Total pages in book: 95
Estimated words: 92043 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 460(@200wpm)___ 368(@250wpm)___ 307(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 92043 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 460(@200wpm)___ 368(@250wpm)___ 307(@300wpm)
“There are really good options for addicts now. You can get through this.”
“That’s not it. Well, it is partly but not the worst.” His voice sounded so small it was like a child’s.
Z squeezed his hands in encouragement but didn’t speak.
“I got involved with someone I shouldn’t have. He was bad news. A dealer.” Lirim’s watery eyes lifted to look at Z like he expected a comment. When none came, he continued. “He took off with the product. Now his supplier has threatened me to get it back, but I don’t know where the asshole went. They’re gonna kill me, Z.” The last bit was pitched so high and filled with panic.
“No one’s gonna kill you. We’ll go to the police, tell them what happened.”
Strangely enough, an even greater fear filled Lirim’s eyes and he shook his head violently. “I can’t.”
“They’ll protect you.”
“Bullshit. The cops are worse than the thugs. They pretend to care.”
Z thought of Connelly, how he’d gone out of his way to save him from Briggs. He thought of Raoul, a good man by all accounts. If those two were NYPD then the entire force couldn’t be bad. But Z didn’t want to argue the point. It meant spilling his guts and he really wanted to avoid that extra pain. “What else are you gonna do? How can you give them back what you don’t have?”
Lirim’s shoulders drooped. “I don’t know. I thought I’d ask you guys for a loan. Try paying them what it was worth.”
Z winced. “How much do you need?”
“Three grand.”
Lirim was such a fucking idealist thinking any of them had that much spare cash around.
“Damn it,” Z said, unable to hold back his frustration any longer. He’d come to the club hoping to ask for help to solve his own crisis, but Lirim’s trouble shut that idea down fast. The part of his brain wired to solve problems was already running on high speed trying to find solutions that wouldn’t completely kill either of them. “Okay, don’t do anything yet. I’ll figure something out.”
“Really? You’ll help me? Are you sure?”
He pulled his friend in for a hug they both needed. “I’ll take care of it.”
With that he stood and left Lirim alone in the dressing room. He knocked on Castor’s office—he’d learned his lesson on that score—and waited for the gruff “Enter.”
Shutting the door behind him, he met those beady eyes and straightened his shoulders. “I need money.”
“This is not a bank, honey. I don’t hand out loans.”
“What do I have to do?”
“That depends, how much you need?”
“Five grand.” He threw the number out there.
Castor’s top lip rose in a half-snarl. “You know what that’ll take. You sure?”
No. He wasn’t. But what choice did he have? It wasn’t just for himself anymore. Yeah, he’d do almost anything to keep his own head above water, but for his friends? For the family he’d claimed when blood had abandoned him? He’d die for those boys if they needed him to.
* * *
The cab Z couldn’t afford pulled up outside a creepy-looking warehouse in Red Hook. Being this close to his old Boro Park neighborhood had the hairs on the back of his neck standing on end. The cab driver shot him a nervous glance in the mirror.
“You sure this is the place?”
Z looked down at the address Castor had given him. “Yeah.”
“I don’t know. It doesn’t feel right leaving you here.”
“I’ll be fine.” Z handed over his last twenty dollars and got out. The sun was setting and he could see the docks at the mouth of the Hudson where it fed into the bay. Liberty Island was already lit up, her torch held high in welcome. Z’s stomach threatened to dump its meager contents onto the pavement. He forced himself to get a grip.
It was just porn.
There was no reason to act like a fucking frightened virgin.
He’d had sex before.
He loved sex. Now he’d get paid for it. Castor had agreed to pay exactly five thousand dollars for this special performance. If that didn’t calm his nerves, nothing would.
For five grand, he’d do a hell of a lot worse than letting a stranger stick a dick up his ass.
That money would pay for the rent he owed. That money would turn his electricity back on. That money would keep Lirim from ending up tied to a pair of concrete boots at the bottom of the river he was currently staring at.
There went his stomach again.
Fuck.
He adjusted the crutches under his pits and made his way to the door. He buzzed.
A voice came over the intercom. “What?”
“Castor sent me. Scene seventeen.” Whatever the fuck that meant. A code word, he assumed. It worked. The locks clicked with a low drone and Z entered.
It was dark as night inside and for a second he was blind. Then a light flicked on at the top of the stairs and that same voice hollered, “Up here.”