Break Free & Be Broken (17 page)

I give a quick nod, already pulsing with the influx of fortitude just given to me. He strummed about every single note I needed to hear.

"Now, once you get in, either find the VIP section on your own or get someone to escort you; doesn't really matter which. Once you find it, find this man." He holds up his phone, showing me a picture of Quinton: white, dark hair, old school gangster looking dude, not exactly a stand out kind of face but sure to be recognizable. "When you find him-and this is the most important part-you’ve got to stay hard, got to stay confident! Quinton's a powerful man. Men like him are surrounded by shady people all the time, and he's used to dominating others. If you're scared or unsure of yourself, he'll smell it, and then he'll have no reason to do anything for you. You've got to keep the power in your possession at all times. At worst, you should be competing for power, but never relinquish it! If you lose it, you're done. Understand?"

"Yeah, I got it."

"All right, then get in there and take care of business! We'll be waiting right here when you're done. And remember, keep it simple and keep control. Don't answer any of his questions; just demand El Sanchez's whereabouts and make sure you stay someone who has the right to demand."

I take a deep breath, savoring the confidence inside me. "That it?"

"That's it, that's all."

I nod my head and leap from the car. Just as I'm about to slam the door, the girl’s voice penetrates the night.

"Chales! Thank you. I really mean it. You're doing more for me than you know." She climbs from the car and gives me my second hug. God, I love how she feels.

Sage gets out and grabs the money for me. "You're a good man, friend." He says, taking my arm and pumping it up and down. I suddenly get the feeling I'm going off to war.

"Thanks." I respond, a tad disconcerted, but mostly just anxious to do good for these people.

"Remember: stay strong, stay dominant." With that, he thumps a fist against my chest and climbs back into the car. The girl pats my shoulder and turns to get back in as well.

"Hold on! I never got your name."

"It's Jade."

I grin. "Well it's nice to meet you, Jade."

She winks at me and gets back in the car; I start toward Vivasio's. Deep inside me, there’s an alarm sounding. Nerves, I tell myself, and concentrate on the memory of Jade's body being pressed up against mine to still them. I can't afford to have any doubt right now. It's time to boss up: own this fucking street.

I think of the money in my hand. If I wanted, I could simply walk right past the club and into the night a quarter million dollars richer. That thought alone is empowering, and before I know it, I'm swaggering like a king. I practically shake my booty at all the noobs waiting in line as I strut by.

Look out bitches, a champ is rolling through.

And it really is true, isn't it? I've endured shit tonight that most of these people couldn't even grasp, let alone survive. And look at this bouncer-Sage was right! He's just as lousy as the rest of them. I take one glance at him then lock my sights on the door, planning to just march right on past. I can tell he is staring at me but I don't let it pierce deeper than the knowledge. I approach him, I reach him, and I pass. His arm feebly rises to stop me as I stomp by. I slap it away.

"Keep your fucking hands off me! I'm here to see Quinton." I growl, and that's the end of it. I’m straight buzzing as I approach the door-I half expect to be tackled at any moment-but I reach the door and a tackle doesn't come. I open it absent any restraining words, and I pass through just like...

Just like I own the place.

Getting in boosts my morale straight up to the sky. It's working! I've taken on the mentality of a boss and I'm being given the respect of one. People take one look at me and back out of my way. Women are staring, men are trembling: this is awesome! After a few powerful steps I stop. There's a solid three foot circle of empty space around me in a room that was once packed person to person. I love it.

The place is filled with a stale assortment of sleazy men and shameless women. Desperation is thick in the air, emanating from both the dancers and the people watching them. The whole thing is rather pathetic, but I get no time to dwell on such thoughts. I've got business to attend to.

I stand tall and proud, surveying the area, trying to discern where the VIP section is. I don't see it. I turn my eyes to the people around me. Most have their eyes averted, trying to carry on as if I wasn't there. I catch the eyes of an unlucky soul who happened to be looking my way, and it is to him that I speak.

"Where's the VIP section in this place?"

He lifts his shoulders and shrugs dumbly. Worthless rabble... I stamp up to the bar, taking an infinite amount of pleasure in the parting sea of people before me. Most move without word, and those who don't take a stiff shoulder. No one offers complaint.

"Where's the VIP section?" I demand when I reach the bar. The bartender gapes at me, then points a finger toward the back. I trace the direction of his point. I don't see it, but I've made too big a show of myself to seem incompetent by asking for further guidance, so I move in the suggested direction.

I plow through the crowd all shoulders and elbows. A couple times a guy turns angrily, fully prepared to rage, but the look in my eye is enough to quell the rebellion before it gets a chance to spark. Not a word is spoken to me as I pass through the masses, which is good, because there is a not a word I would have accepted without giving violence. Not in this state of mind.

The whole time I'm moving I just remember the way Sage handled things at Tink's. I keep asking myself, what would he do? How would he be walking? How would he be talking? Whatever the answer is, I do it, and by acting how I believe he would act, I am being treated how I believe he would be treated: with respect and fear.

I see a big, mean mugging man-clearly another bouncer-standing in front of a roped off area a little ways off. I look behind him into the shaded spot he is guarding. Sitting at a booth is a group of overdone, hardly dressed women and some pig faced, wishing-they-were-important men, but no Quinton. Hm. I should probably still check it out.

I stare at the bouncer, trying to think of what to say when I approach. He's bigger than the first one... and he looks pissed...

Gah!- what am I doing? You can do this, Chales. Look how far you've come. Keep it up just a few more minutes and it's done. He's just a person, after all, and not even a great one. There's nothing to fear. Just do it.

Fucking do it.

I restart my march, concentrating on making it bolder to compensate for the brief weakness of will. In just a few steps the strength of my movements impact the state of my mind, bringing it up to a similar level. A few well placed shoulders and withering stares along the journey bring my spirits all the way back up, and I'm a roaring tiger by the time I reach the bouncer. I opt for the same tactic a second time and move to whiz right past him. This time, however, I'm stopped by a firm palm.

"Where do you think you're going?" He asks.

"Where does it look like I'm going? I'm trying to find Quinton."

The bouncer folds his arms and stares, not nearly as weak minded as the first one. I sit tight and match his stare, mainly because I'm not sure what else to do.

"And what is it you want with Quinton?"

I shake the duffle bag at him. "I've got a delivery. He's expecting me." I lie. A heavy hand falls on my shoulder. I immediately whip around and swipe it off. Another bouncer of the no nonsense, mean looking type snuck up behind me without my notice.

"So you're here to see Quinton? Follow me." Without further word or even checking to see if I follow, he heads off back the way I came. The crowd parts for him with as much respect as they parted for me, and I'm left trailing in his wake. I don't like being the follower, but I suppose since he is the only one who knows where we're going, for the time being, I have no choice. I release my displeasure by glowering at anyone who dares look my way.

The bouncer leads me to an employee only entrance. Past the door is a well lit hallway with another door at the end. Since it's obviously the only place we could be going, I advance up next to my guide and out of his tail. I see him glance over at me from the corner of my eye, but I don't dignify him with a straight look. I pull in front just as we reach the door so I can open it myself. He doesn't try to stop me.

I bust my way into the room and glare about with fierce intent. It's a shabby office with a handful of people scattered about: mostly men, a few half naked strippers, and at the center table, looking both pissed off and confused, is Quinton.

"What's this?" He calls out.

The bouncer moves to speak. I cut him off.

"I need to talk to you."

Quinton stares at me with the same apprehensive look as everyone else. Good. I start with the upper hand. "Tim and Ricky stay, everyone else get the fuck out." He commands.

The majority of the group stand to leave, a few appraising me with anger, most appraising me with fear. I scowl at the ones who don't give the appropriate diversion of the eye. One of the men-a real slimy mother fucker-refuses to break eye contact.

Who the fuck...? I don't think so.

I head butt his chin as soon as enters my range. Next thing I know, the bouncer has me in a choke and the two guys Quinton asked to stay, Ricky and Tim I presume, have guns pointed at my face.

I don't take it. Sage wouldn't take it-I'm not going to take it. I throw a stiff elbow back at the bouncer. It is easily absorbed by a dense layer of fat. I struggle against his arm but can't move. More concerned about looking weak than the actual predicament I'm in, I start throwing kicks at the man I head butted. He only takes one before backing out of range, and I'm left flailing awkwardly in the bouncer’s meaty hold.

It is Quinton, unfortunately, who has to step in to save the day.

"Enough of this bullshit. You, get the fuck outta here!" He sends my nemesis sprawling out with a shove to the back, then turns to Tim and Ricky. "Put away your guns. What's with this scene?" He points to the bouncer. "You, let him go." He slams a finger into my chest. "And you! Fucking relax. When you come in here saying you need to talk and start throwing head butts around, what am I supposed to think? Now calm the fuck down, all of you. I'd like to know what's got our little friend here all hot and bothered."

Little friend... I just gave Quinton a golden opportunity to express his dominance and take control. I lost some ground. The bouncer gives me a final squeeze and lets me go. The squeeze pisses me off-I consider some form of retaliation-but no, no. I've already caused more of a scene than I would have liked. What started feeling like a power move ended up making me look bad, so I reel it in, opting to show my power now in the form of restraint.

Quinton walks back to the table and takes a seat; Tim and Ricky reluctantly do the same. I recompose myself, gather back my wits, and approach. I stick with my bold character and slam the duffle bag on the table full force, sending drinks a flyin.

"Jesus fucking Christ!" Quinton begins, "What's your..." His eyes go wide and he stops. His attention was snatched by something-snatched and carried away into oblivion-damming his sentence mid flow. I follow his eyes, trying to perceive what Medusa turned him to stone. His eyes are coming low across the table. I look down.

Ah. Yes. I forgot I was covered in blood: much of it Tink's, some of it my own. That certainly helps explain all the frightened looks I've been getting while in here. Perhaps that's what has him so startled.

I look back at his eyes. No... they're looking lower, at the table. He's looking at the duffle bag.

"Where did you get that?" He asks, voice full of menace.

I'm baffled. "WUT?"

"Where did you get that bag? What's in it?"

And just like that, I'm thrown off my game. The bold, stone cold killer I was vanishes, leaving me a confused, curious George.

"Where did I get it?" I stutter. Did Sage give me any instructions on what to say about the bag? No, he said don't answer any questions.

Not really able to think and not liking this befuddled pause, I blurt out an answer to the only part of the question I can.

"A quarter million dollars," I state, "and it can be yours if you tell me-"

"A quarter million dollars..." he mumbles, mouth agape. He looks up at me with a fury that stops my heart. "A QUARTER MILLION DOLLARS! Where the FUCK did you get this? Who the fuck are you?" He draws a gun and puts it to my face. Tim and Ricky are quick to do the same. Before I get a chance to react to the shit show unfolding around me, the bouncer has me locked up in another choke.

"Is this some kind of joke?" Quinton roars. "You come stomping in here like King Kong, attack my friends, then throw my own fucking money in front of me? That isn't going to fly, my friend. Not for one second is that going to fly. Take him upstairs!"

Desperation brings a robust strength to my muscles, and with a wild tug, I break free from the bouncers hold. What I wasn't aware of is that a second big man had approached, and I run smack dab into his chest. I don't have time to react before his arms lock around me, and when the original bouncer comes up behind me and completes the sandwich, I'm officially stuck.