Total pages in book: 113
Estimated words: 106953 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 535(@200wpm)___ 428(@250wpm)___ 357(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 106953 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 535(@200wpm)___ 428(@250wpm)___ 357(@300wpm)
“Beefer doesn’t like to be kept waiting,” I say.
“So true.” Her painted lips come together. “Honey, I heard you’re taking on more, ah…” She pauses as she tries to find the right word.
I don’t help her.
She scrunches her nose. “Responsibilities. That’s as good of a word as any. Anyway, you’re taking on more responsibilities. You sure you want to go down this road?”
I take a step back and cross my arms, the styrofoam cracking in my grasp. I don’t like that Mary knows I killed the cop. Is Beefer whispering shit across his pillow to her? I decide to deny it. “Don’t know what you’re talking about.”
She places her hands on my shoulders. “You’re a sweet boy, Monkey. You could do so many other things with your life.”
It takes effort not to flinch away. I’m not a fan of being close to others. “Like what?”
She steps closer. The lack of space between us makes the hairs of my neck rise. She’s so close that if she takes a deep breath, the tits that are nearly pouring out of her low-cut waitress top would brush against my chest. I glance past her. If Beefer would come through the stainless steel doors separating the stockroom from the kitchen, I doubt he’d like our positions. Is Mary really so dumb she’d try something with Beefer less than fifty feet behind her? Is this some kind of fucked up test? An initiation? Kill someone for the boss and you get your willie sucked by the prettiest waitress in the hood?
Her hand comes up to sweep my hair out of my face, reminding me that I need a haircut and have needed one for the last six, or has it been eight, months. “You could drive a taxi or do construction. There’s honest work out there.”
For a twelve-year-old? “How old do you think I am, Mary?”
“Old enough that you should know better than to get involved with these guys. It’s a bad business and you’re such a handsome kid. Too handsome to be here working for Carl. You stay in the game and you’ll get hard, scarred and dried up.” The last is said in a whisper as her lips brush the top of my ear. “I’d hate to see that for you.”
That’s too much closeness for me. Stiffly, I move away. “I need to get home.” If this is a test, I’m okay with failing it.
She tugs on the neckline of her dress. “All by yourself? I’ll see if Carl wants me to walk you home.”
“No. I’m good. When does Beefer need me back?”
“You know what I’m offering, right?” She reaches around and taps the top of my styrofoam box. “For a little of what you got in there, you can have some of this.” She spreads her hand across her chest and down lower.
“When does Beefer need me back?” I repeat.
Her mouth turns down and her eyes narrow and suddenly, she doesn’t seem as pretty as she was when she first walked in. “At seven,” she says tersely.
“Thanks, Mary.”
“I’m not making this offer again,” she snipes, but she says it to my back because I’m out of the door.
I don’t look in the container until I’m at the apartment complex. I didn’t want anyone catching a glimpse of it on the street. Folks around here have been killed for a ten-dollar bill or a pair of tennis shoes. A stack of green this big could’ve sent a gang after me.
In the quiet of the stairwell, I finally give in to my curiosity. A white envelope lies inside the container and inside the envelope, a stack of green. Despite the urge to count it, I stuff the envelope into the back of my jeans and take the rest of the stairs two at a time.
I knock on the door so I don’t scare the girl. “It’s me,” I call out. I press an ear to the door but don’t hear a thing. When I peek inside, the apartment looks the same—empty and sterile. I make a lot of noise, again so I don’t scare her.
I find her huddled in the closet.
“Anyone come here while I was gone?”
“No.”
“Good. You hungry?”
She shakes her head, but her stomach growls.
I can’t help but grin. “Me, too. Let’s go get some real food.”
She starts to rise when I hear a sound. I press my finger to my lips in a totally unnecessary move and then hustle to the door. The sound comes again, and I realize it’s a key in the door. Fuck. The realtor is here, and from the sounds of it, there are people outside.
I run to the closet and grab everything. With the two sleeping bags, it’s almost too much for me to handle, but I manage to stuff half of one in my backpack. I can’t do much about the milk in the fridge or the pans under the sink, but I’ve got money to replace those. With a hand on her back, I urge her toward the window and the fire escape.