by Zahra Girard
Then I hold out my empty hand to Eleanor. She takes it. She spares one pitying glance for the impotent wreck that is David Archibald.
“I’m sorry I brought you here, Eleanor. Let’s go.”
Maybe Blaze’s method isn’t so bad after all.
Chapter Sixteen
Blaze
“You sure as shit shouldn’t be here.”
“Who the hell are you?”
“What, do you think you can just walk in here and take a fucking tour? This isn’t Disneyland, asshole. So you need to get the fuck out or I will punch your fucking ticket.”
“Goddamned jabroni, don’t you see the fucking fence? Or the ‘Keep out’ signs? Can’t you read?”
There’s a half dozen of them and they circle me like a pack of hyenas. Yammering, braying, posturing like they have a chance if I decide to throw down. They’re an inch and a wrong word away from death and they don’t even know it.
Then my hand wraps around the grip of my Glock and I hear another voice. Her voice. In my head. You can do better than this. Think, Blaze. Think.
She believes in me.
She thinks I can do this without resorting to violence.
And she’s the smartest woman I know.
I’ll find a way. I just have to fight my nature to kick these guys’ asses and send them to an early grave in a glorious flame of gunfire.
“Hold on a second,” I say, letting go of my gun and holding out my hands. “This isn’t what you guys think.”
One of them, a guy in his forties, with his hardhat askew, and an orange vest that strains to cover his bulky belly, steps forward. The others hold their places. Looks like I’ve found the leader.
“What it looks like, buddy, is that you’re poking your nose around a restricted area. It also looks like you’re asking to get your ass kicked.”
They think I’m a threat. And they’re right — if I wanted to, I could put every single one of these men in the ground before they knew what was happening — but I can’t let them know that. They have to think they have the advantage.
“It isn’t like that.”
He cocks his head sideways. His hat goes even more askew.
“Then why don’t you tell me how it is? You’ve got ten seconds before we kick your ass.”
The only way I get out of this is by making them think I’m not a threat. That I’m not worth their time, instead of being the badass who could tear this whole construction site down without breaking a sweat. I have to do the opposite of what I normally do; I have to talk shit about myself.
“Look at me, man, do I look like I matter?” I say.
“You look like an asshole in a fucking Backstreet Boys t-shirt and baggy jeans,” he says.
I could kill you in a blink, motherfucker. Put a bullet in your head and send half your friends to meet their maker before any of you sweaty cocksuckers even knew what was happening.
Instead, I’m nodding. Taking a half step back. Holding my arms out like I’m some peon trying to stave off a beating.
“I am. I mean, the Backstreet Boys are fucking great, so lay off about the shirt,” I say. “Look, man, I just was trying to get a fucking job. I thought if I came by and talked to the foreman, Howser, I could get hired on. My parents always said that was the best way to get a job. Standing in the fucking parking lot at the hardware store with all the day laborers ain’t doing shit for my finances, I just keep losing out on jobs to guys willing to work for fucking peanuts, and I got bills to pay.”
“You’re here for a job, asswipe?”
I nod. “When I came here, the foreman was just taking some boss-looking types into his trailer. Now, I ain’t the brightest out there, but even I know that it’d be stupid as hell to go knocking on his door. Instead, I’m just going to go back to my old Volvo, drive back to my mom’s house — where I live, in her fucking basement — and chill out until tomorrow. It ain’t nothing to me. Hell, I picked up Animal Crossing the other day, I can kill days with that shit.”
“Animal Crossing? What’s that?”
“A video game. I kick ass at it. My island is fucking awesome.”
“Well, I’ll give you one thing: you sure look the part of a fucking loser.”
I nod again. Even smile at the guy. It hurts, enrages me, every part of me is screaming to be done with this talking shit and show each of these meatheads how a real man handles business, but the second I do, I’ll have the whole fucking construction site on my ass and I’ll give away any element of surprise we’d have over the creeps trying to steal my mother’s house away.
But, what would bother me the most about going on a rampage, is that I’d end up disappointing that beautiful and brilliant woman waiting for me back at my mom’s house.
I have to humble myself. Tone myself down so that these knucklebrained chucklefucks pity me and let me go.
I look down at my feet.
Scuff my old sneakers against the dusty gravel of the construction site.
“Sorry, man. You’re right — I am a loser,” I say. “Well, except for maybe in Animal Crossing, because I kick ass at that. You should see my avatar in the game, he’s a badass. Maybe you want to game with me sometime? There’s room for you on my island, if you feel like kicking it.”
Now it’s the construction guy’s turn to take a step back and hold up a wary hand. “You want me to come hang out with you in your parent’s basement, playing with your avatar on some fantasy island?”
“I’ve got hella snacks. Cheetos. Seven different kinds of Doritos. Gummy bears. And I have a whole mini fridge full of soda. We could spend hours just chilling. You and me and my sweet basement and all the Animal Crossing you can handle. You down?”
“Get the fuck out of here,” he says, waving for the rest of his crew to get out of the way. “And if I ever see you around here again, I will beat the shit out of you so bad not even your mother would recognize you.”
I start walking. Don’t even look back until I get to my mom’s car. When I turn the key in the ignition and see the looks of disgust on every one of their faces, I smile.
This talking bullshit worked better than I thought.
I’m still grinning as I pull out of the parking lot and head downtown. Tiffany and my mom are both probably still dealing with the lawyer and, with how the last few days have gone for her — losing her job, getting abducted, winding up in the hospital with an infection, and opening herself and her pain up in a way that I never expected — I decide Tiffany could use something to cheer her up. She’s suffered so much, the least I can do is treat her right.
And I know just the thing.
First, I hit Cortese’s Delicatessen. It’s a small shop downtown, the kind of place that’s been around as long as anyone can remember, and whose owner – Sammy Cortese — has served up some of the best food in town since the day he first hung his sign above the door.
The deli is empty when I arrive. It’s that time between lunch and dinner when most regular people are slaving away at their desk jobs and counting down until they can clock out.
Sammy raises one white eyebrow as I push open the door to his shop, the golden bell tied to the front door chiming my arrival.
“Jesus, kid, does your mom know you’re here? Get the fuck out with that outfit.”
“Long time no see, Sammy. You’re still as lovable as I remember.”
He squints. Adjusts his glasses on his enormous nose. “Declan? Declan Dunne? What the fuck are you doing showing up here, dressed like that?”
“I’m here to buy some fucking food, what do you think? That I’m here for your sweet company?”
“Surprised you’re out at all, what with the cops looking for you,” he huffs. “Kid like you, still hasn’t learned how to keep himself out of trouble.”
“That stuff with the bank is just bullshit. There’s more to it than the cops are saying. If I’d really intended to rob that place, I would have, and I’d be in Tijuana by now, rolling in cash with a bunch of strippers
. Instead, I’m here, looking to buy some capocollo and some cheese. Does that really strike you as the actions of a guilty man?”
He shrugs. “You got a point. But I’m just telling you to keep your fucking head down. Cops come in here all the time, and they talk; you’re their number one subject of conversation.”
“I would be. I’ll bet it’s been a long fucking time since they’ve had someone like me to deal with.”
Sammy snorts. “Declan, I got all the bologna I need in my display counter. Shut your mouth. Are you going to order something or not?”
I step up to his counter, put my hands on the glass and peer inside. The thing is stuffed to overflowing with all kinds of meats and cheeses, some I recognize, and some I don’t; there are meats that Sammy cures right here in his deli — salamis and prosciuttos and mortadellas — and then there are hams from Parma in Italy and Córdoba in Spain and other places that I haven’t even heard of.
“I will. And I could use your advice. I’m putting together a picnic for someone who’s important to me. She’s had a rough day, she’s a smart woman, probably prefers the finer, snootier things, and I want to do something nice for her.”
“You trying to get laid, Declan?”
I shrug. “If it happens, I won’t object. She’s got legs that make me dizzy and her lips taste so fucking sweet. But, mostly, I just want to see her smile.”
“Hold on, Declan. You in love with her or something?”
“I can’t answer that, Sammy. But I can say that I respect her.”
He whistles. Pauses for a second, hand on his chin, as he looks over the deli counter. “You respect her? You? That’s pretty fucking serious, kid.”
“Well, things are fucking serious right now, Sammy. You going to help me put together a picnic basket, or what?”
“Yeah, I’ll help you, Declan. Let’s fill your picnic basket up.”
Chapter Seventeen
Tiffany
Still shaking with an overdose of adrenaline and indignant fury, I slide out of the back seat of the Uber and extend a hand to help Eleanor out of her seat. I haven’t felt like this since the first time I stepped up to the starting line for Stanford’s track team — on the verge of something new and terrifying, where the world seems so much larger, so much scarier, and no matter how much I’ve practiced or trained, I feel totally unprepared. All our options are disappearing, except for the illegal kind. And soon, the starting gun will go off and I will have to plunge into the scary unknown.
“Are you all right?” Eleanor’s voice shakes me to my senses.
I open the front door and hold it open for her.
“I’m fine. I’m sorry you had to see that mess back there.”
“That David is a dick, isn’t he? Why the hell were you ever engaged to such a petty little man?”
“Because he was smart and near the top of his class, and I had this idea that we would be this power couple, complementing each other’s careers, driving each other to be more successful, and that we’d take over the world.”
“Whatever threw that fantasy off track?”
“I got hurt. And, though David was great as a partner in pushing me to be better at my studies and career aspirations, he was just the opposite emotionally. All brains, no heart. Except, apparently, when it comes to getting angry.”
“Well, you’ve gone from associating from one end of the spectrum to the other; my Declan is all heart and no brains.”
I turn on her. Take a step closer and glare. “You need to ease off of him. It’s because he has a heart that he’s here, despite everything he’s going through, just to take care of you. He loves you. Be good to him.”
We’re hardly through the door when Eleanor’s Volvo pulls into the driveway and Blaze steps out. Seeing him in his strange getup still makes me do a double-take, even though I’m the one who helped him put that outfit together. He’s grinning like a madman and he has a picnic basket in his hand.
With no hesitation, he heads straight for me and pulls me into a one-armed hug and plants a kiss on the top of my head.
“What’s this all about?” I say, confused. And sniffling — he didn’t wash these clothes before putting them on and, after years in his closet, they are beyond musty.
He kisses my head again. It feels so good, even if he smells so bad it makes my eyes water. “You were right. Your plan worked.”
“You were able to learn something?” I say.
There’s an affirmative rumble in his chest. But, instead of kissing my head again — which is something that I hope he’ll do — he looks to his mother. “Tiffany and I need to talk about a few things. Things that you probably shouldn’t hear, because it might blow back on you. The less you know, the better.”
“Is that so, Declan?” she says. “There are things you’re keeping from me?”
“I’m just trying to look out for you. If what happens falls on me, fine. I can handle it. You’re doing a lot for me by letting me stay here, and I appreciate it, mom, but I don’t want you taking on any more risk than you already are.”
She nods. And spares a smile for her son. “Thank you. I suppose I can go do some grocery shopping. And maybe swing by my friend Margaret’s place to see how she’s doing. She just got back from a trip to Cancun, so I assume she’ll want to tell me about that. You two take your time, do your planning, I’ll be back in a few hours.”
Blaze tosses her the keys, then takes me by the hand and leads me inside. We head right to the dining room, and he sets the picnic basket down on the table.
“What’s this all about, Blaze?” I say, eyeing the basket.
For a moment, I think he hasn’t heard me — he continues setting up plates and silverware without batting an eye — but then he stops and gives me a long, considering look. There’s sadness behind his eyes, or reluctance, and it’s enough to make me stand up and reach out for his hand. But he shakes his head and returns to setting up the table.
“I tailed those guys. Followed them to a construction site. That Howser motherfucker is the foreman, and I watched him have a meeting with Anna and Carl Ebri.”
I sit up in my chair. “What kind of meeting?”
“I couldn’t get close, it was something they didn’t want anyone to hear, but that foreman and those bankers looked real fucking chummy.”
History lessons flash through my mind, some cases recent, some cases buried in the past — forced loans, wrongful foreclosures, a lengthy list of malfeasance by unscrupulous banks and financiers.
“You think they’re working together? Anna and Carl using their influence to force people onto loans they can’t afford, then taking their homes when they can’t pay it back, and this construction company provides thugs, and they both put the homes back on the market?”
Blaze grabs a beer out of the fridge and thoughtfully considers it before popping the top. “Could be. This crew looked like the type to not mind busting some heads for profit.”
“I’m glad you were safe,” I say.
“I nearly had to put a few of them down. When I was leaving the site, they caught me. Circled me. Tried to intimidate me.”
My stomach clenches and I brace myself to hear the news that, though Blaze came out of this mess unscathed, there are now a few dead construction workers buried out there somewhere.
“What happened?”
He grins. It’s half embarrassed, half dripping with confidence. “I did what you said: I thought my way out of there. Acted like I wasn’t a threat. Told them I was just looking for a job and then invited one of them to come back with me to my mom’s house and play Animal Crossing.”
“Animal Crossing?”
“It’s a video game. Mack told me about it. He spends a lot of his free time volunteering with kids at the Lone Mesa Youth Center and it’s real popular right now.”
“Mack? Is he also in your MC?”
He nods and grunts. “He’s our Sergeant at Arms. Enforces our laws. Does other stuff you probably don’t want to hear
about.”
My mouth might drop open a little. “And he volunteers with kids?”
“A lot. He had a rough childhood. Doesn’t want other kids to have the same problems he did. He’s a dad, now, which is still hard for me to get my head around. Has a little baby boy, Matyas.”
“So, you sat and played this Animal Crossing with your MC’s enforcer so he could better relate to the kids he volunteers with?”
What kind of sentence did I just say? What kind of gang is this? Criminals playing video games about animals?
“Well, yeah. We played it a few times to figure it out, so he could talk about it with the kids, but that shit is just weird. I remember when video games used to be about fighting or blowing this up, but this one was just about collecting bells and picking fruit while camping out on an island with a bunch of talking rabbits.”
There’s a pause, and he gives me a funny look, and I realize I’ve been staring at him for the last half minute. More and more — in his willingness to do anything to make me smile, even when I feel so low; in his readiness to help his mother, no matter her terrible attitude; in his desire to help his friend understand a weird video game to relate to the kids important to him — he’s proving me wrong; I thought he was just a violent criminal but now, I’m seeing that maybe that’s the lesser part of him; he’s a man with a giant heart who will do anything to help those he loves.
Including make them a picnic basket.
My eyes widen as he sets a particular dish out on the table.
“Is that…?” I say.
He grins. “Apple crumble from the Starlight. Fresh. Baked maybe twenty minutes ago. You’ve had a hard couple days. I wanted to treat you right.”
“So, you were actually paying attention?”
“How could I not pay attention to you?”
He says it with such surety, as if he doesn’t understand how I could even ask such an obvious question.
My cheeks feel like they’re on fire. My eyes rest on the table for a second while I try to find something to say, but it’s like my brain’s quit working. All I can think about is him. How good he makes me feel.
