She looks concerned, her eyebrows knitting together in the cutest way when she looks at my bandaged noggin. “Are you sure you’re going to be OK?”
“Yeah, I’ll be fine.” I don’t sound very convincing. I suck at lying.
Tricia sets her cup down and looks at her phone. “Shit, my shift starts in two minutes.” She stands and shoulders her purse. She looks me over again, her concern turning to consternation. “Is there something going on with you that I should know?”
There’s not enough time in the day to answer that question properly. And I don’t have the energy to try and lie. “Maybe we can get together again to talk some time when you don’t have to go into work and I’m not recovering from a recent head injury.”
That brings out a smile, but it’s a small one, like my suggestion is not enough to ease her mind. “I think we should. There’s a lot about you that I don’t know yet.”
“And you want to actually find it out?”
She pauses as though truly contemplating that question and I think I fall a little bit in love with her right there. “Yes,” she says. “I think I do want to find out. There’s something about you that I find … intriguing. Something in your eyes that’s compelling, like you have a really long and interesting story to tell and you’re dying to unload it. When will you call me?”
I don’t know what to say. I can’t exactly be going out on dates with this girl while I’m trying to lure bar tramps back to the rape cave to pull stupid stunts on them in bed. But I also have no clue how much longer this fucking show is going to go on. At last check I was halfway to the end, but it seems I’ve only gotten this far on my own dumb luck. How much longer would that luck last? And why am I even still in this thing anyway?
Stupid question. There’s a million reasons why. So far my moral debasement has not been enough to top that pile of cash waiting for me if I win. But what about now? What about this girl across from me? She’s clearly interested, and she gives me that magic bubbles feeling in the pit of my stomach. I really want to get to know her. But if I make her wait for a week, three weeks, two months, what will happen?
Is she enough to make me walk away from a million dollars?
I tell her, “Soon. I’ll call you real soon.”
She seems to accept this, but the worry is still etched in her face. She knows something is up. I stand and step around the table and she leans in for a quick, unexpected hug. God, she smells so good.
She pulls back and touches my face just below the bandage, mindful not to hurt me. “Please be careful,” she says. “I’ll talk to you soon.”
Before I can respond, Tricia turns and walks out of the café. I watch her go, mesmerized by the movement of her body even underneath those modest scrub pants. I wonder if she’s wearing that thong again. I wonder if she’s wearing anything at all under those scrubs. My mind reels at the possibilities. I stand there watching until she’s out of sight. Then I slowly return to the world around me.
That’s when I finally notice Mongo, sitting two tables away.
Something snaps in me when I see him. A sea of boiling anger, at him, at myself for what I’m doing, at everything about what is happening in my life right now, it just explodes. I stomp over to his table and stand much closer to him than I probably should, but I don’t care because I’ve already decided that if he makes one move at me, I’m smashing in his stupid, fat, Slovakian face.
“What the fuck are you doing here?” I’m hovering over him, trying my best to be menacing, which basically consists of clenched fists and a snarl. I realize the bandage on my head and the hospital bracelet around my wrist don’t make me look very tough. Probably more like I’ve just escaped from a mental facility.
Mongo looks over his shoulder, in the direction that Tricia went, and returns my snarl with his trademark molester smile. “Is lovely little lady you are talking to. She looks very familiar to me.”
It takes everything I have in me not to kick his teeth in. “Fuck you, Mongo. You stay the hell away from her.”
Mongo points at the seat opposite him. “Why not have seat and talk like civilized person.” It’s not a suggestion. I hesitate before sliding into the chair, never taking my eyes off him.
“How is superstar?” he says. “Head is feeling better, yes?”
“I repeat, fuck you, Mongo. Why did you dump me off and split? What the hell happened last night?”
“You are not remembering Misty girl and the sanchez?”
“What happened to my head, dude?”
“Ah, well, you took tumble down steps outside. Was a wonderful session, was very funny. Your dirty sanchez was perfect. Finger insertion was deep in anus, lip swipe was perfectly placed, shit mustache came out beautifully. But you were very drunk and stumbled out of room and down steps to ground. Not a pretty sight. I think you are dead, so I take you to hospital. I don’t stay and hold your hand because I can’t have police asking me questions, especially if you end up as corpse. That, and you smell like shit.”
The anger swells in me at the thought of the dirty sanchez, of me wiping that poor, unsuspecting Misty girl’s own feces across her upper lip. The fury kicks up stomach bile which lingers in the back of my throat and I feel like I’m going to puke again. “That’s it, Mongo. This is over.”
Mongo’s smile dissolves. “What are you talking about?”
“This, you dickhead. Everything. The show, the girls, these stupid fucking challenges. I’m done with it all and I’m going home.”
Mongo’s voice drops to just above a whisper and there’s acid in his words. “Nothing is over, little homosexual asshole. We are winning contest, and you are giving me half of money. Be grateful I don’t make you give me all.”
I guess the head injury has given me some unknown fount of courage because I lean over the table and hiss right back at the Russian bear. “Fuck you, Commie. I’m not giving you shit. You can take this contest and that money and shove it all up your ass.”
Mongo’s upper lip quivers ever so slightly and his eyes burn with murder. Then he smiles and leans back and looks like we’re having just the most pleasant conversation. He pulls his cell phone from his coat pocket and sets it on the table.
“I knew you were pussy,” he says. “This was anticipated. I try to think of motivation for you when you get to this point. Honestly, I am surprise you make it this far. Did not have much faith in you. At first, I think great re-motivator would be threaten to sell you to sadist friends of mine to use in next snuff film if you try to back out.”
I have no doubt this bastard not only knows the kind of people that make such films, but he also wouldn’t hesitate to do it. I lick my lips nervously and fight to maintain my fading defiance. “Try it, asshole. This hospital is full of people. Try getting past the cops at the front door with me yelling my head off. You can’t do shit to me right now. This is over.”
Mongo nods and says, “True, you could scream like girl and cause big scene, but you still have to leave here and go home. You will never be able to relax again, don’t you see? You would not even know who to watch for. Is not me who would come for you. Could be short, fat man, could be tall, bald black woman. Point is you never know.”
He lets me think about that a minute before continuing. “But then I think is messy plan and can be expensive pain in ass to do it this way. So I have better idea.”
Mongo picks up his phone and holds it out to me and I notice the display is lit up, that it’s already connected to another line.
“What’s this shit?”
He pushes it closer to me. “You have important phone call. Someone wishing to speak with you.”
I don’t know what to do. I’m suddenly very scared, struck with an awful realization. He sat there the whole time watching Tricia and I, and he must know it was her I talked to on the phone the day before. Is it possible Mongo could pull this off so quickly? I just saw Tricia walk out of here and head for the bank of elevators at the other end of the lobby. How the hell could this big bastard and his Soviet goon buddies have gotten to her so fast? Were they waiting in the elevator for her? I’m filled with such a sense of dread looking at the phone, knowing that I’ll hear Tricia’s frightened, tearful voice on the other end and it will be all my fault. What the hell have I gotten us into here?