Chapter Three: Payton Cross

The sign hung above the highway read Deoda Rapids, Next Right, and flew overhead as Serena pulled the obsidian truck into the proper lane for the offramp. Roger looked at her.

"I though Cross worked out of Windy?"

Serena nodded. "She does, but her influence spreads, like any gang worth its salt. Payton needs places to hang out, since people are always out for her skin. She also needs to check up on her business partners."

Roger nodded. It was practical. Payton always did have a lot on her plate, anyway, and managed to look after it all.

Roger looked Serena over, admiring how much she had changed over the years. One thing caught his eye—the hint of a tattoo snaking its way down her right bicep. It looked like tribal barbed wire, but it was too dark to tell what it was. Serena caught him eyeing her.

"What?" she asked. "Getting excited? You always were quick on the uptake in some areas." Her tone was playful; teasing.

Roger chuckled. "Well, I suppose. You seem…different now. More empowered. More…"

"Confident?" she finished for him. He nodded, she smiled. "Well, a life of crime can do that, I guess. You lead a group in dealing drugs, pimpin' hoes, and laying out a few motherfuckers, you get pretty damned full of yourself. Like helium to a balloon."

Roger laughed. It was an odd analogy, but it worked. Serena looked at him again. "You know, Payton will probably find a use for you. She might like the whole broken-shell-of-a-man-with-nothing-left-to-live-for thing you got goin'."

"I disagree," Roger retorted, shaking his head. "I don't think I could do any of that."

Serena laughed. "Good! You think Cross would start you off high up? You have to be fucking loopy! You'd probably start off doing bitch tasks and, provided the cops don't throw you in jail for more bitch work at the hands of a big black guy named Bubba, might give you dominion over more territory."

Serena pulled the Ottumwa up to a black glass building on Sixth, parked and shut off the engine, turning to Roger. "Listen," she said, all seriousness in her tone, her brown eyes boring into his, "she is a very difficult person to work for. Watch what you say, and perhaps you can keep your head longer." She looked around the street, and pushed open her door.

"Let's go."

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

She slipped the black leather gloves onto her fingers, stretching her hands into them for a snug fit. She sighed heavily. "Mister Leonards, are we going to have trouble with remembering what happened to my money…or are we going to cooperate?" She turned to face a profusely sweating man in his mid-thirties, bound to a mahogany chair.

"I did nothing to your money!" he shouted, his voice torn between a whine and frustration.

"Ah, ah ah, wrong answer," she returned, wagging her finger like a leather metronome. "We both know what happens next, Derrick." She slapped him with her gloved hands—once with the left, again with the right. The man began to sob like an infant.

"Aww, does the baby want Mommy to comfort him?"

"You sadistic bitch!" he cried between sobs. Another slap. The two goombas that accompanied her winced. They knew that, were he not tied to the chair, the third slap would have decked him.

The door to the office opened, and Serena Rosa stepped in. Payton flipped her hair back and smiled. "Good news, I hope?"

Serena nodded. "Very! Look who I found milling about, looking to kill himself!" She motioned to the man walking in the door.

Roger Elmhurst.

She smiled. "Be with you folks in a minute." She turned back to Derrick Leonards. "May banker here needs to tell me where the fuck my MONEY went!" On money, she slapped him with enough force to knock him over in the chair. Taking off her gloves, she motioned to her lackeys to continue the interrogation. Pocketing the gloves, she walked toward Serena and Roger.

"Roger Elmhurst. It's been years."

He nodded, acknowledging her. "Payton Cross. You've…changed."

She laughed. "If you mean 'become an underground success,' yes, I have." She pocketed the gloves in her black trenchcoat. "What about you? You get what you sought in life?"

He sighed. "Yeah. A beautiful wife, and three wonderful children."

Payton smiled. "That's excellent. How are they?" She failed to notice Serena motioning wildly to stop her inquiry. Or rather, she chose not to pay heed to it.

"They…were all killed yesterday. I came home to find each one shot once in the head."

Payton bowed her head. "I…am sorry to hear that, Roger. Do you know who did it?"

Serena stepped in. "The Bloodrose mob. As I said, I stopped this one from getting so slobbering drunk that he'd go kill himself."

Payton smiled.. Well, good. We could use someone like you, Elmhurst. I've been looking for a few good men to do my dirty work."

Serena leaned over to whisper in Roger's ear. "Told you so."

Payton glanced back to Leonards, extracting and donning the gloves yet again. "But first, I'm going to get back what's mine. Come see me in the morning, the Roosevelt Hotel lobby. We have much to discuss."

As Serena and Roger left, Roger couldn't help but notice a prominent zipping sound, and the screaming of a grown man.