dragged her off the bed. “Get up. GET UP! Get up, you filthy, diseased cunt.” The girl struggled to open her eyes through a mass of blond curls and landed in an awkward tangle of long limbs and heavy breasts. She couldn’t have been more than nineteen.
“Baby, what’s—”
“You fuckin’ whore. Shut your fucking mouth.” He paced around the bed, clenching and unclenching his fists.
“Baby, I—”
Lee sprang at her. He grabbed a fistful of blond curls and punched her twice in the face. Grabbing her hair with both hands, he head-butted her, and felt the satisfying crunch as her nose shattered. She collapsed on the floor. He straddled her chest and took his time, using both fists in swinging, roundhouse arcs. After the fifth or six blow, she stopped struggling under him and tried to wrap her skinny arms over her head.
He was still hitting her when somebody knocked on the door.
Lee sat back, panting. He glanced quickly around the room, as if to make sure there were no cameras aimed at him. He stood, collecting himself for a moment, paused long enough to spit on her, then crossed the room and opened the door. “What?”
His uncle was at the door. Short, with a bad back. Dead eyes that wouldn’t blink at a night fire at an orphanage. “Jesus Christ, Lee, you want to bother answering your cell?”
“I got busy.”
“Do we, or do we not, have an agreement that you will keep it with you at all times? I have been calling you all morning. And when I call, you answer. It does not get any more simple than that.” This was Lee’s uncle Phil. He was an alderman, and although Lee was the star, nobody was kidding anybody.
Phil ran the show.
Phil, with his hunched figure, sunken eyes, and gray hair, would never rise beyond an alderman. He was, however, a very skillful Chicago alderman. As a Chicago alderman, as long as you weren’t a convicted child molester or a member of the NRA, you could get away with most anything. But he had gotten his fingers too dirty for the kind of scrutiny that comes with the elections for a higher office.
Lee, however, was handsome and charming enough for the business. Phil found all possibilities of opportunities as far as Lee was concerned. Lee wasn’t going to be just a Streets and Sans commissioner forever. No, he was being groomed. Whispers floated through the elevators and walls in City Hall. “Congressman. Maybe even a senator. After that, who knows?”
And Phil would be the man behind the throne. The only one Lee trusted utterly. Phil was looking forward to all the new pies he’d be able to dip into.
This morning, however, made the job difficult. “You some kinda run-of-the-mill, bought-and-paid-for politician who puts his dick before the job? Is that it? Is that who you are? Somebody who’d rather fuck some coked-up whore than take care of himself?”
Lee stammered out, “No . . . no . . . I . . .”
“‘I’ what?” What’s that? What are you trying to say for yourself?”
“I just found out.”
“Oh. You just. Found. Out. I see.”
“I’m taking care of this situation.”
“I see.”
They listened to the whore trying to cry through a shattered face.
Lee said, “I’ll deal with it. I promise.”
Phil pushed past him and shut the door softly. He locked it. Tested it. Took a deep breath. He turned on Lee. “What kind of fucking hotel did you set us up with here? Jesus Christ, did my sister beat you in the head with a frying pan when you were a child?”
“What the fuck are you talking about?”
“You aren’t the only one that’s been bit, dickhead.”
Phil waited until Lee met his eyes, making sure that Lee understood that he was talking about the businessmen who worked so adeptly behind the scenes to make sure the Machine was well-oiled in their favor. “Nobody’s blaming you. Not yet. This goddamn hotel—it’s got fucking bugs, Lee.”
“Bugs?” The beating had quickened Lee’s pulse, but his head was still foggy.
“Yeah, you
“Baby, what’s—”
“You fuckin’ whore. Shut your fucking mouth.” He paced around the bed, clenching and unclenching his fists.
“Baby, I—”
Lee sprang at her. He grabbed a fistful of blond curls and punched her twice in the face. Grabbing her hair with both hands, he head-butted her, and felt the satisfying crunch as her nose shattered. She collapsed on the floor. He straddled her chest and took his time, using both fists in swinging, roundhouse arcs. After the fifth or six blow, she stopped struggling under him and tried to wrap her skinny arms over her head.
He was still hitting her when somebody knocked on the door.
Lee sat back, panting. He glanced quickly around the room, as if to make sure there were no cameras aimed at him. He stood, collecting himself for a moment, paused long enough to spit on her, then crossed the room and opened the door. “What?”
His uncle was at the door. Short, with a bad back. Dead eyes that wouldn’t blink at a night fire at an orphanage. “Jesus Christ, Lee, you want to bother answering your cell?”
“I got busy.”
“Do we, or do we not, have an agreement that you will keep it with you at all times? I have been calling you all morning. And when I call, you answer. It does not get any more simple than that.” This was Lee’s uncle Phil. He was an alderman, and although Lee was the star, nobody was kidding anybody.
Phil ran the show.
Phil, with his hunched figure, sunken eyes, and gray hair, would never rise beyond an alderman. He was, however, a very skillful Chicago alderman. As a Chicago alderman, as long as you weren’t a convicted child molester or a member of the NRA, you could get away with most anything. But he had gotten his fingers too dirty for the kind of scrutiny that comes with the elections for a higher office.
Lee, however, was handsome and charming enough for the business. Phil found all possibilities of opportunities as far as Lee was concerned. Lee wasn’t going to be just a Streets and Sans commissioner forever. No, he was being groomed. Whispers floated through the elevators and walls in City Hall. “Congressman. Maybe even a senator. After that, who knows?”
And Phil would be the man behind the throne. The only one Lee trusted utterly. Phil was looking forward to all the new pies he’d be able to dip into.
This morning, however, made the job difficult. “You some kinda run-of-the-mill, bought-and-paid-for politician who puts his dick before the job? Is that it? Is that who you are? Somebody who’d rather fuck some coked-up whore than take care of himself?”
Lee stammered out, “No . . . no . . . I . . .”
“‘I’ what?” What’s that? What are you trying to say for yourself?”
“I just found out.”
“Oh. You just. Found. Out. I see.”
“I’m taking care of this situation.”
“I see.”
They listened to the whore trying to cry through a shattered face.
Lee said, “I’ll deal with it. I promise.”
Phil pushed past him and shut the door softly. He locked it. Tested it. Took a deep breath. He turned on Lee. “What kind of fucking hotel did you set us up with here? Jesus Christ, did my sister beat you in the head with a frying pan when you were a child?”
“What the fuck are you talking about?”
“You aren’t the only one that’s been bit, dickhead.”
Phil waited until Lee met his eyes, making sure that Lee understood that he was talking about the businessmen who worked so adeptly behind the scenes to make sure the Machine was well-oiled in their favor. “Nobody’s blaming you. Not yet. This goddamn hotel—it’s got fucking bugs, Lee.”
“Bugs?” The beating had quickened Lee’s pulse, but his head was still foggy.
“Yeah, you
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