You've Got Fail(30)

Jason: Hey, man. Football in the fall. Roll Tide.



I nutted up and typed out a message.

Willis: Sorry to be asking this, especially first thing in the morning, but could you do me a favor?



I hit send and waited, my knee bouncing against the bottom side of my desk as more notifications pinged to tell me my blog was hopping. My online presence was my life, but Scarlet had elbowed her way past it and plopped down right in front of me with a wily smile. There was no getting past her. I couldn’t function until I knew she was okay. When the three dots on my phone started to bounce, I hissed out “yes.”

Jason: Just got back from the gym. What you got in mind?



Of course he just got back from the gym. I typed out my response.

Willis: You know Linda’s assistant? I think her name’s Beverly. Could you…



I paused and tried to figure out how to word the rest.

Could you call her up? She really likes you, and I need some information from her. About Scarlet. And I was thinking that maybe, you know, you could…



I hit send and hoped Jason would fill in the blanks. Holding my breath, I watched the dots.

Jason: That’s easy man. I thought you were going to ask for something serious. What do you need to know?



I sagged with relief.

Willis: Just her address.



I wanted her name—her real name—but that would be pushing too far. Right? My thumbs hovered over the keyboard, desperate to spell out the request for her real name. It would be so easy to get it from Beverly. A bead of sweat popped on my brow as I debated with myself. In the end, I let it go. For now. She’d give it to me when she was ready, when she trusted me. Of course, stealing her address from Linda’s files wouldn’t help me much on the trust front. But it’s not like I was the one who had a penchant for pilfering.

Jason: I’ll handle it. Give me a few.

Willis: Thank you so much.



I hurried into my bedroom and dressed in a Thundercats t-shirt and jeans. Snatching my glasses off my dresser, I slid them on and walked into the living room. After checking my phone for the third time in five minutes, I started pacing my familiar path back and forth between my leather sofa and my desk.

“Come on.” Every second that ticked away spoke of more trouble for Scarlet. What if this Pauly was violent? I stared down at my knuckles. I’d never been much of a fighter, but I knew I’d have no problem hurting anyone who laid a hand on Scarlet. It was as if my subconscious had tapped into some secret reserve of testosterone as soon as I met her. All of a sudden, fighting and fucking were the orders of the day. I’d gone native like Captain Kirk in that acid trip episode of Star Trek with the obelisk (if you don’t speak nerd, just move along). Adjusting my glasses, I kept pacing. Minutes ticked by as I stole glances at my phone. Finally, it pinged. I snatched it off my desk.

Jason: I’m supposed to wine, dine, and sixty-nine Beverly this evening. No hardship. She’s not bad looking. In exchange for whoring myself out, I got this: 133 Woodlawn Ave, Jersey City.

Willis: I owe you. Thanks.



I was already out the door and hurtling down the stairs, not taking a chance on waiting for the elevator. Bursting into the lobby, I called to Gene, “Cab, quick.”

“Yes, sir.” He disappeared out the door ahead of me.

My shoes skidded across the marble floor as I pushed through the door and into the morning sun. Gene had already hailed a cab and was opening the door for me.

“Thanks.” I made a mental note to give him a ridiculous tip upon my return.

The cab smelled like the driver had been hotboxing a blunt, but I didn’t care. Maybe it would calm me down since all the chill I possessed seemed to have vanished the moment Scarlet had slipped through my fingers. I gave him her address and settled in for the ride over the river. My phone buzzed in my pocket.

Jason: You need me riding shotgun?

Willis: I think I’ve got this. Thanks though.

Jason: Fair enough. I’ve still got two frisky phillies in my bed from last night. Time for round four.



“Round four?” I gawked at my phone and tried to come up with a nonchalant reply.

Willis: Have a good time.



Was that nonchalant or did I sound like a mom sending her kid off to prom? Probably the latter. I stowed my phone and willed the cab to move faster. Scarlet was in trouble, and I was going to help her get out of it whether she liked it or not.





12





Scarlet





“Hannah?” I called as I rushed into our apartment. Tossing my bag on the kitchen counter, I raced to her room.

She sat on her bed and slipped on a pair of black pumps. “I have to.” Dressed in a black skirt and a low-cut top, she wore her dealer’s outfit, though now it hung more loosely on her frame.

“No.” I closed her bedroom door and plastered myself against it. “You don’t.”

“If I can count cards in Pauly’s gaming room and rig the winnings for one of his own players, I can make up for what I lost. What we owe.” Her tired, sunken eyes met mine.

I shook my head. “And what if it goes wrong again and you get in even deeper with him or worse, someone else? Huh? What then?”