Find Me (Truthful Lies Trilogy - Book Two) (17 page)

“
Sexy Movers
. Not brilliant, but it’s hard to
misconstrue what it means.”

“
Trev,
anything
with the word
Sexy
in
it is always misconstrued. I can just imagine all the Midlife
Crisis men phoning us, thinking we’re belly dancers or
something.”

“Well, if it pays the bills...”

“
Fucking Christ. Just drive!”

We stop at the stately black gates
of
St.
Dymphna
’s—an
establishment dealing exclusively with people who experience
nervous breakdowns or other psychotic breaks later in their lives.
In other words, the six-pack was full once upon a time.

Then it
emptied.

Now, if you’re anything like me,
when you hear of a “Home of
Rest and Care for the Mentally Disturbed” you probably conjure up
an institution that looks a little like where Jack Nicholson
strangles Nurse Ratched and a boy cuts his own throat with broken
glass. Am I right?

Well, if not, then you’re a blessed soul.
’Cause that’s what my first impression of it was when I first heard
of it. Only, it’s nothing like that. Nothing like that at
all.

St. Dymphna
’s is really just an old house with a
gazillion rooms, which sits on a property several acres large. No
electroshocks and spikes up the nose or Prozac up the ass—just a
place to chill out and where, hopefully, the Nervous Breakdown
patient can “unbreak.” The head doctor is one of those new-agey
types who doesn’t believe in using drugs except when someone’s leg
is broken.
Gehrig
, I think
his name is. Swiss or something.

They have about a twenty-three percent
success rate of people who find their marbles again.

Gina’s sadly not one of them.

Trev and Skate leave me at the gate.

Walking the long dirt road toward the
imposing house, I can’t shake the feeling that I’m walking down a
dark path into my own past. Flashes of psychedelic lights in
smoke-filled clubs hit me. Gina’s smiling face, brow gleaming with
sweat. Pupils the size of saucers. Fingers in front of her eyes
like she was doing a dance out of
Pulp Fiction
. She probably even really believed she was Uma
Thurman when she was doing that.

She used to wear highly revealing clothes,
especially in the later months. I confess that I liked it. What
virile guy wouldn’t? She was a little round
er than most girls, and that only made her
more alluring. Because she used to push her cleavage up wildly with
push-ups. But that’s not what I’m thinking of as I get to the
massive teak doors of
St. Dymphna
’s.

I’m thinking of her running her small
fingers through my hair as we fucked on the night when she flipped,
earlier that night, before she’d dropped the A. And I’m thinking of
her last words to me before they sedated her:
You’re a devil, aren’t you,
Deck?

The large wooden door of the house creaks
eerily as I push it open. And I can’t help trying to answer that
question in my head. But the answer I get is never one that makes
me happy.

It’s always the same answer.

Blaze Ryleigh

Vikki owns a b
lack hatchback BMW. She throws Vlad her keys on
the way out of
Supercore
, and
they exchange a few words in Russian. To me, as an aside, she says,
“I am too drunk to drive!”

Outside, Vlad goes to another BMW. Not a
hatchback
—much too large
for that—but also black, including the windows. One of them rolls
down, and another dude in shades, and looking equally mean, chats
to Monster-Sized Vlad. (I recognize the light-haired dude in the
car, he was also part of Vikki’s entourage at
Slambam
on Wednesday.) Vlad says something else to
Vikki, then he leads the way to her vehicle.

“
Who are you
—a freaking
czarina
or something?”

“Something.”

Her Beamer
smells new when we get in, but Vikki tells me it’s
a 2005 model. “My father wanted to give me newer car, but I tell
him I want to make it on my own. He finally accept it. We are
pretty well off. I was big disappointment when I tell them I not
want to go to college. When he was finally convinced I wasn’t going
to do it, he tried to suggest I take over the family
business.”
Beezniss
. “But,
when I rebelled against that as well, they had no
choice.”

“So, he bought you the car?”

She smiles. “Yes, pa
pah
love his daughter.” She lights up a Parliament and
rolls down the window. She sticks her head out of it, sucks down
several drags, then throws it out. “I don’t like tobacco smell in
car. But I was desperate!”

We get to Vikki’s apartment building. On
the outside, it looks pretty nondescript. We get to the top floor
and the
two bodyguards
scope out the entrance to her apartment before Vikki goes in, and
I’m seriously needing to ask her about that. When they tell her
it’s cool, Vlad gives her her car keys back and we go
inside.

Inside, it’s like a luxury
condo
—Williamsburg-style. It even smells new—more specifically,
it’s the smell of a set of red leather couches. White rug in the
center. Plush. Expensive-looking glass table with a copy of
Time Out New
York
on it. Some art on
the walls. A sprawling view of Brooklyn from a small
balcony.

“
You like?” She raises her palms like the
apartment is a car at a show.

“
I
love
!
How— I mean, what does it cost to live here?”

She sighs. “Oh, Blaze,
pa
pah
is one who take care of
that.”

“
I’m starting to like your papah more and
more.”

She heads over to a cupboard and pulls
down the bar door. Out comes the
Imperial
. She holds the bottle up to me, as if asking if
I’m ready for more.

I shrug. “Hell, sister, I haven’t gotten
drunk with a girlfriend in...well, a long time.”

She pulls out two crystal glasses, places
them on the glass table and pours. I’m still sniffing my drink when
hers is down her throat. She slams it back down on the glass again,
and fills it for the second time.

She downs that one as well.

I down mine
—
hot!
—and chill
back on the couch, feeling ultra relaxed.

Feeling a little more forward, I ask,
“Vikki...(
hiccup
)...is
your father, like, secretly the president of Russia or
something?”

She falls next to me,
Imperial
bottle dangerously close to pouring over
her red couch. “No, but I wonder sometimes if he is not president
of Brighton Beach.”

I hold out my glass to her. She pours. “Is
that where they live?”

“
Darling, that’s where all Russians live!
But, yes, he lives there. He wanted me to go to college but I told
him I wanted to be a musician. We fought for long time about it.
Then I ran away from home. And papah was so worried about me, that
he decided is better to give me money to follow dream, than to push
me away. So, he paid for the apartment here—it’s a two bedroom by
the way—and told me I must never run away from him again. Because
he loves me.”

“
No shit
. Wow. Nice father. And what’s up with the
bodyguards?”

She tells me her family’s actually quite
rich,
and that her dad
runs a few nightclubs up in Brighton Beach—luxury stuff, table
service and shit. But he tolerates
no
drugs at his clubs. “That’s the way clubs get shut down.
And the owners always get roped into the cops’ shitlist when
there’s dealers at their clubs. So papah doesn’t let them within a
mile of his places. So, anyway, we started getting a few threats a
few years back. So papah decided to have me watched by some guys he
hired. And that’s how Vlad and Sasha became my constant
companions.”

“
Damn, that sounds like Russian mafia
shit.”

Instead of acting surprised or shocked, she
says, “Blaze, if it is, I would not be surprised!”

“And...what about boys?”

The
Imperial
bottle pauses in mid-air. “Well, Vlad says to me they don’t
report to papah on that. But, well... Anyway, it doesn’t stop me
bringing them over!”

I laugh. She offers me more vodka but my
drinking hatches are overflowing. She goes to the fridge in the
kitchen-section of her open-plan lounge. She pulls out some OJ,
brings it over to me. “Will help line stomach,” she
says.

I down two glasses.

I tell her about my own apartment
troubles, and that my landlord finally gave in to the big realtors,
so my lease will expire in six months and probably not get renewed.
I also tell her that I can’t even imagine getting another place
because Mr. Bernstein’s an old friend of
M
a
mah
’s and, well,
some months he didn’t even take rent from me.

“
Blaze,
this is a two-bedroom. You can stay here!”

“Thanks...but I’m gonna try make it on my
own.”

“
Blaze! Please. It’s no problem. And I only
ever bring boys home on the weekends. And we’re always in the
bedroom.”

“I’ll keep it in mind.”

She frowns a little, puts her glass down.
Sits up. “You know, Blaze, I can tell you are one of those people
that is afraid of accepting help from people. In Russian community,
we always help each other. Is why we are growing so strong in
Brooklyn. Because we help
all
Russians who come here. You should not be afraid of
accepting help from people.”

I
stare at my empty glass a little. “Yeah, uhm, I guess I do
have a little hesitation when it comes to that.”

“
A
little
!
Ha ha!” She reiterates her offer, and I give in.

“Fine. It’s a deal, if I have nowhere to go,
I’ll come here.”

She sits back, stretches her long legs
onto the table. “Maybe you could come here even if you
do
have a place to go. Anyway, one
step at a time.”

“
So, tell me about Tolek. How is it that a
rich czarina hooks up with
—” I stop, realizing this comment can only go in one
direction.

“
With such a motherfucker?”
Muddahfuckah
.

“Uhm, yes. Exactly.”

“Well, Blaze, I could ask the same thing of
you. You might not be rich in money, but you are much richer than
he is in many ways.”

“Well, he was pretty charming back then.”

“Very charming.”

“I guess I just answered my own
question.”

She tells me how Tolek schmoozed up to her
and made her feel important as a singer. “It was when I was still
insecure about my art,” she says. “You have to be secure in your
own art first, Blaze. Otherwise, the vampires will smell your
blood
like sharks in
warm water.” They dated for a few months, had sex a few times
(“Nothing special, I must tell you. All for him, little for me.
That’s his style.”) Then she dumped him. Two months later, she
started getting regular gigs. Some of them resulted in some
internet buzz. And like Lucipher himself, the punk appeared again
at one of her shows.

She didn’t have Vlad with her then yet. Tolek
roughed her up a bit. He didn’t actually hit her, but held her
forcefully and shook her. Enough to give her some bruises on the
arms.

She says she’s “not one to take the shit
of a man.” So, she fought him off. But, as tough as a girl can be,
a guy is a guy. And Tolek is strong. “So, if Andrei had not
appeared—he is our drummer. If he had not appeared suddenly,
because he was looking for me, well, maybe something worse could
have happened.”

The statement sends cold chills down my
throat.

“
Anyway, meanwhile,
papah organized the security for me. For
other reasons—”

“The threats.”

“
Yes. I never heard of them. Papah just
said the family was getting a few calls. So, Vlad and Sasha were
hired—Sasha is the guy who was driving the other BM, by the
way—and, well, Tolek just kind of disappeared.”

“
Wow.
Good timing. You think your papah knew about Tolek? That
the supposed threats were just a story because he knew of your ex
boyfriend?”

“
Is possible. Papah is never very surprised
when I say things to him. I wonder if he is just stoic, or if he
truly has eyes everywhere.”

I laugh and shake my head. “He
really
sounds like Russian Mafia,
Vikki!”

She cracks up, and before I know it, I’m
downing another half-glass of
Imperial
.