Page 66 of Five
The numerous jeers behind him make him react. He comes at me, knife first, no technique whatsoever, his movements way too slow. I easily avoid the blade, and after grabbing his wrist, I spin my body one hundred and eighty degrees, sliding under his arm and positioning my back to his front. I pull his arm hard, dislocating his elbow first, then his shoulder as I grab his bicep and give another pull.
I hear the clank of the knife on the ground, the guy’s whimpers, and the gasps from the rest of the gang, but nobody makes amove to help him. I spin again, twisting his arm and tuning out the scream that leaves the guy’s lips. A knee in his guts makes him fall on the cracked cement and a kick to his face puts him to sleep. Blood runs out of his nose, painting the dark sidewalk red.
They never listen!Bez sighs mockingly.
I pull on the lapels of my jacket and adjust the collar of my shirt as I lift my eyes to the rest of the gang standing on the stairs staring at me with different levels of fright. A couple of them must have fled, but the skinny boy is still there, looking at me with awe in his gaze.
“Loo-look, man we don’t want any trouble,” a bold guy states weakly. I ignore him.
“You,” I tell the skinny one as I pick the knife up from the ground and slip it in my inner jacket pocket. “Watch my car, and you’ll get a Franklin.”
“Are you going up to see Lori?” he asks. He knows Lori? Why doesn’t that surprise me?
“What if I am?”
He shrugs. “What if I want something else?” he retorts, gutsy and reckless. Something more than money?
I sweep my eyes over him. He doesn’t have a scorpion tattoo, not a visible one anyway, and his t-shirt and shorts are worn out and torn—and not as a fashion statement. He’s younger than the others, and there’s something about him. A hunger for life in his eyes.
“What’s your name?” I ask him.
It takes him a couple of seconds to answer, “Carlos.”
“What’s your name, Carlos?”
He bites his lower lip, “Spencer.”
“If my car is still in the same condition when I get down, Spencer, we’ll talk.”
He nods, and as I start climbing the stairs, the guys push back to the sides to let me pass.
The inside of the building is worse than the outside. There’s a smell of decay and lost dreams in the entrance. Broken glass covers the discolored, dirty floor. There’s no elevator, and the light coming from a dusty bulb flickers, scarcely illuminating the stairs. Ollie told me Lori’s apartment is on the fourth floor, so I start the climb, wondering why he lives in such a dangerous, run-down place. I know what I pay him, and he should be able to afford much better accommodations than this.
I reach his floor. The walls are covered in graffiti. Weird noises are coming from the first door I pass. The stench of cheap cigars is almost unbearable, but I can’t find the source of such an awful smell.
I stop in front of Lori’s door. It has a sticker that says “fuck off or lose a finger.” Bez smirks at that.
Rock music is coming from inside.
AC/DC.Fuck yeah!Bez growls. He’s a huge fan of anything rock&roll.
After two knocks, I hear Lori’s voice followed by crackling paper sounds. “Busy! Sod off!”
“Open up, Lori!” I command, feeling more resolute than ever.
The music abruptly stops. Then I hear footsteps advancing and the sound of various locks opening before the door is yanked open.
Lori’s mouth turns slack as he stares at me with a dumfounded expression. His nose is not red anymore, nor his forehead. He’s wearing a big white t-shirt with a growling tiger on the front that reaches his fishnet stockings-clad thighs, and through the thin fabric, I can see one of those sports bras underneath, a purple one.
“You-you came? Here?” He looks stunned.
“Rague and Ollie will be here soon, too, with the van.” I look behind him to see a few open boxes on the floor in the tiniest studio I’ve ever seen. The kitchen is made of a one-burner camping stove and a mini fridge. A mattress is lying in a corner of the room and an armchair is on the opposite side near a door—the bathroom I suppose—in front of a very long hanging rack filled with clothes.
“The kidnapping van?” he asks, confused, as I nudge him to step inside the horrifying room. “I ordered them not to. And that doesn’t tell me whyyouare here.” He nervously flaps his arms around, making the shirt rise dangerously higher. His legs are perfectly shaped and very bendy, if I recall properly.
You do,Bez states.
“I was on the phone with Rague when Ollie called you.” And I discovered that Lori has been evicted and refuses to move in with them.
