Kristmas Collins by Derek Ciccone Read Free Book Online

dragged us up the stairs. I looked back, noticing that the professor had slipped out, undetected.
    We were ushered into Justin Duma’s office. Our presence interrupted a meeting between him and the woman who runs the day-to-day operations of the club, his mother. Also present was a former feature dancer at the club who went by the name Wintry Mix. She was now in charge of the dancers. She also happened to be Duma’s longtime girlfriend and the mother of his two sons.
    The minute they left the room, the smile vanished from Duma’s face. “I told you two to do some window shopping, not throw a rock through the damn window,” he barked.
    I tried to explain that it wasn’t our fault, but he cut me off with the raise of his large hand. “That’s the problem with you two—trouble always seems to find you.”
    When he finally allowed me to speak, I got down to business, providing him all the information he’d need to complete his role, including detailed information on all the former Kerstman employees. The office was one of the few places I felt secure to talk these days without feeling the need to hire an exterminator to remove the listening bugs.
    When I finished, Duma instructed Zee to wait outside. He then voiced his concerns, “Zee’s a good dude, but a black cloud follows him. And I don’t like Candi being involved … how many times are you going to let her eff up your life before you learn your lesson? If I’m going to put myself on the line for you, I can’t have you thinking with your dick.”
    I attempted to explain that wasn’t what was going on here, but the hand went up again. “And when it comes to Zee, you’re thinking with your heart, which might be worse.”
    Duma’s motivation was clear from the beginning—this was solely about business, and he saw Zee’s unreliability as a threat to his bottom line. I respected it, but didn’t agree.
    When he finished lecturing, I did what I’ve always done—I served as the mouthpiece for Zee Thomas, and defended him to a skeptical jury. If I was going down, I was going down with the last person left on the planet that I completely trusted.
     
     
     

Chapter 8
     
    Zee and I walked south on Broadway until we reached 42nd Street. We hung a left, and continued on foot until we arrived at Bryant Park, where we waited by the skating pond for Sophie. To avoid any scrutiny, she would always leave through a different entrance, twenty minutes after Zee exited the club, and they would meet up here. To keep their relationship under wraps, I might also suggest avoiding public wrestling matches.
    Sophie arrived on schedule, having gone from no clothing to now being dressed like an Eskimo. Her cheery demeanor had also returned, and she apologized profusely for her out-of-character behavior. “Look who’s the one in love now,” I whispered to her. Two could play that game.
    It seemed as if we’d escaped unnoticed, but as we attempted to hail a cab on Sixth Avenue, a flashbulb grabbed my attention. Zee noticed it too, and turned toward the source. When he did, the grinning photographer called out, “Are you sure you don’t want that dance, ZT?”
    Zee and I usually had our paparazzi antennas up, so I was immediately kicking myself for not pegging the woman in the club as a plant.
    She took a couple more shots, seemingly enjoying the cat and mouse game. “Say cheese, ZT,” she yelled out, her attention then shifting to Sophie. “I thought Duma’s didn’t allow its whores to go home with the clients? Maybe I should send them a few of these shots, Blondie.”
    When another flash went off, Zee looked ready to pounce. I tried to position myself in front of him, hoping to stave off another altercation. But Sophie had beaten me to it. It seemed that he had a new protector.
    Another voice rang out. I looked to see Zee’s other fan from the club, Paulie. He now wore a trench coat, with a winter cap pulled over his thick helmet of hair. It looked like we were right