Maelstrom

"Yeah, I think DaVanna gave it to me."

"Bye Max."

I let the screen door shut behind me and retraced my steps across the crumbling sidewalk, pleasantly full and thinking about the interesting woman I just met. I felt wet between my legs, but that's always my reaction when I'm with a beautiful woman.

* * *

I did have something in mind for Alessandra. Nicky was short staffed and Alessandra was unemployed. Maybe there was a match to be had. A few days later I called Alessandra and invited her to an early dinner at Nicky's.

"So I'll see you there at three?" she asked, confirming the time.

"That's right."

There was a pause on the phone as it seemed Alessandra was pondering her next question.

"Is this a date?"

Again, I was clueless. I was staring at her while I was in her kitchen and now I just invited her to dinner. Of course she would think that.

"Actually, think of it as an employment opportunity."

"But I'm not looking for a job," she protested, and also sounding disappointed that I didn't call it a date. I was seeing Courtney, although we never discussed whether it was an exclusive relationship.

"Just check out the diner. Nicky will be there. She's looking for a new chef. Her father ran the kitchen, but he's in the hospital."

"OK."

I sensed I hurt her feelings.

"Look Alessandra, I told you that you're beautiful. I meant it. It's just that I'm seeing somebody right now."

"I see."

"So see you at three?"

"Yeah, sure."

* * *

We both got there at the same time, just a bit before three when the diner was technically closed. The front door was locked. I couldn't see anybody. I knocked on the door. Nothing. Alessandra was soaking in the vibe of the diner.

"I like it Max."

"What's that?" I asked.

"The diner. It's retro but it's not. I like the neighborhood, the street it's on.

She was right about that. The street we were on had fifty year old trees lining both sides. It gave it more of a woodsy feel.

I knocked on the glass panel of the door, this time harder.

One of the staff came over, recognized me and unlocked the door. Nicky spotted me from the kitchen as Alessandra and I came into the dining room.

"Max... wait... I need to talk to you," Nicky shouted from the kitchen. She pulled her hands out of a large white food grade bucket. She was wearing plastic gloves. She peeled them off and threw them into a waste basket. I told Alessandra to get a booth and wait for me.

I followed Nicky into the kitchen where we could be alone. She pushed the swinging door and spoke to me as soon as it closed.

"Max, what's going on? From my dad and this, I can't sleep."

She did look terrible.

"I'm working on it," I told her. It wasn't much but I wanted to reassure her. "Nicky, you've known me for how long?"

She thought for a moment. "I dunno. Maybe fifteen years?"

"And in all the time you've known me, have I ever bullshitted you?"

She thought again, and not for long. "No... you've always been truthful with me."

"Nicky I will fix this. Whatever it takes."

"Max. Thank you. Thank you. I can't tell you what this means to me."

"You don't have to Nicky."

She hugged me and started to sob on my shoulder. Nicky was sensitive, and she was under a lot of pressure.

"It'll be OK Nicky."

"Thanks," she sniffled.

"I love you Max."

"I love you too Nicky."

She gave me a sheepish look, even though her eyes were red.

"There's something else."

Oh shit.

"There's more?"

"There's always more. You know that Max."

"Dad also got behind on the maintenance of the diner."

"I know, it does look a bit shop worn."

"Well, truth be told, the plumbing and electrical needs work, and the dining room needs to be refurbished. We'll have to close the diner to make the repairs."

"And how much is that going to set you back?"

"$50,000."

"Ouch."

"Yeah."

"So if you know anybody who's willing to invest $50,000 for a half share in the diner, let me know."

I lived like a vagrant, but I did happen to know one person with a lot of money.

"I may know somebody," I told her. And that somebody was Courtney.

"Max... you're a lifesaver."

Yeah, I was that too.

* * *

Nicky had really put a load on me, first about the protection money and then the remodel cost. I knew it wasn't my obligation on either of her asks, but she was one of my closest friends, and she'd never asked me for anything before. I could remember a dozen times when Nicky bailed me out after I'd done something stupid, usually when I was drunk. I owed her and I was going to be true to my word.

I wandered back into the dining room to find my dining companion. Alessandra had seated herself in one of the booths and was engrossed in texting on her phone. I slid into the bench seat across from her.

"Heavy shit?" Alessandra asked me, putting her phone down and no doubt seeing the angst on my face.

"The heaviest," I answered.

"You look like you need a drink."

"I always need a drink, but it's not time to start."

"It's your jones." She said it with the authority of someone who's been there.

And she was right. It was my jones. It was an addiction.

"Mine was heroin," Alessandra casually mentioned.

The heaviest shit.

She made it sound like it was something in the past. And in her mind maybe it was. I liked the fact that she could easily admit it out loud to me. I liked her. I liked her more than her sister. She was genuine. DaVanna was a media creature, styled and molded by focus groups, and slipperier than an eel. Alessandra spoke her mind and didn't give a shit about what people thought. More like me.

The tension was broken when Nicky appeared with our fried chicken dinners. We would smell the wonderfulness.

"These just came out of the fryer. Put new oil in it."

Steam was rising off the plate. The chicken skin was a golden brown and crispy and the inside was moist. It was a satisfying first bite, followed by a forkful of mashed potatoes and gravy. Alessandra was busy working on her dinner, testing the green beans. We ate in silence for a few minutes before Nicky came back to check on us.

"Everything OK?"

"Love the chicken," Alessandra volunteered, holding up a half-eaten drumstick. "Buttermilk?"

"Oh yeah," said Nicky. "Overnight if I can do it. Lately we're running out so it's for a couple hours."

I chimed in. "I think Alessandra makes a mean breakfast."

"So you a chef Alessandra? I'm looking for someone."

I knew that.

"As I told Max, I dabble."

She was being surprisingly modest.

"Why don't you come in tomorrow and make me breakfast? See what you've got?"

My new friend sat there and thought for a moment. "Why not? What time?"

"Say 8?"

"I'll see you then."

Max = matchmaker.

Chapter Five

Trong

It was my day off. I was dressed in my civvies -- jeans, a tight fitting black tee shirt and my lace up work boots, and was carrying a unmarked business size manila envelope. It was time to pay Trong Lai a visit. His informal HQ was in the back of a Vietnamese restaurant in the heart of the West End. The hole in the wall eatery was no doubt owned by him and part of his extensive money laundering operation. As a good size white woman, I stood out in Little Vietnam amid a sea of older Asian woman who were a foot shorter than me. I parked my Civic in a paid fenced in parking lot with an attendant, not trusting my car to the streets around there.

It was late afternoon, and I was told by Neufeld that Trong was usually there at that time. The modest dining establishment, aptly named Little Saigon, had its name embossed on a large metal Pepsi sign above the wire mesh covered front door. The sign was showing patches of rust and the mesh needed a new paint job.

I opened the door to find a handful of tables with cheap tables and chairs and mismatched silverware. The air was heavy with smells of cilantro and homemade beef broth. They specialized in pho, and my stomach rumbled at the thought of a big bowl of noodles and steaming hot clear beef broth. There wasn't anyone in the dining room except for a table in the far back that had two burly Asian men playing cards and drinking beer out of a longneck. The steel reinforced door they were guarding had one of those signs you can buy at the hardware store, white with black lettering, that said "Employees Only."

One of the men put down his cards and stood up. He was about my height, but probably outweighed me by fifty pounds. "You have business here?" he asked in a most unfriendly way. It was hard not to notice his pockmarked face and the menacing dragon tattoo circling one of his exposed forearms. He was flexing his fingers.

"I'm here to see Trong Lai," I announced, as if he was a receptionist.

"You fuck off." He stepped forward to push me away. I let go of my envelope. He was slightly off balance, and that made it easy to grab the collar of his shirt and jerk him towards me. Before he could react, my right knee found his crotch, crushing his not too insubstantial family jewels. The other man started reaching for his piece. I dropped down and chopped the back of his knee, causing him to buckle forward. That made it easy to bring my knee up this jaw. Sweet dreams.

I brushed off my pants and picked up my envelope. I knocked on the door three times. No one would suspect the door was temporarily unguarded.

It opened. I pushed hard on the door and the man opening it fell backwards on his ass. There was a short man sitting behind the desk. He calmly reached into the top drawer and pulled out a gun, stood up and pointed it at my head.

"May I help you?" he asked.

His inside man got up and brushed off his butt. I could hear groaning outside the door. Those two guys would need a few hours before they were any good to anyone.

"Trong Lai?" I asked him. I was sure it was him. I'd seen his mugshot.

"Speaking."

Trong sat down behind his desk, but kept his gun pointed at me. He stared at me as he put his feet up on his desk. His black dress shoes were spit polished and expensive.

"I recognize you," he said with careful diction. He was a small, thin, impeccably groomed man, with smooth, shiny bronze colored skin. Maybe 120 pounds dripping wet. He was handsome, with straight jet black hair parted in the middle. His suit appeared to be custom tailored and fit him well.

"Yes. I'm Max Pemberton..."

He put his feet back on the floor. He sat upright, placed the gun on the desk, and folded his hands on the desktop.

"Ah yes. I do recognize you. You drove a patrol car around here not that long ago with some old guy as your partner. Now it's someone else."

He waved for me to take a seat. The two guys outside recovered well enough to shut the door to the outside. Trong put the gun back in his desk drawer.

"Tea, Officer Pemberton?"

"Please, call me Max," I told him, as if we were now friendly, even though he had pointed a gun between my eyes. "It's my day off and this isn't official business. And yes, I'd love a cup of tea."

He signaled to his man with his eyes. The man left the room, presumably to fetch the tea. That left us alone.

"Your methods are... unusual to say the least."

I think he was telling me that I was out of bounds and maybe crazy.

"I'm here to help a friend." I wanted to get to the point.

"I see," he said, sitting up taller in his seat and pulling on the cuff of his shirt to straighten it. The shirt he was wearing had cuffs with diamond studded cuff links.

He saw my eyes wander to the wall behind him that displayed his undergraduate degree at Cornell and his MBA from Wharton.

"Ah yes... Max. People are always surprised to see that I went to a couple fancy colleges. Maybe that education allowed me to better communicate with people like you, but to me they are just pieces of paper that impress people and decorate my walls. What I learned on the streets means more than my degree from Wharton. He used his hand to imitate a gun and pointed it at me.

"A bullet means more than an education here."

Such a contrast. He was obviously a highly educated man, but embraced the law of the jungle in the West End. Cold steel and hot lead.

"So now that we understand each other Officer Pemberton, how can I be of service to you?"

I tossed the manila envelope onto his desk. It slid across the leather inset on his desk and stopped at his fingers. He looked at the envelope, ripped it open and pulled out the pictures from the R. Nguyen file. He saw the first few and then dropped the photos without going through all of them. He had a perturbed look on his face.

"I have to say... Max... you are either the stupidest or bravest person I've ever met. I can't decide which."

I couldn't decide either. Maybe blackmailing a guy who was a cold blooded killer wasn't such a great idea.

His bodyguard returned with the tea, putting two cups on the desk and then resuming his position standing next to the door. Trong handed me my cup. It was seductively fragrant. I took a sip. It was delicious.

Trong put his teacup back on a leather coaster. "Ironic. You're blackmailing the blackmailer."

"I don't know any other way to play your game," I confessed. I took another sip of tea.

"You aren't afraid to die, are you Max?"

That was a good question. I gave it a bit of thought before I answered.

"Trong. I'm gay in a man's profession. I'm divorced. I live in a cheesy motel, have no money and just the few friends I hold dearer to me than my own life. So I guess no, I'm not afraid to die."

"You must be a good friend to this person you are helping."

"Sir, with all due respect, isn't it an act of a good friend to be willing to confront someone like you without a weapon?"

He laughed. "You've got me there Max." He almost looked relaxed. I wasn't.

"So who is this friend?"

"Nicky Flores."

"Ah yes. Nicky. Good girl. Her father has... some form of cancer if I remember correctly."

"Liver."

"Yes, that's it."

I could see his mind working.

"She owes me a great sum of money."

Yes she did.

"I'd like to negotiate a number... and then the pictures are yours. I don't know what kind of arrangement you have with Assistant D.A. Caruso and I don't want to know."

He gathered up the pictures and ran them through a small paper shredder sitting on the floor behind his desk. We waited until the paper shredder stopped grinding. Of course they were just copies of the originals I had in my desk.

"No deal, I'll take my chances with you Officer Pemberton."

Shit.

"In fact, I'm thinking about having you killed. You seem to have a death wish and I have a reputation to protect. No extra charge."

Double shit.

"I think you should leave before I have you killed now."

That was definitely my cue to leave. I started to get out of my chair.

"Ahhh. One more thing..."

I sat down again.

"Please, it was rude of me to dismiss you before you have an opportunity to finish your tea."

I waved my hand. "That's OK, Mr. Lai. I've suddenly lost my taste for tea."

I got up again.

"I'm sure our paths will cross again soon Officer Pemberton."

"That's for certain."

I knocked on the door and the man on the other side let me out.

Chapter Six

Fundraising

Hanging with Courtney was my new favorite thing. She was young. She was pretty. She was a great fuck. I'm not sure there was anything long term in the cards, but I was having fun with someone whose favorite pastime was sex. What's not to like?

It was a Wednesday night, and I arranged to meet with Courtney at Bailey's. I got there at nine, a half hour late, and saw her there perched on a stool nursing a drink at the bar. I came up from behind and put my arm around her and kissed her on the neck.

"Miss me?" I asked her.

"Nope." She went back to her drink. I think she was a bit pissed at me for being late. Maddy approached us. She already had my drink and I hadn't even ordered. It was a double shot of Maker's.

"C'mon." I poked her in the ribs.

"OK, maybe just a little bit."

"A little bit of what?" Maddy asked.

"That she missed me," I said.

"Well, from what I heard, there was a lot to miss," said Maddy, laughing.

"Shit Courtney..." I started to say.

Maddy was grinning ear to ear. "I got it all Max. Might be better if you showed up on time so Courtney wouldn't have so much free time on her hands."

Then she leaned forward to whisper for my ears only, though I'm sure Courtney could hear as well.

"Right down to you licking her armpits." Maddy laughed again. "Shit Max, I didn't know you were that kinky."

"Really Courtney?" I poked my chatty girlfriend in the ribs harder. Maddy would never let me live this down.

I resolved to always show up on time (another promise to myself that would be broken). I finished downing my first drink. "Can I have another?" I asked Maddy, pointing to the now empty glass.

"And another for you?" Maddy asked my date.

She nodded.

"So you can't get enough of me Max?" Courtney asked.

"That's true. But I have an ulterior motive for this get together."

"What's that?"

"I need $50,000. Or I should say my friend Nicky needs $50,000."

She made a low whistle. "That's a big ask."

"To fix up her diner. It's an investment. You'd own half of the business. They have the best fried chicken in Cincinnati. Think about it. From my standpoint it's a win-win."

I pulled out my phone. I played a video for her with the camera panning along a line that snaked around the corner before the diner was open.

"Like this all the time?" Courtney asked, clearly impressed by the video.

"Not always, sometimes it's busy," I joked. "Actually, it's like this all the time, more so on the weekends."

"Fifty grand?"

"That's what Nicky is prepared to offer... plus all the fried chicken you can eat." I added in the last part. Maddy arrived with the second round. It went down easier than the first.

"I'll tell you what. I'll have my accountant review Nicky's financials. And you need to take me there to try the fried chicken."

"You're my favorite person," I told her. She was turning out to be a good friend as well as a great fuck.

Courtney pulled me closer so I was standing right next to her. On the barstool she was taller than me. We were facing away from the people standing at the bar, so Maddy was the only person who could see us, and she was attending to some other folks on the far end of the bar. My little vixen cupped my breast over my tight tee shirt, giving it a light squeeze.

"Enough of this talk. I've been thinking about these all day," she said for my ears only.

"Is that all you think of?" I asked her, though making no effort to move her hand.

"Uh huh," she answered as she continued to fondle me.

The drinks kept flowing until I asked Courtney to dance. Mind you, I never ask anyone to dance. We waded into the crowded dance floor hand in hand. The music was pulsing in my body and the alcohol was coursing through my veins. Courtney was swaying to the music with her long arms extended over her head as she shimmied her hips. The room suddenly felt red hot. I was moving to the beat and put my arm around her with my hand caressing her tight abs. Her muscles rippled under my fingertips. She was sexy and she knew it. Then she pulled my ear close to her lips. I could feel her breath on it.

"I like the way you move Max," she whispered. Her hand snaked inside the waistband of my pants. I sucked in my gut and let her fingers roam free. I was already sopping wet. She dipped her fingers in my honey while my hips moved in time with hers. She kissed me on the lips as the beat pulsed through us. It was so fucking sexy. It still makes me wet thinking about it. Then I did what Max always does. I fucked up at exactly the wrong moment. My foot rolled over on its side and I staggered to the left, grabbing at Courtney's designer tee to keep myself from toppling over. I heard it rip as she fell on top of me. We started laughing while the dancers around us watched us flop on the floor. Her face was right on top of mine.