JOSI
Josi enters the club, only a couple inches behind Mia and Clarissa. Between the rooftop stranger and the predicament she landed herself in, she's currently in the middle of deciding if her visit to the club has any purpose. But she will not allow that stranger spoil her night out. How audacious he'd been, ogling them all to his heart's content. A lowlife.
"I can't believe you two made me come here like this." Says Josi, eyes now scrutinizing her shoes for the hundredth time that evening.
"You lost the bet, Josita." Mia tells her. "You suffer the consequences."
Josi spits out curses. A pair of crocs. That's what she has on. A pair of very unsightly crocs in colors that don't even match her outfit.
"You're the one who came up with that bet." Clarissa chimes in, her attention less on the music and more on finding the bar. The drinks are what she's there for.
"That doesn't mean you should take me seriously." Josi tells her. "I spout nonsense half the time. But all of a sudden, you two decide to take me seriously."
"Well, maybe next time, you'll think before suggesting more nonsense." Clarissa throws an arm around Josi's shoulder, still relieved that she emerged a winner from the bet. "Now, I believe we came here for the liquor, didn't we?"
The reply comes in more profanity. "Puta madre."
Clarissa's eyes grow wide, and so do Mia's. Then as if her brain suddenly sparked itself alive, Clarissa sends her hands over Josi's ears and says to Mia, "Look what you did!"
Mia shakes her head repeatedly. "I hardly ever use that around her. I mostly say puta de mierde, you know that!"
Josi moves Clarissa's hands out of the way with a sigh. "You guys, I'm twenty-three."
"And what next, huh?" Says Mia. "Soon you'll start saying hijo de perra, or chúpamela-"
"Stop giving her ideas!" Clarissa tells her.
Now Josi finds their over-exaggerations comical. "I say those words in English, but you two don't bat an eye."
"Yes, because it's not the same." Says Clarissa, who has now begun ordering off the menu. Mia, with a petite frame and lengthy black hair, follows in second with her usual order. Whereas Mia is below average, Clarissa is right there in the middle height wise-chubby with hair just around her shoulders.
At last, drinks are served, and Mia decides for herself the subject of the evening. "Do you guys think he's here today?"
"Who?" Josi asks.
Clarissa is the one to answer. "Idris Night Verdonni."
Josi nods as if considering, but she's never once set eyes on the man. All she knows is he's an infamous figure under the Verdonni family. Nothing good ever comes from that side of New York, so steering clear has been the correct option thus far. Except, you never know when they're out to get you.
"Isn't he a piece of shit?" Clarissa says.
To which Mia dolefully sighs. "Yes, but he's insanely attractive."
Clarissa shares a look with Josi, then asks, "You've seen him?"
"Once when he came over to the company I work at. I think he had some business with the board of directors."
"He's a criminal, Mia." Josi tells her.
"Those are all rumors. Plus, you're only saying that because you're in a relationship." Mia says. "When you're single like me, you see the appeal in everybody." She toasts her drink in the air and gulps it all down.
Josi shakes her head at the oddity of it all. Rumors or not, men like Idris should never be underestimated. She's seen enough stories to know the tales about the man in question are true.
She believes Idris Night Verdonni does run a drug trafficking ring. She believes he's more than just a businessman, that he has his hands on a widespread of kidnappings and murders, though there's been no solid proof. But that's what happens when you're a man in power. You get to buy people's silence. Or blackmail. Whichever one Idris prefers.
After her glass has been emptied, Josi excuses herself and heads for where the restrooms are. The journey there is easy. The journey back, however, leads to a stray path that has Josi wishing she'd never left the company of her friends.
"You there."
Josi turns and finds a man. The first thing she notices is the length of his hair which ends just below his shoulders, though he has most of it tied up in a half bun. Cladded in an all black suit attire, this man clearly has no room for color. It's all dark and dingy. Even his eyes which have yet to stray from Josi carry little life in them.
There are black and silver cuffs that outline his ears all the way through; the only piece of accessory strapped to him. Then there's his height and physique. Josi peaks at a solid five foot nine, but as the stranger currently has it, that accomplishment isn't worth much notability.
The wheels in Josi's head begin turning, and her skepticism gets the better of her. "What do you want?"
"Follow me." He tells her, his voice a guttural baritone.
Confusion like never before. "I don't even know you."
"That's the least of your concern. Idris wants to see you, so you'll come immediately."
And there it is. The stuff of nightmares. Questions of how he knows she exists. Questions of what he wants with her, what he could possibly stand to gain from her presence. They all flood Josi's mind in volumes too blaring. "I don't think-"
"Don't let me repeat myself."
Amidst Josi's uneasiness is a bubbling feeling of exasperation. Why does she have to cut her evening short for some stranger? What gives them the right? But these only remain angry thoughts in her head. No such bravery allocated to voicing them out loud-because the man intimidates her, though she would rather not acknowledge that fact.
The man spares her no more time. He begins leading the way, not even bothering to ensure if Josi is keeping up. But she does, because the look on his face suggests he means business.
The two are soon welcomed onto the rooftop. Only a handful of people-mostly employees-roam the place, working jobs that seem to drive their blood pressure through the roof as seen by the tension on their faces.
Josi is brought in front of yet another stranger. Unlike the man who ushered her there, this one has an ambience to him that is more relaxed than it is drab. Tanned skin so deep and vibrant, it glistens when kissed by the sun. He has medium length hair, curly and slicked to the back, with eyes that resemble pools of honey.
What really draws Josi in, however, is the scar on his chin. It begins on the corner of his mouth-just a few centimeters above his lips-and runs in a straight line past his jawline. A once painful injury, that one.
But the character study comes to an end almost as soon as it started when Josi realizes the man is no stranger at all. How fantastically convenient that the man she'd glared at is, in fact, the very thing she'd vowed to steer clear of. How truly remarkable.
Idris dismisses the girl by his side, who Josi suspects must have been there for more than just alcohol. Once she's out of sight, Idris turns his attention back to Josi, then says, with so much nonchalance, "Sit."
Josi glances at the man next to her, who now seems more like a guard, and remains still. She thinks about opposing because the entire situation seems too ridiculous in its own light. But even with the courage she's managed to muster up, it's still no match for the weapons laying leisurely on the table, the very ones that pluck that same courage right out of her piece by shredded piece.
The weapons are dual silver pistols with a 'Verdonni' inscription etched on each side, and the look they give Josi is intimidating, as if they're daring her to speak her mind, to say anything the men present won't take a liking to.
Josi grows queasy. Not only does her heart sink to the very bottom, but it also beats at too fast a rate to consider normal. She's never once laid eyes on a gun before, and now that the firearms are in front of her, she finds herself wishing they were never there at all.
Fear. That's what Josi feels.
And it's that very fear that lands her a seat next to Idris, just a couple inches away from him. All that matters now is making it out in one piece.
Idris exchanges a few words in Italian with his guard who then excuses himself. And then there were two.
"Why did you glare at me?"
Josi plans her words wisely for fear of stepping on a landmine. "I thought . . . you were watching us."
"I was."
"I mean like in a weird way."
"You mean like a pervert."
"No, of course not!" Josi counters, trying her very best to bury the truth. Then after seconds of steeling her nerves, "Why am I here?"
"Because I asked you to come."
Josi goes mute. From the few minutes she's spent with Idris, she's pegged him to be an entitled egoist. He speaks like his words are the only thing that matter, and he seems to be more interested in his drink than he is in her. "Listen, I came here with my friends."
"I'm aware. I saw them drag you inside." He gives her a look that lets her know he's already judged her peculiar choice of shoes. "Anyway, where was I?"
Josi patiently waits for him to get his point across. But what Idris says next comes as too great a shock.
"Be my woman."
". . . what?"
Idris groans and even rolls his eyes, clearly displeased at Josi's inability to keep up. "I'll call you up when I feel like it and you'll entertain me like the rest. That's that."
This is more than just some slap to the face. It's the greatest insult. So degrading and mortifying. He's treating her like an accessory, as though she were incapable of formulating any original thoughts of her own. Josi's patience has run dry.
"With all due respect, Mr. Night-"
"Idris."
Josi exhales. "With all due respect, Idris, I'm in a relationship. And even if I wasn't, I wouldn't subject myself to something this degrading." She stands from her seat. "If you'll excuse me, I have somewhere to be." Then she turns to leave. Let Idris do with her what he wants. Josi has stopped caring.
But Idris's guard doesn't let her go through. He blocks her path, clearly on some orders that were brought to him through telepathy. But if there's ever a time more fitting for courage, that time would be now. Josi gulps down the last of her fear and turns back to Idris who hasn't even made an effort to set his drink drown.
The look on his face suggests he has no care, but neither does Josi. She meets his eyes and keeps her stance until some form of progress is achieved. And it works. After a couple seconds of an intense staring contest, Idris waves his hands for his guard to let her go.
Josi wastes no time. She's back in the club within minutes, back to the ones most familiar. She hasn't even been made aware of how much she's trembling.
"Where were you?" Clarissa asks, with more concern than skepticism.
Josi gathers them both into an embrace. "Please take me home. I want to go home."
No further questions. The two escort Josi to where she needs to be.
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My mission is to make Idris as dislikeable as possible. I hope it's working.