"Well, it's about fucking time. I've been calling all morning!" Regina snaps in her familiar bitchy tone. Always annoyed, always in a hurry, and always making you hurry up and wait. That's G.
"What do you want?" I ask, trying to speed this convo along. Ever since Benny's death, the only time G calls me is if she needs something.
"There's a job. Get your ass over here. Like, now."
"Really, now? It's . . ." I look at the screen. "Almost noon," I inform her disappointedly. I hoped it was earlier. Like eight.
"I don't give a shit what time it is. Get here. Now."
"Send a car," I demand.
"What's wrong? Your metro card stop working?"
"It's a bitch to get to Staten Island from here. A car will be the quickest and easiest way."
I can almost feel her frustration through the phone. She hates doing anything for anyone. Even me.
"Fine," she spit's, then click.
I smile to myself. G, you're a fucking cunt.
"Leaving so soon?" Claudia bounds onto the bed holding a bag of chips.
"Were you eavesdropping?"
"Maybe." She crunches away. "I'm making breakfast. You want pancakes?"
"Isn't it a little late for pancakes? It's lunchtime." I stick my hand in the greasy bag and pull out a ruffled chip.
"It's never too late for pancakes."
"And chips?" I mumble with food in my mouth.
"You know I love chips with everything."
I grab a handful. "I do."
"Salt is my vice."
"Mmmmmm," I agree. "And tequila and weed and men."
"It's why you love me. My vices are fun."
"You'll get no arguments from me on that front." I grudgingly throw the covers off me. I planned to stay holed up in bed all day. So much for that plan. "I gotta go." I slide off the mattress and look for my pants.
"They're in the living room," Claudia informs me.
"Did we have another panty party last night?"
"What do you think?" She points out the fact we are both dressed in our tops and underwear. "You performed 'Heaven is a Place on Earth' six times while standing on the couch."
Oh, shit. I actually blush.
"They say in heaven love comes first." I make fun of myself, and Claudia throws a chip at me.
"You're an idiot."
"And that's why you love me."
"That, and you can beat up all my ex-boyfriends." Crunch.
"I'm good for something," I mutter to myself as I walk out of her bedroom. I grab my jeans off the floor and head for the front door. We really did have a panty party last night; her apartment is a mess. Pink throw pillows everywhere, blankets on the floor, an empty bottle of Patrón on the table, and two dirty shot glasses sitting right next to them. I would help clean up, but I gotta jet. I'm in no mood to hear Regina if I'm late. "I'll call you later!"
I then skip five yards down the hall to my apartment. I don't ever lock the door, so I just walk right in. I rarely ever carry a purse or ID or keys. It's simpler that way. No trail to follow. If someone is going to come after me, I'll gladly invite them in right before I kill them.
I strip off my hoodie and lose the bra and panties. I take a long, hot shower to relax my muscles and mentally prepare for a conversation with Regina. Just being in her presence can be physically taxing.
Quickly, I dress in black skinny jeans, black riding boots, and a black and white striped pullover sweater. I keep my makeup light and fresh, but as I look in the mirror, I think about what Claudia said. Red is your bitch. Beneath this sugary-sweet façade is a woman who likes rough sex, hooker red lipstick, and bloodshed.
I fluff my wavy platinum hair just as there is a knock on the front door. My ride is here.
I open the door to a familiar face. "Kruger? She sent you? She must be entertaining."
The walking Alp doesn't delight me with a response. He just looks down at me with an impassive expression. But that's Kruger. I don't take it personally. He has that sunny disposition with everyone.
Kruger is Regina's right-hand man and rarely leaves her side, unless she's "entertaining."
He starts for the elevator without uttering a word. I follow along. It's pointless to try and start a conversation. He barely talks, but he is one hell of a dresser. I've never seen him in anything other than impeccably pressed designer suit's. He has that whole Dwayne Johnson vibe going on with the bald head, huge muscles, dark sunglasses, and menacing presence. Most people shit when they see him.
Kruger isn't even his real name, I just call him that because of the nasty burn on his neck. It has always reminded me of Freddy Krueger's face.
I don't think he appreciates the nickname, but I can't be sure.