Page 2 of Cold Hard Cash

“What?”

“How much do you know about Boss Cold?”

“Not much.” Jimmy wiped his eyes with the heel of his hand. “Uh, he was a captain in the Luchesi family, that’s when he got the nickname Cold. Then he broke off and started his own gang, ran the Luchesis all off, took over.”

“And?”

“I haven’t exactly looked him up on Wikipedia, Maury,” Jimmy mumbled.

“He’s gay,” Maury whispered in a hushed tone, glancing around as if someone actually might be listening to their conversation. He looked triumphant, like somehow this revelation solved the problem.

“So?” Jimmy held out his hands, not making the connection.

“So you’re one of them multisexuals, right?”

Jimmy flushed. “Y-yeah, I’m bisexual. Still not understanding what any of this has to do with me owing Boss Cold an absurd amount of money.”

Maury came over and sat down next to Jimmy, the sofa squeaking in complaint from the added weight. “There’s a rumor, okay, that Cold will let people work off their debt,” he said excitedly. “You get me?”

Jimmy stared, his brows furrowed in confusion.

“You work it off by gettin’ him off, okay?”

“Oh God! No!” Jimmy was instantly aghast. What Maury suggested was prostitution. He felt dirty all over even thinking about it. “I-I can’t do that!”

“Kid, you’re real pretty, and right now that’s the only fuckin’ thing you got goin’ for you. When Cold’s people come lookin’ for their money, I gotta know what to tell them.”

“You tell them, you tell them to give me more time!” Jimmy pleaded, reaching for Maury’s hands. “Please, Maury. I can’t, I can’t whore myself out like that. Crap, I just… I can’t do it.”

“Kid, this is probably your only chance,” Maury insisted, patting Jimmy’s hand. “I’ve known your family a long time. Your old man used to fix up my kids whenever they had a runny nose or a fever, wouldn’t take a dime. Your mom was always a fuckin’ saint to me. That’s why when you came to me for help, I helped, but—”

“Then help me now!” Jimmy cried, frantic and angry.

“I fuckin’ can’t help you no more,” Maury snapped in frustration. “This is gonna end one of two ways, kid. Either on your back in Cold’s bed or on your back in your fuckin’ coffin.” He stood up, brushing away Jimmy’s hands. “You pick.”

Eighty-six dollars and nineteen cents.

Jimmy kept counting it out in his head, sniffing softly. “I don’t know, I just… I don’t know what to do.”

Maury clapped a comforting hand on Jimmy’s shoulder, and his long mouth twisted up into a smile. “Hey, look. I’ll… I’ll try talkin’ to ’em. Maybe I’ll tells ’em you’ve gone all mentally irregular and can’t pay or somethin’.”

“Thanks,” Jimmy mumbled, laughing half-heartedly. “I appreciate that.”

“Keep your fuckin’ thirty bucks and go get a good meal,” Maury suggested. “I’ll come see you if I hears anythin’.”

“Thanks, Maury.” Jimmy got to his feet and pulled Maury into a tight hug.

“Take care of yourself, kiddo.” Maury sighed, slapped Jimmy’s back, and affectionately patted his cheek as they parted. “I’ll sees ya ’round.”

Jimmy bid farewell and started back home, his head hanging low. Maybe he’d treat himself to pizza, something good for his last meal since Boss Cold was probably going to murder him soon. He laughed miserably to himself. This day had gone from bad to worse to an absolute nightmare in only a few hours.

He tried to stay optimistic.

After all, nothing else could possibly happen, right?

Fumbling for his keys as he walked down his hall, he soon realized he didn’t need them. His front door stood open, stopping him in his tracks, his pulse thumping in his ears.

Crap.