Chapter 20 - A Perpetual Tempest
Despite the AC in my motel room being on the lowest fucking setting possible, I'm still sweating like a pig in a bacon factory even though I'm down to my boxers. I wipe the sweat off my forehead as I try to go through the care package Amber left for me at the diner inside a duffel bag. The five grand in cash was a huge help because without it, I wouldn't be in this room that is conveniently next door to the diner. I honestly don't where I would be tonight if I couldn't spring this room for the night to gather my thoughts. However, as the back of my legs feel like a damn swamp, I think maybe sleeping outside wouldn't be so bad. At least I would be doing it for free instead of blowing fifty bucks.
I toss the bag onto the bed, and throw back on my pants. I step out into the muggy night air, and light up a cigarette. As I watch a thunderstorm approaching, I begin to wonder when will this never-ending fucking cyclone of bullshit stop. I know life isn't always made up of rainbows and shit, but my life feels like I'm in a damn porta-otty trapped in a never-ending tornado. With each flash of lightning, I wonder when will the light of my life go out in a flash followed by the roar of Death celebrating as he finally takes my condemned soul to Hell. I've been fucking lucky to weather the storm, but the chaos that surrounds me will take my last breath, and I will finally discover the calmness after the tempest.
I finish my smoke, and head back inside as it begins to pour. I place the duffel bag into the closet so I can deal with it tomorrow as I begin to succumb to exhaustion. As I'm about to lie down, there's a knock on my door. I ignore it since no one knows I'm here, and since I paid cash, the motel manager didn't even ask for a name. A minute later, there's a barrage of knocks like someone thinks my fucking door is a drum kit.
I storm over to it, and foolishly swing it open. I'm greeted with the muzzle of a pistol in my face being held by a tall, stocky man wearing a black t-shirt and black pants. I can see in his green eyes he's dead serious as he asks, "May we come in?"
"Sure," I reply realizing my error for not looking first. Also, I'm not denying anyone’s demands while they hold a gun in my face.
Another man in the same outfit walks in, and does a sweep of the room. He finds the duffel bag, and dumps out the contents onto the floor. I see inside there are a notebook, a large envelope, a cell phone, a few changes of clothes, a pistol with two clips, and a box of ammo. The man unloads the pistol, and puts it into his pants pocket and announces, "All clear."
I watch as an older gentleman strolls into the room. His blue eyes are cold as ice while his white hair is slicked back. I can't help notice the scar running from his left ear to the corner of his mouth. He adjusts his navy suit jacket and sits down in the chair. The other goon closes the door, and locks it as the pistol remains locked on my face. He walks back to the older guy and hands him my pistol. I feel sweat running down my back as I begin to accept that this is the night I finally meet my maker.
"Vlad, don't be rude," says the older gentleman in a heavy Russian accent. "Put your gun away."
"You sure, boss? He does have a reputation," replies Vlad.
"What did I say, Vlad?" snaps back the old man.
Vlad lowers the pistol from my face, and walks over to stand to the left of the old guy.
"Now, sit please. We're here for a business proposal, " replies the old man.
I sit down on the bed and lie, "I'm not sure of what business you mean. I'm just a man on vacation."
"Ronnie, why must you lie?" asks the man. "This proposal will lead to the one thing you truly desire."
I feel the sweat now dripping off my body as I try to figure out how this guy knows who I am. I don't remember meeting him while I was in Curva, and I don't recall any mentions of connections or dealings with Russians. I heard a few rumors that they were unhappy with Madam's rapid expansion in the tantrix market, but I dismissed them as that. However, they are no longer fucking rumors as I got one in my motel room offering me some kind of deal. I hope this isn't another shit storm blowing in as I ask, "What kind of offer?"
"We know who you are working with, and who you used to work for. How about we help each other so you can get rid of your lady troubles?"
"I don't know what lady troubles you are referring to," I retort. I really wish I know who the fuck this guy is, and how he knows so much about me. Not even a day out of the hospital, and I'm dealing with this shit. I honestly wonder what it will take for me to have a fucking day off, and live in peace.
"Here's the deal, Ronnie. I want you to help us take down Madam, but at the same time, distract your government friend from interfering with our work," he explains.
"What do I get out of this?"
"For starters, I won't kill you," he replies.
I pause as I accept if he truly did want to kill me, I would have been dead by Vlad's hand the instant I opened the door. Also, the fact he wants to take down Madam has a thousand questions running through my head. My guess is she's been killing his business, and wants to do a hostile takeover. Either way, no matter what I decided, the bullshit storm still rages on. I swear it feels like Death is keeping me fucking alive as his entertainment. As I place my hand over the bullet wound in my chest, I reply, "What do I have to do?"
"We'll be in touch once you're fully healed. You're no good to me while injured," he states. "Vlad, hand him back his pistol, and his new phone."
As Vlad hands me a cell phone and my unloaded pistol back, the old guy adds, "In a week, call the number stored in there, and ask for Boris. Understand?"
"I do."
"One last thing, Amber needs to know nothing about this meeting, or her funeral will be closed casket."
"Got it."
The old man gets up, and leaves the room followed by Vlad and the other goon. As they close the door, I begin to wonder how in the hell does trouble always fucking find me. I did not expect to deal with what I'm assuming is part of the fucking Russian mafia tonight, but here I am with a cell phone of theirs, and orders. I stare at the phone and pistol while wishing that the bullet that ripped through my chest did killed me. I smirk as I realize it would have been a quick death instead of this long, drawn out suicide I'm currently committing.
I go over to the closet, and load the pistol once more. I place it under my pillow, and finally lock the door before anything other bullshit blows in. I pick up the phone Amber provided me, and turn it on before laying back down in the bed, and stare at the ceiling as I think that in less than a day, I'm back in the middle of another shit storm. I knew that my life wouldn't be filled with fucking rainbows, but this is going to the fucking extreme. Realizing sleep is not going to happen, I get dress to go get the one thing that brings me joy in life: blueberry pancakes.
However, as I'm about to leave the room, the cell phone from Amber goes off. It's a text message that simply says the number 7 at 8am. I grab the notebook from the closet, and see that number 7 is to meet her at an address unarmed. I don't know where it is exactly, but will ask the motel manager in the morning. I sigh as I undress accepting that pancakes will have to wait. I climb back into bed, and stare at the pouring rain. I think to myself as I finally give into exhaustion hat one day, the rain will stop, and I can finally enjoy the calm after the storm.
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