Mr. Mafia Man

Chapter I: The Party

Unfortunately I had been dragged to this party by my "best friend". At least that's what she called me when she yanked me out of bed at 9 A.M. insisting that I accompany (A.K.A. drive) her to, and I quote, "a little get together". Little does she doesn't know that in my contacts her name is Free Food 🍕.

I tugged down my black dress that I shoved my big butt and breasts into for the occasion. Within the minute my friend (Alicia, Alice, Allie?) disappeared into the gyrating crowd. I sighed and tugged the edge of my dress down to my mid-thigh. I brought a change of clothes but god-dammit I shaved my legs for this so I ain't changing till someone sexually assaults me.

I thought this was going to be a classy party but even though the guys around me were in suits they seemed very rumpled and unkempt. The girls seemed more sluty than chic but hey free booze is free booze. Or am I the designated driver? Shit, I forgot to ask. Guess I'm staying sober for tonight. Maybe I can grab a six pack for later. I look around once more for my friend (Alex, Alexa, Anna?) before heading into the house for the aforementioned six pack.

Even though the party clearly wasn't a classy one the house was and it took me forever to pick my way through the crowd to the kitchen where it was surprisingly quiet. Unfortunately they had kegs, not Bud-lights and so I was stuck with grabbing a couple chip bags and booking it before someone catches me in the act of food pilfering. While I was helping myself to some water from their water purifier (THEY HAD A WHOLE SEPARATE MACHINE FOR WATER PURIFYING) I happened to overhear a conversation. It seemed sinister and seemed to have something to do with pots and dust. Honestly for a while I thought it was a group of soccer moms talking about house cleaning and cooking. It took me a pathetically long time to realize it was a drug deal. I knew enough to flee the scene as quickly as possible but while I was trying to adjust my dress I dropped the chip bags, took a step, and promptly fell over them. Of course the dealers weren't deaf and stepped out of the room only to find me halfway out the door.

Now at this point you would think they would give up right. Like 'Oh well she escaped. We'll get her next time.' But nooooooo they have to chase after my ass. Chill. It's a drug deal, no biggie. Anyway my idea was to run outside, circle around the house, and drive away. My friend (Abby, Amber, Angel?) could find a ride home with one of her hook ups.

So my idea was clearly the greatest except for one little problem. That problem was as soon as I got outside a masked dude grabbed me and put a knife up to my throat.

I swallowed nervously and licked my lips. "Look man, we can work this out. Give me a couple grand and I'll keep quiet." The masked man offered a noncommittal grunt. "Alright, alright. Okay. I'll give you a great deal. For the next 15 minutes only you can make me shut up for the price of only 100 dollars. You heard that right. One hundred smackers. Only for you. So do we have a deal?" 

"No the fuck we don't." A man with a gun stepped out of the forest behind the house. I groaned. Great, just fabulous. Can you taste the sarcasm? It's palpable.

"And who are you?" The masked man asked. That made me pause. I thought they were together in the murder of Evelyn Thomas. I could see the news paper title now. 'Poor College Girl Murdered By Unknown Man'.

"No one you need to concern yourself about." The gunman answered while taking a step towards me and the masked man. The masked man took a step back.

The masked man seemed panicked. "Don't come any closer!" He warned. He looked like he wanted to run away but didn't seem to be letting me go any time soon.

The gunman seemed nonchalant. "Oh like this?" He asked taking another step with the gun still held out in front of him. The masked man's hand got shaky and the knife knicked my skin.

"Ouch, could you not make me bleed, tha-" before I could finish my sentence a bullet was in the masked man's head and his blood was all over me. "Gross!" I glared and the gunman turned murderer. "You are lucky I have a change of clothes in my car." I hissed as I twisted so I could look at my backside. It too was covered in blood. "Do you know hard blood is to wash off?" While I complained about the downsides of having blood all over you (there was a lot) the gunman shoved the gun in the waistband of his pants and pulled his shirt over it so the gun couldn't be seen.

His head made a swiveling motion as he checked out his surroundings. The picture of his dark profile with his hands in his pockets and his head turned to the side showing off his tan neck and slight Adam's apple against the big house completely lit up in the background was the most sexy thing I had seen in my entire life. The was he was slightly slumped but still freakishly tall blew my mind. The moment was ruined when he turned his head to look at me. He narrowed his eyes at me. Then he took a step towards me. And another, and another. In a custom me move I stepped back. And we continued like this until I was up against a tree. The man's hands were still in his pockets and I could see his sharp features. The closer he got the more I had to tip my neck up to look at him. He was maybe a foot taller than me and that was being conservative.This was when the adrenaline wore off and I started stuttering and just saying stupid shit in general.

While the gunman was busy looming over me, I was inspecting his black t-shirt that was rippling and snapping in the wind and mumbling. "Hey. Um, yeah, so anyway, good shot. You saved me from a really bad situation there, so, yeah, thanks." The man remained silent. "Really, I owe you one. But, um, I really have to go home. Nice meeting you." Silence. "Arnold Schwarzenegger!" I didn't know what to say and I was nervous so the words just burst out. Sue me. The man seemed amused and even chuckled a little. 

He leaned in a little more with his hands still in his pockets and whispered into my ear. "Oh you definitely owe me." I shivered. My body was frozen place and so was his. I could feel his warm breath scrape across my cheek but he wasn't touching me. Just as he was leaning closer and I was getting ready to slap him into next week a snapping sound was heard from the woods.

The man's head snapped up like a dog's and his neck turned so fast I swear I felt the whiplash. The night was still for a few moments and then the crunching of leaves could be heard. Suddenly a loud buzzing sound could be heard. The man whipped his phone and clicked it on. After a moment he cursed under his breath. "Fuck a bag. That bastard is gonna pay." And then he ran into the woods. Right into it. I stood with my back against the tree for a few moments before sighing in relief. 

No way in hell was I waiting for that fucktard to return so I stomped to my car and slammed myself into the leather seat. What's-her-face can find her own damn ride home. I'm not interested in getting involved in more shady business. I thought. As you can see I'm subscribed to the mind-your-own-fucking-beezwax school of thought. That was of thinking saved my ass more times than I could count. Having lived on the shadier part of town for most of my life certainly played a role in getting me to think this way. Good thing I did too or I would have been toast by now. Free Food Girl is lucky to have me as a friend. More specifically she is lucky to still have me as a friend considering I could have just died. 

The more I thought about it the more I realized that this was all Free Food Girl's fault. She dragged me to the party where I had nothing better to do than eat. From there I heard the drug deal and almost died. So I decided right then and there to delete her phone number. And that is the story on why I pulled my car over on the highway at fucking 3 am on a Saturday.

Word Count: 1519 Words

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AUTHORS NOTE

The more I read over this, the more I hate it, but I'm committed to this book now, and I aim to finish it, no matter how shitty it turns out (some validation would help though).

Feel free to offer up any critiques, constructive criticism, or corrections. 

-3AMmayhem