“A girl doesn’t always want to feel safe, Mick Trubble.” The thing she had been working with turned out to be a little digital music player. It was hooked up to some small speakers that probably weren’t at their best, quality wise. Still, some vintage mambo flowed out and swelled around us in the room. It was fitting in a way. Vintage music doesn’t sound the same coming from some sterile digital recording. The ancient speakers warbled the sound a bit, gave it that grit, that flavor that you find in live sessions and hazy clip joints.
Natasha stepped up and slipped her arms around my neck. “Dance with me.” Her eyes glowed like dark moons and her lips were parted in a way that almost begged for kissing. “Pa teaches me how sometimes, but I’ve never danced with anyone else before.”
I didn’t have the will to fight her. Natasha was a rose blooming in winter — something you don’t expect to see, and when you see it you wanna stay in the moment. The room was cramped with all the collectibles, but we made the most of what space we had. I’m pretty light on my feet and can step when I got a mind to. Natasha laughed as I guided her, and she was a fast learner. It wasn’t long until her body moved in time with mine. Her laughter faded and gathered in her eyes as she held my gaze with determined intensity. Our bodies pressed together; I could feel her rounded softness through the cheap fabric of her dress.
It was no surprise at all when we kissed.
Her lips met mine with the flighty rawness of an intimate amateur; quick pecks of butterfly softness across my face and mouth. I gently caught her by the chin and smiled.
“Not so fast, darling. Some things are better when you slow down. Let me show you.”
Once again, she learned fast. The taste of her was like the taste of summer. Heat rose in the room as my hands moved on their own accord to places that they knew would make her mine. She gasped and clutched tightly to me as tiny tremors rippled across her skin. Her blouse had somehow slipped off of one shoulder, exposing her sheer black brassiere and a pulse-pounding view of creamy cleavage…
Then something real strange happened. My brain broke in and reclaimed control, shattering the mood into tiny, delicate slivers of shivery regret.
I pulled back. “Natasha, I can’t…”
“It’s ok, Mick Trubble…” Her hands clutched my shirt, and the look on her face tested all of my manly resolve to not pick up where we left off.
“It’s all right. This is what I want…”
“It’s what you think you want.” I took another step back, surprised that I was trembling from the sudden halt of adrenaline-fueled lust. “But what you really want I can’t give you. And if I went ahead with this, I’d just be taking advantage of you. I’d be no better than Stix. Worse, in fact. Because you and your folks have been good to me.”
Natasha didn’t answer. Her eyes widened as she stared past me. From the guilty flush that heated her face, I already knew what I’d see when I turned around.
Mr. Luzzatti stood in the doorway, looking as stern as I’d ever seen him. His voice was strained when he spoke.
“A word with you if you please, Mr. Trubble.”
Chapter 3: Trubble With Luzzatti
“My daughter has grown into a woman. Her mother does not want to admit it. I pretend that I do not notice. But it is not a problem that will go away. She has questions. Curiosities. And… feelings. About love. About…” Luzzatti coughed into his hand. “Other things.”
We were on the balcony, where we often lounged after dinner or when he wanted to engage in a little man talk. Streams of water fell from the overhanging balcony, obscuring the view of the surrounding Flats and Downtown beyond. The floaters that whizzed by were just distorted flecks of light as they passed. It rained all the time in New Haven. It was like the mugs in Environmental knew that the place would ignite if it wasn’t constantly hosed down.
“Listen Mr. Luzzatti, I don’t know what you think you saw in there…”
He raised a hand. “I saw enough. Enough to know that my daughter has outgrown the nest that we have tried to keep her confined in. I heard what you said to Natasha, Mr. Trubble. Most men wouldn’t have bothered.”
I took a drag from my gasper. Luzzatti had those expensive smokes, the ones that pleasantly fog your mind with every inhalation. I exhaled wispy phantoms into the rain.
“Let’s not get me confused with a decent sort of mug, Luzzatti. I ain’t the type and you know it.”
Luzzatti’s eyes crinkled when he smiled. “You’ve always shot straight with me, Mr. Trubble. Despite your rather dismal view of your self-worth, you have a sense of honor about you that’s not found easily around here. You’ve earned the trust of my family, no small thing.”
“You don’t know about me. You don’t know the things I’ve done.”
Luzzatti sighed as he puffed on his cigar. “I can’t say that I don’t think you have a history, Mr. Trubble. All I have to do is look in your eyes and see dark places. But what you don’t seem to realize is that unlike many men, you appear to be able to control that darkness. Tell me, what is in your past that prevents you from settling into a normal life?”
“I wish I could tell you, Mr. Luzzatti. But I don’t even know what’s in my past.”
That gave him pause. “Excuse me?”
I didn’t talk about my personal life to anyone. But Luzzatti was different. He deserved to know the truth. I owed him that much.
“A few months back I washed up on the bank of the West River. There was an explosion, fire everywhere. I guess someone thought to make fish food outta me. I survived, but I can’t remember what happened, or much of anything besides my name and what it is that I do.”
“So when you showed up here, you had partial amnesia?”
“Yeah, and nothing much has changed. I’d like to have a normal life, sure. Maybe even settle down with someone special.” I didn’t say Natasha’s name, but it so obvious who I meant that she might as well have stepped outside with us.
I flicked my gasper stub into the rain. “But somebody out there went through a lot of trouble to fit me for a New Haven trench coat. And it’s only a matter of time before that someone recognizes me and tries to finish the job.”
“I see.”
We smoked in silence. The sound of the rain was background music, sad and yet soothing at the same time.
Luzzatti blew a casual smoke ring across the air. “There’s something you may not be taking into account, Mr. Trubble.”
“Yeah? What would that be?”
“There might not be anyone looking for you at all. Explosions do a lot of damage. Maybe the person who was trying to kill you is dead. Maybe you’re a free man.”
“I wouldn’t bet two dibs on that score, Luzzatti. Not in this town. The odds are stacked, in the casinos and on the streets. I gotta be ready at all times just in case some Nimrod wants to punch my number.”
Luzzatti poured some bourbon in a pair of glasses and handed one to me. “Hell of way to live, waiting for an axe to drop that might not ever fall. You’ve been here a while, Mr. Trubble. I’ve seen a lot of men like you. Drifters, looking for something they can’t find. They come and then they’re gone. But you… something seems to be holding you here.”
I sipped and enjoyed the smoky, potent flavor. “You want me to just come out and say it? Yeah, I like it here. I’m comfortable. And yeah, I’m… fond of Natasha. Sure. But I don’t want to be any cause for trouble. I’d hate to bring something into your lives that would cause any of you harm. Maybe it’s best that I pull stakes while things are still on the square.”
Luzzatti seemed to smile under his thick mustache. It’s hard to tell with mustaches, which is probably why a lot of mugs grow ‘em. “Is that what you think I want, Mr. Trubble? For you to dust out and leave my daughter alone?”