Page 16 of Pistol Whipped

“Lou. It’s Rain. I need your help.”

He sniggers before sighing. “I’d love to help you out, but you know…”

“I’m going to sign, Lou. We both know it. In fact, I’d sign right now if I could, but since that’s not really an option, how ’bout you record this call?”

I don’t tell him; it’s not an option because in the midst of fleeing my apartment, I’ve somehow lost track of the contract and am way too chicken shit to go back for it. If I walk back in that bar, for even a second, I’ll stay. I’ll give up.

He barks a laugh. “Oh, sweetheart, I record all my calls.”

“Great,” I drawl, “In that case, consider this my confirmation that I’m going to sign your damn contract on one condition. I need some cash and a place to stay for a while.”

“That’s a big ask, Ray-Ray,” he says.

I shiver. It’s not exactly mid-winter, but the Calder nights in April are still cold enough that I should probably have thought ahead and brought a jacket. Not that I own a proper jacket.

“I’ll owe you, Lou.”

I can hear the pleasure in his voice. It makes me shiver all over again.

“Well, in that case, I think I can help you out. I’ll send a car.”

I tell Lou where I am, to which that smug bastard replies, “I figured,” and then the call ends. I look down at where the tiny, helpless thing seems to have fallen asleep in my lap. I don’t know what comes over me, because I can barely take care of myself most days, but I reach for one of my old zip-up sweatshirts and put it on before tucking the kitten inside against my stomach. It’s thin but helps to shield us both against the worst of the cold.

When the black town car pulls along the alley, the driver is polite enough to get out and greet me, “Ms. Gamble?”

A single nod of my head, and he opens the back door for me without so much as a sneer. I gather the rest of my shit, doing what I can to stuff the wet clothes bag into the torn bag. The driver actually helps, taking Grams bag from me so that I can climb into the back seat without wrestling with it. His politeness catches me off guard, enough that I stumble over the words, “Tha…umm…I mean…thank you.”

If he notices the way I cling to my lower belly as I take my seat, he doesn’t say anything about it. He just waits until I’m settled before handing me the bag and closing the door. Neither me nor the tiny creature I’m holding utter another peep as the car starts moving. The neon sign in front of Flynn’s briefly casts the backseat in a reddish glow. But I don’t look up and don’t look back as we pass it. For the first time in a while, I’m looking ahead, as the car carries me away. To what? I’m not sure, but it can’t be worse than what I’m leaving behind.

Chapter 9

Second Chance

Rain

True to his word, Lou arranged for the car to take me to Seascape Hotel, just down the street from his office. He also had the driver hand me an envelope full of cash before he drove away. It’s not much, barely 500 bucks, about a third of what I had saved before Trey took my money. Still, between that and the hotel room, which is an open-ended booking according to the front desk, Lou’s been downright generous. Something I am damn certain I’ll be paying for sooner or later.

Thank God, the kitten inside my hoodie is so tiny that the man at the reception desk didn’t even notice her as I checked in. Once I get upstairs and the room door closes behind me, I let her out. The space isn’t huge, but it’s definitely cleaner and nicer than anywhere I could have afforded without help.

“Thank you for staying quiet—” I pick her up in one hand and lift her so I can look her over, “little girl.”

Tomorrow, I promise her, I’ll find a local pet shop or something and get her a plastic litter tray and some kitten food, but for tonight, I use some of the cash to order us room service. A burger and fries for me and a fillet of salmon for her. The whole time I question how they can get away with charging twenty-five dollars for a burger when the diner around the corner from Flynn’s sells them on a two-for-five deal most Tuesdays. Then again, I doubt that people who can afford to stay somewhere as nice as the Seascape bother questioning the cost of their food. I have to fight the impulse to cling to the bills when the bellboy comes to drop off my meal. But I give in, and tip him too, because I will never be one of those people who stiff my fellow service industry workers.

After that, Kitten and I hunker down in the big queen-size bed. I flip on the TV and spend the rest of the night watching reruns of a classic sixties sitcom. Between the sheets that are ten times softer than the ones back at the apartment and the soft purrs from the creature curled up against my ribs, eventually I drift into the deepest sleep I’ve had in a long time.

As per my agreement with Lou, I’m the first one through the doors at Ocean County Records the next morning. Kitten was sleeping soundly when I left. I chucked the ‘Do Not Disturb’ sign on the doorhandle, filled a mug with water for her and sent up a silent prayer that she’d remain as quiet as she had the day before so no one calls the front desk and complains.

Although there’s nothing I can do about my greying hair and worn-out clothes, at least this time, I’m showered and well-rested enough that I get recognized and greeted politely by the gaggle of girls at reception.

Just like last time, one of them calls up to Lou’s office before escorting me to the elevators. Thankfully, there’s no sign of my former friends and renewed bandmates, and Lou is at the door to greet me rather than lording it over us from behind his desk. He dismisses the receptionist coldly before closing the door behind us. It’s the closest I’ve been to him in a long time. He stinks of cigar smoke, and when his hot breath touches the side of my face, I scurry forwards towards one of the leather chairs. If he notices my discomfort, he doesn’t care. Lou meanders back to his desk.

Despite the fact that so many years have passed since that first day he came to collect us from The Neck, Lou Braun still looks mostly as I remember him. Sleazy smile, black hair cropped short at the front and only slightly longer at the back, and skin a shade of unnatural tan that’s closer to orange than anything else.

The one major difference is that now, his skin looks like it’s been pulled too tightly over his skull. Plastic surgery, if I had to guess. There’s also a bit more weight around his mid-section than there used to be. Again, I suspected that drugs, prescription or otherwise, kept him from having a larger spare tire there. But what stands out the most are the rings. Gaudy, awful, gold rings that wrap around his thick fingers in twisted chains.

I shiver at the thought of any cold metal near my skin. Anytime it happens, I still feel that brushing at the base of my spine. That sensation is one of the few things I do remember about what happened to me.

“Ahem,” Lou clears his throat, “Earth to Ray-Ray.”