Page 9 of All Twisted Up
I couldn’t hear what they were saying, but I could sure as hell read body language. The passenger pulled away one final time and darted into Gomez’ building. The driver stood there for a few seconds, hands on hips, looking at the ground then up and down the street, before reluctantly going in after his friend.
“Just a resident, then,” Turley said, dismissing the whole thing. He turned to Candy. “I’m done here.”
“Let’s go,” Candy said, glancing over at us. The grim expression on his face said everything. “I need to find an office with a window that opens for Monroe to set up.”
“Yes, sir, Captain Sorensen,” Mickey said with as much respect as he could.
Fuck Turley and his fucked-up plan not to allow us to EVAC the building before bullets started flying. I was right about bullets going through walls. I’d seen it happen time and time again. Although, how we’d manage to not alert Gomez and company while we were clearing the floor was difficult too.Still…I was pissed as hell, and I knew Candy was seething as we went about checking for windows that Rex thought would work.
In an office two doors down, he found one he liked. An import/export business’ conference room had windows facing the street…windows that actually opened so he wouldn’t have to cut a hole in the glass—always an option when necessary. Rex could lie face down on the huge table and still have a clear shot at Gomez if he could get him in his sights.
“That’s it. Let’s go back and tell the others where to set up,” Candy said.
We locked up the office as we’d done with all the offices we’d checked. Permits would have to be drawn up for the use of the sniper perch, but that’s what SAC Bradley did best.
JOSHUA
Billy was in trouble, and I had no idea how to get him out of it. I’d spent the whole night sitting in his tiny apartment in Westwood, trying to talk him out of taking one hit after another, while watching over Dog, his adorable Boston Terrier puppy. I was sure the little guy deserved a better name, and I tried to think of one, hoping it would distract me. At one point, Dog had curled up on my lap and buried his nose in the crook of my elbow where he fell back to sleep. The smell from the weed Billy smoked couldn’t be good for him, but every time I’d tried locking the little puppy in the bedroom, his whimpers had turned into howls.
Around four-thirty in the morning, when Billy realized he was out of weed, blow, and alcohol, he told me it was time to score. Since I wasn’t into the drug scene, I told him he was just shit out of luck, moved Dog onto the couch, and tried to tuck Billy under a blanket. He had to be cold. I was sure theapartment’s thermostat was set at meat locker. He’d thrown the blanket at me and snatched up his keys, heading for the door before I could even protest.
After a hushed argument in his apartment’s hallway, I’d snatched the keys from him—since there was no way I’d let him drive drunkandstoned—and followed him out of the building. The drive to Chinatown had ended us up here at five-fifteen in the morning, arguing once again, inside the lobby of an old brick apartment building.
“Billy, this place feels all kinds of wrong. Can we please just go home?” I begged. “You don’t look good, and we left so quickly we didn’t even have time to give Dog a walk.”
He rounded on me so fast I was forced to step back. “I know the guy who lives here, Joshua,” he slurred. “I met him at Marty’s, so you know he’s fine.”
“Are you high?” I asked, kicking myself for the unintended pun. “How do you figure meeting a dealer at Marty’s makes him fine? He could be dangerous.”
Marty’s was one of the premier gay bars in West Hollywood, owned by a very nice older man who’d opened it over forty years ago when AIDS was ravaging the LGBTQ community. I’d bet my life on the fact that drug dealers weren’t welcome in the upscale bar, but that didn’t make it impossible to find them inmostbars, if you tried hard enough.
“Leave me alone, Joshua! I don’t need a babysitter!” He turned away, lurching for a door to the stairwell. I felt uneasy about the whole situation. He fumbled for a moment, finally getting the door open. As he struggled with the door, I ran to catch up, holding it when it seemed too heavy for him in his inebriated state. We started climbing stairs, not stopping until we were ten floors up. I stayed behind him on the way up, readyto catch him, hoping he wouldn’t stumble since I wasn’t a big guy myself. I breathed out a sigh of relief as we finally reached the door on ten and spilled out into a hallway.
Billy fumbled in his pocket, pulling out a ratty business card, and glancing at it way too long as he tried to read the address. He glanced over at me with a lopsided smile. “Ten thirty-two.”
I was worried. I’d only known Billy for three months, having met him when he came to pick up a friend who’d turned out to be one of my students.
The ESL classes I taught three nights a week paid almost nothing, but the little extra I made helped put groceries on the table while I finished my graduate degree.
I taught all manner of immigrants, not only from places south of the border like Honduras, Argentina, El Salvador, and Mexico. But one of my students was from Laos, several were from Korea and Vietnam, another was from Germany, and I even had a young, married couple from Italy. It was one of the reasons I loved teaching the classes. Not only was I helping them learn English, but I was exposed to cultures from all over the world. They taught me as much, if not more, than I taught them. It was a wonderful way to give back and I knew it would benefit me tenfold in a future job hunt. Plus, it just felt good to help people.
Although I hardly knew anything about Billy—like most of the people I took care of—shortly after meeting him, I’d decided he had some problems only I could fix.
Maybe I was the one who needed fixing. My younger brother and sisters loved me to death. My mother had taught us to always give back and pay it forward. Now that she was gone, I tried to be the example my siblings needed. As we walked to the right apartment, I wanted to kick myself for thinking I was theonly one who could help Billy. People always told me I jumped into situations before thinking things out, and I had a sinking suspicion that this mess was going to turn out to be one of those,I told you so, situations.
Billy stopped in front of ten-thirty-two and knocked, glancing over at me with glazed eyes. “It’s gonna be fine, Joshua, you’ll see.” He slid an arm around my waist and gazed up at me. “You’ll see.”
I wassosure it wasn’t fine the moment the door flew open. We sprang apart and jumped back. I swallowed hard because I knew…just knew…we were completely fucked.
The angry Hispanic man who greeted us with a sneer, couldn’t have looked scarier. The fancy shirt he wore unbuttoned to the waist revealed an impressive array of tattoos, but it was the tats on his neck and face that made me want to run.
“Who are you?” he barked in Spanish.
“Is Juan here?”
“Juan who?” The man switched to accented English.
Billy laughed nervously. “I don’t know…just, Juan. Tell ‘im Billy’s here. I met ‘im at Marty’s,” he slurred.
