“Who the fuck gave you this note?” asked Frank
Already shaking, the male who delivered the note shook his head from side to side, stammering for his words.
“I don’t know, Boss. Some woman.”
Breathing hard, his chest rising and falling at a rapid rate, Frank tapped his hand on the table, his agitation growing. “What the fuck did she look like? Where the fuck did she go? Fuck, someone needs to check on the females. Fucking now,” panic in his voice brought the others to their feet, all of them pulling out a weapon in fear of a hit coming.
“Some dark-haired looker. She was about 19, with a body that could get your dick hard just looking at her,” the man explained. He was winning no mercy for the way he elaborated on her looks.
All of the men thought right away that it was Gypsy, but were again reminded it was impossible. She has eyes on her at all times and was asleep like she was told to do.
The sound of the door opening hard enough to hit the walls brought weapons up, and all eyes on the man who stood in the doorway looking as though he had seen a ghost.
“Boss, she’s gone. Angelina’s gone!”
“Is the car here?” Gypsy asked the man who sat on the couch watching his phone.
“Yeah, get your things and let’s get out of here. It’s a long drive back to Los Angeles, and you need to get out of town before shit blows up,” he said, the moment he did, he realized he said too much.
Gypsy grabbed her bag, putting it over her shoulder by the long strap, “Why? Nevermind. I don’t want to know.”
Twenty moments later, in the back of the limo back to Los Angeles, she searched for anything that would have something to do with the shooting, but nothing. No one was talking, and so far, nobody had been found. That was a relief, but also, was that a forewarning to something darker on the way. That guy owned the most expensive hotel in Las Vegas and he just ghosted. Wouldn’t people wonder why? How many were behind this hit? God, the thoughts that run through the mind when you’re paralyzed with fear.
“Miss, the Boss is on the line. You need to pick up.”
The driver had only rolled the window down for a moment, his voice quaked with fear.
“Thank..” she went to finish but the window was already up before she could.
Shaking her hands back and forth, they trembled as she reached for the black car phone. It was older, but with technology and cell phones, nothing else was needed.
“Hello,” Gyspy whispered, her voice trembling.
“Do not even fucking speak. If I found out you did this, if you’re a part of this, I will send you home piece by piece. You got that, bitch?” Franks’s words held an urgency that she had never heard. Was that, fear that she noted?
Shaking her head from side to side, she knew she was being watched. A camera in the corner of the car was on, and she felt the hairs on the back of her neck standing on end. Frank was watching her every movement.
“My wife is gone. She was taken last night at dinner. If you so much as whisper to anyone about this, well, don’t. You have never seen that side of me and you don’t want to.”
The phone went dead the moment he threatened her, but the sound of his voice still played in her head.
Holding the receiver in her hand, looking down at it as though it had a life of its own, she was in shock. His wife was gone? So many times she had wished for her to be gone, but never really meant it. There was a time long ago that she might have, but that was long gone. Now the only feeling she had for Frank was disgust.
After replacing the phone to the base, she leaned back in the seat, her eyes closing, and lost in thought. How did this all happen to her? A week ago she was sitting on the beach drinking coffee with friends, and today, she is driving back from Vegas and could be implicated in a murder.
Two hours later, sound asleep in the back of the limo, Gypsy was awakened to the driver shaking her. “Who the fuck was that? Shit, who the fuck was in here?”
He asked questions that she had no answer for. She was sleeping and didn’t even know they had stopped, but now, she was covered in a blanket, and being questioned about a woman.
“Woman? I was asleep. I didn’t see any woman,” sitting, she rubbed her eyes, unable to process everything she was being asked. She had never seen a woman.
“FUCK!” the driver yelled, looking over at the seat across from Gypsy. It was the driver’s license of Angelina Paloma sitting on the black leather. Whoever was in the limo was making a statement that could get them all killed.