Letters To The Mafia Don

XIII

I had been distracted from my work for the rest of my shift. I can't be interested in Julian, he was my patient. Keyword: was, my subconscious argues. Oh shut up. I was wiping down the last few tables and taking the money from the table and stuffing them into the pocket on my apron when I felt a crumbled piece of paper at the bottom of my pocket. I pulled it out of my pocket and opened it up. It was a phone number. His phone number.

I fight the inner battle of deciding to call him until I lock up the Café. "I'll see you tomorrow Sammy." I call to my boss.

"Thank you for today Charlotte. You was a wonderful help as usual." He thanked me with a warm smile to which I returned and left the café locking the door on my way out.

Just call him you know you want to, my subconscious tells me.

I can't, he was my patient which makes it wrong on so many levels, I argue.

Just call him.

I roll my eyes and pull my phone out of my back pocket before dealing the phone number on the piece of paper I had squashed in my palm. "Julian King." I shivered at the sharpness in his voice, his accent was harsh and it sounded so beautiful. "Hello? Is anybody there?"

"It's Charlotte." My voice is but a mere whisper.

"Charlotte." I could hear shuffling on the other end of the line. "I was hoping you would call."

"I wasn't planning on it, but a little argument with my subconscious ended up with me doing this." I confess.

"Your subconscious? And what was this argument?" He was amused, you could detect that in his tone.

"On whether I should call you or not." It was dark out and being on the phone made me feel safe on this street, it wasn't safe especially when I walk to my flat because it's only five minutes away.

"I do tend to make people argue with themselves, it's this affect I have."

"Is it often that you do that?" I ask.

"Oh yes, quite often."

"What else do you do?"

"Wouldn't you like to know." He chuckled.

"Why yes I would." Just as he was about to answer, I heard a bang on the bins behind me and I whipped my head around, dropping my phone in the process. "Fuck." It was too dark to see where it was without a torch. I could hear his muffled talking but I couldn't, for the life of me, find out where it was.

"Hello there маленькая дорогая." [little darling] I stiffened and stood up straight, feeling that bending over trying to find my phone wasn't the ideal position to be in right now. "How about you come over here and put a smile on my face, huh?" Leave the phone and walk away, leave the phone and walk away. I went over and over these words like a mantra, but my legs wouldn't move. In this part of town anything from assassinations to gang related crimes to hijacking a car, was inevitable. I knew what was going to happen and I was yelling at myself to move, but I couldn't. "Are you just going to stand there looking pretty, маленькая дорогая?" [little darling] He was Russian, but his English was impeccable with a strong Russian accent.

I slowly spun around and looked at the man behind me. He was swaying from side to side, his words were slurred every time he spoken. His skin had a yellow shine under the bright, white streetlamp. His blue checkered shirt was ripped down the left side, he wore baggy jeans that piled together at his ankles and his shoes looked worn out. He had a chain around his neck with a cross dangling from it. "That's much better, I can see your face now маленькая дорогая." [little darling]