My jaw dropped as the two race cars got closer and closer, my mouth releasing a soundless scream. My hand instinctively went on my chest, clutching it like it was going somewhere and I had to stop it from breaking out of my chest.
At the last possible moment, the red race car swerved and came to a halt right behind the yellow one with black stripes, raising as much dust as I had ever seen in the air.
Even with the windbreaker on, cold settled deep in my bones and I found myself shivering. Just how much did these people not care about their lives?
I would have walked up to them and given them a lecture on how dangerous whatever they had just displayed was, which I didn't do for obvious reasons, one of which was the two men who got out of the racecars and gave each other looks.
"You're lucky I wasn't feeling quite crazy today. I would have crashed into you, head-on," the one in the red racecar which swerved said to the other.
"Careful, or you might lead me to believe you actually want to die and I'll shoot," the one in the yellow racecar replied as they made their way out of the track when a man and a woman in helmets burst out of nowhere and got into their racecars, probably to return them.
The two men who had come out of the cars did not have helmets on.
I stood there in the haze of fading dust as they shouted threats at each other, cursing in between. My eyes fell on the holsters on both of their pants, holding guns. I didn't want to guess if they were real or not, I would just tell Luciano – whichever one he was – that I wanted a job and I would leave.
The closer they got, the clearer their appearance was to me and the faster my heart banged in fear.
They were both tall. Not too tall in my eyes, given that I was pretty tall, but they were at least over six feet.
One of them had his shoulder-length hair so blond it was obvious, the other's was short and dark. A part of me thought it was telling of their personalities, but I wasn't there to read into them.
Their matching black shirts hugged their biceps and their chests. Although black hair's muscles were much more defined, blond one's face was his own place of definition.
So far, I knew that black hair's face was defined but not as defined as blond hair's face and vice versa with the muscles. They both had dark brown eyes, but the brown in black hair's eyes were easy to tell as Blond's eyes looked close to black.
You wouldn't know this unless they were standing directly in front of you.
Which they now were.
"Is it a statue?" Blond asked as he tilted his head to the side to look at me better, a smile which didn't represent humor gathering on his face.
"Should we find out?" Black suggested, an annoyed frown resting on his face.
I didn't want to know what "finding out" entailed, so I decided to help myself out of the situation.
"Mr. D'Angelo?" I called out, looking from one to the other. One of them had to be him. If neither was, I would have to head straight for the bar which I had passed earlier to get here. Maybe I should have gone to the bar first.
"You're going to need to be specific," Blond told me, just as black took off his fingerless gloves and neatly folded them in his hands.
Brothers. Of course.
"Mr. Luciano D'Angelo." My eyes narrowed. I didn't know if they were playing a prank on me or not. If I found out that neither of them was a D'Angelo, they would hear from me.
"You know, I'm quite surprised how you don't even know what he looks like. Are you from around here?" Blond asked.
"Not originally, but I've been here for about three years," I answered.
"That's strange. I don't think I've seen you around, either."
He said it as if he didn't know that not everyone in Mesquite wanted to get into trouble by getting exposed to the Mob.
"Well, I'll be on my way." Blond shrugged, walking away from the speedway.
I turned away from his retreating figure and found Lucianolooking even more annoyed than before as he looked down at the watch on his wrist.
"I'm not here to take your time. I'm looking to see if I can get a job at the bar just a few meters from here. That one." I pointed in the direction of the too-big-to-be-a-bar building sitting not too close but not too far from the speedway.
Before I turned back to look at him, I found him walking away in the direction of the bar, where his brother had gone.
I could have sworn I didn't beat around the bush, and I followed everything Vera had told me to do.
"Wait, Mr. D'Angelo!" I speed-walked behind him as his confident strides led him closer to the bar. "I'm a promising employee, I swear! I'm not going to spill drinks! Can I get a free trial for a week? I can show you."
He came to a halt, and so did I.
Without turning to spare me a look, he asked: "Has anyone ever told you that before talking to a stranger, you're expected to introduce yourself first?"
"Jasmine! I'm Jasmine." I was cursing myself in my head. My tongue was too loose. I had to take things slow. I was too nervous. Not a good combination.
"Your résumé."
Even I started to search my hands. I only had a small purse and my phone. I didn't know who it was that I was testing, him or myself. I was losing it. How stupid was I, walking here all confident and asking for a job without a résumé?
"I didn't think—"
"You didn't think a server would need to apply with a résumé?" At this, he turned to look at me with a questioning face. I couldn't tell if it was a trick question or not.
"I dropped out of college."
I almost slapped myself for saying that. That was not an excuse. I didn't make any research prior to coming here and I only hung on to Vera's words alone. Of course, she wouldn't tell me to take a résumé because she probably thought I had the common sense to do that.
"What's that supposed to do, pull a pity party? I don't give a fuck about dropping out of college. Did you drop out of fucking kindergarten, too?"
He was being rude. I wouldn't say that to him, for obvious reasons. My eyes flitted to the gun in a holster in front of his black pants.
"And you say you've been here for three years?" he asked, and I nodded. He only scoffed in response and started to walk away again.
I had to think fast. This was not a good first impression. If I knew anything, it was the fact that he would not take me seriously the next time he saw me, even if I had a thousand résumés.
There was only one option. The image of my father's face flashed across my mind but I shook it away as I followed behind Luciano, thinking of how to draw his attention once again.
My father would kill me, sure, but there was only one person who could tell him that I was a stripper – me.
And I wouldn't.
"Do I need a résumé to be a dancer at your bar?" When he stopped again, I almost sighed in relief.
"No," he answered.
My plans changed.