VINCENZO
“I’ve never been to a strip club.” Jack is rubbing his clammy hands on my Gucci jeans that I’ve loaned him as we take another step closer to the door of a seedy strip club owned by Odessa. I roll my eyes. What a vanilla thing to say. Lee and Marty are in line with us, standing on either side of Jack and me, calm looks on their stone-focused faces.
“Man. I’m cold. Are you cold?” Jack tilts his boyish head to me, and I roll my eyes again. If I keep expressing my annoyance for him through my eyeballs, I’m definitely on the path to a headache. He clears his throat when I don’t respond verbally.
“Next.” The bouncer calls, and we all step up to him. He takes one look at us, clearly determining we have the money to be here and gives us the nod. I give it right back, and we turn into the club, making our way through the loud crowd and up to the front where there’s extra commotion. I see her hair before anything else. That wild red hair I so easily got sucked into, now sliding up and down a pole as men toss money at her half-naked body.
We take a seat at a table closest to the stage.
As the first round of tequila shots get delivered to our table, Jack leans in. I down it as he asks, “So, the plan is to get that chick to talk?”
“Yep.” I nod back, keeping my eyes on her as she dances.
“How do you even know her?” God, this kid asks so many fucking questions.
I raise my hand. “Just shut up.”
“Jeez.” He exaggerates and flops back against his seat, arms crossed over his chest. I’m surprised he didn’t stomp a foot on the floor in defiance. I have a little snicker at that thought.
The song comes to an end, and red-head slinks off the stage and over to my table. Men watch her with thirsty eyes and crude words as she passes them, but her focus is on me. She places her hands atop the table, her breasts spilling over the cups of her purple lacy lingerie.
“The fuck you want, married man?” She looks me up and down, clearly not impressed to see me.
“Hello to you too, Rebecca. You never mentioned you were working at such a fine establishment. I would have come to visit you sooner.”
She narrows her eyes at me and glances at the vanilla surfer boy.
“You want a lap dance, sweetie?” She gives him a seductive look, and I can tell he’s nearly about to fall out of his chair— cheeks red, blue eyes brimming with admiration, and a smile across his face that’s sure to attract more than the likes of Rebecca Kane.
“I-I- well, you’re- um,” he swallows hard, and I close my eyes, shaking my head as she lets out a flirty giggle.
“That’s not why we’re here, Red.”
She throws up a hand and stands straight again. “Why are you here, then?”
I glance around the room. “Is there somewhere we can chat?”
“Right here’s just fine.” She trails her tongue over her molars in annoyance, brows raised.
“Privately.” I purse my lips, and we have a stare-off for a couple of seconds before she waves us to follow her. We oblige, weaving through the crowd to a door by the stage, following her down a long hallway until we reach a door with her name written on it in gold sharpie. She closes it after we file in, taking a robe off its hook on the wall and slipping it on. We don’t say a word as she sits on the couch, crossing her legs and spreading her arms across the length of the back.
“So, what can I do for you?” Her eyes are still on wonder-bread-boy, and I sigh as she taps her fingers eagerly.
“Cut the shit, Rebecca. I know who you work for.”
Her countenance changes, and she sits up a bit, glancing at our security as if she now understands why they’re here. Her eyes go innocent like she wants me to feel bad for her. I don’t.
“I used to go on real missions before you.” She snarls, looking me up and down.
“You walked out of that restaurant without putting up a fight.” I lean back on her brightly lit vanity.
“Was I supposed to stay and ignore your wife? Everyone was looking at me. It would have been a mistake to stay. A dead giveaway of my motives.” Her eyes are brimming with something that looks like fear, but I can’t quite tell in this lighting.
“You gave up too quickly.” I clench my jaw.
“And you sound like Carlito.” A smug look turns up the corners of her plump lips, and I don’t like it. I lift my chin to the boys who cross to the couch. She doesn’t put up a fight, just watches them as they lift her up and bring her to me. I take out my folding knife and flip it open. From the corner of my eyes, I see Jack tensing his body, shifting his weight nervously on the balls of his feet.
When she’s heldinches away from my face, I lift my knife to her alabaster chin.