Still Standing

by Kristen Ashley

  However, if you were a day late paying rent, he’d come around to call.

  This meant I drove him batty, and Mrs. Jimenez was loving every minute of it.

  So much so, she had her son, Raymundo, come in and change my locks so Dallas couldn’t get into my apartment.

  This was probably illegal, but when Dallas made an issue of it while standing outside my door shouting (while I was standing inside my apartment hiding) Mrs. Jimenez had come out to the open-to-the-elements walkway that the doors to the apartments faced.

  I saw her out my kitchen window with her phone to her ear and heard her say loudly, “Hello? Can I speak to a building inspector?”

  At that, Dallas had scowled at her and stormed away.

  Still, rent was cheap, and my apartment came furnished.

  Mrs. Jimenez had her own stuff in hers and her place was far homier than mine. This was because Dallas decorated in castoffs from Goodwill and Mrs. Jimenez decorated in history, love, memories and family.

  “Are they gone?” I asked.

  “They’re never gone, but they’re out of sight,” Mrs. Jimenez answered. “Where’d you hide your car?”

  “Two alleys over, by the dumpster that homeless guy sleeps next to. He let me use his tarp to throw over the trunk.”

  If I chose that location of the many I’d found the last few months to hide my car, that homeless guy always did that for me. I didn’t know why. I didn’t ever give him money, though I had brought him some of Mrs. Jimenez’s tamales. Maybe that was it. Or maybe he saw in me what he’d seen in himself prior to his current situation.

  Either way, I was grateful.

  “Bien, querida,” Mrs. Jimenez approved then her eyes moved to my feet. “You walk back in those shoes?”

  “Yes, but I can’t feel my feet considering I’m hungover,” I replied.

  Her eyes came to mine and lit with interest, considering I’d never said that to her before and a hangover would indicate having a good time and she hadn’t heard of me having any of those before either (unless I was at her place eating tamales or chilaquiles and gabbing with her).

  Thus, she grabbed my hand and pulled me to her velour, old-lady couch.

  “Hungover?” she prompted.

  “I did a job for Esposito yesterday,” I explained as we both sat.

  “Dios mio,” she muttered, the light dying out of her eyes and concern washing in, knowing me, knowing Tia and knowing and not liking what she knew about Esposito.

  “No, actually, it was good,” I told her. “The man I had to deliver Esposito’s message to…he was nice. He was…” I looked away then back at her. “He was kind. He gave me a hamburger, a pool lesson, a lot of booze and good advice.”

  She studied me astutely, and considering the time of day and the obvious fact I’d just returned home in yesterday’s clothes, more than likely knowing I left out the fact he gave me multiple orgasms, and remarked, “You could use some good advice.”

  It couldn’t be denied, she was not wrong about that.

  “I need to use your phone,” I said words she’d heard dozens of times.

  I always used her phone. This was because I didn’t have the money to have one in my apartment or to carry a cell.

  I promised myself, one day, when I was out of my mess, I’d return the many favors she’d done for me and take care of Mrs. Jimenez. I just hoped she stayed of this world long enough for me to do that because it seemed this mission of mine might take a while.

  “Of course, cariña,” she replied as she always did.

  “And I need to talk to you,” I continued.

  Her beautiful, warm brown eyes focused even more sharply on me.

  “I’m packing all my stuff, getting Tia and leaving town,” I announced.

  She closed those beautiful, warm brown eyes as relief flooded her face.

  She opened them and whispered, “I’m so glad, Clara.”

  “It’s what Buck told me to do,” I continued.

  “Buck?” she asked, her head tilting to the side.

  “The man I met yesterday. The one who gave me advice.”

  “Well then, this Buck is a smart man,” she declared.

  “You think it’s the right thing to do?” I asked.

  “Querida, yes,” she answered, coming close and taking my hand. “Fresh start away from here. I can’t say I won’t miss you and your linda sonrisa, but I can say I’ll sleep easier knowing you and tu amiga are somewhere safe.”

  I’d miss her too. She wasn’t only about good tamales. She was funny. She was sweet. I loved her family. And she was the closest thing I’d ever had to a grandma.

  I’d been wrong when I told Buck all I had was Tia.

  I had Mrs. Jimenez too.

  And, maybe, that homeless man.

  I smiled at her and leaned in, putting my hand on hers. “Thanks, Mrs. Jimenez.”

  Her free hand covered mine and gave it a squeeze. Then she let me go, got up and walked to the wooden chest where she kept her sewing and cross stitch paraphernalia. She opened it, pulled out the top partition then dug in. She got something out, put the partition back, closed the box and came to me.

  She extended a wad of cash in my direction.

  I stared at it as my heart stopped.

  “I’ve been wanting to give this to you for a long time. Now I need to give it to you.” When I kept staring at it and not moving, she said, “Take it,” then shook her hand at me.

  My eyes went to hers.

  “Mrs. Jimenez, I can’t.”

  “You can. Take it.”

  I kept hold of her gaze and didn’t move.

  She had four kids, they loved her and took care of her, but neither Mrs. Jimenez nor her kids were rolling in it.

  That wad of cash had to be her nest egg.

  “I can’t,” I repeated.

  She leaned down so her face was in mine.

  “Cariña, you can. Not only can you, you have to.”

  “But—”

  “This world,” she cut me off, “is full of bad. Full of it, Clara, It’s everywhere. But even so, you’ve had more than your fair share. We must, all of us, do what we can for each other to give this world some good. I’m giving you some good.”

  That despair in my belly shifted.

  It didn’t evaporate, but it shifted as I lifted my hand and placed it on her wrinkled cheek and whispered, “Thank you, I appreciate that. But I can’t take it. I don’t know when I can pay you back and someday you might need it.”

  “You being away from Esposito, away from Dallas Hill, taking Tia, that’s all the payback I need, querida. I have my children to take care of me and you…you, Clarita, you have me.”

  I felt the tears hit my eyes.

  Yes, she was the only grandma I ever had.

  “Take it,” she said again, shaking her hand at me.

  “One day I’ll take care of you,” I whispered, and she smiled.

  “Take it, cariña.”

  I took it.

  She nodded, smiled, straightened, reached out and grabbed the phone. She handed it to me and bustled to the door.

  “I’ll go to your place, start packing,” she announced, hand on the door.

  “Mrs. Jimenez,” I called. She turned, caught my wet eyes and I whispered, “Thank you…so much.”

  “Fue mi placer,” she whispered back words I had no idea their meaning, except I knew they were nice.

  Then she opened the door a smidge, stuck her head out and looked side to side like she was a spy casing for bad guys. The coast apparently was clear, because she grabbed my extra key from the decorative keyholder hanging on the wall, stepped out and shut the door.

  I shoved the money in my purse, wiped the wet from under my eyes and called Tia.

  She answered on the second ring.

  “Where are you?” was her greeting.

  “Um…honey, you have caller ID. You know I’m at Mrs. Jimenez’s.”

  She didn’t reply to my reply, she cried, “Enr
ique has been freaking out.”

  “He has?”

  “Yes!”

  “Why?”

  “Because you didn’t come back.”

  This was a surprise.

  “He cared that I didn’t come back?”

  “I don’t know what he cares about. I just know something is up.”

  Oh dear.

  Something up with Esposito was never a good thing.

  “Well then, perfect timing because something else is about to be up.”

  “Oh God,” she whispered.

  “Is Esposito there?” I asked.

  “No, he’s gone.”

  “How long?”

  “I don’t know. He didn’t share his schedule for the day.”

  He wouldn’t.

  He’d left all husbandly duties behind when he started pimping out his wife.

  Except one.

  Not that he’d ever been good at husbandly duties.

  Even, according to Tia, that one.

  “Then we don’t have much time,” I announced.

  “For what?”

  “Tia, we’re leaving.”

  She was silent a moment before she asked, “What?”

  “Leaving. Leaving town. You and me. You need to pack a couple of bags and get your hands on some money or valuables we can sell that are easy to carry, like jewelry. We’ll meet at the 7 Eleven on Thomas and 16th in an hour, ditch your car and we’re going to Seattle.”

  “Seattle?” she whispered.

  “Yes, Seattle,” I replied.

  More silence, then…

  “Are you crazy?” she hissed into the phone, and I could tell she was moving, probably to make sure she had privacy.

  Esposito might be gone, but that didn’t mean his bevy of bad guys weren’t around.

  “No, I’m not crazy.”

  “Um, Clara, I think you were around when I asked Enrique for a divorce. I think you remember his response. So I think you’re crazy.”

  His response was Tia getting an eye that was swollen shut and not being unable to walk without holding her ribs for a while.

  And this fact made me even less crazy.

  “Buck says he’s making enemies. Buck says he’s the kind of guy who burns bright then gets snuffed out. And Buck is the kind of man who knows what he’s talking about. We just have to stay gone and lay low until someone snuffs him out.”

  “Who’s Buck?”

  “West Hardy.”

  “Oh God.”

  This was an indication she didn’t think the president of a motorcycle club was the top choice for a life decisions advisor.

  Then again, Tia had been in foster care with me, so she knew all about doing your utmost to make the right moves.

  However, she, just like me, screwed up big time along the way.

  “He’s nice,” I explained. “And he’s smart.”

  “Clara—” Her voice had started trembling.

  She was scared.

  I hated to hear Tia scared and it happened a lot.

  And I was done hearing it.

  Yes.

  Buck was so right. We had to get out of here.

  We weren’t safe, no matter what we did.

  Not in Phoenix.

  And it was me who had to make us that.

  “Tia,” I cut in, “I know how this is going to play out. Either Buck’s right and Esposito’s enemies move in for the kill or Esposito messes up and the police move in for the kill. Either way, you do not want to be around. Trust me, I know. You want to leave. You want to be far away from here. You want to be with me, in Seattle, making coffee drinks.”

  “Yes, Clara, but I have fifty dollars in my purse, can only take out two hundred from the ATM, and Enrique hasn’t exactly showered me with jewels,” Tia returned.

  “We’ll be okay.”

  “How?”

  “We just will.”

  “And what if he comes after me? Which we both know he will.”

  “We’ll figure something out.”

  “Clara, honey—”

  “Pack clothes and some food. If we don’t have to spend money on food, then we can just spend it on gas to get to Seattle.”

  “I can’t,” she stated.

  “You can. I can. Mrs. Jimenez just gave me her nest egg. I don’t know how much is there, but we’ll sell your wedding rings, which should be good for something, and go as far as we can go until we can’t go anymore. Then we’ll figure something out.”

  “If he finds me,” she whispered, “he’ll hurt me.”

  “Tia, baby,” I whispered back. “He’s hurting you now.”

  Tia had no response and this was because she knew I was right.

  When she didn’t speak for a while, I didn’t want to do it, but I had to.

  So I pulled out the big guns.

  “And he’s hurting me.” Tia still didn’t respond so I continued, “We both know he’s playing with me in ways I could get hurt. We both know he’s doing it because he likes the idea I might get hurt. And we both know that when that doesn’t happen, he’ll make things more dangerous for me so I will get hurt. And, last, we both know my deal with him to keep you safe won’t last forever. He’ll get bored with that too. We have to go. We both have to go. Now.”

  “I don’t think—”

  “Whatever happens to us out there cannot be worse than what’s happening and is going to happen here.”

  Tia again fell silent.

  “Honey—” I started.

  “An hour,” she whispered, and relief swept through me. “The 7 Eleven. He gave me a string of pearls and a pair of ruby earrings when we were dating. And I put all my change in that bowl in the kitchen. There has to be at least seventy dollars in there. I’ll grab that too.”

  God, we were reduced to change in a bowl.

  I used to live in a four-bedroom house with a pool in the backyard in a neighborhood where all the women wore Lululemon clothes and carried Louis Vuitton bags (both, I never did, because enough with the Lululemon already, it should be called Lululemming—even the LV, those stuck-up, entitled women who I hadn’t liked even before my life turned to garbage (because they were stuck-up and entitled) were such they actually ruined the brilliance of LV for me).

  And four months ago, Tia and Esposito moved into an ostentatious mini-mansion.

  Then again, Tia had tried to talk me into taking that change for the last six months since it was the only thing she figured Esposito wouldn’t notice was gone as he wasn’t a fan of Tia helping me out, so he put a stop to it months ago.

  Therefore, I’d essentially been reduced to change in a bowl for a while.

  And seventy dollars was a couple tanks of gas.

  “Perfect,” I said.

  “7 Eleven,” she said.

  “An hour,” I replied.

  “You and me,” she whispered.

  “Coffee drinks and Seattle,” I whispered back.

  We’d dreamed, Tia and I. We’d dreamed in whispers at night while in our twin beds in our foster carer’s home.

  We hadn’t dreamed big. But we’d dreamed.

  None of those dreams were about coffee drinks and Seattle.

  But, for now, that would do.

  I heard her take in a shaky breath.

  Then I heard her say a shaky, “Yes.”

  “See you soon, honey.”

  “’Bye, babe.”

  I hit the button for off, and you couldn’t say I wasn’t scared. I was scared. Definitely scared. And I still didn’t like the feeling.

  But that despair in my belly shifted again.

  It didn’t evaporate, but it shifted and there was a tiny little niggle of hope.

  I hadn’t felt that in a long time either.

  I’d have to send Buck a postcard from the road and thank him for that too.

  I put the phone on its base, walked to the door, did the spy thing just like Mrs. Jimenez did, and then rushed one door over to my apartment.

  I turned the knob, walked
in and saw Mrs. Jimenez tied to my crappy chair, duct tape over her mouth.

  Then I saw nothing more because a fist connected with my face so hard, it knocked me right to the floor.

  Or at least I assumed it did.

  I didn’t know.

  Because before I hit the floor, I was knocked right out.

  4

  Venom

  They slowed the car, but didn’t stop, when he reached across me, threw open the door and shoved me out.

  I hit the pavement on a roll and the pain made me miss just having a hangover.

  I stopped rolling when I hit the curb, and I settled, breathing heavy, waiting, automatically categorizing what hurt the most.

  Right now, it was my hip, which was what hit the pavement.

  And my hip hurt bad.

  I heard running feet. Fast, heavy footfalls. Whoever was running was wearing something like boots.

  I opened my eyes and pushed up on a hand.

  I might need to flee. I didn’t know how I’d do that. I’d lost both shoes and there were a variety of places on my body that were burning and there were a variety of other places on my body that were stinging.

  But if I had to run, I would.

  I shoved up farther to sitting and saw jeans-clad legs in front of me, feet in black motorcycle boots. I looked up to see Driver, the young biker bartender, standing over me.

  “Jesus, shit,” he muttered, his eyes locked to my face.

  I could just imagine what it looked like.

  That said, I didn’t want to imagine what it looked like.

  But I could.

  He crouched down beside me at the same time he pulled a phone out of his back pocket.

  I scooted away from him.

  “You’re okay, darlin’,” he muttered as he scooted in his hunker right along with me.

  I looked up to the apartments, whispering, “My neighbor, Mrs. Jimenez.”

  “She’s good,” he said, and I saw he had the phone to his ear. When he spoke next, he spoke into it. “Buck, Driver. She’s home, brother, but beat to shit. You want me to take her to Lefty?” He paused as my heart skidded on the word “Buck” and then he went on, “Right. I’m on it.”

  He touched his phone and shoved it back in his pocket.

  “You think you could hold on to me on the back of my bike?”

  “Mrs. Jimenez,” I repeated.