Reggie's Girl

Author's Note: This was a story I began in 2015 and finished during lockdown. To all the readers who encouraged me to finish, thank you. I hope you still care, and if so, I hope you enjoy the finished story. Sorry I took so long, and again: thank you.

Shout out to the kind souls who delicately pointed out that maybe eighty thousand words shouldn't be served up in one unbroken block of text. Sigh. Quarantine brain is real, please stay safe.

Chapter 1

Jasmine Fleet looked over the ancient bureau in the middle of her new living room, at her overworked friend. Ted had given up dragging the couch into her apartment and now sat on it, his head in his hands.

She looked around, spotted the lukewarm bottle of pop they'd been sipping from all afternoon and grabbed it. Then she went over to him.

"Hey."

Ted looked up and she smiled. Sloshing about the neon-colored liquid in the bottle, she said, "Looks like you could use another shot."

He smiled, but there was a weariness around the corners of his mouth that could not come from lugging furniture around. Jasmine sat on the arm of her couch, making it creak in protest under her welterweight.

"You alright?" She bent and peered into his face, mild worry in her aquamarine eyes.

"What? No, of course I am. Just thinkin'."

"About what?" Ted patted the spot on the couch next to him. Jasmine slid over and he took her hand in his fudge-brown one.

"About how far you've come, I guess," he said, his voice quiet. "Remember where you were this time last year?"

She laughed at the not-too-distant memory. "Shuffling from one unpaid internship to another. Tripping over the poverty line, sure, but I was dangerous! I was living on the edge!"

"You live in one bad neighborhood and now you're dangerous." Ted arched an eloquent eyebrow.

Jasmine laughed again, laying her strawberry blonde head on his shoulder. "It wasn't bad all the time," she commented.

"You know, now that I've left it behind, I think I'll even miss it a little."

"Don't." Ted, all of a sudden, sounded more fierce than she'd ever heard him. His grasp on her hand tightened.

"I don't ever wanna hear you say that, you hear me? People in there would give their soul to get out. A lot of those suckas don't get that chance, there's always something pulling 'em back. You be grateful you got out."

Jasmine's smooth brow creased as she heard him out. Acting out of instinct, she lifted her free hand behind him and rubbed between his shoulder blades.

"I am, Ted," she replied softly. Then after a moment, she added, "I'm glad you're out of there too."

He gave a dry huff of laughter, a jaded, infinitely sad sound. Before she could ask what was so funny, Ted gave her knee a quick pat.

"Come on, let's get this couch in," he said.

Once again, they were heaving and grunting in joint effort. Not because the couch was heavy, but because the door was so narrow, they had to try and shove past its tight corners.

With a mighty push, they managed to scrape it past the door. Jasmine beamed, arms outstretched in triumph.

"Woo hoo! We did it!"

Ted stumbled back a step when she hurled herself at him in a sudden hug. "Yeah," he laughed, recovering his footing. "We sure did, Jazz. We sure did."

He pulled back and looked at her face for a moment.

"You know I'm proud of you, right?"

Jasmine shrugged, feeling a bit embarrassed. She had only moved from one small apartment to an even smaller one, albeit in a somewhat safer part of New York City. It's not like her photography gig paid a ton.

"Yeah," she muttered.

Ted pushed a straight lock of hair behind her ear.

"Gimme a year and I'll get you that Ducati you keep yammering about," she said, trying to lighten the atmosphere. This intensity was weird. It was so unlike Ted, who could always make her laugh, even at herself.

Now, he just smiled and nodded. "I know you will."

"Ted." Jasmine reached out and grabbed his arms. She was beginning to feel frightened and didn't even know why. "What's wrong?"

"Ain't nothing wrong, Jazz. I know you're gonna be just fine over here."

"And you're gonna be just fine too." Her tone was staunch. "Right?"

Then he did something he'd never done before. He leaned close and kissed her cheek with so much tenderness she felt like a china doll. When he pulled back, Jasmine just stared at him, speechless, lifting a hand to her tingling cheek.

"I gotta head out now," Ted murmured. "You take care, alright?"

Before she could answer, he'd turned and walked out, closing the door behind him with a soft click. Alone, surrounded by the disorganized furniture, Jasmine wondered why she suddenly had the feeling she'd never see Ted again.

* * *

"No sign of him, yet?"

The hulking Goliath at the wheel looked out of his window, where a dilapidated highrise cast a menacing gloom over the street in the twilight.

"Looks quiet," replied Tiny, easing back the heft that had earned him the ironic sobriquet.

His sole passenger shifted a little in the back seat, then stilled. They'd been staking out the highrise for close to an hour, but even if it had been much longer than that, any signs of impatience would have been as scant. He sat, as still as a spider in its web, and waited.

Then the web twitched.

"You see him?" asked Tiny, knowing he needn't have.

"Yeah. Get X and Bobby over there."

Tiny grabbed his smartphone off the dashboard and did as instructed. Then they watched the lanky youth they'd been awaiting jog up the steps into the wretched building.

Two heavily muscled men soon rounded the block and made for the building's entrance as well. Then they stopped dead in their tracks, wary scowls distorting their features as a car sped their way from the opposite direction. It screeched to an abrupt halt in front of the highrise.

The man in the back seat also frowned, but his voice remained cool, curious. "Who is that?"

"Could be trouble," his scar-faced chauffeur speculated, peering at the intruding car. Such a bold entrance into a pregnant situation like this would be foolish to dismiss out of hand.

For a suspenseful moment, nobody emerged from the car. Then the door opened and out came a young woman, blond hair blowing about in the evening breeze.

Tiny grunted in derision. "That's his bodyguard?"

His passenger smiled. The two men on the other side of the street resumed their approach with exaggerated braggadocio.

Jasmine hugged her worn cardigan about her and kept her eyes on the two guys coming her way. They leered at her in a way that was clearly supposed to make her nervous, but she would not show fear. Undefiant calm had always served her well while she went on her way in this neighborhood; there was no reason it should not now.

"Better click your magic shoes, Dorothy," one man called. "You a

long

way from Kansas, bitch."

They'd probably pass her by, or enter the building. She would wait until they did one or the other, then she would go inside. In an apartment on the second floor was Ted, and she intended to take him out and cheer him up.

Jasmine looked around with a pensive sigh, one hand drawing back the errant strands of her hair. It seemed quiet, empty... eerily so. Where had everyone gone?

She forced her feet to follow the two young men into the building. They climbed up the stairs and she did the same, maintaining her distance.

When she got to the first floor, she looked up at Ted's door. Her eyebrows jumped high. It was wide open.

"Something's up, I can feel it," one of the guys muttered to the other. They slowed their ascent and Jasmine did likewise. One of the men looked back at her and scowled.

"Bitch, you better get on outta here!"

His threat - or perhaps it was a warning - confirmed that all was indeed not well. And Ted was smack dab in the middle of it.

"It's okay," Jasmine replied. "I'm just picking up a friend and then we're ghost."

"Yeah, no pun intended. Jesus."

When the men got to the second floor, they stopped. Every nerve taut, they scanned Ted's living room from corner to corner, as much as they could from outside.

Jasmine took another step then jumped at the harsh voice that spoke again. "There something wrong with this bitch? Dorothy, get on outta here! What the fuck you comin' up here for, huh?"

"That's my friend's apartment," she explained, her voice quavering. "I have to see if he's alright."

"Go. Home.

Now!

"

For a second, Jasmine was dumbfounded. Then her mind cleared and her resolve grew firm. Ted was her friend.

She looked up at them and shook her head. "I can't-"

Right then, there was an earthy thud from somewhere outside, then the sound of sprinting feet. At once, the youths bolted into Ted's apartment.

"Shit, shit, shit! He's gettin' away!"

Jasmine found herself stumbling up the stairs. She looked into Ted's apartment and found one man leaning out of the open window, while the other pulled a cellphone out of his pocket.

Distress overtaking her, she asked, "Where is he?"

The man looking out of the window pulled back in. His eyes narrowed, then he snarled, "You know, maybe I should ask

you

that."

Her jaw sagged. "You think I did something?!"

"I think you

know

something," he corrected, approaching her. Jasmine didn't try to explain herself. She bolted.

The soles of her worn sneakers were almost completely smooth, requiring her to hold on to the railing to avoid slipping. Her pursuer's footsteps thundered in her ears. The sound was deafening, terrifying. An additional burst of adrenaline fueled her flight.

Once on the bottom floor, she pulled out her car keys from her jeans pocket. She could see her car beyond the wide open doors. Just unlock the doors, get in and lock again. Drive off.

It could be done.

Outside, the cold air rejuvenated her lungs. She was out her pursuer's reach now. Her hand reached for the front door.

To her astonishment, two thick arms encircled her midriff and lifted her feet clear off the ground. She saw who held her outlined in her car window, and it was a different person altogether. A veritable giant.

"I wouldn't advise you to resist," a deep voice behind them said, composed but laced with exasperation.

But Jasmine had no intention of resisting whatsoever. She lifted both her hands and spoke in a loud voice. "You can have my car keys."

A light scoff. "Thanks, but I ain't get my tetanus shots."

She swallowed and tried again. "In the back seat, there is a very expensive camera. State of the art, in pristine condition. It's yours."

A beat passed. A lonely, as yet unvandalized street light flickered on. Her captor's visage was reflected in more detail, and the warped scars she could now make out froze her blood.

"What're you doing with a camera like that?" the quiet voice went on.

"I'm a photographer."

A husky laugh. "And a thief?"

"No, I-"

"Tiny, turn her around."

The absurdly named "Tiny" did as he was told. Once again, Jasmine was facing the two young men from earlier.

Then a slight movement drew her peripheral vision and she turned her head. There, she beheld the most visually impressive specimen of manhood she had come across in all her twenty-three years.

In height, there was less than a foot's difference between him and Tiny's fantastical seven feet. His curly hair was kept in a close-cut Caesar. A neat track of beard framed his mouth. His skin would be a deep bronze in daylight, she surmised.

He had on a dark wool coat and a smart dark suit underneath. His black shoes helped illuminate the street, such was the ferocity of their polished gleam. He hardly needed to speak to make an impression; he radiated laid-back power.

The man's face eased into a lopsided smile. "Recognize me from someplace?"

Jasmine ducked her head, her cheeks growing warm. "No, sir. I didn't mean to stare," she mumbled.

"It was a good stare," he assured her, nodding to Tiny. Instantly, she was released but still not quite able to take a deep breath.

"Bad idea to be out here by yourself," he remarked.

"I wasn't supposed to be by myself. I came to pick up a friend-"

"Who?"

"He lives on the second floor." Jasmine was unwilling to give Ted's name to these strangers. The bearded man gave the two men a questioning glance, and the one who'd chased her spoke up.

"He took off just when we got there," he said, still short of breath. Then he glowered at Jasmine. "Like somebody told him to get lost."

"I see." The slight exasperation returned.

Her dapper interrogator swung his gaze back to her, his eyes narrowing. "Why'd you say you have that camera again?"

"It's mine, I'm a photographer."

"Yeah? You work for a newspaper or something?"

"Yes."

Jasmine had not thought to say something to frighten them, but she could see now that her reply unnerved them all.

"Media sniffing out a story here?" the well-dressed man asked after a moment.

She wasn't sure it was the best idea to keep them nervous of her; on the other hand, she needed them to think twice before trying something.

"Umm..."

Jasmine let the silence drag out. The two youths began to shift on their feet in unease. The third man remained stock still, his dispassionate gaze fixed on her. Soon, she was ducking her head again, kicking an imaginary pebble.

"I apologize," he said, a smile in his voice. "Here I am giving you the third degree, and we haven't even been introduced yet."

The gentleman - Jasmine couldn't help thinking of him as such, in the face of such polished aplomb - stepped forward and extended a gloved hand. "Reggie McComb."

A name she had heard whispered before, whenever a black Mercedes had cruised through her old neighborhood. Now, her eyes growing enormous, she stared at the near-mythical figure before her.

The name registered and who he was, what he was came to her in a heart-stopping rush. For all his Burberry finery and courtly manner, this was no gentleman.

Reggie McComb was a monster. His appetite for cruelty was legend. He liked to get his hands dirty, or rather bloody.

Word was that once when he'd administered a beating to a tardy debtor, a member of his crew had gotten so nauseous, he'd learned to make himself scarce in future episodes. His capacity for unpredictable violence meant that one was safer alone with Tiny than with his barbaric employer.

Jasmine quelled a shiver as he shook her hand; she almost thought she could detect an otherworldly coolness emanating from beneath his glove.

"Jasmine Fleet," she muttered, then looked down. All the scowling, coarse-mouthed "thugs" in the world couldn't cow her as this congenial Mephistopheles did. Him, she could not bring herself to face.

"You're shivering, Jasmine," McComb observed. "Let's continue this conversation in my car, shall we?"

Her head snapped up, eyes a little wild. "I really have to get going."

He just smiled. "I won't keep you long."

Jasmine had no idea what they could possibly have to discuss, but she had no option but to follow him to his car. It struck her how well-suited the Mercedes across the street was to its owner: suave, unrushed... inhuman.

The warm interior of the vehicle came as a pleasant shock to her chilled bones. She huddled to the far corner of the back seat as McComb got in. Once he'd shut the door, he regarded her shrinking stance with chiding amusement but didn't comment on it.

"Do you have any idea why Ted took off like he did?"

"No, sir." It took all her determination to look into those unfeeling eyes. "I think something scared him."

"Huh. And do you know where he might've run off to?"

"No."

He nodded as he looked out of his window. "I realize you're frightened, Jasmine," he said. "To be clear, neither you nor Ted have anything to fear from me, but it's urgent I speak with your friend immediately. I don't have too much time now, so if you can try real hard to think where he might've gone..."

McComb turned and looked at her. Jasmine shook her head again. "I'm sorry, sir, I can't. I don't know where he is."

"Ah." He fingered his sideburn as he went silent, deep in thought. In her distracted hypervigilance, the tiniest details of his beard engrossed her attention. Most men's mouths disappeared into their beards, but she didn't suppose that would ever happen to this one. Not with those lips, full and shapely as they were. Almost tempting, really...

"Well, it looks like we won't be of much use to each other then, doesn't it?" McComb turned to her again. "You're free to go. Have a nice night."

Jasmine didn't even say goodnight, just scrambled out of the car in breathless relief. She slammed the door shut and began to jog to her car. Thank God, oh thank God she'd made it out in one piece. Her nightmare was over.

But what about Ted? Where could he be? Why...?

Jasmine stopped before her car, her heart skipping a beat when she noticed how low it squatted. The tires had been slashed. She walked round to the other side. All four of them.

She looked around but there was nobody close by. It seemed the culprit had melted into the darkness.

Some distance away, she heard a car door shut and an engine rumbled to life. It was the Mercedes she'd just escaped from. It did a smooth U-turn then rolled up to where she stood.

The tinted rear window rolled down, replacing Jasmine's distraught reflection with McComb's frowning appraisal of her tires. He shook his head in self-reproach.

"This is my fault," he sighed. "This wouldn't have happened if I hadn't kept you."

"It's fine. I'll manage."

But his reply was sickeningly resolute. "I can't leave you alone like this. Get your camera and get in."

"Please, sir, it really isn't-"

Tiny got out, opened the opposite rear door and waited in stern silence.

"Get in, Jasmine." At the sound of his hushed voice her frantic gaze flew back to McComb. He gave her a pleasant smile.

"Please."

She could run, disappear into an alley maybe. And then what? Why risk a thrashing?

Tiny shut her in the car after she got in, then returned to the driver's seat. The car began to move again at its usual stately pace.

"Being the cause of your inconvenience, I should be the one to make amends, I think," McComb said. "So let's get you home, okay?"

"Okay."

"But first, let's grab something to eat."

Jasmine gripped her precious camera, feeling her life, like the Mercedes was now doing, was taking a turn. Things would never be the same again.

* * *

A fraught silence dominated the interior of McComb's car for twenty minutes before he dispelled it.

"You know, usually," he mused, "I have to put my hands on a woman to get her to breathe as fast as you're doing."

Jasmine shot him a nervous glance but he hadn't turned. He sat looking out of his window, a pose that highlighted his patrician profile.

"Guess I just get better with age."

His sardonic comment made her blush. She pushed a stray lock behind her ear as she searched for a worthy reply. "I..."

"What're you in the mood to eat?" McComb cut in.

"A... Coke and fries would be fine."

He frowned. "Junk food? That's appalling, Jasmine, what would your mother say?"

Jasmine blinked. "She understands."

"She doesn't approve, surely."

"It's what's affordable."

"That's a pathetic excuse."

Her mouth hung open, speechless for the barest instant. "Well, then I'll give you the harsh truth: superfoods are meant for the celebrities who endorse them. Now, I'm not famous, spiritual or philanthropic, so I strike out. Deep down, nobody wants to see edible algae wasted on the likes of me."

"I'm sure you deserve at least a soy burger."

"Nobody deserves that, it's disgusting," Jasmine replied a little too readily, then immediately wondered what she was doing. It was a tedious weakness of hers, her mouth running away with her whenever she felt cornered into conversation.