While we wait for their answer, another man steps out from the corner. He's huge, well over six and a half feet, if not bigger. His short, blond hair is buzzed into spikes. His clothes are in pristine condition considering where we are. His blue eyes are cold and menacing. "You are disrupting my girl's work. Either pay for her time or move along." His tone is hard, almost as hard as Mick's.
"You her boss?" Mick asks.
"You a cop?" He shoots back.
"Just looking for my girl. Have you seen her?" Mick holds up the picture, but the guy doesn't even acknowledge it.
"You either pay for this bitch or move on," he says while lifting up his white shirt so we can see the gun that he has stashed there.
"Let's go," I whisper to Mick, who is staring at him.
Mick nods his head, grabs my hand, and heads to the door.
"But we haven't asked anyone else," I tell him as we walk out the door into the cool, night air.
He doesn't say anything as he shakes his head and heads to the car. He opens my door for me and rounds the hood to get inside himself. "Marissa, five minutes. I need five minutes to calm down before I lose my shit."
If I thought his eyes were hard before, I was wrong. His eyes are harder and angrier than I've ever seen them, fury and rage churning in them.
I just nod my head and give him his five minutes in the hope that when they are up, my man, whose eyes are always soft and kind on me, is back.
Chapter Sixteen
Mick
I knew going into that warehouse would be hard for me. But for different reasons. She doesn't know that I've been in there more times than I can count, not just for work, but to get my own mother out of there.
The thought of her in there by herself the last couple of times is enough to make me want to blow the damn place up. The minute I saw that pimp come out of the shadows, I wanted to take him down. After all these years, he hasn't changed a bit. I was expecting his hair to at least turn white, that his face would show the signs of his hard life and his age. I really hoped that death would have claimed him in a painful way. He didn't recognize me, the man I've become. I wonder if he even remembers the boy who would beg for his mother. The boy who would sit next to her and wait for her to be sober enough to walk us home. I can't stop the awful memories of my childhood from running through my mind on a constant loop.
I make it to Marissa's apartment, the silence still looming between us after I demanded a few minutes to calm my thoughts. I turn the car off and look over at her, the defeat obvious in her eyes and her slumped shoulders. "We are going to find her. I fucking promise you. I won't stop till we do."
A big tear rolls down her cheek, and her bottom lip quivers as she softly whispers, "I pray every single night, Mick, but I don't think he hears me. Maybe my mom was right, maybe I am destined for Hell, because it sure feels like that's where I am now." She curls into herself and succumbs to her sobs.
I round the car, open her door, and reach in to lift her into my arms to carry her inside. I take the keys from her and open the door, flipping the lights on. I set her down, and she immediately heads into Lori's room to do her nightly check. Just like all the nights before, she comes up empty-handed.
"Nothing," she says as her stomach simultaneously gurgles loudly.
"Did you eat?" I ask her even though I know her answer is no. "You don't have any food. Can we go shopping tomorrow? Just to pick up some essentials?" I ask, and she just shakes her head no. I don't push it. "Fine. Let's order pizza."
"I'm exhausted, Mick. I just want to shower and go to bed," she says.
"So go. You working tomorrow?" I ask.
"Only the dinner shift. I'm off on Sunday," she tells me as she is startled by loud banging on her door.
I swing into action, placing her behind me as the banging starts up again.
"Open up, bitch, I know you're in there," a male voice on the other side of the door yells.
She walks around me, swinging the door open. "Jesus Christ, you scared the shit out of me!" she tells this man, who is leaning against the doorjamb, a toothpick dangling between his lips.
He's about five foot ten. He looks like a pimp in his fake leather jacket, black dress pants, dress shirt unbuttoned to his sternum, and his shiny dress shoes. Jesus, the guy's even wearing a freaking fedora, talk about stereotypes. His pock-marked face looks like the surface of the moon, if it were wrinkled and saggy, and the dark circles under his sunken, beady eyes only accentuate the fact that he is not a good-looking guy.
"First of the month came and went. Where is the money?" he asks her.
She goes into her room, bringing out a white envelope that is filled with cash.
"That is this month's and next, Ralph." She hands it to him, and he opens the envelope to count it.
"Word is that you got fired from Manny's Jug House. You going to turn tricks now?" he says, still counting what is in the envelope.
"Who the fuck are you?" I growl out.
"Who the fuck am I? Who the fuck are you, man?" He finally notices me and stands up tall.
"It's all there, Ralph," Marissa tells him while closing the door on him, turning around and leaning on it. "Jesus, when will this night end?" She rubs her face.
"Two seconds, Marissa. Start talking before I go after him."
"That's Ralph, the bookie/landlord/boss/asshole," she says as she walks into the kitchen and grabs a glass to get herself some water from the sink.
"Bookie?"
"Yes, my ex's bookie, who holds the debt that asshole left me with. He comes in person to collect from me. He promised to never touch Lori if I continued paying him." She brings the glass to her lips, her hands shaking.
"How long?" I ask her, hoping she answers me, but knowing I'll be paying Ralph a visit myself tomorrow to find out.
"I lost count." She finishes her glass of water and puts it in the sink.
I nod my head, knowing now isn't the time to get into this with her. She's had enough today. "Go shower, M."
"You're not leaving?" she asks me softly.
"Nope, and I gotta warn you, we'll be sleeping in your bed together tonight. Okay?"
"Ummm."
I see the questions in her eyes.
"Just sleeping, M," I tell her. "Go shower, and I'll run down and get my bag out of the car."
"Cocky much?"
"Not cocky. I just knew it was going to be a hard night-for both of us." I grab the keys from the counter and head out, locking the door behind me.
I make it outside, and I see Ralph leaning against the side of the building. His two goons are behind him.
"She's not worth it, you know?" he says while throwing the toothpick on the ground. "Sweet pussy, or so I've been told, but not sweet enough for any man to want to get in deep with her."
I watch him without saying anything, my thumbs in my pockets.
"Bitch has more problems than she has years left on this earth. I made it so she'll never be free of me. Never. Unless she wants to spread those fucking legs." He laughs. "Then I'll take off a good chunk of what she owes me. Fuck, I look forward to that day."
"Funny you should be here, Ralph," I say, leaning in, whispering in his ear, "or should I just call you Frankie?" I pull back to see his face that was grinning before is doing nothing but staring at me in shock. I look at his goons, who are trying to figure out what just happened.
"Go wait in the car," he yells at them. When they are out of earshot he turns. "You know shit." His tough guy act is only that, an act.
"Okay, let's say I know nothing. Let's say that I don't know that you really are Frankie from Hoboken. Let's say you didn't run down here twenty years ago and changed your name. Let's say that you didn't snitch on the Grilli family and they put a hit on your head. A hit that is still live in case you were wondering. Let's also say that you don't own half of the Manny Jug House, a club that makes some of their girls run tricks. A club that also deals in drugs. A front to the big poker club that you guys hold in the basement. Let's also say"-I put my hand on my chin-"that all this information falls in the wrong hands, say someone that knows Chris Jr. You know Chris, right? You guys went to school together. He took you under his wing, brought you home. Made you part of the family. The same family that you snitched on. Now what do you think that is worth?" I wait for him to answer the questions.
When I see his hand shake, I answer for him. "I'll answer for you. About fifty grand. Debt clear. And just to make sure you understand. I have numbers programmed in my phone ready to be dialed. Choice is yours. What do you say?"
"You have my word," he says and turns around, walking away.
I rub my face with my hands. I start to walk back inside, my bag be fucking damned. "Oh and, Ralph, you touch one hair on her head or Lori, one, I'll fucking gut you. You'll wish for death to take you before I'm finished with you." I lean in. "Trust me on this. One fucking hair." I see him finally try to swallow, his mouth probably dry.