"Come on, man. I gotta meet Betty tomorrow! I don't wanna meet her looking like a hobo or somethin'!" He shouted as he drove.
"Alright, softie, focus on the road. It was your fault." I told him as I looked at the traffic.
...
...
...
"I'm sorry, man. I kinda overreacted a bit. You know I didn't mean to do that." I told him.
He scoffed, "Oh, now you tell."
I gasped. "Hey, at least I'm telling."
"Fuck you, man. I'm leaving you because I'm in a good mood right now," he told me as we neared his place.
"As if you could do anything..." I muttered silently.
"What?" He asked me.
"Oh, nothing. How about you drive? you're gonna get us killed or you're gonna kill someone." I told him.
Marcus pulled up to his apartment building- a shithole brownstone that looked like it had given up on life around the same time the neighborhood did. Brick crumbling, windows boarded, the kind of place where rent gets paid in cash and nobody asks questions.
"I'll call you tomorrow," he said, not looking at me. Blood from his broken nose had dried into a dark crust on his upper lip.
"Marcus-"
"Just get out."
I did. The Camry pulled away with a wheeze of bad exhaust, leaving me standing on the sidewalk with two hundred grand in a duffel bag.
The walk back to my place took twenty minutes. Twenty minutes of looking over my shoulder, checking reflections in storefront windows, and listening for footsteps that matched my pace. Paranoia's a survival skill in this business. The moment you stop being afraid is the moment someone puts a bullet in your back.
My apartment was a studio above a Chinese restaurant that never seemed to close. The stairs creaked like they were telling secrets. I climbed them two at a time, keys ready before I reached the door.
Inside, I flicked on the light and froze.
Fine. Normal. Totally accounted for.
"My apartment isn't bugged or destroyed into pieces by a fat motherfucker known as the Kingpin. Great!" I said to myself as I walked in.
I dropped the duffel bag next to my couch and walked to the kitchen. The refrigerator hummed its usual off-key tune. I grabbed a beer - cheap stuff, but cold. The bottle opener was right where I'd left it, hanging on a hook next to the microwave that had been broken for three months.
The beer tasted like salvation.
I sat down at my kitchen table and spread the money out. Two hundred, that's good money, well, Marcus hadn't taken his cut of it yet.
My deck of cards sat in the center of the table. I picked them up and shuffled them absently - a habit I'd developed over the years.
I thought about calling Marcus back. Apologizing properly. Maybe suggest we grab lunch tomorrow before his date with Betty. But the guy deserved a night to nurse his wounded pride and his broken nose. I'd done enough damage for one evening.
The Chinese restaurant below me was busy tonight. I could hear the sizzle of woks, the clatter of dishes, and the muffled voices of late-night customers ordering takeout. Normal sounds. Human sounds. The kind of sounds that reminded you the world kept spinning even when your corner of it felt like it was coming apart.
I finished my beer and grabbed another one. Tomorrow I'd have to figure out what to do with the money. Maybe invest it. Maybe just stick it in a safety deposit box somewhere. But tonight? Tonight I was just going to sit in my shitty apartment above a Chinese restaurant and pretend I was a normal person with normal problems.
The beer was starting to work its magic. My shoulders relaxed. My jaw unclenched. For the first time in hours, I felt like I could breathe properly.
I shuffled the cards again, dealing myself a hand of solitaire. Red seven on black eight. Black six on red seven. The rhythm was soothing. Meditative, almost.
Knock, knock, knock.
I looked at the door, irritated. Who the fuck is trynna meet me at this hour?
Reluctantly standing up, I grabbed my beer and started to walk to the door. My eyes were already getting a bit drowsy, sleepy. I needed to get this over with quickly.
I opened the door, expecting a random lousy neighbor who was friends with Abraham Lincoln.
Instead, I found myself staring at a woman who definitely wasn't from the building's usual cast of characters. She was tall, maybe five-eight, with platinum blonde hair that caught the hallway's flickering fluorescent light. She wore a black leather jacket over dark jeans, and her green eyes had this mischievous glint that immediately put me on edge.
"Hi there, neighbor," she said with a smile that was equal parts friendly and dangerous. "I'm Felicia. I just moved into 4B down the hall."
I blinked, trying to process this. The apartment she was talking about had been empty for months. Mrs. Chen, who owned the building, had mentioned something about finally finding a tenant, but I'd figured it would be another broke college student or some guy who worked nights at the docks.
"Uh, hey," I managed, suddenly aware I was holding a beer at eleven PM while money was spread across my kitchen table. "I'm... sorry, what did you say your name was?"
"Felicia Hardy," she said, extending a hand. Her grip was firm, confident. "I know it's late, but I was having trouble with my lock, and I saw the light under your door. I was wondering if you might have some WD-40 or something? These old buildings..."
She gestured vaguely at the peeling wallpaper and the carpet that had seen better decades.
"Yeah, sure. Hold on." I turned back toward my kitchen, then stopped. The money. Two hundred grand scattered across my table like I was running some kind of high-stakes poker game. "Actually, let me just..."
I moved quickly to the table, sweeping the bills back into the duffel bag. My hands were clumsy with the beer and exhaustion, and a few hundreds fluttered to the floor.
"Rough night?" Felicia asked from the doorway. She'd followed me in without being invited, which should have bothered me more than it did. There was something about her presence that was both calming and electrifying.
"You could say that." I zipped up the bag and shoved it under the couch. "Sorry about the mess. I wasn't expecting company."
"Don't worry about it. We all have our hobbies." She was looking around the apartment with curious eyes, taking in the broken microwave, the deck of cards, the Chinese takeout containers stacked by the sink. "Cozy place."
I couldn't tell if she was being sarcastic or genuine. "It's not much, but it's home. Let me find that WD-40."
I rummaged through the junk drawer, hyperaware of her presence behind me. She moved like a cat - quiet, graceful, always seeming to know exactly where she was in relation to everything else in the room.
"Here," I said, pulling out the small spray can. "Keep it as long as you need."
"Thanks." She took it from me, her fingers brushing mine for just a moment. "I really appreciate this. Moving to a new place, especially at night... it can be overwhelming."
"Yeah, I bet. Where'd you move from?"
"Here and there. I travel a lot for work." She smiled again, and I noticed she had a small scar on her lower lip. "What about you? You seem like you've been in the neighborhood for a while."
"A few years. It's not the greatest area, but it's quiet. Usually."
"Usually?"
I gestured toward the window, where the sounds of the Chinese restaurant drifted up. "Well, as quiet as it gets when you live above Golden Dragon."
She laughed, and the sound was like silver bells. "I noticed that. The smell of lo mein is going to be my alarm clock, isn't it?"
"Pretty much. But hey, they deliver until 3 AM, so it's not all bad."
We stood there for a moment, the conversation hanging in the air between us. I should have been tired, should have been eager to get back to my beer and my cards and my attempt at pretending normalcy. Instead, I found myself wanting to keep talking to her.
"Well," she said finally, "I should let you get back to your evening. Thanks again for the help."
"No problem. And hey, if you need anything else, I'm usually around. I don't keep regular hours."
"I'll keep that in mind." She headed for the door, then paused and looked back. "By the way, nice card work earlier. The shuffling, I mean. You have good hands."
Before I could ask what she meant by that, she was gone, the door closing softly behind her. I stood there holding my beer, wondering if I'd imagined the whole thing. "Well, that sounded wrong," I said to myself.
But the WD-40 was gone from the junk drawer, and there was a faint scent of expensive perfume lingering in the air.
I walked back to my table and sat down, picking up my cards again. But my mind kept wandering to green eyes and platinum hair and the way she'd moved through my apartment like she owned it.
Felicia Hardy.
I dealt myself another hand of solitaire and tried to focus on the game. Red queen on black king. Blackjack on red queen.
But I kept thinking about what she'd said about my hands. How had she been watching me shuffle cards when she'd only been in the apartment for a few minutes?
The Chinese restaurant below continued its late-night symphony, and somewhere down the hall, I could hear the faint sound of someone spraying WD-40 on a stubborn lock.
Normal neighbor problems, I told myself. Nothing more. But she was hot, wasn't she? I looked back at the entrance, and she was already gone. Fast.
I took out another beer from the fridge. Maybe I'll move to a better apartment; this place is falling apart.
I devoured the entire bottle like a demon from hell. And tapped it hard on the table.
And before I knew it,
...zzz...zzz...zz..z.zzz...
...zzz....z.z.zzz.zzz....zz
BEEP. BEEP. WAKE UP!
The alarm shouted into my ear, similar to my mother.
I jolted awake, my face peeling off the kitchen table like old wallpaper. The empty beer bottle rolled across the surface, clattering against my scattered playing cards. My neck felt like someone had twisted it into a pretzel and left it overnight.
"Fuck," I groaned, squinting at the clock. 10:47 AM. The Golden Dragon was already in full swing below me - I could hear the familiar chorus of sizzling oil and shouted orders in Mandarin.
My mouth tasted like I'd been gargling with pocket change. The events of last night came flooding back: the job, Marcus's broken nose, the money under my couch, and... Felicia Hardy. The mysterious neighbor with the green eyes and the way she moved like she was dancing to music only she could hear.
I stumbled to the bathroom and splashed cold water on my face. The mirror showed me exactly what I expected - a guy who looked like he'd been hit by a truck driven by bad decisions. My hair was doing things that defied physics, and there was a playing card (the ace of spades, naturally) stuck to my cheek.
The phone rang just as I was trying to make my hair look less like a bird's nest. I knew it was Marcus before I even picked up.
"You sound like shit," was his greeting.
"Good morning to you, too, sunshine. How's the nose?"
"Hurts like hell, but Betty said it makes me look 'ruggedly handsome.'" I could hear the smile in his voice despite everything. "Listen, about last night..."
"We were both tired. Forget about it."
"Yeah, well, I wanted to apologize anyway. And I need to come by and get my cut of the money. Betty wants to go somewhere nice for lunch."
I glanced toward the couch where the duffel bag was hiding. "Sure. When?"
"Give me an hour. I need to shower and make myself presentable for my lady."
After he hung up, I realized I should probably do the same. I had just enough time to shower, shave, and find clothes that didn't smell like stale beer and Chinese food.
But first, I needed coffee. Real coffee, not the instant garbage I usually drank. I was about to head downstairs to the bodega when I heard it - that same WD-40 sound from last night, but coming from somewhere much closer.
I pressed my ear to the door and listened. The sound was definitely coming from 4 B. So Felicia Hardy was real, and she was still working on that lock.
Before I could stop myself, I was opening my door and walking down the hall. The carpet was even more threadbare in daylight, and I could see water stains on the ceiling that I'd never noticed before.
"Still having trouble with that lock?" I called out as I approached 4 B.
The spraying stopped. "Oh, hi there," came Felicia's voice from behind the door. "Yeah, it's being stubborn. I think it might be rusted through."
"Want me to take a look? I'm pretty good with my hands." The words came out before I could stop them, and I immediately regretted how they sounded.
There was a pause, then a soft laugh. "Sure, if you don't mind."
The door opened, and there she was again. But in daylight, she looked even more striking. Her platinum blonde hair was pulled back in a loose ponytail, and she wore a simple black t-shirt and jeans that somehow managed to look expensive. Those green eyes were just as mischievous as I remembered.
"Sleep well?" she asked, and there was something in her tone that made me wonder if she knew exactly how I'd spent the night, passed out at my kitchen table.
"Like a baby," I lied. "Let me see what's going on here."
She stepped aside, and I knelt down to examine the lock. It was old, sure, but not as bad as she'd made it sound. A little WD-40 and some patience should have done the trick.
"You know," I said, working the key gently, "sometimes these old locks just need a delicate touch. You can't force them."
"Is that your philosophy on everything?" she asked, and when I looked up, she was smiling in a way that made my stomach do interesting things.
The lock clicked open.
"There you go," I said, standing up. "Should work fine now."
"My hero," she said, and for a moment, I couldn't tell if she was being genuine or sarcastic. "I owe you one."
"Don't worry about it. Welcome to the neighborhood."
I started to head back to my apartment, but her voice stopped me.
"Hey, I was about to make some coffee. Real coffee, not that instant stuff. Want to join me?" She asked.
I should have said no. I had to get ready for Marcus, had to figure out what to do with the money, and had to pretend I was a normal person with normal problems. But those green eyes were looking at me with something that might have been genuine interest, and I found myself nodding.
"Yeah, that sounds great."
As I followed her into apartment 4B, I couldn't shake the feeling that I was walking into something much more complicated than just a cup of coffee.
As I followed her into apartment 4B, I couldn't shake the feeling that I was walking into something much more complicated than just a cup of coffee.
Her apartment was the mirror image of mine, but it might as well have been a different planet. Where my place was cluttered with the detritus of a life lived paycheck to paycheck, hers was sparse and elegant. A few carefully chosen pieces of furniture, all expensive-looking. A leather couch that probably cost more than my rent. Art on the walls that wasn't just posters held up with thumbtacks.
"Nice place," I said, letting my eyes linger on her before scanning the room. "Though I have to say, the view just got a lot better." I flashed her a crooked smile. "You just moved in?"
"Last week." She moved to the kitchen with that same fluid grace I'd noticed before. "I travel light. Most of this stuff was already here."
I doubted that. The apartment had been empty for months, and Mrs. Chen wasn't exactly known for her interior decorating skills. But I didn't press the point.
"What kind of work do you do?" I asked, settling onto the couch and patting the spot beside me. "That has you traveling so much? And please tell me it's not something boring like accounting."
"Consulting," she said, measuring coffee grounds with precise movements. "I help people with... security issues. Corporate stuff, mostly. Nothing too exciting."
The way she said it made it sound like the most boring job in the world, but there was something in her tone that suggested otherwise. I'd heard that same casual dismissal before, usually from people who did things they couldn't talk about.
"Must pay well," I said, gesturing around the apartment before fixing her with a knowing look. "Or maybe you just have excellent taste in everything." I let my gaze drift over her appreciatively. "I'm starting to see a pattern."
She smiled over her shoulder. "I'm good at what I do."
"I bet you are." I leaned back, letting my arm rest along the back of the couch. "I'm starting to think this building just got a serious upgrade."
The coffee maker gurgled to life, and she came over to sit beside me on the couch. Not too close, but close enough that I could smell that same expensive perfume from the night before. I shifted slightly, closing some of the distance between us.
"So what about you?" she asked. "What do you do when you're not fixing locks at the crack of dawn?"
I almost laughed. If only she knew. "This and that. I'm between jobs right now." I gave her a roguish grin. "But I'm very good with my hands, as you saw earlier."
"Ah, the eternal optimist. 'Between jobs' sounds so much better than 'unemployed.'"
"Sweetheart, I prefer to think of it as being selective about my opportunities." I turned to face her more fully, my knee brushing against hers. "Life's too short to settle for anything less than... exceptional."
We sat in comfortable silence for a moment, the coffee maker providing a gentle soundtrack. I found myself studying her profile - the sharp line of her jaw, the way her blonde hair caught the morning light streaming through the window.
"You know," she said suddenly, "I couldn't help but notice you had quite a bit of cash lying around last night."
My blood went cold, but I kept my expression smooth. I leaned closer, dropping my voice to a more intimate register. "Were you watching me that closely, Felicia? I'm flattered." I tilted my head, studying her face. "Just some poker winnings. Nothing major."
"Must have been quite a game." She turned to face me, those green eyes studying my face with an intensity that made the air between us crackle. "You play professionally?"
"Sometimes. When I can find a game worth my time." I reached out and gently tucked a strand of her hair behind her ear, my fingers lingering near her cheek. "But I'm more interested in the games happening right here, right now."
It wasn't entirely a lie. I did play poker, had even won some decent money at it over the years. But two hundred grand wasn't the kind of money you won at the neighborhood game above Murphy's Bar.
The coffee maker beeped, and she stood up to pour two cups. "Cream? Sugar?"
"Black's fine."
She returned with two steaming mugs, settling back beside me. The coffee was incredible - rich and dark, with a complexity that made my usual instant swill taste like dishwater.
"This is amazing," I said, taking a sip while maintaining eye contact. "Almost as intoxicating as the company."
"Jamaican Blue Mountain. A friend of mine imports it." She took a sip, watching me over the rim of her mug. "So, tell me about your neighborhood poker circuit. Sounds interesting."
Something in her tone set off alarm bells in my head, but I kept my voice smooth and playful. "Not much to tell, beautiful. Just guys trying to make a buck, you know?" I set down my mug and leaned back, letting my gaze glide to her lips. "But I'm much more interested in getting to know my mysterious new neighbor."
"Mm-hmm." She nodded, but her eyes never left my face. "And your friend Marcus? He plays too?"
"How do you know about Marcus?" I asked, my voice dropping to a lower, more intimate tone. "Have you been asking about me around the building, Felicia? I have to say, I'm both flattered and intrigued."
"You mentioned him," she said smoothly. "Last night, when you were talking about calling someone back."
Had I? Maybe I had mentioned him without realizing it...
"Yeah, Marcus is my partner. We've been friends for years." I reached out and traced a finger along her wrist where it rested on the couch. "But enough about him. I'm much more interested in learning about you."
"Partner in poker?"
"Partner in whatever needs doing."
She smiled at that, and for a moment, I caught a glimpse of something predatory in her expression. It was gone so quickly.
"Well," she said, standing up, "I should let you get back to your day. Thanks for helping with the lock."
I was being dismissed, and we both knew it. But I stood up slowly, deliberately, letting my body language convey that I wasn't easily deterred. "Right. Marcus will be by soon anyway." I moved closer to her, close enough that she had to tilt her head up to meet my eyes. "Thanks for the coffee. Best I've had in ages." I paused, my voice dropping to a whisper. "Among other things."
"My pleasure." She walked me to the door, staying close. "Maybe we can do this again sometime."
"I'd like that. Very much." I turned in the doorway, my hand resting on the frame above her head, effectively boxing her in. "In fact, I insist on it."
She opened the door, and I stepped out into the hallway, but not before letting my fingers trail along her arm. The carpet looked even more pathetic after the elegance of her apartment.
"Oh, and..." she said as I started to walk away. "Tell Marcus I said hi."
I turned back with a predatory grin. "I'll be sure to mention that a beautiful woman was asking about him. He'll be so jealous." I winked. "Sweet dreams, Felicia."
She was already closing the door, but I caught the hint of a smile on her lips. The soft click of the lock seemed to echo in the empty hallway.
"Shit, it's morning, isn't it?" I shrugged it off.
I stood there for a moment, trying to process what had just happened. She'd known about Marcus without me telling her. She'd asked pointed questions about the money and the poker games. And that smile... there had been something almost feline about it.
Felicia Hardy.
I walked back to my apartment, my mind racing. Maybe I was being paranoid. Maybe she was just a curious neighbor making conversation. But in my line of work, paranoia was what kept you breathing.
As I opened my door, I could hear my phone ringing inside. Marcus, probably, was wondering why I wasn't answering. I hurried to pick it up.
"Where the hell have you been?" he demanded. "I've been calling for ten minutes."
"I was having coffee with a neighbor. I'll be ready in twenty."
"A neighbor? Since when do you talk to neighbors?"
"Since a beautiful blonde moved in down the hall. And I mean beautiful, Marcus. The kind of woman who makes you forget your own name." I chuckled. "Good thing I'm charming enough to make up for it."
There was a pause. "Jesus, man. You're not thinking with your head, are you?"
"Oh, I'm thinking with it plenty. Just not the one on my shoulders." I laughed at my own joke. "Relax, I can handle myself around women. It's kind of my specialty."
"It means we just pulled a job worth two hundred grand, and now you're making friends with strangers. That's not like you."
He was right, of course. I'd survived this long by keeping my head down and my mouth shut. Getting involved with anyone, especially someone who asked as many questions as Felicia Hardy, was asking for trouble.
I'd always been a sucker for dangerous women. The thrill of the chase, the dance of seduction, and secrets - it was almost as addictive as the adrenaline rush of a good con.
"Just get over here," I said, unable to keep the cocky grin out of my voice. "And Marcus? When you meet her, try not to drool. I've got dibs on this one."
"Famous last words," he muttered, but I could hear the amusement in his voice.
"Fuck you, brother, you got Betty, and she was not found by pure circumstance, was she? Goddamn cree-"
He hung up the phone, and I caught sight of myself in the mirror. I looked like a man who was about to make a very dangerous mistake. And for some reason, I was looking forward to every minute of it.
[A/N: Insane wordcount. 4315 words, lol.]