REVISED / RE-EDITED 11/03/2022

WARNING: Drug use is depicted in this chapter.

(Probably in all the chapters to follow, too. Let's call it good after this one.)

CHAPTER 3

Dimitri stood in the shower until his fingers pruned. The hot water coursing over his body eased the tension in his muscles; he hoped it might have a similar effect on his mind if he just stayed in there long enough. For weeks, he was sleeping in that house alone, and he hated it. The place was so empty even the slightest noise echoed. The only pieces of furniture he had in there so far were his workbench in the garage and a brand-new king-size bed in the master bedroom. He didn't want to pick out anything else on his own.

She was supposed to be living with him there since day one. That was always his plan. The dream of owning his own home was always a package deal with the fantasy of kicking the front door wide open with his foot because his arms were too full of Rose, crossing the threshold while laughing with her and kissing like crazy. He would cook them dinner in their new kitchen that first night, and they would dine by candlelight on a picnic blanket on the floor of their new living room surrounded by boxes and suitcases. After the dinner dishes were cleared away, they'd sprawl out on the blanket - he could read one of his westerns while she tried to study.

Inevitably, Rose would grow bored of homework and toss her textbook aside. She'd crawl up to him slowly and peer at him over the pages of his book, offering the briefest of warnings before pouncing on him like a wildcat. With him laying pinned beneath her, and both of them draped in the veil of her dark mane, she would nip at his ear and whisper her desire to fuck on every surface in every room of the house to ward off any evil spirits that might be haunting the place.

"My Babushka always swears by burning sage to banish lingering spirits from a new home. She never mentioned anything about carnal relations having the same effect."

"Well if it doesn't work, I guess we'll just give the spirits one hell of a show, then. Maybe we can win them over to our side?"

Everything was supposed to be perfect.

But everything wasn't perfect. Everything was horrible because he was a yellow-bellied coward who turned into a total chickenshit every time the opportunity to ask her to move in with him presented itself. Seven different times he tried to bring it up with her, and seven different times he succeeded only in making a jackass of himself. He would either become incapable of speech and just stand there in front of her completely mute, jaw slack and eyes wide with impotent confusion, or he would be TOO capable of speech and he'd babble on ridiculously about everything in the world except his new house. On his last attempt, he asked her, "So…how 'bout those Mets?"

She put her hand on his forehead to check his temperature and asked him if he was having a stroke.

Why couldn't he just ask her? This was Rose. This was his Roza. She loved him, he loved her, and she was going to say yes. Why the fuck wouldn't she say yes?! If for no other reason, he knew she hated living with her mother, and would probably welcome any alternative to staying in that apartment with her for another year while she finished school. The woman was insane, and arguments between her and Rose had become physical on more than one occasion of late, with Rose usually on the receiving end of things. Dimitri wanted her the hell out of there almost as much as he wanted her the hell into their new house. He wasn't too proud to fill the role of her last best resort. He would gladly be her consolation prize. He'd even sign the damn place over to her and be her rent boy if that's what it took.

Tonight was the night. No matter what happened tonight, he would ask her. No excuses this time. He would get fucking Voodoo Water shithoused drunk if need be, but by the end of tonight, he will have asked Rosemarie Hathaway to make him the happiest man in the world by moving in with him. He could only pray now that she'd say yes.

And then hopefully she would sit on his face to celebrate.

One thing at a time, Dimitri.

Mickey had never been to Adrian's club. This wasn't something that happened by choice, it was more a matter of circumstance that he had yet to patronize the establishment. Dimitri wasn't really a "club guy". He was a good dancer, and the man could dress, but by nature, he was more of a homebody. Rose started working there before the grand opening. Her previous job at the café paid dogshit wages, and the tips were negligible. Dimitri introduced her to Adrian when he was in the early stages of hiring his staff, and she quickly proved herself invaluable as an employee. On top of nursing school, she was working there three nights a week, so she didn't feel too much like going in as a civilian. Adrian was also apparently a crazy fuck to have for a boss, so Mickey really couldn't hold that against her. The pair of them were his closest companions, and their lack of interest in going to the club on weekends, coupled with his early mornings at the garage during the week just kept him away from the place. There were other nightlife spots in the area he could hit up while flying solo if he wanted to get out, there was no huge rush.

He'd also never tried cocaine. Rose and Dimitri had done their fair share in the past. Rose worked at the club, Dimitri was Adrian's cousin, and Adrian was basically King Shit of Cocaine Mountain around Newark. That's not to say he dealt the stuff or had anything to do with trafficking it, he just did a lot of it. He did all of it. And then he shared what was left with his friends...which was apparently still a lot.

Tonight, Mickey wanted to remedy both of these oversights. He was finally going to The Aura Club, and he was planning on getting ballroom blitzed.

The suit he was wearing demanded it. It was the finest suit to ever grace the body of a human man, and looking at himself in the floor-length mirror right now was a feast for the fucking eyes if he did say so himself.

The material was like butter. It felt expensive between his fingers. The lines of the suit were crisp but the movement of the jacket and pants was fluid. The silvery gray and pale yellow color combination complimented his light olive complexion beautifully, offering a nice contrast to his shock of dark brown hair. He'd just polished his black leather platform brogues to perfection. The glinting gold pinky ring on his right hand was the finishing touch. He walked an imaginary catwalk toward the mirror, and then away from it, stopping to glance over his shoulder to get a look at himself from behind. Then he spun back around, giving the glass a small taste of his James Brown shuffle.

Vinnie Barbarino, eat your heart out.

Mickey stopped dancing the second he heard the knob turn on his bedroom door. Dimitri would see him dance enough later tonight, he didn't need a preview. Playing it cool, he walked over to his closet and began rummaging around on the floor for the shoebox he'd purposely shoved all the way to the back and covered with a few folded sweaters. He heard the door shut.

"He lives! I was beginning to think you drowned in there." Not turning to look at his friend as he spoke, he remained crouched in front of the closet digging for something he put in the shoebox for safekeeping. He could hear Dimitri starting to dress somewhere in the room behind him - the rustle of clothing and the clinking sound of a belt being pushed through loops and then buckled.

"I might have dozed off for a second there, but I managed to stay on my feet," Dimitri assured him. "A nap was in order after that meal."

"Was it the food or the sparkling conversation that took it out of you?" Prize now in hand, Mickey backed out of the closet and stood up without re-hiding the box. There was nothing to see in there now.

Dimitri was standing in front of the mirror in his black slacks and white tank top, drying his hair with a towel. It was longer than Mickey's by a few inches, hitting right at the spot where his neck met his shoulders. He kept saying he wanted to cut it off now that he had to wear a hard hat to work all week. His short ponytail was usually tucked up inside it getting sweatier as the day progressed, but Rose put her foot down, saying his hair was her property now and he wasn't cutting it until she said he could.

"It was the vodka, actually. I didn't eat much before I got here, and I was in direct sun on the job site all day. Your mother really has a way of getting alcohol into people. It's like a sleight of hand trick."

Dimitri tossed his towel in the direction of the laundry hamper, sinking the shot with ease. He plucked his black dress shirt off the clothing rack where it was hanging next to the garment bag containing the suit Mickey opted not to wear for the evening. Once it was properly tucked in with the two top buttons left open, he slipped on his silver and turquoise arrowhead bolo tie. He'd do up the buttons and tighten the tie later, but right now he wanted to hang loose. He quickly ran a comb through his hair before turning away from the mirror to see what Mickey was doing with a bunch of matchbooks on his dresser.

"I think misdirection is more her thing." Mickey countered. "She just doesn't stop talking to you while she pours the drinks, and before you realize it the bottle is empty and your wallet is gone."

"I'll be sure to mind my pockets a little more closely around here from now on then. Two questions - what are all the matches for, and where in the fuck did you get that suit!?" Dimitri whistled, and motioned with a swirl of his wrist and finger for Mickey to give a little spin. This wasn't sarcasm, he was impressed. He'd worked around enough mob guys in the past to recognize a custom job when he saw one. That suit was class.

Mickey temporarily abandoned his business at the dresser to oblige his friend with a suave 360 degrees. "What, this old thing? I stole it off a dead guy."

"Misdirection?" Dimitri grinned.

"You know it!" They both laughed. "The old lady taught me everything she knows, and now I'm Roger Moore in this suit, baby. Tonight I'll be On Her Majesty's Secret Service to pleasure all the beautiful ladies of New Jersey."

"Roger Moore wasn't in that one."

"Shit, you're right. That was the Lazenby guy. Okay, so tonight the ladies will all be talking about Mickey Tanner when they remember The Spy Who Loved Me…that was no good."

Dimitri nodded. "That was fucking terrible."

"It wasn't any good. I'll admit it. But it wasn't fucking terrible," Mickey argued defensively. "A good joke can take a little work sometimes. You're not exactly one of the Not Ready for Prime Time Players over here, are you? Speaking of which, Mr. Belushi, follow me this way."

The two men hunkered over Mickey's ancient oak eight-drawer waist-high dresser staring at a small stack of matchbooks. "Now, I have no idea how this shit is gonna be. I've never bought drugs in my life, as you well know, but a guy came into the shop a week ago who I was informed was a dealer. I gave him all the cash I had on me at the time for these."

He opened up a matchbook, and from behind the matches he pulled out a square of folded-up newspaper. There were four books of matches, and four squares of paper, and each contained a small amount of white powder.

"Who was he?" Dimitri asked. "I've never seen this matchbook trick before. It's pretty slick."

"All I know about him is that his name is Lorenzo. I do not know if that is his first name or his last name, it's just the one I was given. He drives a white '77 Coupe DeVille that needed a new windshield already because the one he had looked like it got busted up with a crowbar. He has one giant eyebrow that takes up half the real estate on his face, he smells like he takes a fucking bath in Jovan Musk for men, and he was wearing a three-piece denim suit with no shirt and three gold chains. He looked like a drug dealer in a movie, and it was late morning on a Wednesday, so…that's probably just what he looks like all the time. Hector was the one who told me he knew the guy from around, and Hector's good people, so I just went for it."

He tried to make himself sound convincingly mellow about the whole thing as he opened up two of the little packets and dumped the contents onto his dresser. In reality, he'd approached Lorenzo a bit like a Dust Bowl farmer, hat in hand, asking for an extension on his bank loan.

Awww, shucks, it sure would be nice if you could sell me some of those drugs you have there, Mr. Lorenzo, Sir. Times have been real tough 'round these parts, and I've got a family to feed - a family that eats cocaine.

Dimitri didn't need to know that.

"Here, you do whatever needs doing with that stuff." Mickey handed Dimitri the only plastic card he had in his possession besides his driver's license, which had already been through the wash a few times and didn't need to sustain any more abuse - his laminated Library card.

Dimitri looked at the card and shook his head laughing. This evening was already so bizarre, and they hadn't left the house yet. He made quick work of chopping up the small mound of white powder as finely as possible before portioning it out into smaller piles, then stretching those piles into eight even lines. When he appeared to be satisfied with his handiwork, he passed back the Library card to its rightful owner.

Mickey watched Dimitri deftly handle sorting out the drugs that he himself had only a faint notion of what to do with. It strangely made him feel a little sad. Until now he hadn't really thought about it, but the two of them had less and less time to spend together lately. Dimitri was out there buying houses and doing cocaine with other people, people he didn't know, living a life completely separate from him. He bought his suits without telling Dimitri about them. In the past, they would have gone to the city together when he got them fitted and made a night of it. They still saw each other a couple of evenings a week at the boxing gym, but the time spent there was all punching bags, jumping rope, and sparring in the ring. The distance between them was probably just going to grow if, no, when Rose moved in with him…

"What's wrong?"

His friend's voice dragged him out of his thoughts and shoved him back into the present moment. "What's huh?"

"I look up and suddenly you have a face like a slapped ass." Dimitri gestured to his face with an extended palm. "What were you thinking about so hard?"

"Uhhh…I was just trying to remember the last time I used this card to actually check out books from the Library. It might be possible that I never have." He replied. It was a decent enough save. Plus it was true. "Don't we need a dollar bill or something to do that stuff?"

"Money is dirty. Think about how many people have touched any of the bills you have in your wallet. People who don't wash their hands after taking a shit. Do you want their filthy hands up your nose? Dripping down the back of your throat? Don't use it for this unless you are absolutely desperate. And if you find yourself absolutely desperate for cocaine, stop doing cocaine because you have a cocaine problem. Lucky for us, I have this." He reached into his pocket and pulled out a thin metal tube about three inches in length. He held it up to make sure Mickey could get a real good look at it.

"What is that?" It looked like a tiny milkshake straw for dolls.

"It's quite possibly the stupidest thing I've ever had in my possession." Dimitri declared. "First, let's use it, and then I'll explain. May I?" He pointed toward the lines he just cut on the dresser.

Dimitri assumed Mickey would prefer he went first so he could see how it was done up close rather than from across the room in a dimly lit bar or in passing when walking in or out of the men's room at a club. Most men weren't big on being stared at in public bathrooms.

He assumed right.

"By all means." He didn't want to admit it out loud, but Mickey was a little nervous. With the way his luck was running lately, this stuff might just make him shit himself in public and then have a heart attack on the dancefloor, and not necessarily in that order.

Dimitri used his left index finger to pinch shut his left nostril, he held the little metal tube up to his right nostril, leaned down, and in one smooth motion he sturdily inhaled one of the lines off the desk. He stood back up, blinked his eyes a couple of times, wiggled his nose around a bit, then leaned back over to repeat the same snorting technique with the next line over. After straightening up once more and wiping his nose with the back of his hand, he held the tube out for Mickey to take.

"Not poison." He vouched. "Have at it."

Mickey tried his best to repeat the same seamless routine he'd just witnessed his friend execute with minimal effort. He did a pretty good job…until his sinuses caught fire.

"Shit! Oh god. Does it usually burn like that?" He closed his eyes and shook his head.

"It does when you're doing shitty stepped-on drugs, or so I've heard before from others until right now when I discovered for myself that it's true." Dimitri laughed.

"Wait, this stuff I bought isn't coke!?" Mickey exclaimed, far too loudly.

"No, it is. Or some of it is, anyway."

"What's the rest of it!?" From the way his face felt, it might be half quicklime.

"...baby laxatives? I don't know. I'm not a drug dealer. I don't know all the stuff they mix in their supply to make more money. I just know that is pretty rough." Dimitri popped a brow toward Mickey's stash. "Calm down. Your nose gets numb eventually, and by then you'll stop caring anyway. Do another one, and see how you feel after a bit."

Mickey used his left nostril this time to see if it went down any better.

It didn't.

"So what is this thing?" He held up the tube and examined it more closely than before. "You said it was stupid, but for this exact situation, it seems pretty handy. " He daubed his nose with his knuckles a few times, trying to ease away an unfamiliar tingling sensation.

"This is a prototype of one of Adrien's most recent 'brilliant ideas' for advertising his club. It's a sterling silver cocaine straw that has The Aura Club engraved along the side of it. Look really closely."

Mickey closed an eye, and squinted the other in an attempt to make out the microscopic cursive script that he felt slightly bumping under his thumb, but couldn't see, along the side of the tube. "I can't read what it says. The print is way too small."

"I know." Dimitri nodded.

"It could be from anywhere. Unless you have a magnifying glass or something." Mickey observed.

"I know." He nodded again.

"It would be really easy to lose, too. Especially if you were drunk and high."

"I know." Another nod.

"This is solid silver? And he was going to give these out for free? That can't possibly be cost-effective."

"I know." Nod.

"And cocaine is illegal. If enough cops found these floating around on people they arrested for drugs…or anything, really, they could trace them back to the club and start asking questions or having patrol cars stakeout the place looking for easy arrests."

"Oh, I know." Dimitri nodded his head, widened his eyes, and flared his nostrils. He was shouting with his whole face, but not his actual voice.

"So how is this a good way to advertise the club?"

"IT'S NOT! It's the stupidest idea I've ever heard, and he had five hundred of these fucking things made up just because he was bored and has a friend who's a jeweler! That's half of Rose's job at the club. She listens to thousands of his insane ideas, and then has to find a way to shoot them down that's forceful enough to get through to him, but just babying enough to keep him from throwing a fit like a child or spiraling completely out of control. And apparently, she's the only one capable of doing it. People call her into the club on her nights off just to have her talk to him for ten minutes here or half an hour there about god knows what. Sometimes it's through a door because he's barricaded himself in the bathroom. She had to take her mother's car and drive over there a few nights ago at one in the morning in the middle of her school week to bring him a tuna sandwich with the crusts cut off. Fuck it! I'm doing another one."

He grabbed the sterling silver coke straw from Mickey and railed a line.

"Why did she have to do it? It's just a sandwich. Couldn't anyone bring it to him? If they just set a plate out somewhere for him to find it, how could he tell the difference?"

"No, he needed her to make him the sandwich, cut off the crusts, and bring it to him in a brown paper sack as if she packed him lunch for school. He only likes them if Rose makes them."

Mickey took the sterling silver coke straw back from Dimitri and did another line. "Fuck, it still burns." He flinched, and shook out his whole body like a wet puppy, from shoulders on down. "Does she make really good tuna sandwiches? A really good tuna salad sandwich can be pretty great."

"NO! Of COURSE not! They're terrible! I love that woman more than anything in this entire world. She is the reason I breathe. I would die for her. But everything she makes in the kitchen is so bland I could puke. Or rubbery. Or leathery. Or burnt. Or still alive."

"Still alive?"

Dimitri lowered his head solemnly, his eyes clouding over for a moment. "It happened, and that's all you need to know." That was not a meal he had any desire to relive in the telling of it. He continued, "Those sandwiches look like cardboard and they taste like dust. He eats them strangely, too. He takes huge bites and chews on the dry canned fish mush with his mouth open in a smile, holding the gaze of different people in the room while he masticates. It feels like a direct threat when you're that person, but I'm almost positive he doesn't know he's doing it! He's…lost in a memory or something."

"Has he always been so weird? Or does he just do too many drugs?" Mickey was hoping the answer was Adrian had always been this weird since he was currently doing drugs while asking the question.

Dimitri remained quiet for a moment as he assessed the situation, trying to decide if he should throw out a curt single or two-word answer to Mickey's question or if he was going to open up the vault and spill some home truths. The drugs making their way into his system were pushing him toward the latter.

"This is private information, okay?" He lowered his voice and - silly as it seemed - he scanned the empty room, double-checking they were alone. "Mama doesn't want us talking about it at all, but… just keep it quiet. I didn't meet Adrian until we left Russia, so I don't know if he was born like this or if his brain is cooked on drugs. Rose mentioned to me that he was eleven the first time he took LSD; that can't be good for a kid teetering on the edge of puberty.

"Holy shit."

"Holy shit is right. His mother, Daniella, was the one who helped arrange the falsified documents Mama needed to get us all out of Russia and into the US in the first place. There were probably a few wheels and palms that needed greasing along the way, too, since we had to be given official status as political refugees. She divorced Adrien's father a couple of years prior and took him to the cleaners using all the dirt she had on his family as leverage. The Ivashkovs are old established money, but that's about it. Just your standard New York City robber barons with plenty of skeletons in their closet - well, more like dead kids in factories and entire city blocks of elderly people being thrown out of their rent-controlled apartments to make way for "progress". Her lawyers bled Nathan dry because she was smart and he never had to be. His family just chucked him to the wolves and washed their hands of him. I've never met the guy, but if he's anything like my father, then he got what was coming to him. She helped us mostly as another big 'FUCK YOU' to the men of the Ivashkov family, I think - not that it matters. Daniella got us over here, gave us a bit of money to keep us alive, and then sent us on our way. I honestly don't know if Mama has spoken to her since. Adrian reached out to us on his own."

"Sounds like it's probably better that way," Mickey mused.

"Mhmm." Dimitri agreed. "She has some serious connections now on top of her money. Head of mafia and bratva families back in the old countries connections. Big wig politicians here in the States kinds of connections - fucking Kennedy family-level guys, probably. She's a formidable woman and Adrian is her precious baby boy. The sky would be the limit for that kid if he could just stop being such a fucking liability for everybody all the time. Keeping him here and busy with the club is her version of locking him up in hospital. He can't do too much real damage in Jersey when her focus is more on DC and abroad."

"Does Ma know all this? How come I didn't know any of this until now?"

"She probably does. Mama was desperate for emotional support when we first moved here. I wouldn't be surprised if she broke down and told Loretta the day they met. I never said anything to you about it because Babushka made it known what she would do to us all if we couldn't stay quiet. My grandmother is also a very scary woman - when she isn't so preoccupied with your tiny cock, that is."

"IT'S NOT FUCKING TIN... awe, forget it." He thrust his hands out in the air to assist his protest and then dropped them to his sides right along with his argument.

Dimitri's flashed him a shit-eating grin. "Never in life."

Mickey tapped into every ounce of grownup maturity he possessed within his body to resist the urge to tackle his friend. He'd be the bigger man here. He clenched his teeth, his fists, his butt, and he just… let it go. Until later, that is, when Dimitri would be least expecting it, and then BAM, some kind of fiendishly clever as yet undetermined form of revenge.

Serve that dish up cold, Mickey.

Misdirection.

"I can't believe Ma would still try to beat his skull in with a rolling pin if she knew who his mother was. Wait. What am I saying? It's Loretta Tanner, of course I can believe it."

"He pissed on her water heater. That is unacceptable behavior for a guest in one's home." Dimitri picked up the sterling silver coke straw, did his last line off the dresser, and he shoved it back in Mickey's hand gesturing for him to do the same.

Mickey did the final line. This time the inside of his face seemed to be used to the burning sensation. He was maybe even starting to like it. His body felt buzzy and light, and the act of snorting the drug was pleasurable in a seedy way. The whole process had a vibe to it that his brain could only describe as…slutty. It wasn't the right word, but it was a close approximation - snorting cocaine felt slutty. "Okay. You probably gotta finish getting dressed, man. What time is Rose expecting us to pick her up?" While he spoke, he grabbed a stray sock from the floor by his clothes hamper and used it to wipe away any leftover powder from the top of his dresser.

Dimitri checked his watch. "Shit. We were supposed to be there five minutes ago. I'll hurry." He slid over the foot of the bed, skidding to a halt at the far corner just short of falling on his face. Reaching down to the floor blindly with his right arm, he grabbed his snakeskin cowboy boots and yanked them on his feet. He did up the top buttons of his shirt and then tightened his bolo tie.

Mickey shoved the other two newspaper packets into a single matchbook and stowed them away in his inside jacket pocket. Keys? Check. Wallet? Check. One more look in the mirror to make sure his hair was still absolutely tits? Fuckin' Check! And he was ready to head out.

Dimitri was still cramming his arms into his brown leather blazer as he made his way through the bedroom door. He ran his fingers through his hair a few times. Mickey switched off the light and closed the door behind them.

They could hear Loretta snoring on the couch from all the way upstairs, and each of them stifled their laughter as best they could while making a hasty descent and exit.

Mickey made sure to lock the front door.

Loretta parked her car in the garage, she always had, but it became a point of contention in their home when Mickey bought his car. Many bickering discussions turned into full-blown shouting matches over that garage spot, and Loretta won them all by playing the "Whose house is this, anyway?!" card. As a result, Mickey parked his green '74 Dodge Challenger in the gravel alleyway that ran along the front left side of the house all the way back to where the large trash cans were tucked away. He and Dimitri built a corrugated metal roof carport to shield his baby from the elements, and when he wasn't driving it, he kept it covered. He would never stop being bitter about that garage spot, though. The Italian percentage of the blood in his veins could hold a fucking grudge.

But then, so could his Ma.

"How are you feeling?" Dimitri asked, leaning down to quickly check his face in the side view mirror before climbing into the passenger seat. The street light in front of the house cast just enough light for him to be able to see his face was powder-free.

They were both belted in when Mickey replied. "I don't feel like I was drinking any alcohol before, but I don't feel sober either - I'm very awake."

"That's how the night starts."

They were about halfway to Rose's apartment.

Since backing out of the gravel parking space, Mickey focused solely on his driving skills. He remained silent and tried to pick up on how the cocaine might be affecting his reaction time or if it made his steering shaky. He kept checking his mirrors, constantly on the lookout for police lights pulling up behind them or alongside them. Thinking too much was making him nervous. His knuckles were turning white on the steering wheel from how hard he was gripping it at ten and two. He paid such close attention to how he was driving that he stopped paying attention to where he was driving. He missed two turns before Dimitri pointed it out to him, and he had to hang a particularly risky u-turn and cut through a gas station to correct his mistakes. Paranoia could be a real sonofabitch. He needed a distraction, and his music just wasn't cutting it.

"So…are you planning on asking Rose to move in with you tonight? He asked the windshield.

"Yes."

"WHAT!?" Mickey jerked his head abruptly to the right to make sure it was still Dimitri Belikov sitting in his passenger seat. It was him. And right now he was sitting like someone shoved a red-hot steel poker up his ass. "Holy shit! Yes!? Just like that? 'Yes,' he fuckin' says! I was expecting you to tell me to fuck off or to mind my own business, or that I could start asking you questions once I stopped driving like my mother, but a flat-out, no messing around here 'Yes'!? This is big business, my man!"

"All of those would be completely valid responses, but right now I'm kind of starting to psych myself out a little." Dimitri scratched the back of his head. "I don't know how much sarcasm I can muster."

"I've...never seen you insecure before. This is weird."

"I don't think I've ever really felt insecure before." That wasn't entirely true. He had a similar breakdown to this one the first time he told Rose he loved her. "I was nervous about things sometimes as a child, but since I've been an adult…this is an entirely new feeling. I can't say I care for it."

Mickey's boyish laughter couldn't be contained. He was so used to being the one talked down from the ledge by Dimitri. This was the first time he could ever remember being the one with the bullhorn standing on the solid ground shouting out 'Don't jump, there's still plenty to live for!'

"Hahahaha! Dimitri Belikov, The Russian God, the two-time Heavyweight New Jersey Golden Gloves title holder over here, finally gets a taste of what it's like to be a regular person, and he can't fucking hack it! Oh, how the mighty have fallen. Okay...okay…okay…look-" He managed to reign in his hilarity. Just barely. Laughter was still hovering right under the surface of his voice, "- we have about three, maybe five, minutes until we are at her front door. Ordinarily, I would use at least that amount of time to shit you about this, BUT this being an actual major life event we are talking about here, I will postpone that for a future time and place. This is a raincheck, though, not a get-out-of-jail-free card, ya dig?"

"Yeah."

"Good. Why are you so GD nervous right now?" Mickey kept his eyes on the road. He didn't want Dimitri to suddenly clam up as he was prone to do. Plus all the laughter and drama had him back to driving like his normal self. "You know she's going to say yes!" He added, ending on a positive note.

"Do I know that?" Dimitri began drumming his fingers on the tops of his thighs. He needed to get the fuck out of this car and move. He needed to see Rose. He needed a drink.

"Uhhh, yeah! I've never in my life seen two people crazier about each other than you and Rose. You said it yourself that she's 'the reason you breathe.' I don't think she's so much as looked at another guy in the three years you've been dating. And she needs to not be fucking living with the crazy bitch of a mom she's got. Janine reminds me of the mother from that movie Carrie with all her religious shit. Why haven't you asked her before now!? I thought you were just waiting for her break from school so you'd have more time for moving and fixing the place up a bit. I didn't know you hadn't gotten around to asking her until Ma took a bite out of you at dinner."

"I started thinking maybe buying a house in the same neighborhood I grew up in was a huge mistake, and it was already too late by then."

"Why is that?"

"I might be trapping her somewhere right when she's finally at a point in her life when she has the most options open to her. In a year Rose will be a registered nurse. She could do that anywhere. She doesn't have to stay in New Jersey. She could live in New York, Boston, Los Angeles...Miami?"

"You think she's going to want to go with Adrian to Miami if this club shit works out!? That's what this is all about?"

"Not all of it, but a reasonable amount. He might ask her! I know she cares about him. He can't look after himself properly, and she's a bleeding heart when it comes to that shit. It would be an adventure for her. A new place for her to live completely away from her mother - not just on the other side of town from her. You heard how much he's paying her just to come in tonight. He could easily bankroll her move down there just to be his best friend, and that would be on top of her regular income. He's even crazy enough to buy her a house, too. She'd just love living in a bikini year round - " Dimitri stopped himself there. At first, the idea of Rose walking around scantily clad someplace sunny and sandy and covered in palm trees was a pleasant one. Then he remembered in this scenario he wouldn't be there to see her.

"Calm down, man. This is fucking bananas! You haven't even asked her yet. Get your shit together, and focus on what you want to say to her. You can't control if she says yes or no, but you can control how you ask her. And do it the fuck tonight because neurotic Dimitri is starting to get on my nerves. This was supposed to be guys' night! We were gonna go out and get tanked and dance like a couple of douchebags! Let's go back to THAT plan and sprinkle a bit of 'Rose is moving in with Dimitri' on top! Doin' blow and shackin' up with ladies, it's Saturday, baby!"

"Fine. But only if you stop saying 'baby' and 'ya dig'. You're not The Fonz." Dimitri was annoyed by how much sense all of that bullshit just made.

"Fine?" Mickey goaded, wanting to hear something with a bit more juice behind it.

"Fine! Fucking fine! I'll ask my girlfriend to move in with me, and then I'll dance like a douchebag with you. Fine! But this is all your fault. All of it."

Mickey wasn't sure what mental addition and subtraction Dimitri was performing right now for him to be entirely to blame for the sum total of his current romantic woes. They didn't have time to review the math, though, because they'd reached their first stop of the night. "Agree to disagree. Now, look alive, because we're here."

He slowed the car down to a stop in front of Rose's apartment building. Most of the lights in the building were already out for the night, but the foyer was illuminated enough for them to just make out the figure of someone sitting on the front steps. That someone jumped to her feet the second she saw Mickey's car and came barreling down the walkway toward the curb. The back door of the car was thrown open, and Rose tossed a giant bag in first before hurling herself in after it, slamming the door behind her.

"You're late." She informed them. "I'll get pissed at you for that later, but right now I gotta hurry. Dimitri, come back here. I have to change, and I might need your help with some buttons or to be a human shield."

Dimitri wasn't as quick on the uptake as he usually was given the small meltdown he just had on the way there. He also hadn't seen his girlfriend in a few days, and she was just too damn pretty for words sometimes. A response was not forthcoming.

Rose, on the other hand, was in a no-nonsense kind of mood. She hated waiting around for people. "Dimitri? Unless you want me flashing people my boobs all the way down Main street, I suggest you get your big Russian butt back here and shield away because these clothes are coming off now! Mickey, can you please step on it? If I knew you guys would be this late I would have just taken the bus and gotten ready at the club."

The two men were turned around in their seats staring at her and trying to process her rapid-fire instructions. She was in jeans and a sweatshirt with no makeup on her face and her hair was in a long thick French braid - not exactly the attire of someone fulfilling the role of "arm candy" for the night. She was also pissed and could probably tell they were high. Dimitri hopped out of the car and circled to the back door behind the driver's seat. It was a tight squeeze with the two of them back there, but they could manage. He barely had his door closed before Mickey peeled away from the curb.

Rose was pulling her sweatshirt up over her head when she issued her final command, "to The Aura Club, Tanner, and don't spare the horses."

SOUNDTRACK

Fish and Whistle - John Prine (Dimitri in the shower / Mickey getting dressed)

Right Down the Line - Gerry Rafferty (Dimitri and Mickey in the car on the way to Rose's)