Sammy-Boy

I had to write a modern day interpretation of a old testament story for my Hebrew history and lit class. I'm also thinking about submitting this one for Ruminate Magazine competition. So here it is. I think it's pretty freaking good. But that's just me. You should tell me what you think.

There is an eerie dark that seems to swallow the streets at this time of night. It’s that hour where all the party goers and night owls have finally turned in, but the people who wake up early to beat traffic are still in bed. It’s the hour where nothing good can happen.
And I am up to no good.
It’s a long walk of shame from his apartment to mine. The tall buildings loom above me, and the smog creates a menacing glow around the moon. Most girls wouldn’t walk alone this late at night. Hell, most girls wouldn’t walk at all this time of night. They would have stayed over, safely snug in their man’s bed, with blankets and arms keeping them safe and warm. But I’m not most girls. Even so, I still pick up my pace past the dark alley ways that I pass. I can hear bums shifting in their alcohol induced sleep, a few stray cats rustling through garbage and the clack of my heels against the pavement.
I turn down the familiar street where my complex is. It’s not as nice as his place. But if I do my job, be a good little whore; I’ll end up in a better place than he is.
My room is on the fifth floor and the elevator is broken, as it has been for the past two years I’ve lived here. That’s five too many flights of stairs for this time of night, but somehow I make it. I fumble with my keys and finally get the door open.
There’s a thin fog of smoke in my kitchen/living area. I tense up immediately.
“Hello Delilah” the man says from a crappy Wal-mart futon. He’s fat, bald, dressed in a fine suit. He looks like some film noir 1920’s gangster. “Did you have a good time?” He takes another puff of his cigar before putting it out. I can feel his grey eyes piercing into me. “Sammy boy treating you good?” he asks. His eyes haven’t moved since I came in the apartment. “Why don’t you come an’ sit down ‘Lilah? Let’s talk about you and ol’ Sammy boy” he motions with his big pale hand to a spot next to him. He continues to gesture as I slowly sit down. “Now…Do you remember why we are paying you?” I nod.
“Yes’sir” The words trip out of my mouth faster than I want them to.
“Why are we paying you?”
“To be your mole in Sammy’s organization” I sound so stupid; stupid and scared.
“Good girl” he pats me on my knee as he stands up “And what is the information we need you to get” He moves in front of me.
“You want me to find all his men that can be bought over to you”
“And…”
“The info for the overseas accounts…”
“And…”
“You want me to keep him distracted as you take down his organization.” His strong hands grip into my shoulders and he pulls me to stand up.
“Now…is that so difficult of a thing to do. Or are you just trying to play us out for more cash.” All I feel is air moving past me and suddenly I’m floor. “Or are you playing both sides…”
“I’m sorry, Phil.” I hear myself screaming and it’s so pathetic.
“What are you sorry for Delilah?” he shouts “Sorry that your screwing us all over or what?”
“No! He’s not like the others. He tries to keep me out of his business. Says it’s for my own good. It’s taking longer than I expected to get in. I’ll get you your info I swear.” I can feel hot tears streaming down my cheeks, black mascara running with them. He pulls out a gun and then there’s cold steel against my temple.
“You have one month.” He says. His voice is hard, deep, menacing. “In one month I better be given the keys to Samson’s kingdom. And I want them hand delivered by you. And If I don’t get them, there ain’t anywhere you can run; there ain’t anywhere you can hide. Not even Sammy-boy himself will be able to protect you.”
I hear him leave. “One month ‘Lilah.” he calls from down the hall.
I wake up on the futon to my cell phone vibrating in my pocket.
“Hello” I answer groggily.
“Hey beautiful” I smile. “You were gone this morning. I was worried you didn’t get home all-right.” I slowly sit up. My head is pounding.
“Sorry, I didn’t want to wake you up. You were out like a light. Did you have rough day yesterday?” I light up a cigarette to keep the headache at bay.
“Business is business.”
“I could help you. Y’know.”
“Babe, we’ve been over this.”
“I can handle it.”
“I don’t want you involved.”
“I want to be.”
“We’ve discussed this.”
“I know.” There is a silence over the phone. I can hear the wheels in his head turning as he tries to change the topic of conversation.
“Hey guess what?” he says mood shifting instantly.
“Umm… I don’t know. You’re… finally getting a hair cut” He laughs.
“Absolutely not.” He says. I can hear the smile on his face. “I know you don’t have work today so I cancelled all my appointments and we both have the whole day off. Whatever you want to do, we’ll do.”
“Really?” I ask.
“Yep. So why don’t you get ready, and I’ll come and pick you up in about an hour. Okay?”
“Okay”
“See you then, I love you” The phrase catches me off guard and makes me feel sick to my stomach.
“Love you too” I want to put the bullet in my head now.
“Kay, see you in an hour.” I stare off into space for a few moments before moving to the bathroom to get ready.
What if we just left? What if we just got in his car and drove away? We could go to Spain. Get Married. I could pop out a few kids, and he could set up shop and we could not have to worry about anything.
Or I could run. I could run away. Change my name and hide out in some hickville in the middle of nowhere and work as a waitress at some hole in the wall restaurant. And just wait from them to find me. They would find me. But I wouldn’t have to betray Sam.
Or I could just tell Sam what’s going on. He’d protect me. He’s Samson. He runs one of the most powerful syndicates along the east coast. Nothing would happen to me.
Or he’d throw me out in the street and Phil and his guys would come and have their way with me before killing me and everyone I ever knew.
Or he’d just put a bullet in my head for selling him out. Jesus, I might as well be a whore. It’d be less complicated.
I set down my curling iron and spray my hair locking the tresses into place. My cell phone buzzes and I swear before grabbing my purse and running down the five flights to his car.
He’s leaning against the car door looking epically cliché. He smiles as I approach.
“Hey Babe” he takes my hand and opens the door for me. “Your carriage, m’lady” I smile and comment on how cheesy he is. He smiles and says that I fell for it. He asks what I want to do. I smile and say that I hadn’t put much thought into it. He jokes about how that how all women are. I punch him playfully in the shoulder and he playfully pouts and complains that it hurts till I kiss it and make it all better.
We end up going to lunch at some up-town restaurant. I feel so low-class, but he winks and I don’t feel so much like a college drop-out anymore. We talk a little about what else is happening around the city today. There’s a pause and he looks up at me completely seriously.
“I don’t like that you walked back to your apartment. It’s dangerous out there for pretty girls such as yourself”
“I didn’t want to wake you up to ask you to drive me back” He looks down at his plate. “I’m a big tough girl. I can take care of myself.” I laugh. He isn’t. “Plus, you looked so tired and you were completely out.” He looks back up.
“Move in with me.” I freeze like a dear caught in the headlights.
“What!”
“Move in with me. Think about it, it’s a safer neighborhood. You could go back to school instead of having to work in that diner. I could take better care of you.”
“Samson…” I start and stop. And my thoughts turn to the ones I had earlier. What if we could just leave? “Samson… I was thinking we could move out of the states. Go somewhere else. Somewhere new. Get away from all this junk y’know. Have a new start somewhere else.”
“What junk?” he asks.
“I don’t know…just all this…” He leans back in his chair and doesn’t say anything. He looks like he’s actually thinking it all through. I let myself hope. Hope that I can worm myself out of this mess.
“Delilah.” He says my name softly. “Theres’s something I need to show you.” He leaves a few bills on the table and he escorts me out to his car. We drive silently back down familiar streets to his neighborhood.
But for once we don’t park in his flat’s garage. We park on the street in front of an office building. He takes my hand and guides me to an elevator in the building. We go to the top floor. People greet him. They don’t call him Sammy, or Samson. They call him sir or Mr. The look at him with a level of respect. The men smile at me and some of the girls shoot me nasty looks. He opens up a door for me and I walk in.
His office. There is power in this room. There is power in the large desk and high-tech computer screen. There is power in the line of filing cabinets; power in the expensive leather chairs that furnish it. He takes my hand again and leads me to a balcony. We go to the edge and he leans over the balcony and looks down.
“Delilah…” he says my name like he did in the restaurant. “What do you see down there?”
“People” I shrug. “Cars, small stores.”
“I see a community that four generations ago was so impoverished that was labeled tent city by the press. Then my family came in and we built up the economy of this place. The economy here lies soley within this business. We buy the small stores so they don’t get bought by huge companies and the huge companies can’t afford to buy us. So families keep their stores. We moderate gang activity so other groups don’t come in and mess with us. I keep this place safe for my people. So as much fun as leaving with you would be, I can’t leave them. It won’t happen.” He turns to me and smiles and walks back into his office.
I look back down to the street for a moment and I can feel my stomach getting nauseous. The gravity of my actions weighs down.
“If I move in with you; will you let me help you?” He turns around from just inside the doorway. “I want to help you. I want to help you make things better.” This is wrong. This is so wrong. “I’m not that smart. But I can learn to be a savvy business woman” I smile brightly. This. Is. Wrong. He walks slowly up to me and suddenly he’s right in front of me. Powerful arms wrap around my shoulder in a hug. His forehead presses against mine.
“Okay.” He says after a long moment of silence.
“Okay?” I ask.
“Okay” he repeats.
“Now what would I have to do to convince you to let me give you a hair cut?” He laughs and pulls me back into the hug.
The next few weeks are terrible. He has me organize a bunch of files on his computer while he’s in a meeting. I copy the hard disk and give it to Phil. I end up buying off some of his guys. I feel disgusting. He’s getting more and more stressed. I know it’s because everything is going as planned. But I do my job. I be the girlfriend. The lover. The whore. The distraction. And every night he falls asleep with his worries gone.
It’s horrible because I’m not lying to him when I say I love him. I do.
But it’s all too much. And I’m just waiting for it all to crash down around me.
My month is almost over and everyday I feel like I’m going to die. When I’m not with Sammy, I look over my shoulder. When I’m with Sammy, he talks about our future. The possibility of me going back to school, us getting married and having a few kids,. How awesome life is going to be. And I know it will never happen.
But I still dream that it could come true.
“Does the fact that I haven’t cut my hair since my sophomore year of college bug you that much?” The question catches me off guard. We’re in bed watching some movie.
“Not really” I admit. “However, I am curious as to how you would look without it.” I snuggle lazily into his side.
“Want to cut it?” he asks.
“Tomorrow is Sunday. No hair place is going to be open.”
“I mean right now. Do you want to cut my hair?”
“You would let me cut your hair.” He starts laughing.
“Course’ I trust you” His words send a lump to my throat.
“Okay.” He rolls out of bed and we go to the bathroom.
Lock after lock fall to the floor. I try to keep my hands from shaking and as I the brown strands slide through my fingers. And suddenly he looks like a new man.
He runs his hands through his short hair and smirks.
“Looks good.” He turns around on the stool. “What do you think?” I run my hands through the short hair and nod and smile. He yawns tiredly and we return to bed.
And then they come for him. I hear them thunder up the stairs to his flat. He grabs a gun from out of the dresser and tells me to hide in the bathroom. I don’t. I start to cry and all the filth of everything I am weighs down.
They burst down the bedroom door and they grab him. I see them beat him. I see them bruise and bloody him up and all I can do is sit on the floor by the bed and cry. They don’t touch me. He’s down but conscious when Phil comes in. He drops a stack of cash in my lap.
“Good girl”
“Delilah” Samson sputters my names as his blood drips down onto the white carpet. I begin to sob.
“I’m sorry” I cry. “I’m so sorry.”
“Delilah” he screams as they drag him away. “DELILAH!”
They are long gone. But I can still hear him screaming at me. I run. I take the money and I run. I get in his car and drive as far as I can. I drive and drive and drive. I find a house down south and I finally stop. It’s a nice place. I’m finishing school and I have a job.
I read about how they killed him in the newspaper. Phil turned him into the police with evidence I gathered. At the trial. He shot Phil and a bunch of the other members of his gang. But he got shot up. He’s dead. But still all I can hear in my dreams is him screaming my name that night and he won’t ever stop. I don't want him to.