5. Chapter 5
The last three months have been monotonous.
Every damn day I follow Patrick around town, memorize places and people, stock the bar, stand as security and then fight on Fridays.
Even exercising, which I normally enjoy, is boring as shit.
Not once has the sperm donor left me at home to be picked up after dinner for my shift, like he said he would.
I guess watching tv in the condo or driving around town are both equally monotonous.
I haven't seen or heard anything from the FBI either. It's possible they're around, maybe closer to Mr. Fitzgerald, but no one new has been at the bar or at the businesses we visit. Surely, they could've gotten someone hired somewhere by now.
No one trusts me here, and I’ve had to fight all the regulars on Patrick’s crew, and the asshole thinks it’s great.
After the first time I knocked Deke out, he always brings a friend or two.
He and his buddy crept up on me while I was stacking liquor in the storage room two weeks after our first encounter.
They got in a few punches in the small room before I knocked both of them out.
When I dropped off the storage key to Patrick, I told him he had a mess to clean up in the storage room and walked out.
After that, they got smarter and now come at me in groups of three or more, always on the weekends or on Mondays.
My guess is that Patrick's worried about Artur's response if I show up on Fridays badly beaten, so he's instructed his crew to attack early in the week. Still, I’m bored and not getting any information on the boss or the drugs, and Patrick still hasn’t talked about the other side of the business.
I've asked questions, of course, but he refuses to answer.
We mostly pretend I don't know why we drive around to the same places on a rotating schedule.
Thanksgiving and Christmas came and went without celebration, except for a drug party at the condo on Christmas Eve.
Fun times. I thought a lot about my family and Shortie during the holidays, hoping they've moved on with their lives by now.
I hate that I missed Shortie's first Christmas in South Carolina, but with some luck, I'll be around for the rest of them.
I managed to get a key to the condo building one morning just after the new year, when I was leaving the gym. The front desk attendant was assisting a tenant with her groceries, and I noticed she left her key in the front door. Slipping by, I quickly grabbed it and returned to the condo.
Cash hasn’t left his room that I’ve seen yet.
He gets food delivered three times a day, and I figured out he has a bathroom in there.
Patrick and Artur are the only ones with keys still.
Tonight, there’s a party after my fight at the condo, so I’m hoping I can get something figured out then.
I've been stagnant for too long, and I'm not willing to just sit here any longer.
Time to take some risks and figure out what the hell I need to do to take this operation down.
I intentionally lost the match tonight to a huge, bulky guy who’s had too many concussions.
It was rough; I had to practically place myself in front of him to get him to hit me.
The match went on for almost half an hour before he managed to hit my temple.
It wasn't a hard enough hit to knock me out, so I pretended it did, and Artur was happy with my performance, so he left me alone.
As long as I win or lose as he says, I only see him before my matches.
Now I’m sitting on the couch in the condo near Patrick, pretending to drink tequila.
I switched it out with water hours ago, while he got high snorting coke off some teenager in only a miniskirt.
Between the drugs and the tequila, he should be oblivious soon.
He seems to party hard at least once a month.
Most of his crew's here enjoying the drugs, alcohol, and girls.
Girls have been trying to rub on me all night, and my scowl doesn’t faze them, so I’ve physically removed them for hours now. Shortie would be useful tonight. I miss her fiercely, along with the others.
Finally, Patrick falls into a daze. As another girl tries to sit on my lap, I encourage her to go to him since the one he’s been pawing at is passed out on the floor at his feet in just her underwear.
The girl is happy to oblige, and as she’s grinding on his lap, I slip my hand into his pocket and slowly pull out his keys.
Stuffing them behind me, I wait until the few people that are left are asleep.
Quietly, I get up, slipping the keys into my back pocket, and lift the passed out girl into my arms. Patrick stirs, looking at me with glazed eyes.
“Finally moving on, son. She’s a good lay,” he slurs.
“Yeah,” I reply, giving him a drunken smile, then stumble to my room, making sure to hit the walls a few times in case he’s watching.
Kicking the door closed behind me, I dump the girl in the armchair in the corner and throw a blanket over her.
She doesn’t even stir. Sitting on the edge of the bed, I wait until I hear Patrick tumbling down the hall with someone.
Another half hour and then I slip out into the hall.
No sounds, so I quietly leave the condo.
There’s a 24 hour truck stop not far from here, and they make keys, so I get a copy made and a burner phone, and I stick the bastard's keys behind a couch cushion, and I’m back in my room before anyone notices I’m gone.
Over the next several weeks, I text Cash through Fawx during the middle of the night, not wanting to risk entering his room until I’m sure he won’t rat me out. The burner phone stays in my bedroom, rolled into a pair of socks in my drawer. Patrick hasn’t realized I took his keys yet. Dumbass.