In Too Deep

  Copyright 2018 Harley Fox

  Edited by Jersey Devil Editing

  Cover Designed by Silver Heart Publishing

  License Notes

  This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  This book is intended for adult audiences only. All sexually active characters depicted are at least 18 years of age. All sexual activity is between consenting, non-blood related adults. All characters and activities appearing in this work are fictitious. This book does not endorse or encourage illegal or immoral activities. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

  Content warnings: This book contains swearing, sex, gang-related activity, coercion, and murder.

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  In Too Deep

  by Harley Fox

  Trista

  I smile over the rim of my beer glass as the girls at the round table all laugh.

  Julie, Leann, and Cassidy. Three friends who’ve known each other since high school. I’ve only just met them tonight, and after this I’ll never see them again.

  “Wait wait wait,” Julie says, putting her hand on the table as she catches her breath. Her eyes are rimmed with red. “You’re saying you took all his clothes?”

  I give a light shrug, putting my glass back down.

  “I told him not to fuck with me,” I say, and Leann laughs again, wiping tears from her eyes.

  “So …” Cassidy says, face flushed, “what did you do with them? With the clothes?”

  Leaning back in my chair, I glance off at somewhere else in the bar.

  “Let’s just say there are some very well-dressed homeless men walking around downtown.”

  Julie laughs uproariously as Leann nods, smiling widely. Cassidy picks up her drink and raises it, the rest of us doing the same.

  “Well shit, girl, I gotta give a toast to that,” she says. “To fucking the men who fuck with us … in more ways than one.”

  We clink our glasses together and all take a drink, Julie downing the last of her beer. She puts the glass down on the table with a thunk.

  “Oh man. What time is it?”

  She leans back, almost too far, and looks around. Most of the bar is empty now and the window at the front, previously lit only by the street lamps, is now showing streaks of orange and red.

  “Five?” Leanna says, pulling out her cell phone. Her eyebrows fly up when she looks at it. “Five thirty. Fuck, I should probably get home.”

  I chew on my lower lip. This isn’t enough, I think, glancing from one girl to the other. They won’t remember this. This isn’t something they’ll tell their friends.

  I down the rest of my beer, putting my glass on the table the same as Julie’s.

  “I gotta take a piss,” I say, pushing my chair back.

  “I’ll come with,” Cassidy says, and she gets up too.

  “Should I get one more beer?” I hear Julie muse as Cassidy and I make our way to the bathroom. We walk past the bar, where I give the bartender a friendly smile. Two men are passed out, sitting on stools, their heads in puddles of warm beer. Beyond them, in the mirror behind the bar, I see my reflection: the soft leather jacket hugs my body; my wavy red hair is down around my shoulders. It’s not at all my usual look.

  We keep walking and I see a group of men wearing leather jackets, close by the bathroom doors. They’re all holding bottles of beer, standing in a circle, talking, but as Cassidy and I approach their conversation dies down and they turn to watch us.

  This could work, I think.

  The one closest to us, a burly man with hairy arms, flicks his tongue out a few times as we get close. Cassidy ignores them, but I give a condescending smile and form a fist in front of me, miming a jerking-off motion. The burly guy’s face drops and some of the others laugh, but we turn into the bathroom and the sound is cut off as the door closes behind us.

  “Christ, what a night,” Cassidy says when the door closes behind us. We each take a stall and lock the doors.

  “You said it,” I say, grabbing a fistful of toilet paper and wiping the seat down. “I’m surprised I’m not more tired than I am.”

  I hear Cassidy’s belt jingle and mine does the same as I push my jeans down and sit. The toilet seat feels cold against my skin.

  “I’m gonna have to pop a few CafMax when I get home,” Cassidy’s voice comes over. “Unless … you’re not holding, are you? Maybe some coke? I would just need a little bump.”

  “Nah, I’m dry,” I say. I grab another fistful of toilet paper. “Maybe Julie has some?”

  “No, Julie said she tried some of that new stuff but it made her feel sick. I think she’s off of it now.”

  Standing back up and shimmying into my jeans, I buckle my belt and use my foot to flush the toilet. Stepping out of the stall, I hear Cassidy’s toilet flush and then she joins me at the sink. We both start washing our hands.

  “Where’d she get that new stuff, anyway?” I ask, but the rush of both taps is too loud. Cassidy turns hers off and so do I. She reaches for some paper towels.

  “What was that?”

  “I said, where’d she get that new stuff?” I ask again, keeping my face impassive. I grab some paper towels myself. “The coke.”

  “Oh,” Cassidy throws the towel away. “I don’t know. She didn’t say. But I’d stay away from it if I were you. She said it made her feel paranoid. And, like … crazy.”

  I know, I think, but I don’t say it. I throw my paper towel away and we both walk out of the bathroom, but just as we turn a gruff voice calls out from behind us.

  “Hey! Girls!”

  Cassidy and I both turn around to see those men again. The burly one with the hairy arms has stepped forward and he’s looking at us. He takes a swig of his beer, and judging by how sweaty he is I’d say this isn’t his first one.

  “Yes?” I ask, before Cassidy can say anything.

  Burly sneers as us. “You know, I uh … saw you two girls goin’ into that bathroom together,” he says. His friends give low chuckles behind him.

  I nod, raising an eyebrow. Burly’s sneer widens to reveal nicotine-stained teeth.

  “And me and my buddies were just wondering … you uh, you girls help each other out in there? Huh? You uh … give each other a hand?”

  Laughter erupts from behind him as Burly smiles widely at his own joke. My eyes move quickly from him to each of his friends and then back again. I tilt my head.

  “Sorry to disappoint you, big boy,” I say with mock sympathy, “but unlike you, we don’t need any help wiping our own asses.”

  The laughter dies. Burly’s sneer become a scowl as the grip on his beer bottle tightens.

  “The fuck you just say to me?” he says.

  “You heard what I said, Neanderthal,” I spit back. “And keep your sick comments to yourself, ‘cause we’re not interested.”

  None of the men are smiling now. Burly’s face is going a ruddy color, but I turn away only to see Cassidy watching me, her mouth slightly open.

  “Come on,” I say to her, beginning to walk away, but Cassidy’s gaze moves past me and her eyes open wide.

  “Trista!” she shouts, but I’m already spinning back around.

  My arm flies up and I catch the beer bottle out of Burly’s hand, stopping it a foot from my head. Using my other hand I slap the inside of his wrist, making him let it go. Fizzy beer just finishes pouring out of the bott
le, splashing onto the wooden floor below, as Burly looks stunned. I use the opportunity to pull my free hand back and chop the knife edge of it into his throat. His eyes bulge out of his head, and he makes a choking sound. He grabs at his neck and drops to his knees, falling over as his mouth opens and closes, like a fish desperate for water.

  All of this happens inside of two seconds. I take a step back and watch him writhe on the ground. None of the other men makes a move. The only sound around us is that of Burly gasping for air.

  Adrenaline pumps quickly through my veins. It’s an effort to keep myself from shaking; to keep doing what I’m trying to do. When I look up at the other men, half are watching Burly and half are staring at me. Forcing a cocky grin, I give the bottle a casual half-spin and step over the man writhing on the floor, offering it to the closest of his friends. The man reaches out a cautious hand and takes it. I step back.

  I turn back to Cassidy to see her mouth all the way open now. It’s an effort to keep my voice steady as I say, “Come on,” and we both walk away. As I glance around the bar I see that, of all the conscious people left, all of them are watching us, the bartender included.

  Good, I think as we pass by him again. That’s something they’ll remember.

  By the time Cassidy and I reach our table the adrenaline’s worn off and I’ve calmed back down. Julie’s got another glass of beer in front of her but she ignores it as she and Leann stare at me.

  “Jesus Christ,” Julie says. “What the fuck just happened?”

  I give a light shrug.

  “Those guys were pigs. They had to be taught a lesson.”

  “Trista, I’ve never seen anybody move like that,” Cassidy says, finally having found her voice. “Where did you learn to do that?”

  The looks on their faces, the buzz of the beer, the knowledge that I did exactly what I set out to do … it all makes me feel amazing. This is going so well. I’ve been doing a great job all night, and now I know they’re definitely going to remember this, they’re definitely going to talk about it the next day, and word is going to spread. And for a moment—even though I’ve only just met these girls tonight, and even though none of this is real—I think of them as my friends.

  And I almost tell them the truth.

  But the sober part of my mind shoots out like a lasso and grabs a hold of the words before they leave my mouth, reeling them back in. I remind myself why I’m here. Why I’m doing this. And so I tell them what I’ve told all the other people in all the other bars over all the other nights:

  “My brother taught me.”

  A half-truth, and in a tone that warns against further discussion. My answer isn’t enough to sate their curiosity, I know, but I can tell they won’t ask for more. I watch them all nod, look down, perhaps wondering who my brother is, or why he taught me to fight in the first place. Wondering whether or not I’ll say any more. But I won’t.

  Julie picks up her glass of beer and takes a drink.

  “Well girls,” Cassidy finally says. “It’s been fun, but I gotta get to work.”

  “Yeah,” Leann chimes in, pushing her chair back. I do the same, as does Cassidy. Julie looks surprised for a moment before chugging the rest of her beer.

  Leann turns to me. “Hey Trista, you need a ride?”

  “Nah, I got my bike,” I say to her. “But thanks.”

  Julie finishes the drink and puts the empty glass down a bit too hard, following it up with a long belch. Leann lets out a laugh when she finishes.

  “Whoa,” Julie says, standing up and swaying a little. “Maybe that last one was a bad idea.”

  We all four head to the front door and step out into the multi-hued sunshine. A few cars pass by on the road—people getting ready to start their day.

  “Well, I hope we see you around,” Leann says, turning to me. “You’re pretty cool.”

  “Yeah, super cool,” Cassidy chimes in.

  “Thanks, girls,” I say. “You too.”

  They all raise their hands in farewell as I watch them walk to Leann’s car. Julie stumbles a bit and I hear Leann warn her not to throw up until she gets home. I chuckle before turning the other way, toward where my motorcycle is parked.

  The fresh air feels good in my lungs, especially after the night spent inside that bar. Fishing my keys out of my pocket, I reach my bike and swing a leg over. Starting up the engine I kick it into life, back out of the space, turn it toward the road, and start home.

  The early morning wind blows against my face, waking me up and helping me keep my attention on the road. I wish I could just go home and pass out, like I’m certain Julie and maybe Leann are about to do. But that’s not an option for me. My shift starts at seven, and I’m not one for being late to work.

  This bar I just left—Pitchers—is luckily not as far from home as some of the others I’ve been to. Last month I went to one near the airport, almost an hour away. But I didn’t stay long—there were only rich men in there having cocktails, waiting for their flights to arrive. Most of the other bars I’ve been to, though, have been better. It’s been rare that I’ve stayed out all night, like tonight. But those girls were fun. And besides, I wanted to make sure I’ve got everything down pat.

  Because tonight’s the night. And after that I can’t afford to make any more mistakes.

  Riding north up along the streets, I leave the industrial area behind and skirt around west, toward my apartment. My neighborhood comes into view and I ride into it—tall apartments, little grassy areas they claim to be parks. Hardly anybody is out on the street yet. Finally I turn up my road, riding north. In the distance the gigantic PharmaChem building looms like an enormous mecca. My upper lip curls as I stare up at its countless rows of windows.

  I reach my apartment building and pull up to the side of the street, parking my bike and cutting off the engine. Climbing off, I walk to the front door and unlock it, stepping into the tiny foyer. I try to be quiet as I unlock my door—the one on the left—and climb up the stairs that lie just beyond it.

  As I reach the top my hallway comes into view: a long, wooden-floored strip with three doors down the right-hand side and one at the very end. The one at the end is closed, and I breathe a sigh as I look at it.

  Okay. Let me get changed first.

  Walking through the first door on the right, I step into my bedroom. I take my cell phone, keys, and cash out of my pockets and bra and drop them on my nightstand. I then strip off my leather jacket, jeans, and tank top, piling them on my double bed. It’s an effort to ignore the siren’s call of my pillow and blankets, because I know that if I lie down I’m not getting back up. My panties, bra, and socks all get thrown in the hamper against the wall, and then I walk over to my closet door where my towel’s draped over, dry from yesterday’s shower.

  I take it with me back into the hallway and pad my way to the next door, the bathroom. The florescent light takes a moment to flicker on and I turn on the water in the shower, knowing it’ll be a minute before it warms up. Dropping my towel onto the closed toilet seat, I look at my reflection in the mirror.

  Ugh. I look tired.

  There are bags under my eyes, and my skin looks a little oily. It’s probably stress. These past two months haven’t been a cake walk, but I’ve got to do it.

  I grab a hair tie from the medicine cabinet and bring my red, wavy hair up into a high bun. It’s getting long—down to my shoulder blades now. A new look for me, but I like it.

  I look over and see the condensation on the shower stall walls, so I open the door and step in, letting the warm water wash over me, rinsing away the booze and smoke and sweat from my body. I close my eyes and enjoy the feeling for a moment.

  Picking up the bar of soap, I start washing myself, keeping my head back so my hair doesn’t get too wet. I scrub my face and rinse it off, and once I’m all done—despite my body’s inner cries to stay just a minute longer—I reach over and turn the shower off. Stepping out of the stall and onto the cold linoleum floor, I grab my t
owel and quickly dry myself off before wrapping it around my body and going back to my room.

  I shut my door and dry off whatever water’s left, then hang my towel up over my closet door again and check the time.

  Five after six. That’s good. I’m not in any rush.

  I pad over to my dresser and open the top drawer, taking out some panties, socks, a bra. Once those are on I walk to my closet and start putting on the layers of my uniform.

  A white undershirt goes on first, then I button up my blue shirt. I slip on my blue slacks and do them up, tucking in the bottoms of both shirts. My belt is hanging up on the back of the closet door and I put that on too. Walking back to my dresser, I take my hair out of its high bun and tie it up at the nape of my neck instead. Finally I pick up my police officer’s cap and put it on, fitting it snugly over my head.

  Fully dressed now, I take the things from my nightstand and shove them back into my pockets. Then I leave my bedroom. I walk down the hall to the closed door at the end, grabbing the handle and opening it quietly before walking in.

  The second bedroom of this apartment is sparse, outfitted with only a dresser, a chair, a nightstand, and a bed. When I look over at the bed I see my mom lying as she always is, propped up by her pillows, staring out the window on the opposite wall.

  “Morning, Mom,” I say as I walk in. “How’re you doing?”

  My mom doesn’t respond. She keeps staring out the window, seeing nothing out of her deep, sunken eyes. Her nightgown fits loosely on her bony shoulders, and her graying red hair could definitely use a wash. I pull the chair up beside the bed and sit down. Reaching over, I take one of her hands out of her lap and put it between my own.

  “Did you sleep well?” I ask, watching her face for any signs of comprehension. She only breathes, slowly and rhythmically, her chest rising and falling, her mouth closed, her eyes blinking every now and again as she continues to stare. The edge of the PharmaChem building can just be seen at this angle.

  “I went to another bar tonight, Mom,” I tell her, watching her as I speak. “This one was called Pitchers. It was just south of that new development they’re doing. The suburbs. It was an all-right place. I met these three girls there, and we hung out all night. You wouldn’t have liked them, but we got along well.”