Enforcer (24 page)

“Yeah,” was all Connor would say, noting the time on his phone as he walked back down the hallway.

“Hey, friend. Do me a favor and wait in the living room, will you?” the client called out. “I don’t want my nosy neighbors asking questions about why women dressed like whores come into my house while their boyfriend waits outside in the car.”

Connor looked around the living room and decided on the couch. It looked large enough to be comfortable to his big frame, as well as being the closest piece of furniture to the hallway in case Jera needed help. From what he’d seen so far, he figured the client would be the one needing help with two girls entertaining him. Within minutes, he was forced to tune out the sounds of grunts, shouts, cries of pleasure, one or two of pain, skin on skin that his mind imagined was a hand leaving a red mark on buttocks, and the pounding of a bed frame rocking against the wall.

*****

Jera returned to the Lincoln after changing clothes and cleaning herself up. Connor was surprised at her lack of costume or heavy makeup. She got in the car and told him she was hungry. He didn’t bother to try and have a conversation with her about where she might want to eat. The car made its way through the streets until it happened upon a fast food burger joint and a small cafe that shared a parking lot. Jera pointed at the burger joint, and Connor hit the drive-thru.

They ate in silence, as the radio played pop hits from the nineties in the background. When they were finished, he gathered the trash and exited the car to dump it into the trash bin. When he was behind the wheel again, he asked where they needed to go.

“Nowhere,” she answered.

“What do you mean
nowhere
?” he asked, confused.

“I don’t have anything scheduled until ten.”

“So what are we supposed to do for the next seven hours?”

“Nothing,” she replied.

“Well that’s great. I’m going to drop you off. I have shit to do.”

“You can’t. We have to stay together in case I get an appointment.”

“Bullshit. I’m dropping you off, and if you get an appointment, you can call me. I’ll have my phone with me.”

“We aren’t allowed to own a phone.”

“Okay, so go to a pay phone and call me.”

“If I miss an appointment, I’ll be sent to a worse place. If I’m late and the client complains, I’ll be in trouble.”

“How is this my problem?” Connor asked.

“Because you’re my driver. If I’m late, I’ll tell Mr. Ojacarcu that it was because you left me at the apartment and ran off to do whatever it is you do. I could probably come up with something interesting, like threatening Larry. I’d walk five miles to a pay phone to set you up like that.”

Connor turned in his seat. “What the fuck is your hard-on with getting me in trouble? Are you a bitch by birth, or did that guy fuck something up in your head when he beat on you one too many times?”

“After what you did to him, you deserve worse than what I heard you got. I was hoping they’d kill you, or at least put you in a coma.” Her teeth were bared, and the hatred in her eyes convinced him that he’d definitely made a mistake helping her.

“So you call me in the middle of the night after getting the shit kicked out of you, to come and get you away from him, and it’s all some ruse to get me in trouble? For roughing him up a little because he’s a slimy little thieving shit that deserves to be buried in the desert instead of still wandering around with both of his legs unbroken?”

“It wasn’t a ruse,” Jera said, looking away. It was the first time she hadn’t sounded like a petulant child who might break out into a tantrum full of curses and insults in two days. “I was scared. I made a mistake by calling him. I should have just ripped you off and ran with the money.”

“Yeah,” Connor mocked, “good plan on digging yourself in deeper instead.”

“At least I don’t have to worry about him losing his temper and hitting me,” she said, not really sounding like she would be upset if Larry’s fists left marks on her again, just for old time’s sake.

“Sure, you get to screw men who are much higher on the economic ladder than what you’re used to. And they only get to beat on you if they’ve paid extra for the privilege. How much do you get paid, by the way?”

“None of your business.”

“Probably true, but I turned in three thousand dollars this morning. How much of that did you get?”

“None of your fucking business,” she said, her voice edging toward the shrill, harpy screech he hated.

“How much cock did you have to suck to have them hand me three thousand dollars? Three thousand dollars you earned on your back or on your knees. Is that what you make in an average night? Ten thousand or more a week? Do you get nights off? I’ll be sure to remind you at the end of a week just how much money you earned for your new master. I bet it’s far more than you get paid. Or do you get paid in dope?”

“Fuck you!” she screamed at him.

“You’re a real piece of work,” Connor said, disgusted with her. “And I’m stuck with you. Thanks for all of this, by the way. You’re the last person I’ll ever make the mistake of helping.”

“Fuck you,” she said again, this time not much more than a whisper.

“No, fuck you. I did you a favor, and you’ve hosed it all. Instead of being free, getting away from this shit, you jump right the fuck back into it. You’re a stupid whore. Now I’m paying for it, for helping you.”

“You hurt him!” she shrieked, the sound grating on his nerves like styrofoam being mangled with bare hands.

“Jesus Christ, you
are
stupid. He beat you. He pimped you to men who beat you. He didn’t give a shit about you! He only cared that you made him money and you had a hole he could stick it in. The only reason he lied to Ojacarcu was to get back at me, not you. He can get any stupid whore to do what you were doing. Your types are a dime a dozen.”

“I didn’t know what to do!” she yelled again, tears spilling down her cheeks.

“Because you’re stupid!” Connor shouted at her, making her cringe.

“I’m not stupid,” she said softly after a few minutes of crying.

“Bullshit.”

“I’m not stupid,” she repeated. “I almost graduated from college.”

“That’s great, but that just tells me you are dumber than I imagined. How the fuck do you go from ‘almost graduating from college’ to ‘stupid dope whore who makes others suffer because she’s a selfish bitch?’”

“I hope you die,” she said in an almost conversational tone.

Connor decided to head back to his apartment. She’d been in it before, and he damn sure wasn’t going to spend another six hours in a car with her. Arguing with her had given him a headache. He decided having his hands around the wheel as he navigated toward his place was better than the urge he had to wrap them around her neck and choke her until she… he snapped his mind shut on that thought. In his imagination, her face became Travis’, and he’d seen that face too many times already.

CHAPTER 20

Connor stood in the hallway waiting for Larry to fetch the money. Petre watched from his usual spot just inside the front door, hand inside his jacket. None of the men had exchanged a single word. All of them knew the routine, and all of them knew a single utterance that would break the routine could cause total carnage. Petre watched his friend more closely than he watched the junkie. Connor had been silent on the ride from Boise.

Larry came back down the hallway, handing Connor neat stacks of bills before he walked by and sat on the dirty couch. Connor stared at him the entire way, hoping the little weasel would say something, anything, to give him an excuse to get his fists warmed up. He wasn’t sure he would be able to stop beating the man once he started.

“Check the money,” Petre said, hoping to break Connor’s stare of death directed at Larry.

“Why did you do it?” Connor asked the little man, ignoring Petre, who took a step forward before Connor held up his hand to keep the Romanian where he was.

“Do what, man?” Larry asked, already shrinking into the cushions.

“Why did you call Ojacarcu? When she called you, why didn’t you just offer to come and pick her up?” Connor took a step toward the couch, his hand still signaling Petre to
stay put, stay out of it
.

“I don’t know,” Larry said in a whisper.

“What?” Connor’s voice was loud enough to make the junkie jump.

“I said I don’t know, man.”

“Why would you do such a thing to her? I get it that you wanted to fuck me over, and you did a great job of that, by the way. We are going to be best friends for the next few weeks, you and I. But why would you do that to her? Did she mean nothing to you?”

Larry fidgeted nervously, knowing that violence was coming, frightened at the knowledge that it would surprise him when it erupted. His brain was unable to think of any way to avoid being harmed.

“I don’t know,” he practically squealed.

“You say that one more fucking time,” Connor said and took another step, standing directly in front of the man on the couch, towering over him, “and I’ll kill you right there on that couch.”

“Connor…” Petre said, trying to determine which way things would go.

“Let him answer,” Connor said without looking at his partner.

“I thought I’d get her back!” Larry shouted, his voice cracking with fear. “I thought the boss would make you eat shit and he’d give her back.”

“I haven’t heard you complain for the last couple of months that you didn’t get what you expected. Or was she just another whore for you? You got dope, you got connections. Shouldn’t be too hard for a scrawny little bag of shit like you to entice some other whore to be your punching bag and sex doll, should it?”

“Fuck you, man! I loved her! You don’t even know her! I—”

Connor punched him in the forehead once, not hard enough to break his hand, but hard enough to draw blood and stun Larry into silence. Connor had his arm raised back to deliver a blow to the junkie’s stomach that would have him shitting blood for a week when he felt Petre lay his hand on his arm.

“Enough. We have things to do. More important things than this
bulangiu’s
life is worth,” Petre told him.

Connor stared at Larry and his bloody forehead for a few seconds before walking to the door. Petre gave the junkie a hard look as well before turning. Connor opened the door for him, and followed Petre out, but stopped before he closed the door.

“She’s got another collar on her neck now,” he told Larry. “This one says ‘Property of Costache Ojacarcu’ and it means you better find a new whore, because he’ll never give Jera back to you.”

*****

“You want to talk?” Petre asked him as they passed the Nampa exit on the freeway.

“Why the fuck would I want to talk, especially to you? You’re a traitor.” Connor stared at the Romanian, challenging him to deny it.

“You are right. I am traitor. I did not pull out gun and shoot everyone in room. I did not risk my life to save you from beating. I warned you. She is trouble. I am traitor, but you are
măgar
. Stupid animal.”

“Why didn’t you tell Ojacarcu that Larry was full of shit? You aren’t a traitor for slugging me, or holding me down while Dracul did it. You’re a traitor for not protecting my back. You know I didn’t do anything wrong.”

“I tell him. He says Larry is, how is it? Crazy? Insanity. Yelling at Mr. Ojacarcu, demanding you are killed, saying lies of you insulting Mr. Ojacarcu. Mr. Ojacarcu, he asks if I know what is going up.”

“Going on,” Connor corrected.

“Going on,
da
. I tell Mr. Ojacarcu this man is liar, junkie. Treats his woman very bad, collar on her neck and bruises. I tell him you are unhappy that the woman is treated this way. Mr. Ojacarcu makes decision, I cannot say no. It is your life or my life, Connor.” Petre looked sad at having to tell his friend such a thing. “I am sorry. You are my friend, but my life…”

“Yeah, I get it,” Connor said. “You could have shot the place up though, that would have worked too.”

Petre gave him a strange look, one that looked like the man was trying to hold back painful gas.

“Well, you could have. No one would be expecting it. You could have killed Ojacarcu and then Dracul and even Vadim if you had to, and we could get the hell out of there. No one would know.”

“Too much television. Same bad television we watch in Romania at night. Good for laughs, bad for ideas.”

“What do you mean? No one else would be around. Hell, Dracul has a gun, so does Vadim. At worst, it would be self-defense. It isn’t like Jera and I wouldn’t protect your back.”

Petre sighed. “Television is not real life. Even though you would lie, police know. They have men who are special. Expert. Shooting gun leaves powder on hand. Bullets from only one gun. Too much television,” Petre shook his head. “But police would investigate their death. Dracul… he is Spetsnaz training. He is death squad alone. My gun, I can use. I am even good. But I am not professional soldier, professional killer. Dracul would kill all of us before I fired one bullet.”