Big Chicago

Big Chicago Part 29.…by Samayel


“Okay. Let’s do it.”

Traditionally, when that phrase has been used while directed at me, it’s meant that my thong is around someone’s neck, my ankles were over their shoulders, and that person’s cock was about to make me their sole purpose for a little while.

Which makes reaching for the door handle, on the way to step around the block and frame my ex-lover for the seven years he stole from me, well…somewhat out of the ordinary. Not to sound too droll about it, but planning vengeance is quite a bit different than executing vengeance. The difference is very obvious now.

Harry and I have already had our ‘moment’. The rest is silence. I know what to do. He knows what to do. The time for chit chat and love words is past. This is the time for action, and I’m out the door and letting heels clack on the sidewalk as I head for Blaise’s doorstep.

Nice neighborhood. Not too far from Halsted St. and the Boystown district. Relatively safe and well patrolled. Round the corner and a few houses down puts me where I need to be. Nice. You wouldn’t look at a nice building like this and think…’Hey…a mobster’s home.’ Tasteful old brick, probably redesigned in the last ten years to make it saleable in modern times. But the twin doors at the top of the porch steps look like antique reproductions. Very nice touch of the old. The knockers are real brass, and anyone inside who didn’t hear that would have to be deaf.

I admit I’m nervous. Who wouldn’t be? It’s raced through my head for hours that I’m a damned fool for doing this. I talked my way into this corner, and now it’s mine to deal with. Good thing I took my pill an hour ago. I may be a bit rattled, but I feel oddly calm. Harry is my morning. Here, now, I say goodbye to the night of the past. I hear the rattle of a small chain…and then the door swings open. Vinny.

“Heya, Draky! Long time, no see! C’mon in. Ya’ look great.”

Vinny’s the same as ever, a man of few words…because he doesn’t really know that many of them, but he is loyal, and that speaks well of anyone. Stocky…fatter than I remember, but the suit he’s wearing is pretty decent. He must be making decent cash as someone’s heavy whe he isn‘t looking after Blaise.

“Sorry ’bout this. Gotta do it. It’s the rules, ya’ know. I mean…uh…yer outfit’s pretty skimpy there, so I’m guessin’ no problem there, but I oughta check that purse out.”

I hand it over with a smirk. “No sweat, Vin. I understand. That’s just the way of the world, right?”

I peel my coat off while he paws through the contents of my purse, mumbling an apology all the while.

“Nothin’ personal, right? Just…lotsa crazy stuff goin’ on these days. I knew you were all right though. I mean…it’s you. Ya’ wan’ me to take yer coat? Or jacket?”

I get the purse back, and it is a rather tiny accessory…and as I suspected, wearing an outfit that was equally tiny got me out of being frisked. It isn’t that different from what I was wearing when I got busted, but a lot more modern and up to date. I know perfectly well what Blaise likes, and this oufit was chosen to make it hard for him to think clearly.

The mini-skirt is black leather, but done pricey and well, not the dirt-cheap hooker look. The top is barely enough to cover my strapless bra and falsies, but leaves plenty of pale, tight midriff and shoulder to look upon. I’ve been a little lavish with the make-up perhaps, but Blaise always liked that more than Harry does. The thing was, I was always witty and clever…and I can look one way and be another. I can play the game and be the pretty little tart, and then turn around and show who I really am inside. I wonder if it’s the irony that attracts him, or just the thrill of getting both worlds in one package. The slut in the bedroom, the perfect companion everywhere else. Does Harry want that too? Not that I’m complaining, but there are times when good looks just aren’t enough…and I wonder what my strongest suit really is.

“No thanks, sweetie. I’m not wearing enough to want to peel off more than I have to. I’ll keep the jacket for now.” He’d have searched that too…but there aren’t any pockets on it, and it doesn’t leave a lot to the imagination.

“Cool. So…follow me. This is the entryway, over there’s the living room, we’re headed for the kitchen and dining room, and Blaise’ll be out any second now. Greg’s got dinner almost ready. You remember Greg too, right?”

“Of course. As if! Just because I was away for awhile…it doesn’t mean I lost my memory.”

“Well…uh…there was something we both wanted to say. It’s…it’s just…uh. Shit. See…no one figured you for going to the mattresses and staying quiet. I mean…you weren’t really a part of the family, if you know what I mean. We all thought Blaise was crazy when he sent you, ‘cause we didn’t expect you to cover for anybody else.

“So…I guess it comes down to this. You earned your place. You’re family here, because you protected us, when a lot of people wouldn’t have. That took a lot of guts. So just remember that you got more than just Blaise looking’ out to make sure you’re okay…right?”

Well…color me fucking stunned. Declarations of admiration and loyalty were not expected. It’s easy to imagine them not giving a second thought to what happened to me, since I was never really ‘one of the boys’. I was Blaise’s boy-toy, and that bought me a certain place in this little clique, but I never even considered the possibility of Greg or Vinny caring about where I wound up.

“That’s…that’s sweet, Vinny. I appreciate it. Really. So…Blaise has a decent little place here, doesn’t he? Kinda big. You know…for a single guy.”

Drop the hooks into the water…and let’s see if the fish are biting. Vinny leads me down the hall, stopping at the door to what must be the kitchen. I can smell garlic and good sauce wafting through the air.

“Well…uh…yeah. True…it’s big. An’ quiet. Uh…before we go in…just…y’know…we were all wonderin’ if you might come back. There’s plenty of room here. Easy livin’. No business like the old days. It’s all club work now. Everything above the board, right? Blaise would like it if you let him make things right. ‘kay?”

I bet he would. I want to be angrier than this. I want to hate them all, but the fuckers aren’t making this any easier. It’s much too late to back out now. I’m walking into the last supper…and this time I’m Judas with a grudge. I don’t want thirty shekels. I already have everything I could want. I wanted Blaise to know a grief like mine. I wanted an eye for an eye. I hate that this drama is playing out while a hidden microphone in the jewel on my necklace broadcasts this to Ron and Hermione and the rest. I’m ashamed. I’m just glad they can’t read my mind, and know the doubts that are creeping into my mind faster than the certainty ever did.

But there’s only one answer to give, and I give it with a winning smile.

“Okay.” And then it’s dinnertime with the man I came to destroy.

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Ron sat in the limo, earpiece nestled into place and microphone positioned at his lips. Every word spoken near Drake relayed to him, but his broadcast line was only to Harry. One word. That was all it would take to send Harry into the house with guns blazing.

Harry had already slipped out into the night, moving through tight little alleyways that hid his presence. There weren’t many backyards in this neighborhood, and the ones that could be found were small. By now, Harry had probably positioned himself near this Zabini guy’s place, and was likely perched like a cat, just waiting to pounce, or to slink away into the darkness. It all hung on which signal Ron gave. If Drake called for a ride, it meant the mission was either accomplished, or a complete washout. Only if the microphone picked up the sounds of danger…like voices raised in anger, or a cry for help from Drake, would Ron give the order for Harry to enter the house. It was a responsibility that Ron had only occasionally endured, but he was comfortable with it, his attention fixed on every word of conversation and every clink of glass or silverware.

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“That was delicious. The company wasn’t too bad either. Someone a little more intuitive might accidentally get the impression that you put some effort into all this.”

I say it with a smirk, and Blaise shrugs in an off-handed kind of way. It reminds me a little of Harry. The same sense of being comfortable with who they are. The same confident exterior. They’re very different people, and Harry is a better man in so many ways that I could never count them all, but I can see what I like in both of them so clearly right now.

I was younger then, and a lot stupider, but I had good taste even when I was making bad choices. It was a good meal, and Blaise kept the heavy talk out of it while we ate. I can appreciate that. It’s an Italian thing. Business after food. Never let a serious discussion spoil a perfectly good meal. But the meal is gone, and the wine is good, but I can’t drink more than a little because I need my wits about me.

“So here we are. Maybe I did put a little more effort into this than usual. You’re worth it…and not just ’cause you look good. Dinner’s done…we’ve got a little good vino…you alright with a little serious talk?”

“Yeah…I suppose. Inevitable, right? Lots of water under the bridge with us.”

“True enough. Down to business then. This business with you living with some old guy…it just doesn’t sit well with me. The way I see it, you’re owed…and owed a lot. You shouldn’t be doing anything you don’t wanna do. Not anymore. Now…we both know how things went down back then. I made a choice. You took the hit. Maybe it doesn’t mean anything now, but if I could do it over again, I’d a done it all differently. I wouldn’t have let you go.

“I’ve been killing time. You know. Just getting by and making do. The minute you walked into my bar, I knew what I’d been missing all these years. It all made sense. You know I’m no priest, and I didn’t take any vows of chastity, but nobody has lived here since I moved here. Visitors…sure…but nobody ever took your place. Not in any way that ever counted.

“What I want…is to see you living as good as you deserve. No strings attached. None of this bullshit with you living with some old guy you don’t even like. Not after what you did for me. I know I never asked you to do it, I just set you up for the fall, and I know the time since then and now couldn’t have been easy. What I’m saying is, there’s a place for you here if you want it. Always.”

I knew it would come to that. He was going to ask it more directly than before. He never liked making a gesture without a certain style to it. The right time, the right words, the right ambience. He’s more polished now. Not just a high rent teenage dope pusher with a taste for good living. It’s funny. If I’d never met Harry…if I’d gotten out after seven years with nothing to my name and no future…or even if I’d just taken the two grand in that envelope and asked Ron to drop me off downtown…I’d probably say yes.

I probably wouldn’t forgive him though. Just say yes, get a few good fucks, and steal everything he’s got before I cut town without warning and start a new life somewhere else. It would have been a tempting offer.

But next to Harry, Blaise just doesn’t measure up. You can see the weaknesses in his character. The lack of self discipline, the selfishness, the arrogance. I wouldn’t have looked for those differences before. I’d have seen opportunity, and taken it, but it wouldn’t really have moved me inside. And that’s why I can recite these lines like a professional, and move the conversation to the bedroom. A hesitant, nervous look is called for here. The kind he knows I don’t often make. I emote discomfort, and it isn’t hard. Because some of what I’m using is the truth, the best weapon of all.

“Blaise…I…I don’t know. I want…I’m sorry. I don’t want to talk about this…out here. There are things…I have to say. They’re not easy. I could use some drinks before we talk about this…stuff.”

The analysis of sounds in the background of my earlier phone conversations with Blaise indicated a high likelihood of a liquor shelf or cabinet in his bedroom or study. The seats in there are leather. We could tell by the creaking, squeaking sounds it made as he sat down or moved. This will get me where I want to go, and it’s so easy it almost makes me ashamed. He sees the look on my face, and he knows what I have to say won’t be easy to hear. At least he has the nerve to hear it.

“Uh…yeah…sure! We can head to the den. Greg’ll clean up in here as soon as he hears the doors close. C’mon, this way.”

It turns out that the best estimates were close to right. The master suite includes a spacious bedroom and I can see an adjacent bathroom through it’s open door. On the other side of the room is a small office and den. Old leather seats, and a liquor cabinet…AND the computer! I move straight for the liquor, while Blaise is pointing out the way to the bathroom. I can hear him chuckling in the background.

“All top shelf. No cheap hooch here. Knock yourself out. The mini fridge is in the bottom half of the cabinet. Orange juice, limes, cream…all the usual mixers. What the hell…just throw me together some Johnny Walker on the rocks, alright?”

“Sure. Nice digs, Blaise. I like this place. I could get used to this.” I say it smoothly enough, in spite of the fact that my hand is shaking while I let the powder drift out of the capsule and into his drink. It dissolved in a heartbeat with only a little shake of the ice, and then it’s gone. Mixed with hard liquor like this, it’s a safe bet that even Blaise will be out cold or at least nodding off in about fifteen minutes at the most. As for me, I make a big show of pouring vodka into it, but the screwdriver I mixed for myself is actually ridiculously weak. Blaise couldn’t have seen how little I actually put in.

I could ask about putting the music on, but the door to the bedroom suite is closed, and even though the entry to the den is open and we could be seen if anyone opened the bedroom doors, I still think I can wait until he starts nodding off, and let his last memory of me be me acting like I’m worrying over him. If he gets too rowdy, or paranoid, I’ve still got my ring. One pinprick and he’ll quiet down in seconds. The computer is right here, and with a few quiet minutes to myself I can sort this out once and for all. We take our seats after I pass him his drink. I can’t help leaning forward nervously, hunched over the edge of the seat. I guess it helps my acting that I really am nervous as hell. Even Blaise looks worried, but still calm.

“Hey…relax, kiddo. It’s okay, really. I know you might…you know…have some things to say that aren’t too nice. I know I deserve ’em, too. I’m not Mr. Hardsell here. No pressure. My hospitality is yours whether you say yes or no, ’kay? So just say what’s on your mind, Dee.”

“Thanks. Blaise…you can guess what it was like…in there. People talk about it, but you can’t really make anyone understand something like that. It’s…just…I’m where I’m at because…I need a place where there aren’t any…demands…on me. I can’t handle that kind of thing just yet. It was bad. Worse than I can say. I don’t know if I’m ready for something…new…or not. That’s why I’m just an ornament for someone with money right now. I don’t think I can handle anything else…yet. But if it means anything, you don’t know how tempting you make all this sound.”

“Oh. Yeah. I…uh…I guess I can understand that. Jeez…Dee…I’m sorry. I don’t know what to say.”

That’s the telling moment. He’s so confused. Blushing with embarrassment. It’s dawning on him that I went through hell, in every kind of way, and the knowledge that he hadn’t even given the matter consideration before now is what makes my pulse race. Not with tension or fear, but naked anger. He deserves this. What’s coming to him is his by right. He earned it. Maybe I’ve bounced back from it all a lot faster than I make it sound here, but that he never stopped to imagine what I was going through…I’m almost tempted to call out for help and just let Harry kill everyone here!

“I’m sorry was good enough. It was what I wanted to hear. Wouldn’t it be nice if that made everything better? It’s something though. That was then, this is now. You wouldn’t mind me dropping by more often, would you?”

He’s been sipping that drink deeply while we chat. He even looks a little muddled. It won’t be long before the drug overpowers him. Then I’m free to act.

“Nah…no. You’re always welcome here. I’d like to see more of you around these parts. ‘Specially if you can make it over to the club now and then. You really know how to work a crowd. Nobody quite like you, y’know.”

I can hear it. The faint slur in his voice. The pupils are dilated like he just had his sixth or seventh cocktail and can’t remember what he was going to say next. I keep the conversation light, and try to smile a lot. He gets distracted when I smile. I act my part, and he’s fallen for it…hook, line and sinker.

“’S…jus…y’know…miss’d ya. Sil…still…fine. You are…”

It’s hitting hard now. SHIT! He’s noticing that something isn’t right. I can see the panicked look in his eyes as it dawns on him that he shouldn’t be this drunk after a couple glasses of wine and some high grade scotch. He’s trying to lean forward and stand.

“Dee…dee dee…’elp…need…Greg…or Vin…somethin‘…’s wrong. Shit…call…’elp…”

He’s mumbling, and no one could hear us, but when he lurches to his feet, my beautiful plans die a terrible death over one detail I hadn’t even thought of before. The nearly empty glass of scotch and ice tumbles from his hand…

…onto a hardwood floor.

In the quiet between us, I hadn’t imagined that a falling glass would make that much noise, but it hits hard and shatters, scattering bits of diamond brilliance and liquid while he slumps down and flops onto the floor in an ungainly sprawl. Fuck! If either of the others heard…everyone here would be dead!

My heart kicks into high gear, and blood screams through my veins like a banshee, and everything could descend into chaos in a just a few more heartbeats! I don’t know what to do! Footsteps? Are they coming? WHAT THE FUCK DO I DO?!

I may never know where the calm that just came over me came from, but somehow, someway, I know I can find a way to get this done without death in the mix. I am the calm in the center of the storm…and I know what to do.

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“What was that?”

Greg turned his head from the plates and dishes he’d been scrubbing in the sink and listened a second.

“I dunno. Broken glass? You go check it out, wise guy. I’m up to my fuckin’ elbows in dishwater here. Loaded with loot an’ he don’t install a fuckin’ dishwasher. Go figure. Probably just tipsy and dropped a glass.”

Vinny nodded and shrugged, the stepped out and down the hall. The sound had been faint, but the old house wasn’t well soundproofed. Everything carried through vents, and like all old houses there were creaks and groans in the night that could have woken the dead. It was probably nothing. He stopped at the door to Blaise’s suite.

“Hey…uh…Blaise? You okay?”

No answer. That was more than a little off. Blaise always answered. Vinny leaned in close to the door, listening intently, eyes squinted with concentration and brow furrowed with sudden apprehension. Just the sound of something…moving. The creak of a leather chair. A grunt. Something felt ’not right’ about it, and Vinny generally trusted his instincts when he wasn’t just following orders.

“Blaise? I’m comin’ in for a sec, okay? Just checkin’ in, right? What are you…”

Vinny turned the knob, the door creaked open and revealed the tableau in front of him. To the left, the bed was empty, the room undisturbed. To the right, his eyes swept along until they settled on the leather chair. The leather chair with its back to Vinny, where Blaise’s dark curls rested, and where Dee’s hands were twisted through the dark locks.

Dee’s legs were visibly sprawled around the arms of the chair, and his head bobbed almost a half foot over Blaise’s, eyes screwed shut, mouth slack with pleasure while the pale shoulders were pressed so close that Blaise must have had his face clutched to Dee’s chest.

Vinny felt the blood rush to his face. Dee was bouncing up and down, panting softly and muttering things even with his eyes closed and his head tipped back.

“God! Yeah! Fuck! Blaise…Blaise…so…sooo good. Ahhh…ahhh…mmmmmm….yessss!”

Vinny quietly shut the door, painfully aware that a grown man didn’t have any business blushing like a schoolgirl. When he got back to the kitchen, Greg turned his head away from the dishes.

“So? What’s up?”

“Nothin’ we’re old enough to know about, buddy. I’m thinkin’…Blaise has the situation under control…if you know what I mean?”

“Ahhhh. Those two…I swear. Just like old times.”

“Pretty much. Betcha anything Blaise is smilin’ tomorrow.”

“No bet. That one’s a given.”

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Those poor dumb bastards have no idea what I just went through to save their lives! Admittedly, it was a moment of inspired brilliance on my part. Do you have any idea how hard it is for a queen who weighs less than a hundred and thirty pounds to drag an two hundred pound unconscious man into a chair?! It’s fucking murder! Plus jumping onto Blaise’s lap and peeling my top off just in time! Time for a whisper into the mic, I think. Ron and the rest gotta be wondering what they just heard, and all I had time to broadcast was a whispered plea for patience.

“All is well. I repeat…all is well. Stand by.”

They can’t communicate with me here, I can only broadcast out, so all that’s left is to load that CD into Blaise’s computer and let Hermione’s program do its work. The real bitch is flopping Blaise’s carcass across the rolling office chair behind his desk, and then rolling him over to his bed. I’ve spent a lot more time having clothes peeled off of me than peeling them off others, although I am unusually handy with zippers and flies. It’s harder to peel clothes off a nearly unconscious person than I’d ever imagined.

Of course…the final touch is a little of my good lipstick, in the color I’m using now, right around the head of Blaise’s cock. It’s so weird, holding it in my hand, flaccid and unresponsive, while I artfully smear just a little where he’ll notice it later. Hope he thinks we had more fun than we did. Just for good measure, I spray a puff of the perfume into his face while he’s breathing softly, just to guarantee he stays asleep for a good long while. It’s not even ten o’ clock yet.

With Blaise sorted out, all I need is the CD back and the computer off. The next time he signs online, the programming tucked in here will do the rest for us. To keep with the impression I’ve given the others, I run a little water in the sink of the bathroom while I pinch my cheeks to make them a little more flushed. Muss my hair a bit, get my skirt and top a little askew, and try to adopt the expression I usually wear whenever Harry has just put me through my paces.

Elapsed time, somewhat more than half an hour. Good enough. Time to say goodnight to the rest of my audience. I stagger through the hallway with my best dippy smile, purse and coat slung over my shoulder like an afterthought. The perfect picture of an exhausted tart, fresh from a fast, hard fuck. Vinny and Greg are playing cards at the kitchen table, and wave politely when I stumble in, hanging off the kitchen door like I’m tipsy as hell.

“Heyyy…mmm…Blaise is sleeping…and I called for my ride already. I jus…I thought you toe…you two should know…thanks for the great dinner. I’ll see you again soon, ’kay?”

Greg plays escort to the door this time, since they have to lock it back up after I’m out. Silent as ever. Vinny was always quiet too, but Greg makes a brick wall look like a chatterbox.

“G’nite. See ya later, Dee.”

“G’nite!!” I giggle and stumble a little, then wobble my way down the porch on my heels. When the lock clicks behind me, I still don’t change my act. I stumble on down the street, around the corner and just a little farther, until the sleek black car rolls up beside me. I have the uncomfortable memory of a hundred cars like this, sidling up to me in the night, windows rolling down to reveal lonesome men with money waiting to be spent, but this car is different, and that life is long gone.

So long, Blaise. The next time I hear about you, it should be nothing more than a blip on the evening news after they take you away. An eye for an eye, a life for a life. Tomorrow I’ll think about right or wrong…about revenge and forgiveness. Tonight…I want a long, hot shower…and enough time with Harry to make the memory of having to touch you again drift away.

Good night, Blaise Zabini.

TBC!!!