Of course, that's basically what I was now, right? A fucking hang-around. A nobody.
I felt a pang of nostalgia, standing there, surrounded by the type of people I used to know. I wasn't sure if I liked the feeling.
"Fucking A, man," Ants yelled from across the lot when he saw me. "I never thought I'd see you again."
I couldn't help but grin. Ants used to be one of my favorite people, back in the days when we'd do runs down here. He was a fucking trip- always made me laugh. Couldn't sit still for a fucking second, hence the nickname- short for "ants in the pants." The only time he stopped was when he was dead drunk and passed out. Did the stupidest fucking things in the world, with no sense for self-preservation. So he was always good for a laugh.
"Ants," I said. "Good to see you, man."
"You out of retirement?" he asked, bringing a cup of something to his lips. His cheeks were ruddy, red, and I could tell he was already hosed.
I shook my head. "Just came for the entertainment."
"Fuck yeah, you did," he said. "We got some fucking entertainment tonight too. This goddamn stripper, an Asian girl."
I laughed. "What's so goddamn special about a stripper?" We were in Vegas. Seeing tits wasn't exactly an unusual occurrence.
"Shit. Hammer," he said, gulping from his cup. "That's what they call you now, you know."
Skunk interrupted. "Ants, shut the fuck up."
"No disrespect, man," Ants said.
"It's fine," I said. "Hammer is good. Better than Meat Pipes."
Pipes grinned. "Just got to be careful with you and the sledgehammers."
"Don't fucking piss me off," I said, grinning, the tension gone now. "So anyway," I said. "What's so special about this goddamn stripper?"
Skunk groaned. "This is all I've been hearing about from this shithead all week," he said. "This stripper is legendary before she even fucking gets here. She's going to show up and be ugly and old, man, tits sagging down to her fucking belly. I keep telling you."
"The prospect has an in with this," Ants said. "This isn't a regular strip show."
“Okay,” I said, looking at the others, who all seemed to be in on some kind of inside joke I wasn’t getting.
“This chick shoots stuff out of her twat,” Tater said.
“Fuck.” I grimaced. “What the fuck is she shooting out of there? Crabs?”
“Ping pong balls and stuff,” Ants said. “They fucking do that shit in Asia somewhere.”
“In Thailand,” Pipes said.
“How the hell do you know about that?”
“I’m fucking cultured, man,” Pipes said. “Shit, I’ve seen it on the internet. What the hell do you think?”
“Wherever the fuck,” Ants said. “Ping pong balls. Out of her twat.”
“That’s...awesome,” I said. I looked at Skunk and he grinned. Okay, so there was a part of me that missed this life.
Ping pong balls and all.
Skunk slapped my back. "Hammer didn't come for the fucking stripper, you shitheads," he said. "He came because he wants to fight. Got him a fucking fight next weekend. So which one of you assholes is going to practice with him, make sure he's ready?"
ONE WEEK LATER
"What is this place?" Aston and I walked toward a warehouse of some sort. Cars lined the parking lot, many foreign and expensive, the kinds of cars you'd see in Beverly Hills, not in a dirt lot in the middle of the desert.
I didn't know where the hell we were, or what the hell we were doing here, and those things made me nervous. Aston taking me out into the desert made me nervous. The only thing that consoled me was that he had so many opportunities already to kill me. If he really wanted to, he would have done so by now.
"It's a little side venture I've got going on," Aston said. "You'll see. You'll be impressed."
I forced a smile. "I have no doubt, Aston," I said. "I'm always impressed with your business acumen."
He laughed, the sound mirthless. "For a whore, you use a lot of big words."
He'd taken something earlier, I could tell. He was unpredictable normally, but when he was high, it was much worse. It seemed to bring out the wild part of him, the sadistic part.
He was right, of course. I was a whore, bought with my son's life.
I hadn't seen him since last week, when I'd been walking through the casino and that man had run into me, the man who put his hands on me, who held me for a moment too long. Aston had seen it, and swore he was someone I knew. Someone I had to be sleeping with.
He’d dragged me up to the penthouse at the hotel, paced back and forth, a frenzy of meaningless activity, his movements erratic. He grabbed me by both arms, slammed my back up against the wall, the back of my head throbbing immediately where I made impact.
Afterward, he'd whispered into my ear, stroked my neck where he'd gripped me with his fingers, so tightly it had left imprints, welts on my skin that matched the fading bruises on my arms. "Forgive me, Meia," he said. "It was more than I intended."