Page 113 of Female Fantasy
The receding hairline.
And the…surprisingly youthful face? Like, this guy moisturizes. I want to know about his skin care routine. He looks way too young to be the notorious Harry “the Hug” Lester.
“I’m sorry,” I say. “Who are you supposed to be?”
The man bristles. “They call me Little Lester, or the Shrug. I’m Harry’s nephew.”
“Nephew?” I wrinkle my nose. “Harry didn’t want to come himself?”
He lets out a loud, exasperated sigh. “You don’t think the head of a crime syndicate does this kind of dirty work, do you? Give me a break. The Hug’s at the spa.”
Of course this juvenile in need of a toupee is waving a gun in my face while the real villain is getting a cucumber facial.
“Do they really call you the Shrug?” I ask.
The mobster grins. “Where’s my shrug at?”
“Is that supposed to be, like, half a hug?”
“Enough with the questions,” he snaps. Guess I hit a nerve? “They’re just nicknames. My real name’s M.C.”
If that’s short for Marrion Chad, I’m literally going to kill myself.
I stare at him. When I don’t move, he pulls me against his chest with a touch too much force. There’s a threat in that embrace. He pats my back, his hand wandering for a disrespectful moment. Then he pulls back and winks.
“Pleased to make your acquaintance.”
Beware the goat dressed as a lamb.Where have I heard that phrase before?
“We all work the same circuit,” the Shrug continues, gesturing to Thomas and Clarisse. “Last year, we met while running a long con on the coast. Now I send them to retrieve items that belong to me and have a habit of running away. Your friend Nicholas is one of them. And from what I’ve heard, you have something valuable of ours as well. Luckily, I’ve got eyes and ears all over this city. So this meeting was somewhat inevitable, wouldn’t ya say?”
Clarisse holds up our phones between two fingers. “Plus, once we charged your phones, this number kept calling. Of course we wrote it down and gave it a ring from a burner. Super sweet, your mother is. Big talker, too. A bit gullible, though. We’ve been staking out the neighborhood ever since. Figured you’d show up eventually.”
They must have claimed they’d found something of his and offered to return it out of the kindness of their hearts, like the good Samaritans they are. Why wouldn’t she share her address? Especially since we conveniently forgot to tell her that we’re on the run from the literal Mob.
Um. Oops?
“I’ll cut right to the chase,” Thomas says. “You two are coming with us. One of you stole something from us, and it made, uh, a very important person unhappy.”
The ledger Nico took.
The one we accidentally-on-purpose never turned in to the police.
The one that’s now hidden in my purse.
And now this trio of freaks has us surrounded.
Thomas is on our right.
Clarisse covers our left.
M.C. “the Shrug” Lester stands in front of us.
We are a little too far away from Nico’s mother’s apartment for her to hear us scream. All around us, locals pass by, unbothered by the spectacle. Minding their own business. Fucking New Yorkers.
For all intents and purposes, we are trapped.
It’s Nico who speaks first, his voice clear and curt. “I have what you’re looking for. Let her go, and I’ll consider giving it to you.”
