A HUGE THANK YOU to @dashinslashin and @voorheehees for letting me take their boys out for ice cream. We had fun.
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“God, don’t you have any clothes that aren’t made out of Steel Wool?”
Niko didn’t turn to look at his houseguest, only offering a brief grunt as he worked to build up the fire in the small cottages wood stove - hoping; but not really expecting that the added heat might make the other man shut up for just a little while.
The small chest Niko kept his clothes in was closed with an audible slam and a huff.
Jonas wandered back towards the fireplace - plucking at the sleeves of Nikos favorite sweater that nearly covered the man’s slim hands.
His lip curled in annoyance as the cuff caught on one of his ostentatious rings, pulling a small string of wool loose from the thick knit.
“I feel like I’m wearing a cheese grater…”
A brief glance at the other man’s expression told Niko all he needed to know about how this week (please, God, just a week) was going to go.
“Too big.”
Jonas snorted, tapping one of his leather loafers derisively against a wicker stool Niko had placed in front of the fire.
“No shit Sherlock. Not all of us are built like fuckin’ Nordic tanks. Couldn’t you at least have sprung for cashmere?”
Not bothering to wait for a reply, Jonas walked through to Niko’s small kitchen, skirting around Pyry as the canine stretched his head out to sniff at the strange man.
“No! Bad dog - go away.”
Niko whistled, drawing Pyry away from his investigation of Jonas.
The pup happily trotted over to his person, plopping down on a quilt next to the stove; panting loudly as Niko ruffled the dog’s ears.
“Where are your smokes, Niko?”
Jonas began opening Nikos cabinets, ostensibly in search of Niko’s cigarette stash.
Three doors full of mismatched china and oil lamps in before Jonas was startled by a clattering tin landing soundly against the small counter next to him.
“You roll?”
Jonas looked over at Niko in surprise.
The other man nodded briefly as Jonas inspected his battered tabaco tin.
“Surprisingly classy… but I think it’s time for a new case.”
Niko stood, dusting his hands of any loose wood on his pants.
“Still works.”
A snort left the smaller man as he made a show of untying the string Niko used to keep the tin together after the latch had broken off.
“Whatever you say, pal.”
Practiced hands made quick work of rolling and sealing two cigarettes, the second of which Jonas offered to Niko.
A monogrammed gold lighter was pulled from Jonas’s pocket and after lighting his cig he offered the lighter to Niko.
“So, I’m thinking a week or two tops and Tiny should be over that little tussle with his boys in the casino.”
Jonas inhaled deeply, squinting blankly into thin air as he contemplated the situation that had brought him to Niko’s door in the first place.
“Gangsters, am I right? Wasn’t even my guys he was having it out with and still I’m the one in trouble. Where’s the respect?”
Niko surprised himself by answering.
“Not your gang, they won’t respect you.”
Jonas looked surprised as well by Niko’s uncharacteristic comment.
“Oh yeah… you do have some experience with that don’tcha?”
One of Niko’s broad shoulders rose and fell in non-committal agreement.
Pushing one too-long sleeve up to his elbow, Jonas checked his watch.
“Nearly midnight - got anything fun to do around here? Pretty girls? Drugs? Anything not fish-related?”
Niko hummed as he inhaled from his own cigarette, flicking the ash into the sink before answering.
“A bar on the pier; that’s all.”
Jonas groaned exaggeratedly.
“Dammit, I’m already bored. What do you expect me to do, read?”
Niko’s lip twitch slightly.
“Could help on the boat.”
“Fuck you! I’m not going home smelling like a whore’s pussy!”
Briefly chuckling, Niko watched as Jonas pouted.
“You think I smell like whore pussy?”
“Yes.” Jonas snapped. “And so does your house.”
Niko smiled blandly at his scowling guest before glancing behind them to his small kitchen window.
“Starting to snow.”
“If my dick falls off from the cold, I’m suing you.”
Ignoring Jonas, Niko stepped over to his coat, pulling his icepicks from the pocket and inspecting the sharp tools before returning them to their place in the yellow plastic.
He began pulling on his boots before Jonas joined him by the door.
“What are you doing?”
Niko didn’t spare him a glance.
“The bar, then check the boat.”
“And you need your little pokers to do that?”
“Mhm.”
Jonas glanced from the small stove and it’s minimal but efficient warmth to Niko, who was finishing lacing his thick work boots, and back.
He narrowed his eyes at the blonde.
“You gonna do anything else besides check the boat?”
Niko shrugged.
Jonas groaned, sounding completely put-upon.
“Fine, I’ll come. But I want first stab if we find someone to make into fish food.”
“Fish f-?”
Jonas slung his fur-lined coat over his shoulders as he rolled his eyes.
“It’s an expression Niko, just an expression.”
Nodding succinctly, Niko whistled for Pyry once more; opening the door and letting the dog bound out into the winter evening.
Jonas followed, tucking a scarf tightly into his coat.
Niko turned down the small lamp, letting the room slip into a shadowy slumber - black except for the faint glow of the wood stove, and closed the door.
The footsteps of the men faded into the night as the flakes of white fell silently around them.
The neon lights of the city looked almost muted behind the tinted windows. Red, green, gold, and pink letters spelled ‘Poker’, ‘Lobster Dinner’, ‘Live Nudes’, ‘Dead Nudes’, ‘Girls Girls Girls’. It was beautiful. Jonas watched the lively strip from his top floor suite, like a king watching over his peasants. The view from the top of The Talisman Hotel & Casino could not be beat, depending on who you asked of course. Jonas kept one hand was clasped around a glass of scotch, the other tucked casually into his white pants pocket. He looked like a cliche pornstar, washed up, sleazy, but a decent enough frame to rake in a few bucks. His brown hair was forced back by a thick layer of gel, exposing a pale face with cold, blue eyes. If it wasn’t for the expensive suit and solid gold chain around his neck, one might assume he was nothing more than a busted used car salesman. But busted as he may have been, Jonas Deihl was no cheap bastard. The Talisman Hotel & Casino had been in his family for generations, passed down from father to son. Old, old money. And despite his reckless casanova reputation, Jonas was no fool when it came to running the family business. The Talisman was known for its luxury and top-of-the-line services, attracting all customers from celebrities to billionaires to wasted bachelorettes. It was a sinner’s eutopia. And most everyone knew the devil that ran it. Although the general opinion of Mr. Deihl was that he seemed like a bit of a sociopath, reeked of overpriced cologne, and overall came off as quite off at times, people could in no way deny his sickening charm or the thick wad of cash he kept generously in his breast pocket. And Jonas devoured the attention. It was a rare feat to see him roaming the bar or lobby without a model or drag queen or two wrapped around his arm, and a signature devious smile plastered on his face. He was like the poor man’s Hugh Hefner.
The shrill sound of a meow which could only be compared to the sound of a slow, painful death suddenly tore Jonas’ attention away from the Las Vegas cityscape. He turned to see a tortoiseshell cat sitting perched on the glass coffee table, her orange eyes glaring daggers directly into her master’s chest.
“What’s the matter Camile?” Jonas cooed, approaching the animal.
“Daddy not giving you enough attention?”
He set his glass down on the table and reached out to scratch Camile’s head. Without warning, she hissed loudly, whipping her paw around to sink a set of sharp claws into his hand. The man yelped as he ripped his hand away, unintentionally making the damage of the scratch worse. Camile seemed pleased with herself at the sight of blood dripping down his bejeweled fingers. Jonas swore under his breath and once again lifted his glass, making sure to take one last, large gulp of the liquid.
“Little bitch.” He grumbled.
The two of them had never particularly gotten along. Yet over time, Jonas had become very attached to Camile, thinking of her more as a baby than a pet, and she liked the free food, catnip, and designer collars. The man pulled a handkerchief from his jacket pocket and pressed it to the wound. It seemed that sharp nails were his only kryptonite. The clear, small but deadly ones of sweet little Camile, and the colorful ones of desperate, panicked fingers attached to soft, trembling hands. He smiled at the thought of them, unconsciously tracing over the pink, fleshy scars on his collarbone. He remembered the woman who had put them there. It was three months ago. Her nails had been green with little gold hearts on each of the ring fingers. They looked cute, different. That’s why he had picked her. He liked the ones that stood out in some way, whether it be their nails, shoes, hair, anything really. He had an eye for unique pieces.
The images of past conquests dancing in his head reminded him of his latest one, whom he had so rudely left alone in the bathroom. He smiled to himself, tossing the bloodied handkerchief onto the coffee table.
He could hear muffled whimpers even before he reached the door handle. The sound was music to his ears, an itch to his groin. He opened the door like it was some game show reveal of his million dollar prize. Yet there was no car or all inclusive trip to Aruba waiting there for him. It was so much better.
The woman on the bathroom floor made the best attempt of a scream at the sight of him, which was unfortunately cloaked by the wash cloth stuffed deep in her mouth. Jonas grinned down at her, slowly removing each of his rings as she scooted her bound body towards the bathtub in a trivial effort to escape. He found it sort of amusing, in a sad kind of way. Her legs had been broken, and it took every fiber of his being to not burst into laughter at the sight of her struggle. She had just moved to the city with hopes of becoming a burlesque star. Jonas had smiled at her wide, eager eyes as she told him her plans at the downstairs bar, all the while mentally howling at how pathetic she was. It was no trouble to get this naive little princess up to his suite.
He slunk towards her before crouching down to her level. She winced as he removed her gag, gasping at the sudden sliver of freedom. Her two front teeth had a large gap, like Pattie Boyd. That’s why he had chosen her.
It was all such an incredible high to him. Better than any drug, liquor, or orgasm could ever give him. The fear in her eyes, the gore of her now useless legs, the thick stench of sweat and adrenaline that filled the windowless room. He got off on the power, the idea that for a short moment in time, he was God. He wiped the mix of tears and mascara from her cheek, hands hot and vile against her cold skin.
“Why’re you crying baby?” his voice attempted to carry out a sweet tone, which only sounded more bitter.
The woman’s lower lip quivered, her eyes frantically trying to avoid his own.
“Please don’t hurt me. Just let me go home.” she choked out.
Jonas smiled and sucked his teeth, seemingly drinking her words up slowly in contemplation. His ego felt swollen, not dissimilar to how the patrons of his casino must have felt when they won a jackpot or when they knew they were about to get lucky.
“Sorry beautiful,” he spoke finally, “I don’t make promises I can’t keep.”
She couldn’t even blink before the man pulled a knife from a holster around his ankle and plunged directly between her still wet eyes. A look of shock and hopelessness remained painted on her face as her body fell onto the tile floor with a thud. Jonas removed the knife and placed it back into the holster. His heart raced, his eyes were wild. It was pure ecstasy and he didn’t want it to end. He slowly rose to his feet, shifting his attention to the sink to wash away the crimson residue. His high was wearing off fast, and the self-loathing and restlessness began to creep back into his mind. He looked into the mirror. His eyes were baggy and dark, pristine white suit now riddled with blood. He looked like shit, to say the least. He splashed cold water onto his face and stripped down, leaving only his chain and weapon on his naked body. A red, silk robe hung on the back of the bathroom door which he slipped into. He felt drained, miserable even, crashing back down to his decrepit existence after such sheer moments of bliss. This was always the worst part of what he did, the aftermath. He plopped down onto the couch with a grunt and propped his feet up next to Camile who hadn’t left her spot on the coffee table. She used his legs as a bridge and climbed over his body to rest on the back of the sofa next to her owner’s sleepy head.
“Are you ready to be nice now?” Jonas asked her in a condescending tone.
She mewed in reply, glendly pawing at his hair. Jonas smiled and scratched her chin, his eyes becoming increasingly heavier. He let them close, already dreaming about his next great high.
