Chapter 33 #2
Bastian is there, center stage. He really is the best dancer in the joint.
He’s got on his underwear still, but I know he takes it off sometimes.
I’ve begged him not to do that. I’ve forbidden him from doing any hooking.
It’s not safe. It’s not healthy. It’s the absolute worst fate, and I could never bear that.
Half the reason I started the Crimson Crew was to take care of Bastian in particular. Lemon was hopeless. Nisha would’ve survived without me. Seeing my best friend down there bothers me. Last time, Scarlett. Last time. Forever.
This is such a sensitive plan. So many things that could go wrong.
“If Jonas were the target tonight,” Bohnes begins, eye still glued to his own hole.
Alexei puts a trash bag on the chair next to mine and settles into it while Widow guards the open door.
Ash is somewhere up above, slithering to please his idol (but mostly to please me).
“Then we wouldn’t have been able to do this.
He’d kill Bastian the moment he was inside the car.
Maybe before that. Chet will want to feel the satisfaction of claiming Bastian before he kills him. ”
“I know,” I reply callously. My heart flutters nervously, betraying me.
I’m on-edge. I only barely register Alexei cleaning my bloody hands with his myriad supply of antiseptic wipes and sanitizers.
Bohnes notices my tone and draws back just briefly to give me a reassuring look.
He didn’t say all that obvious shit out loud just for himself to hear.
He’s trying to keep me calm. I look back at him, meeting his eyes before we both return to our posts, eyes to the holes.
“This hole sure reminds me of somethin’…” I begin, and Alexei makes an awful gagging sound while Widow snorts in amusement.
For a while there, it appears that Chet won’t show up.
We assumed someone would see Bastian here and tell their friend who would tell their family member who would tell their contact who would tell Chet.
It’s South Prescott, after all. This place is as harsh as any jungle or safari. Hyenas en masse.
Bastian never does backroom deals. All the customers know that.
Because he’s unavailable, everyone wants him.
Also, everyone knows he’s associated with me.
Tonight, Basti will tell all his colleagues and customers that I screwed him over, that I kicked him onto the street without a single dollar. Blah, blah, blah.
How could Chet pass this up?
An hour passes. Bastian is on and off the stage, schmoozing. Drinking. Chatting. Laughing. Dancing. Flirting.
I’m fixed on the scene, violence on a hair-trigger. Waiting. Stalking takes patience. It’s a skill all five of us can do very well. Nobody complains. Nobody moves. Nobody takes a break.
Another hour passes.
“Expensive cars rolling in,” Widow murmurs, using the live video feed on his phone to his advantage.
I’ve got some of my girls posted out there in the bushes.
Couple on the roof. A few ducked low in their cars.
The pretty girl hornets have made a nest in this place.
The Wandering Lamb. Why, though? That’s sick.
“That’s Chet,” Bohnes confirms, checking his own phone to see what Widow’s looking at. “Just Chet and his regular security team.”
Score.
Chet wants to be president someday, so he’s careful to keep his sexually motivated murders covered up. He uses a smaller team when he’s, um, busy with raping and killing people. These are his best guys though. Ash said possibly one-to-one for each of us.
There are six. Bohnes says he can take two for sure, but he’s still gravely wounded, so I can’t count on that. I also have half of the crew with me. The other half are watching over the house and Gram. So, twenty girls? Also, Nisha and Bastian? We’ve got this. Tonight isn’t about the boys.
This is about Lemon.
Please take us to the crematorium, Chet. I want to use his own tool against him. How’s that adage go? Hang ‘em with their own rope. Yep. Yeah. That. Also, karaage was a really great food metaphor. Can’t waste it.
A guy wearing a purple sequin thong leans in to whisper in Bastian’s ear. One of Widow’s new recruits, I believe. Nice.
Bastian turns toward the main stage, making his way up the carpeted steps to a guy that’s pole dancing in the buff.
They trade places like it’s seamless, like this was planned all along.
Everyone at the club likes Basti. We didn’t even need to grease any fingers to get a few special favors from the dancers.
Chet struts into the room wearing a tan suit and a red tie. His eyes find Bastian straight away. Chet stops walking as Bastian proceeds to remove his flashy red underwear.
My friend was raised in ballet. There used to be an old lady in Prescott that was once a prima ballerina.
She’d teach the kids for free if they wanted.
All you had to do was say please and thank you.
She died when we were in middle school, but Basti could’ve been something special with more training.
All of that hard work is evident as he turns this horrific, seedy nightmare of a place into something magical.
Chet is struck. I can see that as he takes a seat in the spot closest to the stage.
The way he fiddles with the drink that’s brought over to him without ever being ordered.
The scrape of his big, white veneers over his lip.
His tan slacks look tented and he keeps crossing and uncrossing his legs. Right leg on top. Left. Right.
The song ends and Basti pretends to be winded, swiping the sweat from his forehead before slipping into the dressing room. I’ve got video feed from in there, too, so I check it, watching until he’s dressed in too-tight shorts and a top with cutoff sleeves.
Bastian makes his way back to the front, so I return to the hole in the wall. Guess I can’t call it a glory hole since we’re well above the first floor. Can’t get a dick up here unless it has wings.
We have no audio or video equipment on Bastian since Ash assured us that Chet’s security team would frisk Basti before ever letting him in the car. What we do have are dancers using their phones to record and send that video straight to us.
“I heard you’re taking clients tonight?” Chet asks, approaching Bastian on his own.
The CEO of Archer Realty just can’t resist. The idea of raping and then murdering my best friend must be seriously tickling his fancy.
“Why the sudden change of heart?” Chet slides his hand over Bastian’s shoulder, and my hand flies down to the knife.
Shit. This is so hard to watch.
“Scarlett fucked me over,” Bastian says bitterly, grabbing a drink from the bar and tossing it back. “Shoulda known you can’t trust a Prescott bitch once she gets a hold of money. Look what happened with Lucy.”
Chet only smiles, like maybe he doesn’t even remember who Lucy is.
I pray that Bastian doesn’t try to kill the man in the middle of the club.
There are a lot of people there that aren’t involved in this whatsoever.
If we get them involved, we have loose ends dangling everywhere and flapping in the wind.
“I was told you asked for money,” Chet presses, likely suspicious of this entire situation.
Jonas probably wasn’t interested because it’s such a believable story.
Me kicking Bastian to the streets after getting rich and throwing in with the mob, eh.
A lot of people would do exactly that, use Basti for what he’s worth and toss him.
Jonas didn’t come because he thinks Bastian’s death won’t mean enough to me to be bothered with it.
He aims higher.
“Only fifty-K. That’s literally chump-change to her now!
For years, I fixed up her car. I made modifications.
I made Scarlett into what she is today.” Bastian throws the glass at the wall, raking his fingers through his hair before turning to Chet like something’s just occurred to him.
“I know all her secrets, you know.” Basti examines his nails.
“Might be willing to share a few for cash. I ain’t got anywhere to stay tonight. ”
“How about something else for cash?” Chet asks, taking Bastian’s chin in his fingers like a man who’s never been told no.
Chet kisses Bastian hard on the mouth, shoving his tongue between my friend’s lips.
Like a pro, Basti never skips a beat, curling his fingers into Chet’s jacket and kissing him back.
I’m having trouble processing what I’m seeing. Basti claimed he was fine with this, that any sacrifice he needed to make to avenge Lem was worth it. We’ll see how he feels after.
“Depends on how much. It’s my first time entertaining a client, so…
I want to be paid good.” Bastian shrugs, like it’s no big deal.
I’m swallowing bile back and prickling with icicles of rage.
I could break one off and stab that Ken doll piece of crap to death.
He does sorta look like Lem though, doesn’t he?
“Come with me.” Chet draws away, nodding to his security. Two of the men take Bastian on either side, guiding him toward the exit. My gut clenches with anxiety, but that’s what these boys are for. Ash won’t let Basti die between the exit and the car.
I’m up and out of that hallway with the other three men like we’re in the military or something.
I’ve got a throwaway car parked nearby. Mind you, it’s a very beautiful car.
A red ‘63 Pontiac Catalina convertible. But it’s nothing I’ve ever driven before, bought in cash from one of my girl’s distant cousins just this afternoon.
No time to do the paperwork. No paper trail showing that this car belongs to me.
I hop in, finding Nisha waiting for me in the passenger seat as planned. The boys are each driving their own cars. More cheap, new rides for us to play with.