The Fine Print Changes The Game

Crime Fiction by David Calogero Centorbi

In this business, there are two types of Hitters.  First, no women, no children. Second, if the price was high enough, they would hit their mother. Truth is. I hated my mother, but I can’t think of a price I would’ve accepted to end her. So when the contract for Ms. Z came across my screen, I was about to push delete until I saw the seven-figure price tag. I had three minutes to accept, or the contract would be gone, on to the next Hitter. And that was the problem: Pyrite Inc. never gave the details until you accepted. But the price tag was high enough to make it clear, there would be a river of shit I’d have to wade through before I got the golden ticket.

Every so often I would decide to give up smoking and drinking coffee, cold turkey. I suffered for a week and then everything would be fine. I was back in charge.

And the day after I took the contract, that’s what I did.

 And a week into surveilling  Ms.Z, I was on the verge of going back.

Every morning her routine was the same:  Seven a.m., Caffe Speranza; she would sit at the far corner table under the red and yellow canopy; she would order a croissant, drink cappuccinos, and smoke cigarettes until eleven.

And she always looked the same: her brunette hair in a ponytail, black Chanel sunglasses, and her Versace black pantsuit, it could’ve been a scene out of Breakfast at Tiffany’s, but in her case, Sophia Loren would be the star. 

Then, at eleven thirty, she would walk two blocks down to Avida Imports & Exports, stand at the bottom steps of her building long enough to light another cigarette, hustle up the ten wide concrete steps, and push through a black, carved wood front door.

  And sure, I could’ve easily cashed the contract while she was sipping coffee. But that would be rude. No one should interrupt coffee time. Besides, how professional would that be? It’s a gangster move. Low class.

And I wasn’t going to hit her as she walked to work and leave her sprawled out on the sidewalk. It had to be discreet. Dignified. Because this was my first woman, and I didn’t have a playbook, which I tried to explain to Amber:

“Why does it matter? Hit her at the cafe, and get your money and my money. Who cares.”

“Well, this time it’s just inside surveillance for you.”

***

Amber finally put together her tourist disguise. Except for the black goth makeup she always wore,  she looked like some sixties flower child with a big white floppy hat, yellow polka-dotted shirt, and bell bottoms. “All vintage from my cousin’s closet,” she bragged when I saw her. The button camera would easily be hidden, and Amber was loving her disguise, so if she was happy, it would make the recon smoother. 

“Ok, just go in and start walking around. I need to know…”

“Really.  I think I know what needs to be done. Go in, pretend like I’m a sightseeing tourist that just walked into the building cause the architecture was so cool, and then ask a whole bunch of questions about what the hell is an Import-Export business and who built this and that…

“Ok, ok, you got it.”

“Thanks, boss,”  and she flipped the brim of her hat at me. “I’m gonna dress like this all the time. I look great.  Don’t ya think?”

“Sure. The new Hitter Fashion Line.”

“Blah, blah,” and she walked out the door.

I went down to the basement. There I had my Hitter-shed: it had all the toys to make my jobs easier. I put on my headset to check Amber’s audio and video. When I clicked it on,  I got her in mid mic check. “Hello, check, hello. Are you there? Check, check, checkity, check, check.”

“Yes. I’m here.”

“Where were you?”

“Listening to you.”

“Can you see anything?”

“Yes, I see everything.”

“Cool.  Ok, I’m going to switch off until I get there.”

I sat at my desk and started scribbling in my notebook all the reasons I was doing this. It ended up dollar sign after dollar sign. And yes, this was my first woman, but it’s an equal opportunity shit-hole world out there, and Ms. Z was on top of the pile. And as I was about to get up and pour myself a drink:

“Ok, ok, check, I’m here,”  Amber’s voice startled me.

“Yes. I’m here.”

“Ok video is on.”

“Yes, I see it.”

“Wow. it’s a pretty impressive building.”

“Yep. Ok, be cool.”

“Ok there, Fonzi.”

I laughed to myself. Surprised she even knew who that was.

“Ayyye,” I replied.

“Dork.”

I watched as she opened the door.  I could see she had to muscle it. So that was good to know. She stopped for a few seconds and turned a bit to the right, and then to the left, showing me the paintings on either side of the wall, then she muscled open another door and went in.

“Ma’am excuse me, can I help you?” I heard a deep voice, but only saw a throat and the knot of a tie, until Amber looked up at the doorman’s black-bearded face and dark skin.

“Yea. Sure. I mean this building looked so cool from the outside I had to see what it looked like on the inside.”

“Well, this is a private business.”

“It says Imports and Exports. I thought I’d do some shopping and check it all out.” “Well, Ma’am. We do not sell to the general public.”

As they talked Amber moved slowly into the foyer turning just enough so I could see as much as possible.

“Ma’am you are going to have to leave.” The doorman stopped her from going in any further.

“This is so beautiful in here. Look at all the wood, what kind is it?” Then she looked at the chandelier. “Wow, I’ve never seen anything like that before. And is that marble on the floor, and look at the paintings. Are they like from what, the Middle Ages or something?”

I heard the doorman chuckle as Amber walked around him. “And my god look at those staircases, two of them. And wow, what’s that there, a cube? Is it some weird fountain? Where do those staircases go?”

And now she was past him and standing in the middle of the foyer panning up the winding staircase. “And that door up there. I’ve never seen anything like that, is that gold or something?”

“Ok, Ma’am.”The doorman stepped in front of her. “I mean it now. It is time to leave, you are trespassing.”

“Oh, man. This is so amazing. Do you guys give tours or something?”

The doorman laughed and relaxed again. “No Ma’am we do not. So, like I said, it is time to leave.” And I saw his arm move in front of the camera.

“Ok, ok,”  and then Amber’s voice raised, staticing the mic, “Oh my god, who is that?”

I heard a woman’s voice. “Dante, what exactly is going on out here? Who is this?” “Ah, Ms. Zerilli, she was just leaving. She thought we were a retail store.”

“Yeah. I saw import-export. I thought I would get some exotic souvenirs to take back home. It’s my first time in New York. And by the way, what’s an import-export store exactly?”

The doorman was still in front of Amber, but she kept stepping to the side so she could see Ms. Z, and as she did that, the doorman kept stepping in front of her.

“Well…”

“Karmin. My name is Karmin.”

“Well, Karmin. Let’s just say we sell very, very, expensive things to very, very wealthy clients who have very, very,  exotic tastes.”

“Really,” Amber’s voice raised. Oh, I would very much love to see that stuff.”

Ms. Z laughed. “Well, my dear, maybe one day you will. But today is not the day.”

“Bummer, but hey, do you have an Instagram page?”

Ms. Z walked toward Amber as the doorman stepped back still trying to stay between them. “Let me say, Karmin, I love your outfit.”

“It’s vintage.”

“I can see. You look like one of Andy’s girls. Where did you say you were from?”

“Detroit.”

“Really. Then you must’ve done some shopping here because I’m sure Detroit would not have those types of vintage clothes.”

And there it was, the first fuck up. Amber was stuck. I saw Ms. Z’s face now as she stared at her waiting for an answer. Then I said into Amber’s ear, “Kelly’s Korner,” which she repeated.

“Really?”

“Yes. It was great. And you’re right I never saw this type of stuff in Detroit.” And Amber was back on track.

“Well, you certainly have an eye. I might have to stop there one day and see what I can find.”

Amber laughed. “Well, you look far too fancy to wear these types of clothes.”

Ms. Z’s face changed and relaxed. She started to smile. “You think I’m fancy do you?”

“Of course. Look at you. That black dress and that necklace. I’ve never seen anything like that.”

“Well, thank you then.  I tell you what, why don’t you tell me where you’re staying and I’ll send over a car tomorrow. We can have lunch and I’ll show you some of the exotic things we sell.”

“Oh my god really? Well, I’m at the Reynolds Hotel it’s on…

“I know where it is.”

“It’s nothing fancy, but I figure it’s cheap. And it’s only where I’m going to sleep. So, what the hell. I came to see the city.”

“Of course you did. Well, my dear, I’m very busy, so please give Dante your number and we’ll arrange it all.”

“Oh my god, for sure. Thank you. Wow,” Amber’s squeal staticed the mic again. Ms. Z started to walk up the stairs but stopped and turned. “And maybe we’ll do some shopping at Kelly’s. I know the owner.”

I sat back in my chair and listened to Amber give her info to Dante. She nailed the hotel cover,  it was quick thinking, but as I watched her leave, I was dialing the Reynolds praying they had a vacancy.

As the phone to the hotel was ringing Amber yelled into the mic, “Fuck me, tell me they have a room.”

“I’m dialing.” 

“Fuck me. I fucked this whole show.”

“Hold on, hello.”

“What?”

“Yes, I would like to book a room.” 

“Oh fuck.”

“Great.  That’s great.”

“See you soon,” Amber said into my ear.

I was sitting in my library when she came in. I had already started on my Maker’s Mark and Amber’s glass was on the side table next to the green leather wingback she always liked to sit in.

“You’re such a dick. Why couldn’t you have just hit her at the cafe? Look at this fucking mess.” 

“Your drink is on the table.”

“I need a cigarette and the bottle.” “We’re fine.  They had a room.  You’re booked.”

“She knows I’m full of shit. She knows something isn’t right. Did you hear her? I fucked up with the fucking vintage thing.”  And she gulped down her drink and held out her glass for more.  I filled hers and added some to mine.

“A cigarette, please.”

“I quit.”

“You’re a dick. You never quit. You stop and start. That’s not quitting.”

“I don’t have any in the house. Listen, relax.”

Amber fell back into the chair and closed her eyes. I could see her face was tense and she was clenching and then releasing her fist. When she did that, her Death Eater tattoo–skull and snake–on her forearm, seemed to slither up and down.

“Ok,” and she blew out the breath she was holding and leaned forward in the chair. “If she suspects something she already called the hotel and I’m pretty sure the hotel clerk at that place isn’t gonna think twice about telling them when I checked in.”

Amber was right. And the only way to know for sure was: coffee, croissant, and cigarettes— if Ms. Z was at the cafe tomorrow, we were probably ok.  If she suspected something, if she thought Amber was a threat, that was it. She would go underground and so would the golden ticket.

***

I got up at the regular time and headed to the bookstore across the street from the cafe, but now I was there with a double espresso and a pack of Marlboros in my pocket, hoping Ms. Z would sit at the same table, order her cappuccino and croissant, and light her morning cigarette.

It was the longest five minutes of my life: she was late, but she showed up. I wasn’t going to read into her being late too much, but since Amber’s recon yesterday, I was thinking about how to handle this.

 I decided I was going sloppy gangster style. I didn’t want Amber getting into a car with these people and ending up at the bottom of the Gowanus Canal. So it was going to be a hit as she sat there drinking her morning coffee.

The sidewalk had the usual crowd, so it would be pretty to pull this off. I hired a driver in case I made this decision. He was waiting a block away on a side street. It would be easy to hit her, head down the alley two stores over, and be driven away, embarrassed, but the money would ease my shame.

As I got up to head across the street, a black Escalade slowly came to a stop in front of the cafe blocking Ms. Z from my view. I started to walk down the street from the bookstore. When I was about to cross the street my cell phone binged: Amber texted me two hearts, then, “Sorry boss, I fucked up. I wanna make this right.” I stopped on the sidewalk and started to text

her back when I heard screeching tires. I looked up and the Escalade was driving off. I watched it for a bit and then my whole body felt sick. I didn’t want to look at where Ms. Z was sitting. It took a minute to put the scene together, but I saw her at the table looking down at a pink box.

And then. I was on my back looking up at the sky.

My ears were ringing. My chest felt heavy. I turned and tried to focus. It was blurry, but I saw images darting back and forth. I couldn’t figure out what happened. I started feeling up and down my body for bullet holes. I turned my ankles to the right and left, then wiggled my toes. Finally, the ringing was replaced with screams. I turned my head to the right and saw bodies on the sidewalk. I forced myself to sit up and realized I was further down the sidewalk than I was before. It all finally made sense. I pushed myself up, still aching all over.

I had to see Ms.Z. I looked toward the cafe. The red and yellow canopy was down and the tables were scattered all over the sidewalk. I kept looking at the spot where Ms. Z was sitting, trying to focus, trying to see her.  I started to walk toward the cafe. There was screaming and in the distance, sirens. I kept moving toward the cafe.  Then I felt someone push my shoulders, stopping me.

“I’m getting you out of here. Come on.”

“Who are you,” was the first thing I said. All I saw were arms against my shoulders until I looked up and saw Amber’s face.

“Now you know who I am,” she laughed a bit.  “Come on, I have a car down the street.” 

***

I remembered some of the ride, my head swirling with questions. But now, I was lying in bed. Amber had the crash cart next to it. I was lying in my underwear as she checked over my body to see if anything was broken or cut. I was still trying to put this whole thing together. When I looked at her again all I said was, “Your red hair is gone.”

“Ah, yeah.” 

“I didn’t see that when we were in the street ” 

“I had a hoodie on. And I always shave my head before a hit, you know…Ok Niko, how many fingers am I holding up?” 

“Four.” “Follow this one.” And she held up her middle finger and moved it from left to right.

“You look good, you’ll be fine, but I have a question for you.” And Amber sat at the edge of the bed. “What were you doing in the street? What were you doing out of the bookstore?”

Amber’s questions brought me back to all my questions. “Oh shit,” I yelled and sat up too quickly, my sore ribs pushed me back down. “I forgot about Reese.  He was waiting…”

“Took care of that. Your phone went off. You passed out a bit on the ride over here.”

“Good… I mean..thanks for doing that.”

Amber looked at me. She had large hoop earrings on that just swayed back and forth when she moved her head.  She didn’t have on her usual black eyeliner and black lipstick. Her face was plain, like a young girl’s.

“What are you looking at?” she laughed.

“You. Are you trying to hypnotize me with those earrings?”

“Yes. Trying to make you forget the whole morning.”

“Morning. Shit.” And once again I was back to business. “What the hell happened? Was that you in the Escalade? Where did you get the bomb? Was Ms. Z at the table? Jesus, those people. I couldn’t see her. I was heading over there to see if she was dead when you stopped me, and how…”

“Hold on you’ll give yourself a stroke.”

 I started to get dizzy and hyperventilated. I closed my eyes and relaxed back into the bed running my hands over the black satin sheets to try and calm down.

“Ok, first, here.” Amber handed me one of my crystal glasses with Maker’s Mark and a straw.  She giggled. “Easier for you to drink.” She went over to the crash cart and opened the middle drawer. “Do you wanna Xanax?” “No. This is fine. I just need answers.”

“Ok. Well.  You know the old saying “if you can’t beat’em,  join’em…” My stomach tightened and I felt a bit nauseous.

“Hold on, are you going to puke?”

I shook my head, no.

“Ok, as I was saying. I know I fucked this up. I could just feel it. I knew she knew something was up so I…”

“What do you mean, join them?”  Instinct took over and I tried to slide closer to the drawer next to my bed where I kept my .38.

“She looked at me. “What are you doing? Something hurt?” 

“Ah, just not comfortable.”

She burst out laughing. “Oh my god, not comfortable, really? Here.” She walked over opened the drawer and threw my .38 onto the bed. “Feel better? As I was saying…”

I was embarrassed.  “I’m sorry, but you said.”

“Join them. Yes. I know. And you…after all these years.”

“Look. I’m traumatized and confused.”

“‘Dazed and confused for so long?’”

“Whatever.” I laughed.

The tension was gone. She walked over and pulled my green wingback chair closer, sat down, and put her feet on my bed. “Just for that, I’m going to have one of these.” And she pulled out one of my Marlboros and lit it. Took a deep drag and blew the smoke at me.

“Hey. What the fuck. Why do you have these in your pocket?  I thought you gave… Oh, see, you knew I fucked up. I bet you started drinking coffee again. Well, good. So we agree. And…AND…that’s what you were doing out of the bookstore. You were gonna hit her and that’s why Reese was there. He was your driver.  Holy shit.”

“Can I have one?” Was all I said to her. She put it in her mouth, lit it, then handed it to me.  I took a drag, held in the smoke, then blew it out at her. “Yes, but not exactly. She showed up at the cafe, so I was thinking maybe she didn’t expect anything. I could’ve waited. I could’ve let you have your lunch date, but I guess…”

“You didn’t wanna risk something happening to me. How sweet.” And she held up her empty glass to toast me.

“Ok. So now, as you were saying. You joined her.”

Amber got up from the chair and came over to the bed, bent down, and kissed me. I could taste the liquor and nicotine and something like cinnamon. Then she went back to the chair, sat down and popped a bubble at me.  I just laid there. That was the second bomb to go off today.

“Ummm.”

“Whatever. Let it go. I’m not gonna fuck you…so, as I was saying.”

For a few moments, all I heard were jumbled sounds. And my ears started to ring.

“Hello, Niko, earth to Niko.”

“What?”

Amber laughed. “Wow, when was the last time a girl kissed you.” 

“I…”
“Don’t answer.” And she walked over to the bar, poured another drink, lit another cigarette, and sat back down.  “So, here’s the thing. Short and sweet. I fucked up. They called the next day and said they would pick me up at my hotel at noon. I asked where we were going. They said Ms. Zerilli wanted it to be a surprise. I said I didn’t like surprises and needed to talk with her. I had something to tell her, it was a matter of her life or death.  Then I explained to her the whole situation, and of course, there was the offer of  ‘I can double what they are paying you not to do the job,’ and blah, blah, blah, the rest is pretty self-explanatory.”

“You blew her up. That needs a bit more explanation.” And I held up my empty glass. Amber brought over the bottle. She leaned down to pour. I noticed she had on a black tank top. 

“Yes. I’m not wearing a bra and those are my boobs you’re looking at.”

I jerked my head down and closed my eyes.

“A kiss wasn’t enough?  Now you have to cop a peek?”

I felt myself blushing. “Oh my god, I have never seen you…”

“Explain the self-explanatory, please.” And I held up my glass trying to change the focus.

“Hold on. I have to pee.”

Amber walked into the bathroom. I couldn’t believe what I did, but then I shrugged it off to my near-death experience, number three after today.

“Are you hungry?” Amber yelled from the bathroom.  Then I heard the toilet flush. She walked back into the room.

“Yes, I am.”

“Good we can order…”

“Hungry for information.”

She dropped back into the chair and put her feet back onto the bed.

“Ok. but I need to eat.”

“After, please.”

“Sure. Where was I?”

“The bomb.”

“Oh shit. Hold on. Where is your remote?” I pointed to the armoire. “Ok, let’s see if this worked.” And she flicked on the TV and hit the local news channel. “Hell, fucking yes,” she yelled and pointed at the screen.

Across the bottom, the banner said, Suspected Terrorist Bomb at Caffe Speranza. Five Dead.

“Hell yes. Bingo, Yatcheez, High five,” and Amber did a little dance, then sat back down.

“Well done,” I said. She smiled at me “So, let me take a guess. You called Rocco?”

“Hell yes, I did. He loves to blow shit up. He had the whole thing set up in an hour. “Ms. Z told me to meet her at the cafe. I said I would bring the information she needed. It was on my laptop. So Rocco put the bomb in it. I told her it would be in a pink case. I would drop it off with passwords, but she had to transfer money to my account first. Then, once she had the case, she could transfer the rest. I was in the Escalade. I got out, gave it to her, and took off and…”

“That was that,” I finished.

“Yep. And now everyone thinks it’s terrorists. And we walk away with a job well done. And even more money.”

I took a deep breath. Amber didn’t know how much the contract was. She never knew how much I got paid.  We weren’t technically partners, yet. But she was great at what she did. So that’s why she was with me for so long, but she never had to deal with Pyrite Inc., or any other Talent firm. So she didn’t know about clauses and contracts.

“Let’s talk money,” I said.

“Let’s.” But first,” she filled her glass and lit another cigarette. This time not blowing the smoke at me.

“I don’t see why you would ever wanna give these up.  Coffee, maybe. But not…”

“‘Sometimes your will has to be the boss instead of your desires.’”

Amber burst out laughing. “What the fuck, is that some kind of meme advice you read?”

I smiled. “Actually, it was the opening lines of a self-help book I flipped through at the bookstore while I was surveilling the late Ms. Z. But anyway. How much did she transfer to your account?”

“125k. I mean. I didn’t know how much the contract was, but I figured maybe 300k, or so.”

“Ok, and the money is there?”

“Of course.”

“And how much was Rocco?”

“25k.”

“And it was a standard deal?”

“Yes, but he doesn’t care about the money. He doesn’t care about waiting. He trusts me. I mean, I sort of told him you were in trouble, so he was on board right away.”

“Ok. Well.”   And the ringing in my ears started to come back.

“What’s wrong?”

“My ears.”
“God damn it. I wish you weren’t outside, Jesus.” Amber’s face changed.  Her eyes showed some sudden panic. “Fuck me. You could’ve been killed, and she looked at me waiting for some reply.

“Well, you see, that’s the problem, and I’m glad I wasn’t, but other people were.”

“I know, but it covered our tracks even more. Now they think it was terrorists.”

“Right. And maybe that’s ok.”  She looked surprised. “But with this contract, no one but the mark could die. Really, with any of my contracts, there is no collateral damage, and if there is, there’s no contract.” 

Amber looked at me trying to put the pieces together. “No contract if other people die?”

“Yes.”

“So…”

“Yes.”

“Fuck me.”  She sprung up out of the chair.  “Oh my god, how does that even make sense? She’s dead, and it doesn’t even look like a hit. It’s perfect…right…no…not for them?”

And she sat back down and finished her drink. She closed her eyes and just smoked her cigarette. She tried to slow her breathing.  “Are you trying to meditate?” I teased. She just shook her head. “Well, so.. are you still hungry?”

She opened her eyes and drilled a serious look at me. “How much was it?”

I knew she would ask. I could see that question banging through her head.

 “It doesn’t matter now,” I said as evenly as possible, trying to hide any tell she could use to figure it out, but as usual, I couldn’t from her. She slumped back into the chair. “Listen,” I said.

“Don’t talk to me.”

“Come on. I feel better. Let’s order something.”

“Shoot me.”

“What?” I saw her look at my .38. “Come on, really.”

“I’m done with this. We’re done. I can’t do the big leagues. I’m a bottom feeder. Just let me go swim around in some shitty pond.” Amber got up from the chair and walked over to the bar.  “Fuck, and now the bottle’s empty. I drank all your booze and probably smoked all your cigarettes too.”

I held up my glass. “I helped with that. It wasn’t all you.”

“Fuck it. I’m leaving. You good? You feel better?” And she looked at me. Her face had a lost expression like she was trying to remember where she put her keys.

‘“No, wait. Listen,” and I shuffled myself up on the bed.  “My ribs are bruised for sure.”

“Jesus,” and she came over to me and tried to help, pushing me up from behind and sticking some pillows behind me.

“Listen, Amber, don’t go. Please, sit down.” And I pointed to the chair next to the bed. “Wait,” and I stopped her before she sat down. “Get my laptop. It’s in the cabinet, and take out the bottle of scotch on the bottom shelf below it.” Amber punched in the code, opened the doors, and there was a bottle of Bowmore 50. She turned and looked at me. Her eyes widened.

“Go ahead.”

She took the bottle out slowly. “If I fuck this up and drop it I’m gonna really shoot myself.”

“Knock it off.” Amber gave me my laptop and brought the bottle to the bar, filled two fresh glasses then walked over and sat down. She passed me my glass concentrating on not spilling. “Oh lord, really.”  And I took it from her, a few drops spilling onto the sheets.  “Listen Amber. This is my fault and I’m sorry.”

She sat back in the chair and grabbed my Marlboro pack. “Last one, I love you, but this is mine.”

“It’ll cost you 125k.”

“What a dick.” And she threw it at me.

“I’m joking, Jesus,  that money is yours.”

“What do you mean, mine?”

“Ok.  Listen. Like I said, this is my fault and I’m sorry. You didn’t know the details of the contract. You never do, but you always get the job done, and you did it again, that’s why the money is yours.”

“You’re the boss, that’s how it is, so why be sorry.”

“Because it’s time you knew. It’s time things changed.”

Amber sat up in her chair resting her arms on the green leather, her drink against her crotch. She saw me staring. “Is that ok? I know how you are with your glasses. Besides, you saw my boobs. Now you get a sort of crotch shot.”

We both laughed. I relaxed, reclining into my pillows. “As I was saying, Amber, you should know, and you will know because you’re the boss now.”  Amber leaned forward in her chair,” What the fuck are you talking about?”

I opened my laptop. “Come here.”  I had my TA account up. Under primary was my name. I put the cursor behind the last letter and backspaced.

“What the fuck are you doing, stop.”

“No. This should have happened a few years ago.”  The cursor was flashing in the empty space. “Here,” and I handed her the laptop. “Do your thing. Set yourself up. I’m officially no longer the boss.”

Amber held the laptop in her hands, staring at it like I’d just given her some dead thing I found on the road. Then she looked at me. I shrugged, “It’s all you,” and I held up my glass and took a long drink.  “You better hurry and put something in, there’s only so much time in between keystrokes.”

I watched her as she laid the laptop on her knees and started typing, then with a little too much pressure pressed enter and the laptop fell off her knees. She jerked forward, both hands grabbing it before it hit the ground. 

“Wow, good save. See. That’s why you’re the new boss. I can’t move like that anymore.”

“It wasn’t that smooth of a move.”

“Sure it was.”

“No, no it wasn’t, my crotch is soaked in forty thousand dollar scotch.” She held the laptop high above her legs and looked down. I leaned forward, grunting from the pain as I tried to see.

“Well. I guess we aren’t going out to eat,” I said. 

She smiled at me. “Yeah. I guess not.” She tossed the laptop onto my bed. “Do you have a blow dryer in the bathroom?”

“Really, what would I use it for?”

She laughed and walked over and touched my bald head. “Ok, then I tell you what, how about you dry it another way,” and she started to undo her pants.

“Shit, Amber, wait.”

“She looked at me with a grin. “You said I’m the boss now, right? And if you want to keep your job, you need to make the boss happy.”  She walked toward me as she pulled the zipper down of her scotch-soaked jeans.

“Amber, we can’t, we never, I mean…”

“I know, and we won’t,” and she leaned forward and kissed my forehead, then reached down and grabbed the cigarette off the bed. “Like that diversion?” Then walked away and grabbed the lighter. She took a long drag then slowly blew out the smoke, releasing all the day’s tension into it, then watched as it spread through the air. She made a humming sound and closed her eyes. “I need a vacation.” 

“Yes, you do.”

She opened her eyes and looked at me. Then in her southern belle accent, my favorite of her many, said,  “So, Niko, would you be a dear and clear my calendar? I am going out of town for a few weeks.  I think, maybe…Vegas. And that pedestrian of games, craps.  I have a little bit of money to spend.”

And I watched her as she walked to the bedroom door. She stopped and looked at me.“You should know I wasn’t going to leave you, so you didn’t have to do that.”

“Well, now you will know everything. Besides, I want to take a break and let someone else worry about all the planning.” 

“You’re still going to worry.”

“Yeah. I know,” and my voice got quieter, “But now we can worry together.”

“Oh lord, don’t get sentimental,” Amber laughed. 

“Anyway,” I said louder.

“Well, tell you what. You make the call to Mama Rosa’s for pizza and I’ll pick it up along with more cigarettes.”

“And beer…with pizza…that would be good?”

“Sure, Niko.”

“And then we can talk about your vacation.”

She stood at the doorway looking at me a bit confused. “Maybe after you’ve healed a bit.”

“Hey, I don’t wanna stop you, I’ll be fine. You earned it. Go play craps,” I said trying to sell the lie.

She looked at me and rolled her eyes. “Call me and let me know when to pick it up,” her voice echoed as she walked deeper into the house. “And Niko.”

I gave a faint, “Yes,” and then cleared my throat…“Yes.”

“I’m glad I didn’t kill you.” 

---

Bio: David Centorbi is a writer who in the 90’s earned an MFA in Creative Writing from the Now, he is writing and working in Detroit, MI.
His manuscript, The Eloquence of Departure, was the 2023 James Tate Poetry Prize winner and was published by SurVision Books, 2024
He is also the author of “Landscapes Of You And Me” (AlienBuddha Press, 2001)
and “After Falling Into Disarray” (Daily Drunk Press, 2001)
He can be found on X at @DavidCaCentorbi.
His blog is HERE
David has also published on The Yard, HERE

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