King of Swords

On the business side she'd been a great earner. She'd given him every cent she made from fucking. She'd never complained or whined or cried like most of his Cards. He was so impressed with this, he'd let her keep the money she made from dancing.

'You got a man now?' he asked.

'What's it to you?'

'Just a question.'

'What kinda man wants a woman with two kids, Carmine?'

A guy who could love you, he thought, but didn't say.

Shit, why was he being this way? She was a ho, he told himself, a ho — yd ho.

He looked at her, this time with his money eyes, figuring what he could still do with her. In her state he wouldn't even have put her out as a Spade. Sure, someone'd want to fuck her, but he had standards to maintain. Her tits had gotten bigger, which was a plus, but he was sure they sagged; even with a strict diet she'd have stretch marks on her belly

and her ass would never regain its money-making shape.

She'd be a Club at best, but not for too long.

Not worth it, he told himself. Leave her be. Say goodbye, then turn and go. Go get another ho.

'I'm sorry,' he said at last. Part of him felt responsible for what had happened to her, part of him wanted suddenly and very desperately to stop what he was doing.

'I'm not,' she said. 'You think I miss that life? I don't.

And now I gotta chance to help my kids do better than me.'

An idea began to form in Carmine's mind. He had over $10,000 in the glove compartment. He could give her half of it for her babies, like a — what was it they did in companies when they paid people off? — yeah, that was it — a golden handshake.

But as he was thinking this he saw the expression on her face change quite suddenly. Her eyes widened, her mouth opened a little and she went deathly pale.

She wasn't looking at him but over to his right.

Carmine heard slow, heavy and very familiar footsteps coming up and stopping right beside him.

'Well, ain't this nice?' a soft wheezing, lisping voice said in his ear.

Carmine smelt sugared almonds and the stench of rotting meat. It was Bonbon.

What you doin' here?' Carmine turned to look at him.

'Yo' moms sent me.' Bonbon was sucking on a piece of candy as usual.

Carmine didn't know how or why, dressed the way he was, the fat fuck wasn't sweating bullets. He was wearing a black fedora with a black band, a knee-length coat, black, dark grey wool trousers, a white dress shirt and a bright yellow and red striped waistcoat. His gleaming patent-leather loafers bulged at the sides.

'Why?'

'To run things.'

'Run what?'

To' bidniss.'

'What?

'Sam needs you to cover for him at the store for a couple-a weeks, 'cause he gots bidniss o' the important kind to handle,' Bonbon said. He had standard teeth in — small, gleaming white squares that made his mouth look like an open zipper.

'But I got bidniss o' my own important kind. I can't mind no store] Carmine said. Bonbon must've been following him all day although he couldn't remember seeing his car. Then again, he hadn't exactly been paying attention to the possibility of being tailed, so absorbed had he been with his new hair.

'You wanna take it up wit' yo' moms, she's out back in the car.'

Carmine didn't answer. He felt suddenly humiliated, cut down to three feet tall. He looked at Julita, who hadn't moved. She was gawping at Bonbon with pure terror, like he was an oncoming truck and she was nailed to the road.

Bonbon checked Carmine out, head to toe. They were about the same height, but Bonbon's hat gave him an extra few inches, his girth a few extra people.

'Dressed like you been in a paint fight. And whass up with that wack-ass wig, man? Look like a dead bat fell on you and liked it.'

Carmine wanted to say something to that, something about him being' a fat toothless stinking-mouth psycho fuck, but he saw the pearl handles of one of the two Smith & Wesson .44 Magnums Bonbon wore on either hip, jutting out from under his coat.

Bonbon turned to Julita.

'Whatchu' still standin' there fo'?' he hissed sharply, like venom hitting a hot frying pan. 'You owe $1,250. An' you gonna repay it — wit' two hundred po'cent interest.'

'Mister, I ain't got no money,' Julita pleaded.

'I can see that,' Bonbon sneered. 'But you gon' go an' get me some.'

'How?' she said, her eyes tearing up. She knew what was coming next and that she couldn't refuse.

'As o' today you got a new job. Corner of 63rd Street.

Call it a prom-o-shun.' Bonbon chuckled.

'But - but I got kids - babies . . .' The tears were pouring down her face.

'Sad, sad, too fuckin' bad.' Bonbon shook his head. 'Now go get outta that clown suit and come right back here.'

'Carmine . . . please . . .' Julita cried.

'Carmine ain't gonna help you.' Bonbon got closer to her.

'Go on get yo' things, walk out and get in the black Merc you see outside. Ain't but one. An' don'tchu be tryin' nuttin'

like tellin' the manager or callin' the cops, 'cause you know what I'ma do to you and yo' bebe's.'

Carmine looked at her sorrowfully.

'Sixty-third Street's in Liberty City,' she said, her voice trembling.