6. Chapter Six
Chapter Six
Justin
Oh, god! What the hell just happened? Why had I said anything about fucking to Steve Korr’s client? God, if Clay Fines called Steve to complain about my unprofessional stupidity, I was going to lose my fucking job, and then what? Homelessness? Scavenging in trash cans for food?
Kid, you gotta loosen up. You’re never gonna get laid, I swear. You have no fucking game whatsoever. Come on. We’re going to St. Louis. I’ve got someone in mind to help show you how it’s done.
“Who are you?” I asked out loud as I sat in the parking garage of my office building.
Close your eyes, kid.
This was the part where I was losing my mind, I was sure. I complied, but all I saw was darkness. I tried to open my eyes again, but I couldn’t.
“Where ya goin’?”
I turned in my mind to see a handsome man in a black leather jacket, a white T-shirt, and jeans.
He was wearing black boots, but not the kind of cowboy boots that Clay wore.
The stranger wore work boots of some sort.
His hair was dark, maybe jet black, but the space we were in was dark, so his hair could have been any color.
“Who are you? Where are we?” I was surprised I got those two questions out. I was starting to feel lightheaded, which wasn’t good. I’d fainted a couple of times in my life. Now would be a very inconvenient time to pass out.
“I’m Ramon Blanco. We’re in your mind.”
Huh? Ramon who? How the fuck did the two of us get into my mind? What kind of nightmare is this?
The guy chuckled. “It’s called possession, kid. Remember New Orleans?”
“Possession? Huh?”
Surely, I’d been drugged, but I had no idea if the drugging happened at the diner or maybe someone got into my car and tainted my water bottle that was sitting in the cupholder.
Was someone trying to kill me? Had word got out that I was still a virgin and I’d been sold on the internet? Was I drugged because my new owner wanted me pliant so I wouldn’t fight back?
The guy, Ramon, retrieved an old-fashioned, leather-bound dictionary from inside his jacket.
“Let’s see... According to,” he closed the book and scanned the cover, “Meriam, and I’m paraphrasing here: Possession is believing that a person’s body and mind has been taken over by a force or spirit.
” He slapped the book shut, and it disappeared.
“No.”
Ramon did a double take. “What’s ‘at?”
“No. I don’t believe in ghosts.” I wasn’t going to let a nightmare make me paranoid. It was stupid to even believe that was possible.
Ramon laughed hard. “Look at this guy. ‘I don’t believe in ghosts.’” His voice pitched high, which didn’t sound like me at all. And it wasn’t very complimentary either.
“I don’t know who you are or why you’re harassing me, but I will warn you that I have attorney colleagues who I will ask to file a restraining order against you.” I had a feeling the jerk wasn’t taking me seriously, but I was deadly serious.
My threat seemed to make Ramon laugh even louder. “You’re a funny guy, Justin.”
“I mean it. This is ridiculous. Did you kidnap me to deliver me to some guy who bought me? Is that what this is? Where are we?” Surely I could get Eve to come rescue me and bring the police with her.
“Yo, dude, you just said you don’t believe in ghosts. What the fuck ya think I am? It’s not like we’re at a warehouse or a murder barn in the country. We are inside your mind, and I’ve been dead for,” he began counting on his fingers. “Wow! Thirty-fucking-years. That’s a sad fucking statistic.”
“I refuse to believe it’s possible for you to take over my mind. What are you trying to pull?” At that point, I thought I was in some kind of coma. Did I fall and hit my head? Was I at the hospital?
Ramon stepped closer and pushed me into a chair that hadn’t been there before, taking a seat next to me. Suddenly, a bright light illuminated a massive screen in front of us, and I was staring at myself, Eve, Madame Stella, Kirk Dunston, Tommy Herbst, and the three stooges.
We were seated around the big table with the bowl in the center that lit up and smoked. Madame Stella was talking.
“I am Madame Stella. Why have you sought my services today?”
“Huh-uh. You booked it.” I stared at Eve.
“It’s Justin’s birthday, and the best birthday present I could give him is a discussion with the world’s greatest lover, Ramon Blanco. Unfortunately, Ramon died—”
Eve was cut off by Madame Stella, the medium. “There is no such thing as death. The spirit inside us leaves this plane and moves on.”
“It’s that damn séance!” I glanced at Ramon on my right, and he pointed to the screen again for me to keep my eyes there. We went through the whole damn discussion of my virginity, and Ramon chuckled, the asshole.
“Everyone, close your eyes and join hands on top of the table to form a never-ending circle.” At Madame Stella’s request, we joined hands.
I remembered peeking and feeling a breeze in the room before Stella announced that her spirit guide was there and invited us to “...Say the name of the spirit you seek.”
Eve said his name, “Ramon Blanco,” and everyone chanted it together.
It was then I saw a blurry image that took a few seconds to get clearer. Yep—there was Ramon Blanco. He stood behind me at the table.
“Uh, Mr. Blanco, can you give my bestie tips on how to make love? You see, he’s a virgin, and he’s really shy around people he doesn’t know well, especially outside a business setting.”
My body stiffened a moment later, and I felt the electrical charge the same as I’d felt it that evening. When I looked up, Ramon was touching the top of my head. “That’s when I joined the party. Pretty cool, huh?”
God, the whole humiliating thing was now being repeated to me in living—or maybe not so living—color. “Who put you up to this?”
The light of the screen dimmed, but I could see Ramon perfectly. His eyes glowed red. Was that supposed to scare me?
I reached up and slapped my own face. “Wake up. Wake up. Wake up!”
Ramon grabbed my wrists. “Kid, you’re not asleep. Now, here’s how we’re gonna do this. If you wanna get rid of me, you’re gonna have to do me a favor.”
“A favor? A. Fucking. Favor?” My heart was pounding as the adrenalin coursed through my veins. Jesus, what the fuck was happening?
Ramon huffed and brushed his thumb over his nose.
“Okay, so maybe not a favor. Allow me to rephrase. If you want me to go, you’ve gotta do somethin’ for me.
I ain’t anxious to go back where I came from, but the powers that be are looking for me.
So far, they haven’t found me, but it’s only a matter of time.
I need you to investigate somethin’ for me. ”
“Investigate? I’m a financial planner, not a detective.” Was he daft?
“Hear me out. I wanna make sure my kids are okay. I don’t want them followin’ me into the bullshit I got into. I need to know they’re behavin’ themselves and takin’ care of their moms.”
“Moms? How many mothers? How many kids?” Mothers? Good lord.
“You don’t pay attention, do ya? You one of them eggheads who thinks nobody says anything important besides them so you don’t listen?
I can’t count how many of ya are floatin’ in the Mississippi, Missouri, and Meramec Rivers, tongues cut out for gettin’ cute.
” He shook his head like he couldn’t believe I’d dare to talk back to him.
“How many?” My exasperation was reaching the blow stage.
“Five women. I was only thirty-six when I got whacked. I was a capo and the boys expected me to be named underboss after Louie Figs got killed in a fire. My ma was a Blanco, and I was her only. Johnny Fucking DeLuca didn’t marry her or take care of me as I was growing up.
Thankfully, he did right by me when I got my button in the family and was later made a capo. ”
My brain rewound to the first time I watched the Godfather Trilogy. I remembered thinking that shit was only plausible in the movies. The FBI and the Secret Service took care of the crime and corruption by alleged Mafia bosses and street gangs, didn’t they?
“If there’s any credence to this bullshit of you being a mobster, when were you killed? I should be able to look this up, shouldn’t I?”
I needed facts to verify I was having a mental health emergency. After I couldn’t find anything on the endless rambling of my poor divided brain, I could find myself a top-notch therapist and extra strength meds to help me get my mental health in order.
“1996. Got shot in St. Louis on The Hill as I was comin’ out of our social club. Right there on Mackland at Dempsey. Somebody got a cheap shot.” He seemed disgusted.
“Who do you think ordered the hit?”
Ramon laughed. “Look at you, goin’ all gangster on me?
I thought it was Paddy Egan who put out the order.
I, uh, tapped one of his girls, and I don’t think he liked it when she popped up with my baby girl, but the more I thought about it, I’m wonderin’ if it was somebody on my own crew who got to me.
Jealousy makes a man do stupid things. I wanna know for sure who took the lucky shot because I didn’t see anybody comin’ my way, and that’s not like me. ”
I sighed. “Okay, let’s never do this little exercise again. I can hear you just fine in my head if I must. Let me out, and I’ll do some research,” I said.
Bam! Bam! Bam!
I opened my eyes and was surprised to see Eve standing next to my car, which was in the garage. Parked in my spot. My head was a scrambled mess, I swear.
I got out of the car and smiled at Eve. “What brought you down here?”
“One of the security guards called me. He said you were in the garage, just sitting in your car. He was worried so I came to check on you. Didn’t you hear me knocking on your window?” Eve had her hand planted against her hip, but something occurred to me.
“Yeah. Question. Where did you ever hear that story about Ramon Blanco?”
Eve’s brow furrowed for a moment before she laughed. “You’re still dwelling on that? Please don’t be mad. I need you, Justin. You’re my best friend, and I’m sorry if I upset you with the shit in New Orleans.”