Page 13 of Shadows of Justice

I run back out on the street and look in every direction, but it’s no use.

He’s fucking gone. I lost him.

Chapter Five - Lean Green Machine

Saturday, July 11th

Iblink my eyes open and groan.

Jamo-ginger, you have done me dirty. My tongue feels like sandpaper, and my teeth feel like they have sweaters on them. I haven’t drank in a while and clearly, my tolerance would like to remind me of that. I throw the covers off as a rush of heat makes my skin slick with sweat, needing to cool down and fast if I’m going to avoid throwing up.

What a lightweight.

I slog to the kitchen, wincing at the morning light filtering in through the multicolored windows. Some of the many panes are dyed in greens and yellows and blues, an aspect I found odd when I toured this place five years ago. Now, I find it pleasing. Unique. I like the watercolors it paints my apartment in the morning when the sun rises, the hues dancing through the leaves of the multitude of vining plants I have hanging near the glass. And when it rains, that’s my favorite. It’s like a liquid, shimmering rainbow show right here in my living room.

I fill a cup with water and down it quickly, followed by two Excedrin. My head is swimming. I need to eat something greasy and to sweat this evil out, ASAP.

Yawning, I fry up some hash-browns and sunny-side up eggs, and smother all of it in ketchup. It’s a solid hangover meal I learned in the academy when on the weekends the cadets would all drink our stresses away. I haven’t drank much since then, in fact, and the flavor of this meal is almost nostalgic.

In my closet, I pull on some workout shorts, a sports bra, white socks, and my Nikes. I lock the front door behind me and put in my AirPods, cranking up my workout playlist to drown out the sound of all the blood rushing around in my head.

I pass my landlord, Mrs. Gonzalez, coming up the stairs on my way down.

“Buenos dias, señora,” I greet her, waving as I pass by.

“Buenos dias, chica,” she answers with a radiant smile. In endearing, broken English she adds, “Have good run.”

She’s a sweetheart. I’m her only female tenant out of ten residents, so I think she sort of looks out for me in a motherly way. And she gives me a discount on my rent because I feed her cats when she’s out of town.

Ignoring the roiling in my stomach, I set out on my standard five-mile morning run. I haven’t done it in over a week because of all of the Barone nonsense, and despite the pounding in my head it feels good to be back in my routine.

I take in my neighborhood as I pass it by; the quaint, old-school diners that have seen better days. The Greens and Magical Goods store I frequent often to feed my ever-growing addiction to house plants. The Mexican restaurants with old, plump men sweeping off their stoops in preparation for the weekend rush, blasting Spanish radio as the food within wafts delicious scents into the air.

I love it here. I know it’s not fancy—as Tim loves to point out—but it’s been home for five years. This was my first apartment living without a roommate and I love it, with all of its quirks. It’s cheap, allowing me to avoid overtime unless I feel like picking it up. And it came with a washer and dryer—which in my opinion—made it a slam dunk. I paid my deposit the minute the tour was over.

I cross through the park, thinking back on my previous evening and my unsuccessful tail on Leo. I’m going to have to be more prepared next time. I don’t think he saw me. I’m pretty sure I just lost him, but I don’t want to pop into his memory if he starts noticing me around more often.

My chest heaves, and I’m pretty sure my sweat is 99% whiskey. I’ve only gone 3.5 miles, but I feel like my lungs are going to burst.

I stop on the corner of 6th, bracing my hands on my knees to catch my breath. Beyoncé blares in my ears and I press pause. She’s too bad ass for how I feel right now.

I look up and wipe the sweat from my brow and realize that I’m standing in front of Charlie’s. Its partitions are down and it’s closed up tight, considering it’s 10:45 AM. I bite my lip in thought, wondering if an employee could give me any info on Barone. Maybe he lives nearby. He certainly seemed at ease, just strolling around this area at midnight last night.

I turn around and spot a smoothie place, thinking fruit and something green would probably do my body good. I haven’t been great to it lately, and something about a smoothie just makes you feel healthier.

Ordering a choice named The Lean Green Machine, I make my purchase and leave to head back home. Just as I round the corner I’m yanked into an alley, and a hand covers my mouth. I release a muffled scream, my smoothie and phone flying out of my hand, my back against a firm chest. We spin, and then my front is on the wall of the smoothie store, my cheek pressed to the cool stone and the hand still clamped over my mouth.

“Don’t scream or fight me. I’m not going to hurt you.”

Heat trickles down all my finger and toes, my traitorous body reacting to his proximity and my climbing heart rate. I’d know that voice anywhere now. I hear it in my fucking dreams.

Leo.

In response, I head butt him in the jaw as hard as I can which sends a renewed shot of pain through my skull, but elicits a satisfying grunt from my attacker. He curses in Spanish, but doesn’t release his hold on me.

Then he chuckles. Chuckles.

“You’re a wild one, aren’t you?” he asks, his condescending amusement making me want to scratch his eyes out, and I thrash in revolt. “Relax. I just want to talk. If I let you go, will you be calm?”

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