The Nightlife: New York - Chapter 1

Dead on his feet and ready to go home, Aaron Pilan didn’t react when Charlene groped a solid handful of his ass. A long, hard shift of waiting tables had robbed him of his usual tolerance for her grab-ass games. Though he’d refilled Charlene’s merlot too many times, he poured her one last glass of red.

“Is there anything else I can do for you?” He realized too late, his words might be misinterpreted as encouragement.

He definitely didn’t want to mislead her. Sexy and attractive, with that curvy, mother-I’d-like to-fuck allure of older, more sophisticated women, Aaron had his reasons for not getting involved with Charlene. She was a regular customer, and old enough to be … his mother.

Mainly he avoided fraternizing with the regulars out of fear. At any moment, the wrath of Bemichi could descend on him with an epic verbal flogging. Aaron had learned the hard way, hell hath no fury like an Italian restaurant proprietor scorned. Bemichi took great pride in his fine family establishment and he expressly forbade flirting with the clientele. After all, the place carried his namesake, Bemichis Restaurant.

Bemichi was a decent boss, more or less, and the job wasn’t horrible. Aaron enjoyed his work … mostly. Though the interior felt dated from the nineties candle-holders and well-worn burgundy leather seating, families loved slurping down the fabulous Italian pastas without emptying their wallets.

Aaron suspected Charlene patronized the restaurant for the express purpose of fondling him. She never missed an opportunity to go for it, secure in the knowledge he’d grin and bear it. He never complained. Her lacquered nails always found their way around his ass after her third glass of the house merlot. He considered cutting her off, but then, he wasn’t entirely averse to the occasional grope. Definitely not getting any action at home, plus he suspected this cougar could teach him a few valuable lessons in the bedroom. Besides, she always left a hefty tip––a consolation prize for putting his wares at her fingertips.

At this late hour Aaron just wanted to finish his shift––like now. He watched the hands on the clock advance in exaggerated slow motion, mocking him with their lazy movements. Twelve o’clock midnight hit and an instant buzz of anticipation spurred his weary feet into motion. He moved so fast making his escape that he missed the first call on his cell phone from his roommate Kyle. When Kyle called back seconds later, he figured he better answer.

“What’s up? I’m trying to get outta here.” Aaron hit a brisk clip down the sidewalk, away from the restaurant, towards his apartment. Five blocks to go.

“Dude, I’m giving you a heads up.” Kyle spoke over the top of dubstep techno music and background chatter. Aaron could almost make out the telltale snort of Delia’s laughter––often at his expense. “Delia’s here with some friends.”

“Did she say anything about me?” Aaron’s hope flared.

His first serious girlfriend, Delia had turned his world upside down with her flippant words, “I think we should see other people.” This heinous news was followed by a twisting knife in his gut, “But we can still be friends!” It had been a long and humbling week since her merciless breakup ripped his happiness out from under him.

Kyle paused … his silence implied things better left unsaid. “She acts like everything’s totally cool. Honestly, she looks happy to be single.”

Aaron blew out the breath he’d been holding in.

“Don’t worry, there’s loads of fish in the sea.” Kyle’s casual manner didn’t translate. Aaron had never found it simple to catch either fish or women.

Aaron prepared for another pep talk. Kyle had been pushing him all week to broaden his horizons and do exactly as Delia suggested––see other people. He’d told Aaron repeatedly he’d be better off with someone else. Kyle didn’t care much for Delia’s manipulations.

“Look, I know she’s got you tied in knots, but chasing her isn’t the answer. The best way to handle Delia is to hook up with her friends. If that doesn’t drive her batshit crazy, then she doesn’t deserve you.” Sage advice from philosopher Kyle.

“Do you think she told everyone we broke up?” Aaron feared he already knew the answer.

“You mean that she kicked you to the curb? Yeah. That boat has sailed. Ain’t no stopping it. Aaron, make some moves of your own. Time for offense, dude. You remember that chica Delia’s always hanging with, the sexy one with black hair, Amber?”

“Yeah, I think so.”

“She’s here right now, so hurry up. Her tight little ass is ripe. And hey … can you grab some beer on the way home? You know how it is. After a few drinks the pants fall right off.”

Only if you’re Kyle. Aaron had never experienced the good fortune of women’s pants spontaneously falling off. His limited intimate encounters taught him there was considerable effort and occasional begging involved in the removal of women’s clothing.

“I did get some decent tips tonight. How about a twelve pack?” He already knew what Kyle would say, but to ask was habitual, an endless game they played. Kyle never wanted less beer. He always pushed for more, and always had a reason.

“Better make it a case. I think we’re in for an all-nighter.”

“Alright, I’ll get a case … just in case we need a case.” The cheesy punch line ceased being funny months ago, but like most aspects of Aaron’s life, he’d fallen into the groove and couldn’t climb out. He ended the call and picked up his pace, walking faster to get home … to do the same thing he did night after night.

Kyle had called for the beer. The moral support play wasn’t his thing. In fact, Kyle was probably making moves on Amber at that very moment. Aaron didn’t mind. Kyle had a few redeeming qualities worthy of mention. Loyalty, yes, loyalty would be one, that and a never ending supply of optimism. Kyle’s glass was always half full––half full of beer.

From around the corner at the end of the block appeared a glittering, gossamer creature, a heart-stopping specimen of female perfection. All thoughts of Kyle erased from Aaron’s mind as he studied this remarkable woman with eyes of purest green. Her glowing beauty seemed surreal against the grainy darkness and gloom of the concrete-asphalt streets. When she locked her unblinking emerald gaze on him, the universe fell away beneath her scrutiny. Aaron’s world blurred out of focus leaving only this petite blonde-bomb in a sparkling black cocktail dress and fuck me pumps.

Drawn to her sensual gait, her smiling eyes focused on him, Aaron hardly noticed the silver car that drew near her at curbside. He pried his attention away from her and recognized a Crown Victoria unmarked police cruiser by the telltale spotlight on the driver-side mirror.

The woman hesitated, appearing torn between Aaron or the car. She was so far out of his league. Why did she notice him at all?

The men in the car beckoned to her. Her hesitation ended and she turned away to converse with the undercover police. She probably didn’t know they were cops. The man on the passenger side leaned out the window towards her. “Hey, babe, what’s goin’ on tonight?”

Without missing a beat, she offered, “Monsieur would like to party? Un ménage à trois? We can make a party, oui?” She had an intoxicating French accent.

Both cops hopped out of the car and surrounded her with unmistakable threat. Aaron advanced, incapable of walking away from the impending confrontation.

The fat, bulldog-looking cop verbally assaulted her in his Brooklyn accent. “Who you working for? I hope it’s somebody we know. You gotta be paid up with the right people to work this street!”

She frowned. “I don’t work for anyone!” She defied them with her cute little French lilt and Aaron couldn’t help but grin.

The bulldog grabbed her arm. “You’re under arrest!”

The thin and balding taller cop moved in to grab her other arm. They must think she’s a prostitute. How could they mistake her for a whore?

* * * *

She studied the auras of the fools holding her arms. Bold colors of arrogance and a sense of entitlement swirled in their auras. Like so many who came before them, these men craved power over her. Both their auras shifted to dark, nasty colors of misogyny as they pulled her towards the back of their car. Their selfish desires disgusted her, like the fetid stench of decay. They were mired in the taint of police corruption and greed.

These men were a disease upon society, malicious authority figures preying on the weak. Nothing new. She’d been avoiding the sick desires of small-minded pricks for a very long time. She shivered in disgust and loathing, an involuntary reaction to their unpleasant auras.

Glancing at the handsome boy, she contrasted the foul detectives with the purity of spirit in his aura. The young man appeared saintly by comparison, his innocence worthy of canonization.

His infatuation and simplicity called to her.

She wished she’d followed her instincts to ignore the men when they stopped their car. She should have focused on this adorable young man who was so taken with her. As she watched the colors of his aura shift, she perceived his indignant response to the filthy cops man-handling her. A window of opportunity opened up.

* * * *

Aaron burned, outraged at the audacity of the grotesque bulldog of a man assaulting the woman. An involuntary cry tore from his throat. “Hey! Leave her alone! Get your hands off her!” He couldn’t believe these crude assholes would dare lay hands on this vision of perfection speaking in an intoxicating stream of French obscenities.

“T’as une tête à faire soutier les plaques d’égouts!” she blasted Bulldog. Aaron recalled just enough French to know she’d told him his face could blow off manhole covers. “C’est le dernier des hommes.” Something about him being the lowest of men … the scum of the earth.

Never ceasing her tirade of lovely French filth, the blonde struck in a blur. In one swift move, she broke Bulldog’s hold on her arm and clawed his face. A trail of bloody slash marks opened across his left cheek. Then she snapped back in a pivot and smashed her fist through the taller cop’s nose with a gratifying crunch. His head flopped backwards and a splat of blood flew through the air. She pivoted again to face Bulldog, a Taser in hand. She had snatched the weapon from the cop after breaking his nose.

The violence unfolded before Aaron like an action film––unnaturally fast, yet powerful and captivating. The woman moved in a blur. By comparison to her whip-like actions, the police crept along in slow motion. Aaron’s jaw dropped in awe, he could hardly accept these bizarre events for reality. The shimmery, cocktail-dressed wonder woman fired her stolen Taser into the Bulldog, preventing him from shooting her with his drawn pistol.

Aaron’s dream state shattered along with his unremarkable life when the Taser electric shock jerked Bulldog’s gun hand as his 9mm pistol aligned with Aaron. A sharp crack of gunfire blasted a slug through Aaron’s chest. The jarring impact sent him staggering to the ground.

Pain came seconds later. A wave of heart-arresting agony crashed over him in an all-consuming, overpowering rush. Nothing existed beyond the searing burn of his chest torn to shreds. Sucked into the undertow of mind-crushing pain, he welcomed the dark of unconsciousness.

* * * *

Smack, smack, smack. A cool, soft palm hit Aaron’s face three times. He opened his eyes to a glorious beauty. A halo of light shimmered around her tousled, golden curls like the corona encircling the sun. She had the most succulent puffy lips and a benevolent shine of concern and compassion.

“Are you an angel?”

His lovely seraph watched him with eyes full of sympathy. She shook her head. “Have care who you trust. Le diable était une fois un ange.” Something about how the devil was once an angel.

He didn’t know what to say to her. How do you greet the angel of death?

“C’est vraiment des conneries!” His sluggish mind translated the words slowly––this is bullshit.

Should angels curse?

A heavy weight of exhaustion settled in with a cold numbness. Is this what it feels like to die? He drifted back into unconsciousness, content in the belief that heavenly hosts carried him off to a better place.