Rock Chick Revenge (Rock Chick #5)(32)

“That’s right,” Shirleen agreed.

“Okay, then Dave, Rick, Dom,” I went on. “Men are all ass**les,” I looked at Tod and Stevie. “Present company excepted, of course.”

“Of course,” Stevie mumbled.

Tod just smiled.

“Hank’s not an ass**le,” Roxie muttered.

“I’m glad for you, it sounds like he isn’t and that’s cool,” I emphasized my comment by reaching out and squeezing Roxie’s hand. Then I sat back and declared, “But for me, I’ll take my rabbit vibrator, thank you. It works every time.”

“No vibrator is better than Eddie,” Jet whispered to a grinning Jules. “Trust me, I know.”

“Just this morning, Lee had me singing the Hallelujah Chorus, twice,” Indy didn’t whisper. “I haven’t touched a vibrator in ten months.”

“I didn’t even bring my vibrator from Chicago. I tossed it in a dumpster,” Roxie threw down. “And I do not miss it.”

“Why are we talking about vibrators?” Stevie asked May. She started shaking with laughter.

“I’ve vowed fidelity to my vibrators,” I told them. “I’m not going to get talked down to, stolen from, cheated on, walked all over or walked out on. Not like Sissy, not like myself and not like my Mom. No way. No f**king way.”

There was a lot of grinning, some shaking of heads and at least one roll of the eyes.

Oh well. There was no convincing this crowd. But I knew if I could shed seventy-five pounds and go from a Fatty, Fatty Four-Eyes to someone Lucas Stark would call a knockout, I could and would remain faithful to my vibrators.

On that thought, I got up. “I’m getting a drink. Who needs a drink?”

“We all need drinks, girlie,” Tod said.

“My shout, I’ll find a waitress,” I announced and then weaved my unsteady way through the crowd to the bar.

I didn’t make it.

Five steps away from the bar two big, beefy guys came up on either side of me, both with a hand at my elbow but only one leaned in and said, “You know Dominic Vincetti?”

Uh-oh.

This doesn’t look good, Bad Ava told me.

Eek! Good Ava screeched.

Shit.

That’s when I was kidnapped.

* * * * *

They weren’t good kidnappers.

I knew this because I got away.

They pulled me out of the bar and behind the back to the alley parking area and shoved me in the backseat of the car. They weren’t rough, they weren’t gentle, but they were in a hurry. They didn’t take my purse and they didn’t ask any questions outside of the first one which, incidentally, I didn’t answer but they took me anyway.

What they did say was that if I didn’t go with them, they would blow my head off. It didn’t occur to me that it was unlikely that they would blow my head off in a crowded bar. The only thing that occurred to me was that I liked my head where it was.

Therefore, I went with them.

They were huge guys, both dark, both Italian looking, both wearing ill-fitting suits and, on one of them, I could see his shoulder holster and the butt of a gun (thus, me going with them).

I sat in the back of the car wishing I had had dinner. Firstly, because I was hungry. Secondly, because I was now a lot more drunk than I normally would have been if I had only had four cranberry juice and vodkas. Thirdly, because if I was going to die, I wished I had had a last meal that consisted of more than noodles and veggies.

We drove down Broadway toward Englewood and I wondered when the gang was going to notice I was gone. They’d probably call Luke and Luke would probably get pissed, at me.

Fuckity, f**k, f**k, f**k.

“Mr. Zano wants to see you,” the big guy in the passenger seat turned to tell me.

“Okay,” I said, deciding to be cooperative in order not to get beaten up, shot at, chained to a sink, car bombed or the like.

“You know Mr. Zano?” he asked.

“No,” I told him. I mean, I knew several Zanos, including Uncle Vito and Dom’s shit-hot cousin Ren Zano, but I could call both of them friends and neither of them would kidnap me.

He looked at his friend then back at me. “Mr. Zano knows you.”

“Okay,” I agreed, even though I knew no kidnapping, having beefy-henchmen “Mr. Zano”.

“Mr. Zano also knows you were at Dominic’s house last night with Stark. Are you like The Law?” he asked.

“Law” was Jules’s street name. Jules was a social worker and months ago she’d started a (rather successful) one-woman vigilante operation against the drug dealers in the city. This was part of why she was shot. She also worked with Lee’s boys for a few days and did what she did with them so well it significantly enhanced her street cred. She didn’t do that anymore but apparently she hadn’t been forgotten.

“No,” I repeated.

“What were you two doin’ there?” he went on.

“Sissy Vincetti is my friend. She left Dom and she wanted some of her stuff. We went to get it for her,” I lied.

He looked at his partner as if his partner could confirm my story. His partner shrugged. The guy talking to me lost interest in our conversation and turned back to the front.

I looked out the window trying not to hyperventilate as we pulled up to red light and my eyes moved across the street. Brightly lit and totally still open was a Walgreen’s.