Page 79 of Bronx

What do I have to do to get laid in this damn city?

So I aimlessly drove around the city looking for a decent slice of late night pizza and ended up at Roosevelt Lookout Point where I people watched until the sun rose, but none of it kept my mind off of Karma. And now I have no choice but to go home and deal with her confusing ass, because how long am I going to stay away from my own damn apartment?

I get an early morning call from Knox, which only confirms the thoughts I’ve been having about helping that woman find her shit brother.

“You up?” he asks after answering the phone in my ‘had a rough morning’ voice, which sounds a lot worse than it normally does.

“I answered the phone, didn’t I?”

“Your grumpiness is getting tiresome. Get some pussy or something.”

“Trust me, I tried.”

“Listen, I still don’t have a solid lead on your boy yet, which oddly enough is not infuriating, but intriguing.”

“What’s intriguing about having no intel?”

“It’s the twenty-first century. Every human in the US has a digital and a paper trail, and the fact that I can’t find his makes me think that someone spent a lot of energy scrubbing it.”

“I’m glad you’re finding your failure, so far, this mentally stimulating.”

“Kick rocks, asshole. If you were a real fixer, you’d find all of this interesting too. Unraveling the story of the target is part of the fun.”

“You sound super corny right now. I’m never going to be what you and Dad are, and I’m perfectly fine with it. I do real men’s work.”

“You keep doing that bounty hunting shit and you’re going to end up toothless and broke.”

“I’ll just come to live with you and Gigi.”

“Very fucking funny. Listen, I’ll text you when I have something tangible about this mysterious Lev guy. Meanwhile, you just make sure you don’t trip and fall into his sister’s pussy. Sounds like you’re struggling to find some on your own.”

“Never going to happen,” I assure him, although I’m worried that it sounds like I’m trying to oversell it.

I end our conversation because it’s too early in the morning for any more brother banter, especially after such a crap night. I love my car, but it isn’t meant for sleeping in and my lower back and neck are killing me. I’m just too damn big.

One of the things that I love about my penthouse is that it’s located in a building on a commercial building campus, which means it’s quiet on the weekends. The flip side of that is that it’s full of pencil pushers Monday through Friday.

It’s packed in the lobby of my building. Women in blue power suits, and holding cups of overpriced coffee in their hands, are milling about, their heels clacking against the tile floor. Men are in their crisp white collared shirts, holding their leather briefcases, and doing the same thing too–rushing to get to their soul sucking, corporate jobs on time.

I have a key card that I used to swipe myself in through the security terminals and then used to access my floor on the elevator. If I happen to be downstairs at this time of the morning, like today, I always get stares for the obvious reason. Dressed in jeans, a black tee, boots and covered in tats— I don’t look the part. But there’s something about that whole dynamic which I enjoy.

I’m living amongst them.

In a place where they assume I don’t belong.

Maybe they think I’m some random delivery guy or support staff for the building, but the joke’s on them. I’m literally living leaps and bounds above them all, which makes me smile every time I think about it.

I tentatively step through the doors of my place, wanting to avoid seeing Karma. I’m not as angry as I was yesterday when I stormed out of the hospital like some sort of jealous teenager, but because (and let’s be honest), every fucking thing she said to me was true. I’ve been overstepping my boundaries with her in more ways than one.

What is it that I always say?

I don’t do intimacy.

The only woman I kiss is my Mother.

But I kissed Karma.

And it definitely wasn’t like kissing my Ma.