Zachary David Productions Read online

  “Where are we?” Cammie asked through a cough.

  “Edge of downtown?”

  “Do you mind taking me as far as Jackson Square?” Cammie fiddled with the loop on the top of her bag.

  “I don’t mind at all, but I’d rather drop you at a hotel.”

  “My destination is just around the corner from Jackson Square.”

  Misty nodded, “Jackson Square it is.”

  At the square, various performers and artists were scattered about and there was one particular piano player who’d drawn quite a crowd. Crowds were good—crowds made Cammie feel safe. She reached into her pocket and pulled out five dollars to offer Misty for the trek down to the French Quarter—the offer still cheaper by far than if she’d taken the bus.

  Misty swatted her hand away. “Put your money away.”

  Cammie complied and sent up a blessing for her peculiar new friend whose blue eyes burned into her. “Take care of yourself, and for your information, most of the Catholic churches in town will put you up for a night or two. One could move around the city and probably live simply for some time making use of the church in such a way.”

  That was good information. Cammie thanked Misty and then set out toward her destination, enjoying the lilting piano notes as they escorted her through the streets of the French Quarter.

  Walking up Decatur Street she passed the donut café, the smell causing saliva to stir in her mouth.

  Along her journey she received several bumps on her shoulders from intoxicated patrons as they passed each other on the sidewalk. One especially inebriated man spilled his beer down the front of her shirt, making her even colder and wetter than she’d been. The further east she went, the more the crowds started to thin, until she was ultimately alone. Finally, she made the turn onto St. Ferdinand Street that would take her to her destination.

  When she reached the barred and shuttered duplex, she climbed the three steps and stood before the door. Inhaling deeply, she knocked. She noticed a pretty blue lantern nailed to the house next to the door. If it were on it would have provided nice lighting over the porch, but instead she waited in darkness. She knocked again and soon saw her blonde friend through the inlaid window on the door.

  The door cracked open as if it hadn’t been worked in years and Priscilla reached her arms around Cammie.

  “Oh, my God. Cammie.” Priscilla hugged her tightly. “You must be freezing. Get in here.”

  “Thanks. I hope I’m not too late.”

  “Too late? Gage won’t even be home until after three.”

  Cammie followed her friend down the dark paneled hallway and into the living area of the home where a television was tuned to a popular reality show.

  “You want a beer?”

  Cammie wasn’t quite twenty yet, but knew Priscilla had just turned legal age. “No thanks.”

  Her eyes followed Priscilla as she disappeared around a corner, returning a few seconds later with a bottle of beer in hand.

  Cammie sat in a wooden glider chair while Priscilla lounged on the couch, her brown eyes focused on the television. “So, you made it.”

  “Yeah, thanks for letting me stay here.”

  “Sure.” Priscilla shrugged.

  She sipped from the bottle and kept her stare on the tube. “So he was coming on to you or what?”

  Cammie fidgeted and pushed the glider chair to its max. “Among other things.”

  “Well it’s good you left then.”

  Cammie nodded her agreement. “You said there might be a way to make some good money?”

  Priscilla leaned forward to dig through her purse. She then passed a business card to Cammie.

  Zachary David Productions

  (504) 723-5445

  This was the job?

  Did Priscilla think Cammie would actually do this type of thing?

  Had Priscilla made a film for Zach?

  Did Priscilla know that Cammie already worked for Zach in a cleaning capacity?

  “It’s porn but pays extremely well. More depending on what you’re willing to do.” Her brown eyes pinned Cammie. “Two to three grand.” Priscilla pointed her index finger at Cammie. “That kind of dough can get you set up in this town—get you into an apartment and a car. Then you can do whatever you want.”

  “Is that what you did?”

  She took a large swig of beer and then swallowed. “Yeah, until I met Gage.”

  “Gage?”

  “My boyfriend.”

  Cammie frowned. Her friend lacked the spunk she’d had when they were the best of friends in high school. The mischief in her eyes had been replaced with a haunted darkness that made Cammie’s skin chill.

  “So Gage made you quit?”

  “No, he enjoyed the extra income. It was Zach. When he found out I was seeing Gage he fired me.”

  Cammie had known Zach for a while now and she couldn’t see him firing someone without cause.

  “Why?”

  “He and Gage are…well, they hate each other. The simple act of mentioning Gage’s name was all it took for him to go ballistic.”

  Cammie forced herself to still the rocking chair. “Why do they hate each other?”

  “I don’t know.” Priscilla pursed her lips tightly together.

  “You seem down… are you doing okay?” Cammie asked.

  Giving her an incredulous look, Priscilla replied, “You just ask a lot of questions and I’m tired.”

  “I was just wondering how someone could hate Zach.”

  “Cammie, you’re so naïve.”

  Cammie hated being called naïve more than she hated being referred to as curvy. “I am not,” she said and then felt her lip bulge to form a pout.

  “Gage is in the business of making and selling weed.” She shrugged. “Let’s just say Zach has a no-tolerance policy when it comes to recreational using or selling of illegal substances.”

  “Can you blame him?”

  “Please! It’s not like he’s a celibate priest. The man makes porn movies.”

  Priscilla stood and made a sweeping gesture with her hand that said the conversation was over. “Let me make up the couch for you.”

  Priscilla turned off the television when she left the room. Without it, sirens and hollering could be heard off in the distance. Recalling the bars on the house, Cammie wondered how safe the area was and thanked God she’d made it to the house without incident.

  She stood when Priscilla returned and helped her cover the couch with sheets. When they’d finished the task they stood toe-to-toe.

  Priscilla reached for a lock of Cammie’s dark hair, “You let it grow out.”

  Cammie smoothed her hair, “I didn’t like it short.”

  “It’s pretty. I was always jealous of your thick hair.”

  “But you’re a blonde.”

  Priscilla giggled, “That’s true.” She fluffed a pillow and dropped it at the would be head of the bed. “Gage will probably come in here when he gets home. I hope he doesn’t turn on the T.V., but he probably will.”

  “That’s fine.”

  After Priscilla left the room, Cammie removed her wet tennis shoes and sighed. It felt good to finally get under a warm pile of blankets.

  Sleep came intermittently. When she heard the front door open and shut, Cammie turned onto her side to face the back of the couch to tune out her surroundings.

  Just as Priscilla had warned, Gage turned on the television. Cammie pretended to sleep and she waited for a sound that would tell her that he’d settled into a chair, but that sound never came. Instead, a heavy hand on her shoulder pushed her body away from the couch. She pretended to sleep and finally the hand let her go. The sound of his body in motion and then settling into the leather recliner brought her relief.

  Cammie was so exhausted that even with Gage in the room, she eventually dozed.

  Deep sleep was a luxury she hadn’t experienced since her mother’s death. Tonight would be no different.

  She woke up and glanced at
her watch, realizing it was close to eight o’clock. She pushed herself up and looked around the room.

  Gage sat in the recliner, watching her. Her stomach dropped. It was an instinctive reaction that she had no control over. Her gut said he wasn’t someone to trust.

  “Mornin’.”

  His voice was deep and full of volume.

  “Good morning.” In comparison, her voice sounded weak. She cleared her throat, preparing to speak. “Thank you for—”

  “You slept here last night?”

  “Yes, and I want to thank you for your hospitality.”

  Hospitality? He didn’t seem hospitable, but she hoped he’d be moved by her gratefulness. She stood and pulled the sheet from the couch, keeping one eye on him as she folded. When he stood his height was the first thing she noticed. The top of his head almost touched the low ceiling of the living room. He was beefed up with muscles, so much so that his T-shirt strained over his biceps. His dishwater blonde hair was thinning, but that only contributed to his foreboding demeanor. His eyes squinted at her.

  “This isn’t a hotel or a home for wayward teens. You can’t stay for free.”

  She dropped the folded sheet and picked up a blanket. “I’ll just fold this blanket and then leave.”

  “You still owe me for last night.”

  His eyes looked her over from head to toe, pausing at her well-endowed chest. This wasn’t the first time she’d wished for a decrease in cup size.

  Her hands froze, halting the task of folding. “I don’t have very much money.”

  “I don’t want money. I want service.”

  Service? A million ideas exploded in her brain. Some of the ideas were images of her on her knees. Others were of her dusting and vacuuming. “Um, I don’t…what do you want me to do?”

  “I need you to make a delivery.”

  She sat, perching herself on the edge of the couch. “Delivery of what? To where?”

  Still standing, his hand dove into his right pocket. Struggling with his hand almost too big for his pocket, he pulled a square blue packet from his jeans. He held it before her between his thumb and index finger.

  “Eight hundred. You’ll make the delivery and in return, bring me eight hundred.”

  What he held in his hands was stronger than marijuana. Drugs. He wanted her to deliver drugs. Stunned, she stared at the plastic pouch between his sturdy fingers. Fingers that could make a heavy fist.

  He whistled and snapped his fingers in front of her face. “Let’s go.”

  She grabbed her backpack and followed, afraid of his reaction if she were to not comply. They loaded into a black Dodge Charger and rode in silence. She hugged the backpack that sat between her legs. It was the only thing she possessed that defined who she’d been. Inside it was packed with pictures and books that were her favorites. She’d also included the sweatshirt from Colorado that was the last item her mother had purchased for her. Tears stung her eyes and she closed them tight, wishing she could ask her mother what she should do in this situation.

  Cammie hadn’t been paying attention, so when the car rolled to a stop and Gage placed it in park she was surprised to realize they weren’t too far from his own home.

  “The white house with the black shutters”—he pointed to a home with peeling paint and widows with tin foil shades—“knock on the door, collect the money, and then pass them the pouch. I’ll pick you up three blocks west.

  West? He was just going to leave her here?

  “You’re leaving me?”

  “Three blocks west. Now go.”

  She opened the door, the cool steel of the handle reviving her slow brain and bringing her mind into the situation. She climbed out of the low riding car and reached for her bag.

  “Leave the bag.”

  The car started to roll forward and with the momentum the door slipped from her hand and shut. He was gone. She stood alone, watching as the black car turned at the corner leaving her ultimately abandoned. A shiver ran the length of her and she wrapped her arms around herself, rubbing to generate warmth. The street was quiet—no cars backing out to make a long commute to work, no children waiting for the school bus. She thought it strange given that it was a weekday.

  What would happen if she skipped selling drugs and walked to Zach’s instead? She heard the rumble of a souped up car motor and looked up. Near the corner sat the black Charger, Gage gunning the engine.

  Her body tensed as she staggered toward the white house with the peeling paint. Maybe nobody would answer the door.

  She stumbled over the porch step, her mind far ahead or behind, but nowhere in sync with her body. So much for making a discreet tradeoff.

  Tradeoff? Was that what this was called?

  Was she a drug dealer?

  A pusher?

  A drug trafficker?

  A specialist in ecstasy?

  At the door she could smell what she thought was bacon frying. So much for the hope that nobody was home.

  Cammie raised a fist and prepared to knock when she heard a car approaching. She turned and her stomach dropped so hard she wretched.

  A police car slowly drove past the home.

  A man ran from between two houses. He ran across the street out in front of the police car and then he darted between houses on the other side of the street.

  Everything happened so quickly she stood with her mouth agape like a newly farmed fish.

  The door to the house opened and when the man before her saw the cop car he quickly shut the door. More people, a guy and a girl, scampered between the houses and the cops exited their vehicle, running after them.

  In the direction opposite the action, Cammie darted between two houses and ran at a steady cement-eating sprint, her legs working like pistons. In the garbage alley she pushed her muscles, turning and winding herself deeper into the French Quarter. She purposefully ran toward the sun, which was east, so that she might escape being apprehended by Gage.

  Her side hitched with a cramp and she doubled over, placing her hands on her knees and breathed deep. Coughing she stood and with one palm anchored against the brick wall of a building she vomited. She was cold and scared. Since her bag was in Gage’s car, she was without resources.

  On Chartres, she walked opposite the direction of the rising sun. After about a mile her feet turned onto Orleans Street.

  She knew Zach would help her, but she’d also known him long enough to know he’d have questions. She’d have to answer truthfully and, according to Priscilla he’d go ballistic and fire her, no questions asked. She couldn’t afford that gamble so she would have to come up with another solution.

  Shit!

  She just realized all of her paperwork that she was going to use to prove the house was hers was in the backpack and so was the phone Zach lent her that she was using to communicate with the lawyer.

  This really was the worst day of her life so far.

  3

  Chapter Three

  Zachary David sat at his workstation and uploaded the latest film to GenXXX.com.

  While he waited on the broadband to complete the exchange, he thought about his business that had been lucrative enough to amass a nice little nest egg for himself.

  GenXXX promised its members fresh new content every week and for over two years Zachary had delivered on that promise. At twenty-eight dollars per month, the members paid well for the service. Trouble was, he’d just uploaded one of the last of two new films in the vault.

  He needed new talent and he needed it yesterday.

  He swung his chair around and opened the drawer on the credenza, pulling out a black book. The book hit the desk with a solid, positive thud and he began to thumb through it.

  He dialed the first number.

  “What’s going on, Alyssa?”

  “Oh my, what a blast from the past.”

  She cooed sickeningly into the phone and Zachary tolerated it for the sake of his business.

  “I wondered when you’d be calling. Mi
ss me, do you?”

  “Of course I do.” No, he didn’t.

  “And just what have you been up to, Zachypoo?”

  Ugh, he’d gladly forgo the chitchat but knew she wouldn’t. When they’d dated, Alyssa had expressed interest in making a movie. Since she’d never done so before, she was the perfect fresh face he needed. It was a bonus that he knew she wasn’t crazy. Lately he’d had his hands full with women who’d been as mad as bees trapped between the windowpanes. One particular woman demanded sleeping arrangements for her entourage that included a professional trainer, personal waxer, and a sniveling little kiss-ass assistant. Zach scoffed at the memories. It had taken her and her crew three days just to get settled.

  He needed actresses and he needed them to be professional, and preferably ready to work.

  May as well go for broke. “I remember we talked about doing a film and wondered if you were available next week?”

  She squealed into the phone and he pulled the receiver away from his ear. “I don’t think my fiancé would appreciate you propositioning me in that manner.” She giggled.

  He wasn’t propositioning her; he was offering her a business contract. Whatever. “Oh, you’re engaged. Who’s the lucky bastard?”

  “You don’t know him. He’s from Arkansas.”

  “Well you better make sure he’s been broken.”

  “What?”

  “Nothing. You know what, I’ve got another call that I need to take. Congrats and take care.”

  On a sigh he dropped the headset into the cradle. He’d just have to use one of his regular actresses to make the next film. Only thing is, it didn’t sit right with him since he’d received a handful of praiseful email regarding his kept promise of fresh talent.

  Three consecutive sharp beats from the security system stole his attention.

  Nine o’clock.

  That would be Cammie.

  The thought left him with a smile on his face as he went in search of the chestnut haired beauty. Her soft gray eyes bordered by thick lashes were like staring into a lunar eclipse. Her real beauty though was in her curves. She had the classic pinup style body that had the ability to erase his internal hard drive of any and all thoughts but her.