Page 18 of Stabby Little

“Let me see your ID.” The bartender places two palms on the counter. “You don't look old enough to drink.”

I tug my stolen ID out of my wallet and set it on the counter. “I turned twenty-one earlier this year.”

The bartender glances at Kobe's identification card and then tugs a beer out of the fridge. He pops the cap off and hands it to me.

“How much is it?” I ask.

“$5.50. Although if I were you, I'd swing by that table in the back.” He points to a dimly lit table occupied by three men. “If you play your cards right, those men will pay for your drinks.”

I follow the bartender's finger and turn to the group of men. A dim light shines over their heads, bathing them in a husky darkness. They hold cards in their hands, taking sips of drinks as they pull poker chips from small piles and thrust them in the center of the table.

A stack of notebooks lies to their left, close to a tiny candle with the Virgin Mary on it that burns brightly. I drag my eyes across each of the men and my heart rate picks up when I recognize the one in the center.

Xavier Sanchez.

It's the unruly mustache above his upper lip and dark, beady eyes that give him away.

Last night, I searched through Finn's little black book and found a Xavier Sanchez who lived in the Bronx. I looked him up online and made note of his appearance.

He runs an independent music shop during the day but he visited the warehouse five times before Benedetto and his family and their associates blew it up.

Xavier takes a sip of his drink and lifts his eyes to me. I lick the rim of my beer bottle to draw his attention, then spread my legs, playing the part of a sex worker.

In an instant, Xavier sets his cards down, gets up, and slides into the seat next to me. A musky odor enters my nose as he brushes his forearm against mine.

There's a scar on his forehead.

It slices his skin like the Grand Canyon.

Who the hell gave him this scar?

“What's a boy like you doing here?” Xavier looks me up and down.

I plaster a coquettish smile on my face, then force out a giggle. “I'm sick of the bars near campus. I need an adventure.”

Xavier licks his lower lip. “You know what we do to boys like you here?”

“I heard about this place from my friend.” I bat my eyelashes, fighting the disgust rolling through me. “He said it's where I can meet experienced men.”

Xavier takes my hand in his and rubs my palm, then drags his thumb up my wrist.

“How much do you charge?” Xavier presses his lips to my ear. “Name your fucking price. A young thing like you could fetch a fortune.”

“Four hundred dollars. I need to buy textbooks this semester.”

“Follow me to the bathroom.”

* * *

I take Xavier's hand and follow him to the bathroom. He takes quick steps, muscling the dingy door open and ushering me inside.

Dim lights flicker from the dirty ceiling. They bathe the bathroom in yellow ocher. Shards of glass sit next to the urinals, no doubt the remains of a smashed beer bottle someone forgot to clean. The smell of sanitizing solution enters my nose as a fly buzzes around my left ear.

I turn to Xavier and press him against the wall. Running my right hand down his pudgy stomach, I nestle it between his thighs and grip his cock.

“So big, Daddy.”

“Fucking tease.” Xavier licks his lower lip. “You know I could just take you if I wanted to.”

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