MATTHIAS
e have everything,” Dmitrik says, opening the folder and spreading the contents over my desk.
“W
My eyes scan the scattered papers and pictures on the table. It makes me sick just looking
at it. But that’s exactly how I should feel. Only a heartless fucker could do these things and walk around like he doesn’t give a shit.
“You ready to go tonight?” I ask. I want this done as soon as possible.
“You know I am.” Dmitrik’s face is a picture of disgust. He wants to take this asshole down as much as I do.
I nod. It’s now or never. “Okay. Pick me up at ten. That should give us enough time.” **
We sit in the dark of Patrick’s living room for almost an hour before we hear muffled chatter outside the apartment door.
Keys drop and someone giggles. Probably not Patrick. There’s some fumbling, and then the door flies open. He had a harder time getting into his own apartment than we did.
Being cocky, and probably cheap as fuck, he has the barest of security systems. Getting past the lobby was even easier. When you have a recognizable face, you can convince anyone that you’re meant to be there.
And now we wait.
I let him stumble around for a little after the lights don’t turn on as they should when they reach the living room.
“Stupid fucking light,” he grumbles. “Oh well, who needs light?”
“Works for me,” the female voice says. Not half as drunk as he sounds. She’s either being paid to be here, or she’s going to be leaving with some things that he didn’t know he was giving away.
I wait until they fall onto the couch, and fumble around for a minute before I flick the light on.
“What the fuck?” he shouts, covering his eyes instead of bothering with his unzipped pants.
“Hello Patrick.”
He scrambles to his feet when he realizes it’s me, snuffling like a warthog, his eyes already filling with fear. “What the fuck are you doing in my apartment?”
I smile, cold and thin. “You know what, I get asked that a lot. I must keep showing up where I’m not wanted. You must know what that’s like, not being wanted.”
The woman gets to her feet, watching the scene play out with a look of amusement on her face.
“Right, miss?” I say to her.
And she just shrugs. “I don’t know him that well.”
I pick a photograph off the pile sitting in front of me on the coffee table and slide it across to her. It’s a picture of Clarissa’s bruised temple. I can’t look at it for too long if I don’t want to end this whole thing too fast by pushing him off his balcony. “If you don’t want to end up with one of those, I suggest you get out of here while you can.”
She pales, probably wondering what might have happened to her tonight. And that’s just it. He looks harmless. Those are always the worst ones.
“I… I’m just working,” she admits.
“I know. It’s okay. You’re not doing anything wrong.” I cock my head and Dmitrik steps out of the shadows. “Can you help the lady and make sure she didn’t waste her time here? And get Kevin to take her where she needs to go.”
He grunts and leads her out of the room, his hand on her elbow.
Patrick stands, legs awkwardly spread, trying to stop his pants from dropping to his knees, shirt half unbuttoned, eyes glazed. With a wipe of his hand, he smears the lipstick on his mouth. Marks of the punches I’d gifted him have almost fully faded.
A picture of a mess of a loser.
“You’re a fucking piece of work,” I hiss and then spit on the ground by my feet, trying to get the disgust out of my mouth.
“Get out of my house,” he says. But there’s not conviction. Every time it’s been just him and me, he’s always come out the loser. Maybe he should’ve thought of that before he not only hurt Clarissa but countless other women as well.
“I will. I wouldn’t be caught dead in this dump,” I say, looking around with a sneer. “Too bad we won’t be able to say the same thing about you.”
I place a hand on the top picture on the pile of pictures and fan them all out over the length of his table.
I start listing off names. “Lindsay McIntyre. Janet Seabra. Melanie Anson. Michelle Powers…” With each name, he pales a little more.
I stop, lifting my foot up onto the coffee table between us so he can see my steel capped boots. “Would you like me to continue?” I don’t even need to glance at the list, I’d made a point to remember every woman on that list.
The Adam’s apple in his throat bobs. “How do you know those names?”
“You know something, Patrick?” I stand up, grabbing the gaudy paperweight on the table, and weighing it in my hand. “Do you know the difference between having a fifteen-million-dollar inheritance, which I’m sure you’ve pissed away on hookers and alcohol that you don’t even know how to enjoy, and having fifteen billion?”
He swallows and takes a step back, eyes locked on the paperweight.
I tap the paperweight on the table, showing him how solid it is. “Do you know what ‘fuck you’ money is?”
A head shake. “No.”
“Well, it could mean all sorts of things, it could mean you can buy and sell people, it can mean you can put a price on someone’s head and if you pay it, everyone will look the other way, and you can do whatever you want with that person.”
I round him, stepping in so close I’m sure he can smell my cologne, and I can smell the days-old undershirt he’s wearing. “You don’t have ‘fuck you money,’ do you, Patrick? You have what you think is ‘fuck you money.’ There’s a difference. Like the amount you paid all these women is laughable. You hurt them, and then you took advantage of them again. Do you know what that creates? People who hate you with a passion and want to see you dead.” I stand behind him, nudging his foot with mine. “But that’s what you do, isn’t it? Prey on the weak, the needy. It’s what you thought Clarissa was, didn’t you? She was beautiful, came from a good family, a family you thought you were going to be able to associate with. She needed a green card, and you made sure she needed you for that.”