Hard Charger: Jake & Sophia: A Hot Contemporary Romance (10 page)

He poured himself a cup of coffee and sat down. “So, Uncle Martin’s moving in today.”

“Yeah.”   Her voice sounded dull.

“I have some good news for you,” he offered.  “You aren’t going to need him.”

She quickly glanced up.  He was pleased to see that her black eye had faded to shades of yellow and pink.  “Good news?”

He smiled.  “I spoke to my boss yesterday.  I asked him to loan us fifty thousand, and he agreed.  I told him we’d apply for a second mortgage on the salon, and pay him back as soon as the mortgage went through.  I’m working on the deal with him today.”  He sat back and waited for her exclamation of relief.

But she only frowned and went back to looking at her paper.

He put a heavy hand on the paper, blocking her ability to read it.  “Did you hear me?  I said we can pay Hansen off before the end of the week.”

She looked at him again with a wounded expression.  Her lower lip trembled almost uncontrollably.

Jake stiffened.  A sense of impending doom grabbed hold of him.  “What’s wrong?”

“Oh, Jake...”

He sat forward.  “What?”

The rest of her body began to tremble, too.

He grasped her shoulders.  “What is it?”

“I don’t owe Hansen fifty thousand,” she said in a low, miserable voice.

Confused, he released her shoulders and sat back.  “You
don’t
owe him money?”

“I don’t owe him
fifty
.”

He tensed.  “How much, then?”

“Around one hundred.”

“
One hundred thousand
?” 

She nodded but refused to look at him.

He jumped out of his chair and began to pace around the kitchen.  His mind boggled at the immensity of her debt.  At the lies she’d been telling him.  “How the hell do you owe one hundred thousand?  And why did you tell me fifty?”

Tears formed in her eyes and ran down her cheeks.  “I knew the insurance and government payouts wouldn’t be enough, so I went down to Atlantic City—”

“You
gambled
the money away?” he interrupted furiously.  “In a casino in
Atlantic City
?”

“Yes, I’m sorry.”  She dropped her face in her hands and started to sob.

“Jesus
Christ
.”  Jake stopped pacing, yanked the kitchen chair out, and sat down heavily.  He regarded his mother with his arms crossed over his chest.  “I can’t believe you did that.”

“I can’t believe it either,” she cried, and then looked at him with teary, yet defiant eyes.  “But I did it, and there’s no going back.”

“How could you be so stupid?” he asked, despite his every effort to keep those words to himself.

At his words, she angrily jumped out of the chair, and something heavy clattered to the floor.   She glanced down with a guilty look and swiped at the object that had fallen, but he was quicker and he kicked it out from under the table.

A snub-nose .38 Saturday night special suddenly sat between them.    Made of a highly polished silver metal with a faux wood handle, it sparkled brilliantly in the light from the kitchen’s pendant lamp, with the exception of the little black hole at the end of its barrel. 

He stared at it with his mouth hanging open in shock.

She reached down to grab it, but he got to it first and picked it up.  It felt cold and hard and deadly.  Wonderingly he examined it from all angles, looking at the trigger, at its grips.  He checked the gun’s chamber and saw that it was full of gleaming bullets. “It’s loaded,” he observed darkly.

She had no reply for him. 

“So this is your plan,” he said slowly.  “You’re going to shoot the next guy who comes through the door demanding money.”

“I’m going to protect myself.”

“You’re going to get yourself
killed
.  Was this Uncle Martin’s idea?”

“Martin knows nothing about it. Give it to me, Jake,” she demanded.

He kept right on holding it.  Abruptly he felt a sense of dreamy unreality, like the gun and everything that went with it was some kind of nightmare.

“What do you want me to do?” she demanded in raw tones.  “Just let them use their fists on me?”

He opened the gun and took the bullets out, one by one, knowing as he did so that it was a useless gesture—she undoubtedly had more around somewhere.  Once he’d emptied it, he slammed the gun on the table.  “I don’t know what to do,” he admitted evenly.  “But this gun...it won’t solve anything.”

Her tears stopped.  She walked over to the cabinet, took out a bottle of Scotch whiskey, and poured a healthy amount of it into a fresh cup of coffee.  “You want some?” she asked, holding the bottle up.

“Give me a double,” he told her, and rubbed his face with a weary hand.  Not even six AM yet, and here he was, drinking whiskey with his mother.  What was next?  Riding around on his dad’s Harley with the Guardians knife and skull emblazoned on his back?

She slung a cup of coffee his way, and he threw another dollop of whiskey into it before he began to drink.

Chapter Ten

Five days later, Jake
found himself back at Rowdy Ray’s Roadhouse.  He’d just come from Ray’s funeral and was now attending the after-service luncheon that Luke had decided to hold at his father’s bar.  The place was packed, but reflected a different-from-usual vibe: somber, uneasy, and heartbroken on Luke’s part.  A variety of hoagies lay spread out on the bar, and a keg filled with Budweiser sat in the corner.  Townsfolk who’d been around a while and who’d gotten to know Ray, as well as the Morris’s family and friends, were helping themselves to the sandwiches and beer, and talking about Ray in low tones.

Alex waved at him and called him over not long after he arrived.  He grabbed a plastic cup, filled it with Bud, and then joined Alex in the booth that—coincidentally—he’d sat with Ray and Alex a few weeks before.  Alex, he saw, was wearing his Guardians jacket.  The skull on the back of it seemed to leer at everyone who walked past.

“This really sucks, doesn’t it?” Alex muttered.  “Poor Ray.”

“Did Luke mention if the police had any leads?”

Alex frowned, his gray eyes stormier than usual.  “None so far.”

They fell silent for a few moments.  Jake looked away and noticed a brunette at the bar talking to Luke.  Her long, silky hair gleamed with red highlights and a black sweater dress hugged her tall, long-legged body, revealing curves in all of the right places.  He didn’t need to see her face or gleaming green eyes to know who she was. 

Surreptitiously he watched her.  Sophia was so beautiful, so radiant, and there was a touch of vulnerability as well.   He suddenly yearned to warm himself by the fire of her beauty, longed to experience again the scorching heat between them. He was tired of the coldness that stubbornly seemed to cling to his life; tired of being surrounded by death, with the constant threat of aggression around him.

She turned toward him then, as if she’d sensed his gaze on her. 

Quickly he glanced back at Alex.  “So the police have nothing.  What do the Guardians have to say about it?”

“The Guardians know who murdered Ray,” Alex admitted quietly.  “They just don’t know how to get to him.  Or stop him.”

Jake sat forward.  “Who is it?”

Just then, Father Al wandered over from the bar to their table.  “Hi guys.  How are you doing?”

Alex quickly shut his mouth.  Jake nearly cursed aloud at the priest’s timing.  Luckily he stopped himself—he didn’t imagine he’d gain any points for cursing a man of the cloth.

“Am I interrupting something?” Father Al asked, his eyebrows raised.

Alex shrugged, at just about the same time Jake replied, “We’re just sad about losing Ray.”

The priest sighed.  “May I sit down?”

“Sure.”  Jake slid across the bench to make some room for the older man.

The three of them sat there morosely for a few moments.  Jake drank his beer and felt his mood diving even further downward.

“You knew Ray pretty well, didn’t you?” Alex eventually asked, his attention on Father Al.

“Yes, we served in Vietnam together.  Ray was in the Marines, and I was a Navy chaplain, serving with the Marines and Ray’s battalion.”  The priest frowned.  “It wasn’t the will of God, in his infinite mercy and wisdom, for Ray to survive his injuries, but at least he left this world free of pain and in peace.  I’m going to miss him.”

Alex gave the priest a gloomy smile.  “We are, too.”

“There are many moments that teach us to value life, to hold those we love a little tighter, because in so many ways, we face an uncertain future,” Father Al commented.

“Yes, we do,” Jake agreed, thinking of his mom.  He took a big gulp of beer from his plastic cup and set it down firmly.  “This town faces an uncertain future, too.  Haven’t heard of anyone getting murdered here for years.” 
Not since my dad died,
he silently added.  “When I think about how Ray must have suffered—it makes me want to put my fist through a wall.”

The priest nodded and placed a calming hand on Jake’s arm for a few seconds.  “We can find peace, though, knowing that Ray is at rest and safe in the arms of the One who created him and loves him.  Death might win some battles, but it’s certainly not the end.”

“Ray’s end seemed pretty final to me,” Alex said.

Father Al glanced at Alex with an understanding gaze.  “Death never has the final word.  The Creator of Life does.”

Jake sat back, his gut tight over the memory of the service in Holy Trinity, over thinking his own mother might be next, or even Sophia...  “I have to tell you, Father, you delivered that sermon with the strength of a rock star on his first day of a tour.  There wasn’t a dry eye in church today.  But I needed only one look at the faces and in the eyes of the others there, to know that peace won’t be visiting Rockport Grove anytime soon.  There’s a cancer in this town.  It needs to be cut out.”

“My friends and neighbors don’t care about the Creator’s will,” Alex added.  “They want vengeance.  And they’re afraid they might be next.”

“The Creator calls people to prayer and repentance, not to arms,” Father Al replied gently.  “There is no other sure route to peace.”

“And how is prayer going to help anything?” Alex asked.

“During prayer, we can give thanks for our own relative tranquility, and ask for the gifts of the Holy Spirit to fall on all who have the power to save others from further torment.”

Jake barely prevented himself from snorting.  Prayer wasn’t going to change a damned thing.  Nevertheless, he somehow managed to nod instead.  “Thank you, Father, for your words of wisdom.”

“My pleasure, boys.  Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to go talk with Luke.”  The priest stood up, and he and Alex watched him head over to the bar, where Luke was talking with his relatives and the townsfolk who had stopped by. 

Alex shook his head.  “Father Al lives in a different plane of existence than we do.”

“Yeah, he’s up there with the angels.”  Jake shook his head.  “But the question remains:  what are we going to do, back down here on Earth?”

“Chew bubblegum and kick some ass?”

Jake surprised himself by chuckling.  Alex joined in, and suddenly the moment between them wasn’t so dark.  They both took another gulp of beer, and Jake emptied his.

“Something tells me it’s not going to be that easy,” Jake muttered as he put his cup down.  “You said you knew who’s responsible for Ray’s death.  Well—tell me.  Who is it?”

His friend quickly glanced around the bar, and then lowered his voice so much that Jake had to lean closer to hear him.  “We need to watch out for a guy named Simon Koschei.  He’s the head of the local organization, the
bratva
that reports in to Brighton Beach.”

“Bratva?”

“It’s a Russian word. It means
brotherhood
.”

“From Russia with Love,” Jake muttered.

“Yeah, the
Russkaya Mafiya
.”

“How do you know this?”

“The Guardians talk about it a lot.  My mom, too.”

Jake nodded thoughtfully.  He could understand the Guardians obsessing over organized crime, given that his Uncle Martin was a Guardians member and now apparently considered himself responsible for his mom’s safety.  But why Sophia’s mother?  A disturbing thought occurred to him.  “Don’t tell me that your mom’s in debt to them, too.”

“No, thank God.”  Alex took a swig of beer before continuing.  “She talks about it because my uncle—her brother--was an
avtoritet
for an organization that was active about twenty years ago, in New York City.  He and my mom had a falling out, and we moved here to Rockport Grove a little while later.  She’s refused all contact with him since that day, but she knows enough about the life to realize what’s going on here, in town.”

Jake clenched his hands into fists.  “Well...guess what. 
My
mom owes them money, and they’ve already paid her a few visits.  They even gave her a black eye.”

“Shiiiiit,” Alex breathed.   

“Luke said that Ray owed them money, too.  My guess is, when he refused to pay up or cooperate, they killed him,” Jake added, a fresh rush of anxiety leaving him light-headed.

His friend stared at him for a moment, wide-eyed.  “So, you think—”

“My mom could be next.”

“Have you gone to the police?”

Jake nodded.  “A waste of my time.  The police didn’t want to hear anything about it.”

“Why?”

“I didn’t witness ‘the incident,’ so I can’t file a report.  Only my mother can file, and she won’t go down to the station.  She thinks they’re all in the mafia’s pocket.”

“What are you going to do, then?”

Jake finished his beer and then crumbled the plastic cup in his fist.  “I’m thinking about getting my Ruger out of the lockbox in my bedroom, finding the goons who roughed up my mom and blowing them the fuck away.”

Alex sucked in a breath. “No, you can’t do that.”

“Do you have a better idea?”

“I’m just saying, if you blow the tail end off a snake, you won’t kill it.  You have to cut off its head.”

“Simon Koschei,” Jake said.  “He’s the head.”

“That’s what I’ve heard.”

Jake nodded slowly.  At least he had a name, now.

“Why don’t you join the Guardians?” his friend asked suddenly.

At the name
Guardians
, Jake stiffened.  “If I had a dime for every time someone’s asked me to join the Guardians over the last few weeks, I could go out and buy myself dinner.  What the hell are the Guardians going to do about it?”

“You might be surprised,” Alex replied, his tone giving away nothing.

“So surprise me.  Give me some details.  Something I can hang on to.”

“Let me talk to a few guys in the club.”  Alex cut his gaze abruptly to the left, then frowned.  “Sophia, you creeper.  I didn’t even notice you there.”

Jake spun around, and there she was.  Standing right behind him, with a guilty expression on her face and a plastic cup in her hand.

She shrugged. “It’s not my problem that you can’t see what’s right in front of you.”

“You were hiding behind that post,” Alex accused, referring to a floor-to-ceiling column that stood just a few feet away from their booth.

“I
wasn’t
hiding.”

Jake shook his head.  “Forget it.  It doesn’t matter.”  He turned to Sophia.  “Good to see you.  Sit down, we could use the company.”

“I fully planned to,” she said, earning an annoyed look from her brother.  She slipped into the seat next to Jake and looked at both of them.  “I know you guys think you were talking quietly, but I overheard everything you said.”

“What do you have...bionic ears?”  Alex asked.

She smiled.  “Just about.  Remember that, Alex, next time you talk smack about me to mom.”

“Jesus.”  Alex gave Jake a pained look.  “You really want her sitting here with us?”

Jake didn’t allow himself to smile—he knew Alex wouldn’t appreciate it.  Still, inside he laughed at her ball-busting attitude. “I don’t think we could stop her if we tried.”

“At least one of you has some sense.”  She glanced around the room, then lowered both her head and her voice.  “So...Jake...I heard something about a Ruger and you planning to ‘blow them the fuck away.’”

A rose fragrance drifted toward Jake, and even though a foot or separated him from Sophia, he could still feel the heat from her body.  All at once, he had trouble thinking.  “Like Alex said...you shouldn’t have been eavesdropping on us.”

“Don’t worry, I won’t say anything to anyone.  Still...your idea sucks.  You don’t fuck with the mob and get away with it.”

Alex gave his sister a stern look, and some silent communication passed between them, one that Jake couldn’t interpret.  Sophia raised her chin defiantly, and her green eyes sparkled with rebellion.

“What do you know about it?” Jake asked, curious.

“You don’t know what you’re dealing with,” she insisted.

“And you do?”

“I know enough.”

“How?”

“Our uncle,” Alex said quickly, cutting in.  “We just talked about him.”

Jake nodded slowly.  “The one with the ties to the mafia in Brighton Beach.”

Sophia shot a glance toward her brother, then turned to Jake.  She put one warm palm on top of his hand, and the touch of her hand drove the rest of the questions he’d been planning to ask her right from his head.  “Please, Jake, just listen to me, and leave this alone.  Don’t go to the police, and for God’s sake, don’t try shooting anyone.”

“What am I supposed to do, then?” Jake asked.  He fought the urge to turn his hand over and enfold hers in his own.  “Just wait for them to show up on my doorstep and bash my mom’s skull in?”

“Let the Guardians work on it for a bit,” she urged. 

He pulled his hand away.  “Bullshit.  What are a bunch of old men going to do?  And what do you know about it, anyway?”