Player & the Game (20 page)

K
eith sat in the driver's seat of his Ford Explorer, drumming his fingers on the steering wheel as he waited for Stephanie. He glared down at the green digital numbers on the dashboard, then at the bar's neon-lit doorway and grumbled loudly. She had been in the bar for almost two hours now.

Of course, she wouldn't text him or give him a call if she was having any problems. She was too proud to do something like that. But the least she could have done was send him a message to let him know she was OK.

He perked up when he saw the bar door open finally and he relaxed when a woman in a denim skirt stepped outside. It looked like Stephanie . . . but he couldn't be sure. He squinted, trying to see her face as she walked out of the shadows and across the sparsely lit parking lot. His shoulders slumped when he saw her take a pack of cigarettes from her skirt pocket.

That definitely wasn't Stephanie. She didn't smoke.

In the glow of a street lamp, he could see the woman more clearly: the wrinkles that etched her brown, haggard face; the dark semicircles under her eyes; and her pinched lips. The jean skirt also looked about two sizes too small under closer inspection and her flowing dark hair was really a cheap wig.

The woman lit her cigarette and unceremoniously plopped on the hood of an old gray Cadillac parked in the row of cars facing his. He watched as she hunched over, tugging her jacket tighter around her to ward off the evening chill. Sensing his eyes on her, she suddenly looked up. Seeing Keith, she beamed.

“Hey, honey,” she called in her grainy smoker's voice, tossing her fake hair over her shoulder. She stuck out her chest. “Lookin' for a good time? Want some company tonight?”

Keith shook his head and shifted his gaze back to the barroom doors.

“Come on, baby,” she begged, taking a few steps toward his SUV, teetering slightly in her well-worn heels. “It won't cost much. A good lookin' man like you, I'll even give a discount. Fifteen bucks for a hand job. Forty for a blow.”

No,
he mouthed sternly, glowering at her.

She sucked her teeth and rolled her eyes before plopping back onto the Cadillac's hood. “Your loss,” she mumbled, before smoking her cigarette again.

Fifteen bucks for a hand job. Forty for a blow,
Keith thought with disgust.

That
was what Stephanie was competing with in there!

“Shouldn't have let her go alone,” he mumbled to himself.

But what was he supposed to do,
wrestle her to the ground?
She was a grown woman and he had warned her, but she was so sure of herself, so hell-bent on proving she could do what Keith could not: squeeze information out of Big Red. She thought she could just bat her eyes, show some cleavage and some leg, and find out what they needed to know, but Keith knew better. If Stephanie wasn't careful, she could easily get in over her head in there. Flirting and throwing on the charm may work with small-town millionaires, but men like Big Red were a lot rougher and dirtier. They would expect a lot more than a smile and an ass rub if you wanted to get something from them.

“And who says she wouldn't be willing to do it,” a voice in Keith's head mocked. “She did it with you.”

Oh, come on,
he thought in reply.
Even she has standards—and limits.

But Keith wasn't so sure. He glanced at the dashboard again, resolving if Stephanie didn't leave the bar in the next thirty minutes, he was going in after her.
Thirty minutes.
That's how long he would wait. No longer. If he had to save her from herself, so be it!

With that declaration, he closed his eyes and leaned his head back against the headrest, trying to calm his nerves. He took several deep breaths. It was an exercise he had learned while in the ATF—how to focus, how to center himself before intense situations. It had seemed like mumbo jumbo when he first learned it, but it actually worked most times. He was supposed to visualize something serene. Keith focused until slowly, a vision came to mind. It was a crowded bar filled with people.

Not very serene,
he thought.

He saw Stephanie holding Big Red's chubby hand, guiding the gargantuan man through the throng of people in the bar into one of the back rooms. It looked like a utility closet filled with brooms, mops, and liquid detergents. He saw Big Red step inside first, then Stephanie squeeze in after him. It was a tight fit, but she managed. She winked and Big Red gave a big toothy grin, revealing his gold tooth. She then fell to her knees. Big Red licked his lips and leaned his head back against the wall. Stephanie lowered the zipper of his pants, stuck her hand inside, and . . .

“That's it,” Keith thought, opening his eyes.

He threw open his car door and jumped down to the wet asphalt.

He wasn't waiting another thirty minutes. He was going in there and dragging her ass out
now!

 

Keith threw open the barroom door and was instantly hit by the smell of cigarette smoke and the heavy undercurrent of weed. The pungent haze burned his eyes, making them water.

He winced as he passed a wall speaker. The feedback nearly blew out his eardrum.

The blues band was playing at full throttle with a heavy bass and a driving rhythm that had several in the crowd screaming and shouting with delight. A few couples were grinding on the dance floor. One woman in a miniskirt and halter top who was nursing a bottle of beer did a lazy, drunken shimmy alone with her rolling eyes half-closed. A few people stood off to the side, pointing and laughing at her before one man grabbed her hand and roughly yanked her to one of the booths along the wall.

Keith's eyes scanned the cavernous room. He looked at the bar, which was fifteen feet away. All of the bar stools were occupied, but none by Stephanie. The bartender—a rail-thin, dark-skinned man who stood in front of a glowing “Miller Lite” sign—simultaneously poured shots, smoked a cigarette, and watched Keith as Keith walked across the room. In his jaundiced eyes was a mix of mild curiosity and suspicion. Keith instantly stopped frowning. He relaxed his shoulders and loosened his fists. He didn't want to raise any red flags this early—not until he found Stephanie, anyway. He nodded to the bartender. Though the old man still seemed wary, he nodded back at Keith.

Keith moved farther into the room, passing a few pool tables where men loudly talked trash and badly played pool. One bumped Keith's shoulder as he passed.

“Watch where da fuck you goin', man!” the surly player shouted over the music, glaring at Keith. His two front teeth were missing. So was his right eye. Keith decided that life had done enough to this man to let this one offense slide. He kept walking.

Keith drew closer to the back of the barroom and finally found Stephanie. She was sitting with Big Red at a table where the backwoods hustler held court with several other men. Two were the bodyguards who had come in with him.

Well, sitting
with
Big Red wasn't an accurate description. It was more like Stephanie was sitting
on
him. She was perched on his ample lap, holding a perspiring beer bottle in her hand, throwing back her head as she laughed.

Keith was incensed. He watched as one of Big Red's plump hands cupped Stephanie's bottom while the other casually cradled her thigh. Keith instantly charged toward the table and when Stephanie saw him coming, her laughter died in her throat. She lowered her bottle and gazed at him quizzically.

Big Red noticed Stephanie had stopped laughing. He followed her gaze and stared up at Keith. He tilted his round head.

“Can I help you, brah?” he asked, revealing his 24-karat smile.

“No,” Keith answered succinctly. He then returned his attention to Stephanie. “Get up. It's time to go,” he said firmly.

Stephanie blinked in amazement.

Big Red chuckled. “I don't know. Don't look like she's fittin' to go—least don't look like it to me. Are you ready to go, baby?”

Stephanie hesitantly glanced at Keith's stern face before looking back at Big Red. She laughed nervously and shook her head. “No, baby. I'm fine right here.”

“See that,” Big Red said, now gloating. He tightened his arm possessively around her waist. “She ain't ready. So I think you need to move the hell along.”

“I wasn't talking to you!” Keith barked, making Big Red's smile disappear. “I was talking to her!” He suddenly returned his focus to Stephanie. “I said get up! It's time to go!”

Stephanie gazed at Keith like she wasn't sure if he was doing some great performance or if he was serious. Her eyes silently pled with him. “What the hell are you doing?” they asked.

“Baby, is this your man?” Big Red drawled.

“Uh . . .” Stephanie uttered anxiously. “Well, kinda yes . . . kinda no.”

“Then you better tell him to back the hell up, because he 'bout to get hurt!” Big Red sneered. He glared up at Keith. “You don't know who you fuckin' with!”

Suddenly, the two very large men who Keith had seen walking into the club with Big Red earlier now rose from the round table and slowly walked around it toward Keith.

Stephanie's eyes widened with alarm. “Look, OK,” she said, putting down her bottle on the wooden table. She held up her hands and rose to her feet. “Really there's no need for all of this. I'll go! I just—”

Big Red roughly tugged her back down to his lap, catching her by surprise. She cringed after landing hard on his massive thigh.

“Nuh-uh, baby,” he said, pointing at her chest, “where the hell you think you goin'? No bitch walks out on Big Red. You go when
I
tell you that you can go!” With that taken care of, he suddenly glared up at Keith. “Look here,” he sneered, “I'm gonna—”

It was a split-second decision that Keith was sure he would later regret, but he did it anyway. The two bodyguards were drawing closer and Stephanie looked like she couldn't get out of this situation even if she tried. So Keith did the only thing he could think of doing: he drew his gun.

Keith had contemplated leaving the Glock 22 back in his glove compartment before he came inside. He only had a license to carry in Virginia, not here in Florida. He could easily face a charge for gun possession carrying it around. Plus, he knew guns could make a bad situation twenty times worse in the wrong hands. He preferred for guns to be the last resort in a tight situation, not the first. But sometimes they couldn't be avoided. You get backed into a corner and a gun could be the ultimate equalizer.

Before he pulled it out of the back of his waistband, he had glanced at the two men's jackets and shirts as they approached to see if there was a telltale bulge to let him know they were carrying. He didn't see any, but he knew that didn't prove anything. Their guns could be tucked somewhere a lot more inconspicuous, but maybe not. Either way, it would take the guys some time to get to them. Thankfully, Big Red was too preoccupied with Stephanie to pull out his gun. So Keith took a chance—a massive one.

Everyone at the table gaped at him.

“What the . . . What the fuck?” Big Red murmured, loosening his grip on Stephanie. “Did this nigga just pull a gun on me?”

“Shit, she ain't all that, man!” one of the bodyguards muttered, making Stephanie angrily furrow her brows.

Keith used the small window of surprise to his advantage. He grabbed Stephanie's hand and yanked her toward him. He then wrapped his arm around her waist.

“Look over my shoulder and tell me if anyone's coming toward me,” he said into her ear, keeping his gaze focused on Big Red and his bodyguards, keeping his Glock pointed at them.

“
What?
” she squeaked.

“Look over my damn shoulder and tell me if anyone is creeping up on me,” he whispered harshly.

She did as he ordered and slowly shook her head. “Uh, n-n-no . . . No one's coming.”

“I want you to keep lookin',” he said. “I want you to walk quickly with me toward the door. Understood?”

Stephanie blankly nodded.

“OK, go!” he said, abruptly backing out of the room. Stephanie didn't have time to argue. Before she knew it, she was being hauled off her feet.

“W
ould you . . . put . . . me . . .
down!
” Stephanie shouted as Keith carried her toward his Ford Explorer.

One minute she was walking quickly out of the bar, trying to match his long strides; the next minute, her feet were dangling a good two inches off the ground.

She twisted and gave him a hard shove. Keith finally released her, dropping her like a heavy sack he was happy to be rid of. He tucked his gun back into his waistband.

Stephanie glared up at him. He glared back at her.

“Why did you do that?” she shouted in the parking lot, throwing up her hands. “He was telling me about Isaac! I had just found out where he was!”

“So why the hell were you still in there, huh? Were you hanging around for the
ambiance?
”

“I was gonna leave, Keith!”

“Then why hadn't you left yet? You were in there for more than two goddamn hours! Why'd I have to come in after you?”

“You didn't have to come in after me! I didn't need you to come chasing me down like some psycho jealous boyfriend! What was that about?”

“I was saving you from yourself!”

Stephanie paused and screwed up her face in confusion. “
What?
”

“And it's good I came in when I did! That slimy piece of shit had his hands
all
over you,” Keith yelled, curling his lip in revulsion, “and you were sitting on his lap like he was goddamn Santa Claus!”

She gazed at him, stunned. Keith threw open the driver's-side door to his SUV and climbed inside. She opened the passenger-side door and climbed in beside him.

“What the hell are you talking about?” she asked, facing him. “Damn it! I
told
you that was what I was going in there to do! What did you expect?”

He didn't answer her. She watched as he scowled at the steering wheel. He put his key into the ignition.

“Put on your seatbelt,” he murmured.

“
What?
”

Had she heard him correctly? He had just drawn a gun on someone in a bar, dragged her like some caveman across the parking lot, and gotten into a shouting match with her, and he actually was worried about whether she wore a seatbelt.

“You are
not
serious.”

“Yes, I am serious! Put on your goddamn seatbelt! I'm not getting a ticket over you!”

Stephanie rolled her eyes. She reached for the seat harness and buckled it with a loud click. “It's on. You happy now?”

“Not really,” he muttered, suddenly shifting the car into drive and flooring the accelerator. Stephanie grabbed the dashboard as the car leapt forward, bouncing slightly on its shocks. The SUV went reeling through the parking lot with tires screeching. Keith then made a hard right and they were on the road. She watched in alarm as the needle on the speedometer climbed to eighty miles per hour.

“If you're so damn worried about getting a ticket, why are you driving so fast?”

“Thanks to you, those assholes back there could be following us.”

“
Thanks to me?
How the hell did this become my fault?
I
wasn't the one who pulled the gun!”

He didn't respond. Instead, he squinted at the two-lane roadway.

A pickup truck loaded down with a big-screen TV and mattresses was in front of them, slowly chugging along, sending up a mucky cloud of exhaust. Keith crossed the double yellow line—not dropping speed—to get around them. The headlights of a sports car going southbound suddenly came into view. The driver of the sports car beeped his horn.

“Keith, you should . . . You should get over now.”

The sports car horn beeped again, frantically this time. Keith stubbornly stayed in the southbound lane. Stephanie gripped the dashboard so hard her fingernails were digging into the upholstery.

“What are you doing? You're going to hit them!” she shouted.

Stephanie closed her eyes, prepared for a head-on collision. Keith whipped the wheel to get back in the northbound lane only seconds before his Ford Explorer and the sports car would have slammed into one another. The driver angrily beeped his horn again. The blaring sound echoed in the night.

Stephanie opened her eyes seconds later, happy to find that she wasn't being greeted at the pearly gates, but was still on some back road in Florida. She nervously licked her lips. “No one is following us. You can slow down.”

The needle crept up to ninety miles per hour.

“Damn it, Keith! Slow the hell down!”

She saw his grip relax on the steering wheel. Finally, the Ford Explorer began to decelerate. When the red needle dropped back to forty miles per hour, she exhaled slowly, slumping back against her seat.

“You can't keep doing this,” he muttered.

She stared in puzzlement. “Keep doing what?”

“Keep handing yourself over to those guys! You barter with your body to get what you want! It's pathetic . . . and it'll age you fast. And trust me, you're no spring chicken! I don't think you wanna speed up the clock.”

“
No spring chicken?
No spring chicken?” she screeched.

She was only thirty-four years old!

“Oh, you can go to hell,” Stephanie said. “In fact, you can go to hell but make sure you kiss my ass before you go there, Keith Hendricks!”

“You're going to be just like that old hooker I saw in the parking lot tonight,” he continued, undeterred by her outrage, “battered and used up. Then what? Who the hell is going to want you then?”

“Wait, are you seriously comparing me to some sad old hooker you met in the parking lot? Is that how it is?” She angrily pointed at him. “It must be really nice to think you know everything, but I tell you something: You don't! You don't know what I've done in my life! You just know what you've
heard!
So some old bitches in Chesterton gossiped about me! So what? They gossip about all of us—the whole damn family! If I slept with half the men they
claim
I've slept with, I'd be in the
Guinness Book of World Records
by now!”

“I don't have to listen to gossip!” he yelled back, turning onto the road that led to their hotel. “I know what I've seen with my own damn eyes!”

“And what exactly did you see? I was just having a
drink with him!
I was sitting on his lap! I wasn't having sex with him!”

“This time! But what about next time? What about when you had sex with me, huh?” he snapped. “Don't sit here and lie and tell me you weren't trying to get something out of that!”

At those words, all the fight drained out of her and all witty retorts died on her lips. The car fell silent as Stephanie felt hurt curdle in the pit of her stomach again.

No spring chicken
. . .
pathetic
. . . She had taken those attacks better than she could ever take this. She swallowed the lump clogging her throat, fighting back tears.

“Huh?” he prodded again. “Got nothin' to say to that, do you?”

“Actually, I do,” she said quietly. “Because I want to set the record straight. Yes, I did have sex with you, Keith . . . something I now regret. Believe me. And I had an ulterior motive, but I wasn't bartering my damn body! I wasn't doing it to get anything from you! I did it because I liked you, which was my mistake! I thought . . . I thought I was . . . I was going to lose you. I thought you were going to send me back to Virginia, and I . . . I'd never see you again. I'd just be the client that you e-mailed a final report to when all this was over.

“I did it for the same dumb reasons that every other woman in the world does this stuff. But that doesn't make me a damn prostitute! That makes me human.” She furiously shook her head. “But don't worry. I won't make that mistake again. I'm over it!”

He finally tore his gaze away from the roadway and looked at her. She didn't meet his eyes.

Wounded, Stephanie turned around in her seat and stared out the passenger-side window. She could feel tears stinging her eyes again, begging to spill onto her cheeks, but she stubbornly held them back.

Stephanie could pretend like she was hurt, pout her lips and get misty-eyed when the occasion called for it, but she had never really considered herself “thin-skinned.” When it came to Keith though, she felt like she didn't have any armor. Every putdown left her ego bruised. Every unkind word left her frustrated and bewildered.

They rode in silence before arriving at the hotel five minutes later. When the car came to a stop, she threw open her car door.

“Stephanie!” Keith called after her. “Stephanie!”

She didn't look back. Instead she walked swiftly to her hotel room at the end of the courtyard, digging in her purse, searching for her key. It took some effort. Her vision was blurred now, obscured by tears.

Cynthia had told her to suck it up, to get over it. But Stephanie didn't think she could do it, not this time.

She just wanted to get inside her hotel room so she could cry in private. Maybe sample some of the complimentary bottles of Jim Beam and Jack Daniels in the hotel mini-refrigerator to drown her sorrows. In the morning, she would put on a good face, get the old Stephanie back, but tonight she would let the mascara run.

Stephanie finally found her hotel key card in the bottom of her bag. With shaky hands, she shoved the card into the lock, opened her door, and stepped inside, but felt someone looming behind her. She looked over her shoulder in alarm, expecting to find Big Red or one of his thugs. Instead, she saw Keith standing there.

“Stephanie, I—”

She tried to slam the hotel door before he could finish. He was faster than her though—and stronger. He grabbed the door and shoved his way inside, despite her trying to lean against it, despite her shoving back with all her might. He then closed it behind him, locking the deadbolt with a
click
.

“Get out of my room!” she shouted.

“Not until we talk,” he said calmly, taking a step toward her.

“
Talk?
I don't want to talk! Get out of my goddamn room!” She shoved at his chest, though he didn't move an inch. “You have your own room five doors down! I suggest you go there!”

“Look, I . . .” He took a deep breath. “I owe you an apology.”

“Save your damn apologies! The
old hooker
doesn't want to hear it!”

He slowly shook his head. “I don't think you're old . . . and I don't think you're a hooker either,” he hastily added.

“Yes, you do! You've made it pretty damn clear what you think about me! That speech in the car explained more than enough.”

“I know what I said in the car! I was angry! Goddamn it, I'm
still
angry! I hate watching you do this to yourself, Steph! ” He closed his eyes and clenched his jaw. “Look, I'm not trying to hurt you! I'm just trying to—”

“
Hurt me?
You can't hurt me!” she lied, sneering with contempt, trying her best to wound him like he had wounded her.

He opened his eyes.

“How the hell could you hurt me? I don't give a shit about you! Why would I?” she choked, feeling the saliva lodge in her throat. “I've dated men who make more in a year than . . . than you'll make in your entire lifetime!”

“And that's what counts? How much a man makes? How much he can give you? That's all that matters to you?”

“No!” she shouted. “I mean, yes! I mean . . . I mean . . .” She angrily balled her fists. “Damn it, stop psychoanalyzing me! I'm not listening to your shit anymore!”

“So they wine and dine you and buy you gifts,” he continued quietly. “A gold watch? New shoes?” He pointed at her feet. “That's worth trading yourself for?”

“No, it's not! I'm not trading myself! Stop calling it that! I'm doing it for . . . for . . .”

He looked at her expectantly. “For what?”

She blinked.
What am I doing it for?

A sense of security? Maybe, but it never stayed for long. Sugar daddies went through playthings like they went through cars. They were always looking for the newer, better model. But at least she had something to show for it in the end, right? Stephanie thought back to her jewelry box of trinkets her ex-boyfriends had given her over the years. In total, they were probably worth forty thousand dollars, give or take a few hundred, but with one year of work she could have made more in commissions. Her ex-husband's alimony checks had petered out over the years to less than two hundred dollars a month since he had lost his car dealerships thanks to the recession. Had what those men given her really been worth all the time and effort?

Her shoulders slumped.

No, it wasn't
, she concluded sorrowfully. She had spent almost all of her youth chasing after men who would readily trade her in for something better, who had never truly
loved
her. And while examining her life in the past few weeks, she wondered sometimes what was there to love about her? She had always been a taker, not a giver. She had manipulated and used them. Besides her mother and her sisters, she had never truly loved anyone.

But she was in love now. She had fallen for Keith and he refused to believe it! Here was someone who she wasn't trying to manipulate, who she didn't want anything from but love and affection in return, and he thought it was a trick. He still thought she had run some con on him, much like the one Isaac had run on her. It hurt that he felt that way about her. It was so painful it tightened her chest, twisting its grip like a vise.