Smoke & Silver

The next night, I got a few odd glances from my regulars as I strode past with a dress bag over my shoulder. There was no way I was walking in dressed the way I was planning to go out tonight.

“Hey, gorgeous,” slurred a rather large man. He was built like a diesel engine, big, loud, and just as greasy.

“Rocco. Didn't expect to see you here this evening.” I shifted the vinyl bag on my shoulder as he approached. The product in his hair made it shine like an oil slick in the lights that hung over the pool tables.

“Course not. Just wanted to surprise my favorite girl.” He toddled over, planting a sloppy kiss on my cheek. He smelled like cheap beer and cheaper cigarettes.

“I'm not your girl, Rocco.”

“Of course you are, Georgia.” His voice wasn't smeary with beer anymore. He was stone cold sober and looking down at me from atop his six and a half foot frame, “Every girl that owes me money is my girl.”

As the stink of his breath hit me, I choked back more than my pride.

“Yeah. I guess you're right.”

“I'm always right.”

“I'll remember that.” I swallowed hard and kept eye contact, “I'd love to chat, but I've got someplace to be.”

“Any chance of me getting to see you in that pretty dress?” His eyes fell to the bag.

“When I'm on my way out on my date, yes.”

“You askin'?”

“I've got plans tonight, Roc. Going out dancing with an old friend.”

“How long 'til I'm an old friend?”

“Keep sticking around. It'll happen.” I started to push past him.

“You know, Georgia, I can be real friendly when I wanna be.” There was a lecherous leer in his voice. I kept my eyes fixed on my office door.

“I'm sure you can. But I'm not feeling very friendly tonight.”

He dropped his arm, letting me pass. Something sick slithered in my stomach, and I tried not to gag as I unlocked my office. Once I was safely inside, I couldn't help the spasm of nausea that punched me in the gut and wrapped thick fingers around my throat. My hands shook as I lit a cigarette and poured myself a strong drink.

Fifteen minutes later, I was almost myself again, except for the silk dress that clung to every curve of my body. I buckled on my shoes that added another five inches to my height, and began to paint my face. This wasn't some mere cosmetic, this was war paint.

I had just finished my drink when there was a quiet knock at my door. I unlocked it to reveal six feet of sex buttoned into a black suit with a scarlet tie. A raindrop fell from the brim of his hat to the curve of my breast, but it wasn't the rain that made me shiver.The devil himself couldn't have been more beautiful to me in that moment, and I'd have sold my soul to keep him looking at me like that.

"How'd you know what color tie to wear?" I asked, trying to distract him, trying to distract myself. He scoffed.

"Like you'd pass up an opportunity to wear red." His eyes met mine, “So, are you ready to go?” He asked, his voice huskier than I would have expected.

I nodded, going to my desk for my scrap of a purse. It was just big enough to fit my keys, phone, wallet, cigarettes, and a lighter, along with my knife and little protective charms I always carried.

I almost jumped when he slipped his arm around my waist. When I looked up to his face, I saw him lock eyes with Rocco. His arm only tightened when I went rigid. Once we were outside, I looked around for a car.

“Are we taking a cab, or...?” I asked, letting my voice trail off.

“No. We aren't. Who was that?” His voice was clipped.

“I owe him money for the bar, and since none's coming in, I'm gonna have problems later.”

“That's not what I asked. Who is he, Georgia?”

I'd never heard him so possessive. I pulled away from his half-embrace, and he turned to glare at me. Names had power, and I knew what he wanted. But I also knew that John had a nasty tendency to act without thinking, and I couldn't risk having that come back and bite me in the ass.

“You're clearly in trouble. What's his name?” Those goddamned eyes again. As much as I wanted to keep Rocco's name a secret, keep him my own problem, I couldn't keep anything from him when he looked at me like that.

“Vincent del Rocco.” I said, completely defeated.

He grunted.

“Why do you even care?”

He looked at me, the neon from the signs in my windows cast a sharp light over the planes of his face, glinting in his eyes.

“We were close once. We meant something to each other. Don't think time has changed any of that for me.” His tone was colder than the rain that dripped onto the awning above us.

A slick black limousine turned the corner.

“You didn't.” I ignored his previous statement. My heart thundered in my chest, repeating his words.

“I did.” It rolled to a stop beside us, and he walked the few steps to hold the door open for me. I climbed into the back seat, the silk of my dress sliding smoothly across the leather upholstery. He closed the door behind me and jogged around the back of the long car to get in on the driver's side.

As he slipped in beside me and closed his own door, the interior lights went out, leaving us in near darkness. The lights from the street caught in the beads of rain on the windows. There was a soft murmur from the drops that landed on the roof, a subtle susurration of drumbeats. I felt his hand rest on my thigh casually through the silk. I shivered.

“Would you like a drink?” He asked, leaning forward to a small bar. I nodded, and he poured a whiskey for me, heavy-handed as always. I sipped while he poured an equally heavy-handed gin and tonic, noticing that the bar had his old favorite brand of gin.

“So, what's the plan?”

“Plan? Who said we needed a plan?” He asked playfully, sitting back and sipping his drink. He sighed, his face the picture of ecstasy, “Ahhh... Perfection.” He smiled at me. His moods had always been frustratingly mercurial.

“You don't honestly expect me to believe that you don't have some sort of plan for tonight?”

“Several, actually. Don't want you getting too hung up on one when we have to change plans though. You've always been good at following leads. Just trust me.”

“Oh god. I'm gonna need more whiskey than this.” I tossed back half the glass in one swallow, barely wincing. I saw him smirk as we passed a streetlight, “Shut up. It's been a while since college.”

He chuckled and I threw back the rest of my drink and handed him the glass.

“Another.”

His grin was positively devilish in the neon light of the Chinese restaurant we were passing as he went to pour another glass for me.

I drank the second glass slower, and was about to ask if we were able to smoke in the car when he pulled a cigarette from a silver cigarette case. I watched him as I slipped my own cigarette case from my handbag. He lit the end of it with a matching silver lighter, and once he saw that I was getting my own, smiled again. He held up his hand, and lit my cigarette with a grin I could barely see in the dim light. He looked like the gangly twenty-six year old that I had last seen on that Fourth of July, when we watched the fireworks with our friends.

“I appreciate your faith in me, Georgia, but honestly, the plan tonight is just see what our old friend knows about the current climate. I've been away, and you've admitted that you're not exactly up-to-date on the society pages.”

“You're right. I haven't rubbed elbows with anyone worth mentioning in a few years.” I sipped my whiskey and he resumed nursing his gin.

“Well, we'll see what our friend knows. He's closer to the center, but if I tell you any more, it'll ruin the surprise.”

“You and your surprises.” I muttered, turning my gaze to the window and tapping the ash from my cigarette into the built-in ashtray in the door of the car. As I looked out, I realized that it had stopped raining, and we were pulling up to a mansion at the edge of the city. I finished my drink and set the glass aside without looking back at John, and opened my own damned door when we pulled to a stop. I crushed the butt of my cigarette under the toe of my stilettos and forced myself to wait as he came around the car to my side. He chivalrously offered me his arm, and I took it. We'd always been like this, running hot and cold quicker than an apartment tap.

The mansion itself was an immense, sprawling structure. Ivy climbed the sheer walls and the landscaping alone must have cost more to maintain monthly than the bar I owned. Bright, warm light poured out from balconies and patios and inside of the rooms that looked out with immense windows on the circular drive. It was an old building, full of history and mystery, and I imagined that whoever lived here must have some knowledge of the occult, if they had little to no understanding.

The guard at the entrance nodded to John as we walked up the steps, swinging the doors open wide to permit us. The place was marvelously luxurious and impeccably decorated. Electric candelabras jutted from walls, flickering dimly against the wallpaper that alone cost more than my car. Although the place was dark, it was welcoming. A fire blazed in the massive fireplace, the light tangling in the crystals in the chandelier above us.

John steered me through an empty ballroom to a side room. The door was cracked, giving me a glimpse into what appeared to be a library. John opened the door wide, gesturing for me to go ahead of him. As I entered, I saw the silhouette of a thin man, backlit by the roaring fireplace. He was facing the fire and seemed to ignore our entrance. As John closed the door behind us, the sounds of the party faded away.

“So dramatic. How very you.” He taunted.

The man in the chair stood and turned to face us, leaning heavily on a cane in his right hand. His glasses glinted in the light, as did the key-shaped tie pin he wore. That pin was familiar...

“Not all of us enjoy subtlety as much as you do, John.” The man said.

“Isaac?” I gasped. He chuckled.

“Yes, Georgia. It's me. I hope you'll forgive my theatrics. I couldn't resist.” As he approached, the glare from the fire dimmed and the sconces along the walls flared to life.

“Isaac Gorman, you ridiculous creature.” I said, going into his opened arms. As the warm embrace loosened, I tilted my head up and saw him smiling down at me. A frivolous idea flickered though my mind, and I couldn't resist. My right hand snaked up and grabbed him by the nape of his neck and I went up on tiptoe to kiss him.

John cleared his throat.

I ignored him.

Eventually, Isaac released his grasp on my waist and gave me a final peck on my nose.

“It's been too long.” He said warmly.

“Agreed. There's no reason we shouldn't go back out for a few drinks sometime. I do own a bar, you know.”

“I was under the impression that it was a bit of a dive?”

“It's still a bar.” I smiled.

“Isaac.” John said, walking forward and offering his hand. Isaac took it, and a long look passed between the men, smiles growing slowly as the handshake lingered. I wasn't sure which of them pulled the other into a hug. It may have been simultaneous.

I looked around the library as they caught up, chattering quickly and emphatically. The books that lined the shelves were in a number of languages and ranged from brand new with stickers to old enough that I was concerned that they may fall apart on the shelves.

When I circled around to his desk, I found a bottle, nearly identical to the one that John had brought me the night before.

“Isaac, what is this?” I asked, pointing at but not touching the object. He stopped mid-joke with John and turned to see what I was gesturing to.

“That came in the mail today. Well, with the mail. It wasn't addressed. I still have some research to do.”

“Do you have a supply box I can borrow? I'll make a protective charm for you in the meantime.”

He chuckled.

“Protection? Georgia, I don't need-”

“Let her, Isaac.” John interjected, “I got one just like it last night.”

“What?”

“She took it apart and realized that it was just as bad as I thought.”

“What?” Isaac asked again.

“Where's the box, Isaac?” I asked, looking around on his desk for an ashtray as I pulled up his chair.
He crossed the room on long legs to bring me a shoebox from a cabinet.

“I thought you'd have something with a little more flair, honestly.” I smiled up at him as I pulled the cork.

I thought a pine knot had popped in the fireplace behind me, but when I blinked, I was looking up at the two men from the floor.

“What the fuck?” I tried to ask. A jumbled mish-mash of words came from my mouth instead. I tasted blood. Everything was blurry except for their faces, which were creased in worry.

“Georgia, you're a damned fool.” One of them muttered. I blinked a time or two, trying to clear my vision, and then everything went dark.