Page 30 of The Delivery

“Sorry to drag you out here. I didn’t have anybody else. I would have called Lex, but I didn’t want to scare him.”

“What about your wife? Is she not a citizen?”

“Oh. Yeah. We broke up. No, she’s wasn’t legal. But my son is—so that’s good, but she barely let’s me see him.”

No wife. No wife. No-wife-no-wife-no-wife.

“I wanted to have my shit straightened out before I saw you again. Wanted to have a great job, some great work to show you. I didn’t want to see you like this,” he gestures his arms outward in apology.

He’s still seeking my approval. Still sees me as an authority figure he wants to please with his achievements.

“It’s just good to see you, Mozey. You don’t have to be perfect. Christ, you met my crazy family! Anyway I don’t believe in perfect. You spoken to a lawyer yet?”

He runs his hand through his hair, and I see that he still wears a silver ring. The bracelets are gone as is the beanie. But maybe that’s just dress code and his style hasn’t changed.

“Yeah. Pretty much a done deal. Looks like I’m heading back as soon as they process me. This isn’t the first time they’ve tried, Lana, and I’ve got a few misdemeanors. All painting related, but they added on moral turpitude. Did you know when you put political stuff into your public art they can charge you with terrorism.”

“That’s the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard,” I say, taking a seat at the table. It’s graffiti not Al Qaeda.”

“Yeah, but lately they’re cracking down hard. It’s not like Pathways where we were changing the world one mural at a time. Remember?” he asks, and his face blooms with a smile.

Oh, I remember. My whole life’s work gobbled up by a public funds referendum. And I remember standing under your gaze, Mozey, and feeling the exact same way I feel now: heated and nervous and so crazy attracted to you. I guess that hasn’t changed.

“So that’s it? There’s no appeal? You’ll just move back to Mexico? How old were you when you left? Do you even know anyone there anymore?”

Mozey is taking in my questions and nodding at me as he scratches his brow.

“Yeah. Nothing I can do about it. I got to go with the flow.”

“How you getting back? They just drive you over the border and drop you off. Where did you come from? Mexico City, right? Do you have the money to get there?”

Mozey laughs at me, crosses his arms across his chest and leans back in his seat.

“You haven’t changed a bit. Still bossing everyone around. Trying to make sure everything comes out fair. Yeah, that’s my story, Lana. They’re kicking me out of here. I’m going back to where I came from. I’m a threat to society.”

“Pfft. Threat my ass.”

“I am a threat to your ass. Seriously,” Mozey says, a devilish smile arching his brow.

I blush at his words, my whole body is swimming in adrenaline and serotonin.

“If I stay here, I might paint every surface. I’ll put words everywhere, on everything in America.”

“What about the big stuff? Weren’t you doing any murals? Any commissions—something positive we could bring before a judge?”

“What? You my lawyer now? Lana, I didn’t call you for that. I wanted to say goodbye, to see you before I go.”

“If you don’t fight this, you’re crazy.”

“You fight hard for everyone else, but you won’t let anybody fight for you.”

I shift in my chair and rub at an invisible spot on my skirt. I always read too much into what he says. I hear what I want to hear. I’ve got to reel it in. I take a deep breath.

“Okay, Mozey. I should get going,” I say, rising out of my seat. “I’ll make a few phone calls in the morning to see what we can do to appeal this. If they move you, call me as soon as you can. They move detainees a lot, and I’ll have no say about where they put you.”

“Do you think before you go, maybe we could—you could—”

“What?” I sit back down noting the seriousness of his tone.

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