I call this…”A little taste of Gio.”
I never liked weddings. Engagement parties were just as bad. But I’d never been in an engagement party as bad as this.
Then again, I’d never had the bride-to-be blowing me in the dance hall’s fancy fucking bathroom. And I’d never had the groom-to-be try to kill me while she was doing it… in the middle of his own goddamned party, no less…
I ducked… just as another one of his drunken fists came hurtling in my direction, smashing squarely into the picture frame situated beside me.
I saw my reflection—the crazy scene around me, the beaten bridegroom and his minions laid out before me—in that picture frame, and I almost lost it.
But before I could, somebody chucked a piece of white china right past my earlobe. Flying shards exploded overhead just as the best man—now recovered—tackled me like a wrestling dummy, his head slamming into my abdomen, propelling my body backwards, sending me sailing into the wall with a shuddering thud.
My head landed with a crushing blow.
Ears ringing, my skin still stinging, the rest of my body bounced off the dry wall, knocking the Picasso knock-offs to the floor as the groom’s best friend and I came tumbling down—cradle and all—on the Buena Vista Country Club’s extravagant cream-colored carpet. I held onto my head full of fake red hair as we hit the floor. A smattering of stars danced before my eyes and as I scrambled to my feet, one colored contact threatening to fall from my lashes.
My fancy façade was coming apart piece by piece, half hanging on.
As was my cock, still smeared with red lipstick, as the engagement party guests ogled me, gasping and gaping from their well-decorated corners.
I closed my eyes, regrouping, taking a deep breath before slamming a hard elbow onto the last groomsman’s burly back, knocking him down for good. I rolled from underneath of him, staggering to my feet with my dick hanging lower than my loosened cummerbund.
Well below it, actually.
And hell, I wasn’t ashamed. I smiled, despite the blood smeared across the top of my teeth. I licked them clean. Bowing at the waist.
“Thank you for the hospitality. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ll see me…” I looked down. “And my mini-me out the door myself.” I lingered near the floor before rising again. “Thank you, and good night.”
With that, the rest of the battered groomsmen chased me out the door, rushing like a football team’s defensive line, threatening to finish a job they couldn’t even start in the first place.
Half-drunk, my dick still dangling out of my pants, I dragged my ass out of Buena Vista beneath the pixie lights strung below the darkening sky. Thunder rolled in the distance, and the evening skies opened up, pouring a bucket of rain over my body as I tumbled headfirst, rolling with an exhausted sigh into the sleek Jaguar waiting for me.
The door behind me closed. My driver looked back at me as he climbed into his seat, his expression grim, his dark eyes deeper than the stormy night sky. He returned those eyes to the road with a deepening sigh.
“You did it again, didn’t you?” He shook his greying head. “Fuck me…”
I stared out the window at the suddenly falling rain, adjusting my wig. “Actually, I preferred fucking the soon-to-be Mrs. Townsend, Grimm… but thanks for the offer.”
He blew out a breath. “You’re a sick man, sir…”
“The sickest. But that doctor from the other day fixed everything that was wrong with my head.”
He met my eyes in the rearview. “She was a therapist, boss. I’m pretty sure she wasn’t supposed to fix that head.”
I run a thumb across my mustache. “She was also just a job for me, Grimm. As was this.” I looked back at him in the mirror. “And isn’t one head just as important as the other…?”
“Maybe…” His response was an exhale. He pulled off onto the street. “But ya gotta admit… that’s a hell of a high-price for a ‘head examination.’”
My reply was a grin. “I see where you’re going with this, old man. Technically, I paid for her to fuck with my head. The actual fucking was on the house.”
Or more like on her reclining leather seat… but I wasn’t going to reveal any of that to grumpy old Grimm. And just as we left the country club parking lot, my disposable little black cell phone rang. Just as I expected.
I picked it up on the second ring.
“Is it done?” The voice on the other line told me it was expecting nothing less.
“Yes, Mr. Townsend,” I shoot back, just as gruff. “It’s done. The wedding is officially blown.” And technically, so was I.
The smile of the groom’s father was practically audible on the line. I could hear the cash registers of his family’s fortune ringing in his smirk, and whatever twinge I felt, a nagging sensation that felt strangely like guilt, was beat away by the quickening winds outside my Jaguar window.
A grey rain started to beat down in sheets now, probably washing away the drippings from a groomsman’s nosebleed or two. In the middle of an early March downpour, I shed the memory of my afternoon and the entire identity of Sheldon Grady, the wedding invitee whom no one ever met… and whom no one would ever meet again.
I removed my wig, the colored contacts, in the back of our speeding Jag with the knowledge that I now had Townsend senior’s favor in my back pocket.
And that was worth more than my red wig’s weight in gold.
I leaned in closer to my phone, holding back a hiss.
“Now that that’s taken care of…” I felt excitement tug at my tongue. “Do you have my package?”
The elder Townsend stuttered. For the first time since I’d ever spoken to him… his booming voice lost a bit of that boom.
He started speaking fast.
“W-well, I… we’re handling it.”
“‘Handling it’ meaning you have it, yes?”
A little less boom. “Not exactly…”
I thought I might crush the phone. “Not exactly? You mean to tell me…”
“We know where it is. We just haven’t…. retrieved it yet. You have to understand…”
I cut the floundering fucker off. Townsend or not, my clients made good on their promises.
Or all bets were off.
“I understand, Townsend. I should have never sent an amateur to do a pro’s job. Expect another call. Soon. And Townsend?” I paused, thinking. “You fucking owe me.”
“I know. I just…”
I cut his call off by throwing the phone out the window. Didn’t matter. I had a million just like it.
I leaned in behind Grimm. He spoke before I even could.
“My turn, boss?” His voice held little excitement.
“Your turn, Grimm.” I knew he was more hyped than he portrayed. This was his bread-and-butter. Grimm would deliver. If it killed him…
“I’ll find the package for you…” he muttered.
I reclined in my seat, letting what little liquor was left in my system soothe me. I nodded.
“I know you will.”