Twisted Loyalties (The Camorra Chronicles Book 1)
Twisted Loyalties: Chapter 4

Dad lived in a small, run down apartment in a desolate corner of the city. The Strip seemed far away and so did the beautiful hotels with their generous customers. He showed me to a small room. It smelled of cat like the rest of the apartment, even though I hadn’t seen one. The only furniture in it was a mattress on the ground. One wall was packed almost to the ceiling with old moving boxes stuffed with God knew what. He hadn’t even put sheets on the mattress, nor did I see any kind of bed clothes.

“It’s not much, I know,” he said, rubbing the back of his head. “I don’t have a second pair of bed linen. Perhaps you can go out and buy some today?”

I paused. I’d given almost all of my money for the bus ticket. What I had left was supposed to buy me a nice dress for potential job interviews in decent restaurants and cocktail bars near the Strip. But I could hardly sleep on an old mattress that had sweat stains or worse on it. “Do you have at least a pillow and a spare blanket?”

He put down my backpack beside the mattress, grimacing. “I think I have an old wool blanket somewhere. Let me check.” He turned and hurried off.

Slowly I sank down on the mattress. It was saggy and a whiff of dust rose up. My eyes traveled up the mountain of boxes threatening to crush me beneath them. The window hadn’t been cleaned in a while, if ever, and let only dim light in. There wasn’t even a wardrobe to put my clothes away. I pulled my backpack over to me. Good thing that I hardly owned anything. I didn’t need much. Everything I’d ever held dear had been sold by my mother for crystal meth at some point. That taught you not to cling to physical things.

Dad returned with a heap of what looked like black rags. Perhaps that was the source of the cat smell. He handed it over to me, and I realized that it was the wool blanket he’d been referring to. It was moth eaten and smelled of smoke and something else I couldn’t place, but definitely not cat. I set it down on the mattress. I had no choice but to buy bed linen. I stared down at my flip-flops. Right now they were my only shoes. The soles of my favorite pair of Converse had fallen off two days ago. I’d thought I’d be able to get new shoes as soon as I arrived in Vegas. I pulled thirty dollars from my backpack.

Dad eyed the money in a strange way. Desperate and hungry.

“I don’t suppose you have some spare change for me? Business is slow right now, and I need to buy some food for us.”

I hadn’t asked what exactly his business was. I’d learned that asking too many questions often led to unpleasant answers.

I handed him ten dollars. “I need the rest for bed sheets.”

He looked disappointed but then nodded. “Sure. I’ll go get us something to eat for tonight. Why don’t you go to Target and see if you can get a comforter and sheets?”

It almost seemed as if he wanted to get me out. I nodded. I’d have preferred to get out of my sweaty pair of jeans and shirt but I grabbed my backpack.

“You can leave that here.”

I smiled. “Oh, no. I need it to carry whatever I buy,” I lied. I’d learned to never let my stuff lying around with my mother or she would sell it. Not that I had anything of worth, but I hated if people rummaged in my underwear. And I knew the look Dad had had when he’d seen my money. I was fairly sure that he’d been lying when he’d said his addiction was a thing of the past. There was nothing I could do about that. I couldn’t fight that battle for him.

I trudged out of the apartment, Las Vegas’ dry air hitting me once again. A few guys were swimming in the community pool despite the cold, doing dives and shouting. The pool area looked like it could use a good clean as well. One of the guys spotted me and let out a whistle. I picked up my pace to avoid a confrontation.

Sheets, a comforter and a pillow cost me $19,99, leaving me with exactly one cent. No pretty dress or shoes for me. I doubted a restaurant would hire me in my shabby second-hand clothes.

When I returned home, Dad wasn’t there, neither was any food. I searched the fridge but found only a few cans of beer and a jar of mayonnaise.

I sank down on the chair, consigning myself to wait for my father.

When he came home, it was dark outside and I’d fallen asleep at the table, my forehead pressed up against my forearms. I scanned his empty arms and miserable expression.

“No food?” I asked.

He froze, his eyes flitting around nervously, searching for a good lie.

I didn’t give him the chance to lie to me, and rose to my feet. “It’s okay. I’m not hungry. I’m going to bed.” I was starving. I hadn’t had a morsel to eat since the donut that I’d treated myself to in the morning. I kissed Dad’s cheek, smelling alcohol and smoke on his breath. He avoided my eyes. As I headed out of the kitchen with my backpack, I saw him taking a beer out of the fridge. His dinner I assumed.

I put the new sheets on, then dropped the comforter and pillow on the mattress. I didn’t even have nightclothes. Instead I took out a t-shirt and a fresh pair of panties, before I lied down on the mattress. The new linen covered up the stale stench of the mattress with its chemical scent. I hadn’t seen a washing machine in the apartment, so I’d have to earn some money before I could have my stuff washed in a salon.

I closed my eyes, hoping I could fall asleep despite the rumbling of my stomach.

When I got up the next morning, I showered, trying not to look at anything too closely. I would have to give the bathroom and the rest of the apartment a good clean once I’d found a job. That had to be my top priority for now. I changed into the nicest things I owned, a flowery summer dress that reached my knees. Then I slipped on my flip-flops. It wasn’t an outfit that would get me any bonus points in a job interview but I didn’t have a choice. Dad was sleeping on the sofa in yesterday’s clothes. When I tried sneaking past him, he sat up. “Where are you going?”

“I want to look for a job around the area.”

He shook his head. He didn’t look very hung over. Perhaps at least alcohol wasn’t his problem. “There aren’t any respectable places around here.”

I didn’t tell him that no respectable place would ever hire me looking the way I did.

“In case you get the chance, perhaps you could buy some food?” Dad said after a moment.

I nodded, not saying anything. Swinging my backpack over my shoulder, I left the apartment. Unfortunately, Las Vegas winter decided to rear its ugly head today. It was bitingly cold in my summer clothes, and the promise of rain lay in the air. Dark clouds covered the sky.

I strode through the neighborhood for a while, taking in the shabby exteriors, and homeless people. I’d walked for ten minutes, closer to Downtown Las Vegas, when the first bar came into view, but I quickly realized that for a girl to work there, she had to be willing to get rid of her clothes. The next two bars hadn’t even opened yet and looked so shabby that I doubted there was any money to be made working in them. A wave of resentment washed over me. If Dad hadn’t made me spend all my money on bedding, I could have bought nice clothes and gone looking for a job close to the Strip, and not around here where the worth of a woman seemed linked to the way she could dance around a pole.

I knew the girls earned good money. Mother had been in contact with dancers in her better days before she’d started selling herself for a few bucks to truck drivers and worse.

I was beginning to lose hope and my head swam from lack of food. The cold wasn’t helping either. It was already around one in the afternoon and things didn’t look good. And then the sky opened up and it began raining. One fat drop after the other plopped down on me. Of course, I was out in sandals on the one day in December that it rained in Nevada. I closed my eyes for a moment. I didn’t really believe in any higher powers, but if someone or something was up there, he didn’t think too fondly of me.

The cold became more prominent as my dress stuck to my body. I shivered and rubbed my arms. I wasn’t sure how far from home I was but I had a feeling that I’d be down with a cold tomorrow, if I didn’t replace shelter soon. The low hum of an engine drew my attention back to the street and to the car coming my way. It was an expensive German model, a Mercedes of some sort, black tinted windows, matt black varnish. Sleek and almost daunting.

My mother hadn’t been the kind of mother to warn me of getting into cars of strangers. She was the kind of mother who brought creepy strangers home because they paid her for sex. I was cold and hungry, and just over this city already. I wanted to get back into the warmth. I hesitated, then held out my arm and raised my thumb. The car slowed and came to a stop beside me. The way I looked I would have thought he’d drive right past me.

Surprise rushed through me when I saw who sat behind the wheel. A guy, perhaps in his early twenties, dressed in a black suit and black shirt, no tie. His blue eyes settled on me and heat crawled up my neck from the intensity of his gaze. Strong jaw, dark blond hair, short on the sides and longer on top. He was immaculate, except for a small scar on his chin. And I looked like I’d crawled out of the gutter. Wonderful.

Fabiano

The girl caught my attention from afar, dressed for anything but this weather. Her dress was plastered to her thin body and her hair to her face. She had her arms wrapped around her stomach, and a tacky backpack swung over her right shoulder. I slowed considerably as I approached her, curious. She didn’t look like one of our girls, nor did she strike me as someone who knew the first thing about selling her body. But perhaps she’d only just arrived and didn’t know that these streets belonged to us and that she would have to ask if she wanted to hit them.

I expected her to scuttle off when I came closer. My car was easily recognizable. She surprised me when she held out her hand for me to pick her up.

I pulled up beside her. If she tried to offer me her body, she was in for a nasty surprise. And if this was some insane robbery scheme with her accomplices waiting to catch me by surprise, they’d be in for an even nastier surprise. I put my hand down on my gun before I slid my window down and she bent over to look inside my car. She smiled in embarrassment. “I got lost. Can you take me home perhaps?”

No hooker.

I leaned over and pushed the door open.

She slipped in, then closed the door. She put her backpack on her lap and rubbed her arms. My eyes fell to her feet. She was wearing only sandals and dripping water on my seats and the floor.

She noticed my gaze and blushed. “I didn’t expect rain.”

I nodded, still curious. She definitely didn’t know me. She was pale and trembled, but not from fear. “Where do you need to go?”

She hesitated, then let out an embarrassed laugh. “I don’t know the address.”

I raised my eyebrows.

“I only arrived yesterday. I live with my father.”

“How old are you?”

She blinked. “Nineteen?”

“Is that the answer or a question?”

“Sorry. I’m out of it today. It’s the answer.” Again the embarrassed, shy smile.

I nodded. “But you know the direction to your father’s place?”

“There was a sort of campground near by. It isn’t very nice there.”

I pulled away from the curb, then sped up. She clutched her backpack.

“Are there any markers you remember?”

“There was strip club nearby,” she said, a deep blush tingeing her wet cheeks. Definitely not a hooker.

I humored her and drove in the general direction she’d described. It wasn’t like I needed to be anywhere else. Her ignorance of my position was almost amusing. She looked like a drowned cat with her dark hair plastered to her head and her dress clinging to her shivering body.

Her stomach rumbled. “I wish I knew the name of the club, but I was only paying attention to bars I could work in and that definitely wasn’t one of them,” she said quickly.

“Work?” I echoed, cautious again. “What kind of work?”

“As a waitress. I need to earn money for college,” she said, then fell silent, biting her lip.

I considered her again. “About a mile from here is a bar called Roger’s Arena. I know the owner. He’s looking for a new waitress. The tips are good from what I hear.”

“Roger’s Arena,” she echoed. “Strange name for a bar.”

“It’s a strange place,” I told her. It was an understatement of course. “But they don’t have high standards when it comes to their personnel.”

Her eyes widened, then she flushed with embarrassment. “Do I look that bad?”

I regarded her again. She didn’t look bad, quite the opposite, but her clothes and wet hair, and those worn sandals, they didn’t really help matters. “No.”

She didn’t seem to believe me. Her grip on her backpack tightened. I wondered why she was clinging to it so tightly. Perhaps she had a weapon inside. That would explain why she’d risked getting into the car of a stranger. She thought she’d be able to defend herself. Her stomach growled again.

“You are hungry.”

She tensed more than such a simple question called for. “I’m okay.” Her eyes were glued to the windshield, determined and stubborn.

“When have you last eaten?”

Quick glance my way, then down to her backpack.

“When?” I pressed.

She looked out of the window. “Yesterday.”

I threw a glance her way. “You should consider eating every day.”

“We had no food in the fridge.”

Hadn’t she said she lived with her father? What kind of parent was he? Probably as caring as my own father had been from the way she looked.

I steered the car toward a KFC drive in.

She shook her head. “No, don’t. I forgot to take money with me.”

She was lying.

I ordered a box of wings and fries, and handed them to her.

“I can’t accept that,” she said quietly.

“It’s chicken and fries, not a Rolex.”

Her eyes darted to the watch on my wrist. Not a Rolex, but not less expensive.

Her resolve didn’t last long. She quickly dug into the food as if her last decent meal had been longer back than just yesterday. I watched her from the corner of my eye as my car glided through traffic. Her nails were cut short, not the long red fake nails I was used to.

“What are you doing? You look young for a business man or lawyer,” she said when she was done eating.

“Business man? Lawyer?”

She shrugged. “Because of the suit and the car.”

“Nothing like that, no.”

Her eyes lingered on the scars on my knuckles and she didn’t say anything anymore. She sat up suddenly. “I recognize the street. Turn left here.”

I did, and slowed when she pointed at an apartment complex. The place seemed distantly familiar. She opened the door, then turned to me. “Thank you for the ride. I doubt anyone else would have picked me up the way I look. They’d probably have thought I want to rob them. Good thing you aren’t scared of girls in flip-flops.”

My lips twitched at her joke. “No, I’m not scared of anything.”

She laughed, then quieted, blue eyes tracing my face. “I should go.”

She got out and closed the door. Then she quickly ran for cover. I watched her fumble with the keys for a while before she disappeared from view. Strange girl.

Leona

I glanced back out the window as the Mercedes drove off. I couldn’t believe I’d let a stranger drive me home. And I couldn’t believe I’d let him buy me food. I’d thought I’d outgrown that kind of thing. Back when I was a little girl, strangers had occasionally bought me food because they’d felt pity for me. But this guy, he hadn’t showed any signs of pity. And the suit, somehow it had been wrong on him.

He hadn’t revealed what he was doing. Not a lawyer or business man. What then? Perhaps he had rich parents but he didn’t seem like the rich-kid type.

Not that it mattered. I wouldn’t see him again. A man like him with a car like that, he would spend his days on golf courses and in fancy restaurants, not in the places where I could work.

Dad wasn’t home. Considering the force of the rainfall, I’d be stuck in the apartment for a while. I walked into the kitchen, checked the fridge, but found it as empty as in the morning, then sank down on a chair. I was cold and tired. I’d have to hang my clothes to dry soon, so I could wear them tomorrow again. The dress was the nicest piece of clothing I owned. If I wanted to have any chance securing a job at this arena, I needed to wear it.

This new beginning wasn’t very promising so far.

The next day I went in search for Roger’s Arena, It took me a while and eventually I had to ask passersby for the way. They looked at me like I had lost my mind for asking for a place like that. What kind of place had the guy suggested to me?

When I finally found Roger’s Arena, a nondescript building with a small red neon sign with its name beside the steel entrance door, and stepped inside, I began to understand why people had reacted the way they had.

The bar wasn’t exactly a cocktail bar or night club. It was a huge hall that might have been a storage facility once. There was a bar counter on the right side but my eyes were drawn to the huge fighting cage in the center of the large room. Tables were arranged all around it, and there were also a few red leather booths against the walls for the well-off customers, I supposed.

The floor was bare stone. The walls were too, but they were covered with wire mesh fence and woven into it were red neon tubes that formed words like Honor, Pain, Blood, Victory, Strength.

I hesitated in the front, half a mind to turn around and leave, but then a black-haired woman headed my way. She must have been thirty, thirty-one perhaps? Her eyes were heavily lined and her lips were a bright pink. It clashed with the red glow of the neon lights. She didn’t smile, but didn’t exactly look unfriendly either. “Are you new? You’re late. In thirty minutes the first customers will arrive and I haven’t even cleaned the tables or the changing rooms yet.”

“I’m not really working here,” I said slowly. And I wasn’t sure it was a place I should consider working.

“You aren’t?” Her shoulders slumped, one of the thin spaghetti straps sliding off and allowing a glance at the strapless pink bra beneath her top. “Oh damn. I can’t do this alone tonight. Mel called in sick, and I…” She trailed off. “You could work here, you know?”

“That’s why I’m here,” I said, even though the fighting cage freaked me out. Beggars can’t be choosers, Leona.

“Perfect. Then come on. Let’s replace Roger. I’m Cheryl, by the way.”

She gripped my forearm and pulled me along. “Is the payment so bad or why are you having trouble replaceing staff?” I asked as I hurried after her, my sandals smacking against the stone floor.

“Oh, it’s the fighting. Many girls are squeamish,” she said off-handedly but I had a feeling there was more she wasn’t telling me.

We walked through a black swing door behind the bar counter, along a narrow bare-walled corridor with more doors, and toward another massive wooden door at the end. She knocked.

“Come in,” said a deep voice. Cheryl opened the door to a large office that was foggy from cigarette smoke. Inside a middle-aged man, built like a bull, sat behind a desk. He flashed his teeth at Cheryl, his double chin becoming more prominent. Then his eyes settled on me.

“I got us a new waitress,” Cheryl said, the hint of flirtation in her voice. Really? Perhaps it was a boss thing.

“Roger,” the man introduced himself, squashing a burnt-down cigarette on the ketchup-smeared plate in front of him. “You can start working right away.”

I opened my mouth in surprise.

“That’s why you’re here right? Five dollars per hour plus everything you make from tips.”

“Okay?” I said uncertainly.

“Dressed like that you won’t earn much tips, girl.” He picked up his mobile and gestured us to go back out. “Get something that shows off your ass or tits. This isn’t a nunnery.”

When the door had closed, I gave Cheryl a questioning look. “Does it always go like that?”

She shrugged, but again I got the impression that she was keeping something from me. “He’s just really desperate right now. Tonight’s an important fight and he doesn’t want things to get messy because we’re low on staff.”

“Why does it matter how I’m dressed?” Worry overcame. “We don’t have to do anything with guests, right?”

She shook her head. “We don’t have to, no. But we have a few rich customers that mean good money. Especially if you give them some special attention.”

I shook my head. “No, no. That’s not going to happen.”

She nodded. “It’s up to you.” She led me back out. “You can leave your backpack here.” She pointed toward the ground behind the bar. Reluctantly I set it down. I couldn’t keep it on me when I worked. She rummaged in a small chamber to the left of the bar and appeared with a mop and a bucket. “You can start by cleaning the changing room. The first fighters will arrive in about two hours. Until then everything should be clean.”

I hesitated. She frowned. “What? Too good for cleaning?”

“No,” I said quickly. I wasn’t too good for anything. And I’d cleaned up every possible disgusting thing in my life. “It’s just I haven’t eaten anything since last night and I feel a bit faint.”

I hated to admit it. But the fridge was still empty and I was still out of money. And dad didn’t seem concerned about food at all. Either he ate out wherever he went at night or he lived on air alone. Pity crossed her face, making me regret my words. Pity had been something I had been submitted to too often. It had always made me feel small and worthless. With a mother who sold her body on the street, my teachers and the social workers had always been very forthcoming with their pity, but never with a way out of the mess. The guy from yesterday, when he’d bought me food, it hadn’t felt like an act of charity for some reason.

Cheryl set down the mop and bucket, and grabbed something from a fridge behind the bar. She put a coke down in front of me, then she turned and went back through the swing door. She showed up with a grilled cheese sandwich and fries, both cold. “They are from last night but the kitchen isn’t open yet.”

I didn’t care. I wolfed down everything within a few minutes and washed it down with the cold coke. “Thanks,” I said with a big smile.

She searched my face, then shook her head. “I probably shouldn’t ask, but how old are you?”

“I’m old enough to work here,” I said. I knew I needed to be twenty-one to work in a place like this, so I didn’t mention that I’d finished high school this year.

She looked doubtful. “Be careful, Chick,” she said simply and pushed the mop into my arms. I took it, picked up the bucket and headed for the door with the red neon sign reading changing room. I wedged it open with my elbow and slipped in.

There were several open shower stalls, a wall of lockers, and a few benches inside. The white-tiled ground was covered with bloodstains and a few dirty towels. Great. They’d probably been lying here for days. The smell of beer and sweat hung in the air. Good thing that I’d learned to deal with stuff like that thanks to my mother. I began mopping and was still at it when the door opened again, and two men – thirty-five, perhaps forty – stepped in, tattooed from head to toe. I paused.

Their eyes wandered over me, resting on my flip-flops and dress. I smiled anyway. I’d quickly learned that it was easier to disarm people with a smile than with anger or fear, especially if you were a small woman. They nodded at me, disinterested. When the first began to tug at his shirt, I quickly excused myself and headed out. I didn’t want to watch them undressing. They might get the wrong idea.

A few guests were already mingling around the now red lit bar, obviously impatient for drinks. Cheryl was nowhere in sight. I set down the bucket and the mop, and hurried toward the counter. Once behind it, I faced the group of thirsty men, smiling. “So what can I get you?”

Beer was the way to go obviously. Relief flooded me. That request was one I could handle. If they’d asked for cocktails or long drinks, I’d have been lost. Half of them took what was on tap and I handed the full glasses over to them, the other half chose bottles. I quickly scanned the fridge. There were only three bottles of beer left. I doubted they would last long. These guys looked like they considered a crate of beer a good appetizer.

Where was Cheryl?

When I was starting to get nervous, she finally walked through the door, looking slightly disheveled. Her skirt was askew, her top put on the wrong way and her lipstick was gone. I didn’t say anything. Had she already earned some extra money with a customer? I glanced around toward the few men gathered at the tables and the bar. Some of them were throwing me curious glances but none of them appeared like they were about to offer me money for having sex. I relaxed slightly. I knew I was particularly touchy about the subject but I’d be out of this bar, desperate for money or not, the moment one of them put down money in front of me for sex. There was a strange atmosphere in the bar anyway. People were exchanging money, and talking in hushed voices. There was someone in the corner who got approached by every customer and noted something on his iPad once they’d handed him money. He was a very round, very small man with a mousy face. I assumed he was taking their bets. I didn’t know anything about the laws in Nevada, but this couldn’t possibly be legal.

None of my business.

“Doll? Give me a beer, would you?” a man in his sixties said.

I flushed, then quickly reached for a glass. I was beginning to feel like this place might be prone to trouble.