a gust of wind blows over the patio.
I stumble to the couch. Okay, that was just a dream. A bad fuckin’ dream. It wasn’t real. Like Sal would be a ghost coming to warn me about other ghosts. Shit!
What the hell do I need with anybody telling me what to do? Telling me I’m gonna die alone. Telling me I’m not in the holiday spirit.
Cheryl should be happy I work all the time. How the hell else could we pay for all the fuckin’ decorations she bought? Instead of ragging on me all the time about working, she should be happy I make money and want to hold on to it.
Without money, we’d be doing without and living in a shit-hole like where we grew up.
Without money, we’d have nothing. I gaze out over the pool and the manicured grass and patio.
Yeah, she should appreciate what money has bought us, and tomorrow I’m gonna tell her.
Make her see I’m right to work all the time.
I draw in some cleansing breaths and lay my head against the cushions. All I need is some sleep. I’ll close my eyes, and in the morning, I’ll feel much better.