Then everything happened at once. The men started running down the steps. Jo almost threw up. Archer kick started his bike, then spun it around in a tight circle. She was pretty confident he could get away before any of the men could reach him, and definitely before they could get in their car to chase after him. But then one of the men whipped out a gun and every ounce of self-preservation she had flew out of her body. Without one single thought for her own safety, she leapt to her feet.
“ARCHER!” she screamed as loud as she could.
Every single person in the parking lot turned towards her. Including Archer, who almost lost control of his bike. He managed to stay upright, though, and zipped out of the parking lot, flying over a curb.
Jo expected a barrage of bullets to come flying her way, so she dropped back behind the hedge and began crawling towards the street as fast as she could. Gun shots rang out and she started screaming again.
None of the bullets were coming her way, though. They didn’t seem to know where she was, so they kept shooting in Archer’s direction. As he came around the outside of the lot, a dumpster wound up between him and their pursuers, and she shrieked as bullets ricocheted of the heavy metal.
“More your ass, Jo!” he shouted at her.
She glanced once over her shoulder and saw that there were two men with guns, and both were reloading. With her heart threatening to beat right out of her chest, she jumped to her feet and went into a dead sprint.
Archer slowed down just enough for her to leap onto the back of his bike. She’d barely settled in before he gunned the engine, almost throwing her off. She screamed and wrapped her arms around his waist, holding on for dear life as they raced down the street at suicidal speeds.
“Remember everything I taught you!” he yelled back at her. She had her cheek pressed to his back and she nodded. She’d been on Archer’s bike a couple times, and he’d explained to her how she needed to just do whatever he did; keep her weight back when he braked, and hold on tight when he accelerated.
Hold on tight – not a problem today.
They drove forever. She kept her eyes closed the entire time, just trying to remember how to breathe correctly and feeling his body. She was shaking and she was hyperventilating and she was absolutely fucking terrified.
When she finally lifted her head, it was to find that they’d stopped in some park. She didn’t remember it happening. She was completely out of it, her mind back in her torn up apartment. She had a death grip around his waist and he had to work to get free from her.
“Are you okay?” he asked, squirming to get off the bike without dislodging her.
“Fine. I’m fine,” she whispered, staring straight ahead. He turned to look at her and moaned.
“Jojo, don’t cry,” he begged, cupping her face in his hands.
“I’m not.”
“Jo.”
“What?”
He wiped his thumbs under her eyes and she could feel the moisture. She was crying. More like sobbing. She gasped and choked on air as she stared at him.
“We’re gonna die,” she croaked out.
“No, no, no,” he whispered, pulling her off the bike. “I won’t let that happen.”
“They had guns. They shot at you. I thought they were going to kill you, and then you’d be another body in a trunk,” she sobbed.
“They didn’t kill me. That won’t happen,” he insisted, rubbing his hands up and down her arms.
“How do you know that? I don’t want to die, Archer. I don’t want you to die,” she cried.
“No one is going to die, Jo.”
“Someone has already died!” she yelled.
“Please don’t cry,” he whispered, pulling her into a hug. “It kills me when you cry. I can’t stand it. Tell me how to make this right. Tell me what to do, and I’ll do it. I’d do anything for you, Jo. Anything. Just please, don’t cry.”
But she couldn’t stop. She gasped for air and soaked the front of his shirt and just cried. Cried and cried and cried.
6:08 p.m.
Day One
Jo sighed and wrapped her arms around her legs, resting her chin on her knees. She stared straight ahead, squinting her eyes as a strong breeze washed over her.
They were on the famous Mulholland Drive, at the Universal City Overlook. It was a good twenty or so minutes from home, but it was probably her favorite spot in the whole world. And Archer had known that, so he’d taken her there. Without asking, even. Had just driven straight to it without a word, parked, then walked way from his bike, leaving her alone with her thoughts.
She liked that spot, liked looking out at all the twinkly lights. When she’d been growing up, that had been her dream. For Archer Calhoun to fall in love with her, and then they would run away to the big city together. She’d get some fabulous, yet easy, job working for a production company. He’d be all sexy and successful in a minor sports league. They’d make enough money to be comfortable, but not enough to turn them into douchebags. They’d vacation in Mexico, and post annoying selfies from Malibu.
But she’d never made it. In fact, by moving to Van Nuys, she’d gotten farther away from her dream. The closest she ever came was the occasional club night, and only ever at some of the least reputable clubs. The last couple years, she’d completely forgotten about her dream. Archer had never shown any real interest in her, and she made nowhere near enough money to move downtown. L.A. was a lost cause.
It should have depressed her, looking at something she could never have, but it didn’t. It was beautiful, and she’d always appreciated beautiful things. Looking at the cityscape while sitting next to Archer actually reminded her that maybe, just maybe, some dreams weren’t so far away. Maybe she just had to look at them from a different angle.
Compromise. Life is about compromises.
“I can’t go home,” she whispered, her eyes locking onto a large apartment building. She wondered what the people inside were doing, if they had any problems half as serious as hers.
“No, home would be a bad idea right now,” he agreed.
“Okay,” she shook her head, clearing out the bad thoughts. “So let’s go over what we know – the body in my trunk is Bernard Krakow. He’s been watching me for like two weeks.”
“He orchestrated you going to that club last night, he wanted you there,” Archer added.
“Yeah. They said he’d been ‘sent’ to watch me – so someone else told him to come after me,” she continued.
“Yes. And now they know where you live.”
“I can’t go home, and I can’t go to the club, and you can’t go home, and …” she let her voice trail off.
“And …” he tried to contribute and failed.
“Fuck, Archer. We still haven’t learned anything!” she snapped, slamming her fist into the ground. “Other than a name. Bernard Krakow – which means nothing to me. So we’re no better off than we were this morning.”
“That’s not true,” he argued, wrapping an arm around her shoulders and forcing her to lean into his side. “We know your boss is willing to sell you out at the slightest hint of trouble. We know bad guys are chasing you. We know Krakow’s been stalking you, and best of all – we know where he lives.”
“Used to live,” she chuckled, then was immediately embarrassed at her dark humor. “Oh god, I’m sorry. Jesus, I’m going to hell.”
“No, you’re right. They’ve probably figured out by now he’s most likely dead, so they know he won’t be going back to his apartment. He certainly won’t be going back to his apartment, soooo ….”
The puzzle pieces lined up and she gasped.
“So there’s an empty apartment sitting on Ventura Boulevard that no one will be checking out,” she finished.
“Exactly.”
“Maybe,” she started to get excited and she moved to kneel next to him. “Maybe he has like a laptop, or a computer, or whatever … notes, I don’t know. Maybe we can find out what the fuck this has to do with me!”
“Yes, please, that would be amazing.”
They got back onto his bike and as he revved the engine, she took one last look at her happy spot. At the Los Angeles skyline. She may have been nothing more than strip mall trash, but she still felt like she belonged down there.
Some day. Some day, it’ll happen.
At the best of times, Archer drove like a prison inmate late for a conjugal visit, that’s why she rarely ever rode with him. On that night, he was even more maniacal than usual, though admittedly, it was for a good reason. Jo squeezed her eyes shut tight, prayed to every god she could think of, and held on for dear life.
Google directed them to a small nondescript apartment building on a hill. After they’d stashed the bike down the street, Jo started to get nervous again. What if the bad guys were waiting? What if his building had a doorman? Or a secure door? How would they get inside?
Archer solved the problem by pulling out a ring of keys when they got to the unmanned door. She stared in awe as he tested several keys before finding one that let them into the building.
“How did you do that?” she whispered, following him inside.
“When I got his wallet this morning,” he replied in hushed tones as they hurried into an elevator. “I found the keys in his jacket pocket. Thought they might come in handy, so I took them.”
Mr. Bernard Krakow lived at the very top of the building, his apartment taking up the entire floor. It certainly wasn’t the nicest, ritziest place in the Los Angeles area, but it still couldn’t have been cheap. The penthouse in any building meant top dollar, and when Archer let them into the apartment and Jo saw the view, she knew why Bernard had chosen to live there.
“Wow,” she breathed, walking up to floor-to-ceiling windows and pressing against them. There was a pretty good view of the neighborhoods sitting below them.
“I’m fucking starving,” Archer groaned, shutting the door and bolt locking it. “I’ll look around the place – you go find something to munch on.”
A wide galley style kitchen sat off the living room and Jo was slow as she walked through it. Everything was very nice and very clean, but looked like it had come straight out of the 1980s. When she glanced back into the living room, she saw a white leather sofa and a gold standing lamp, all courtesy of the decade that brought the world Cyndi Lauper and parachute pants. Apparently, Mr. Krakow spent all his money on rent, but not on redecorating. In fact, if she had to guess, she’d say he must have moved in fairly recently. There were no personal touches about the apartment, and the furniture looked beyond old.
She sighed and started pulling open cupboards, but she was surprised to find almost nothing. A couple cans of cream-of-chicken soup, some dry pasta, and an expired box of pop tarts were the best his kitchen had to offer. The fridge had a case of beer and moldy cheese in it. There were dirty dishes in the dishwasher, but no indication of how they’d gotten dirty. Bernard Krakow didn’t seem to have any groceries.
There was a door in the back wall that she’d assumed was a broom closet, but when she opened it, she found a pantry. The light from above the stove showed her a couple bags of off brand cereal, but it was too dark to see anything else. She stepped inside and patted the walls for a light switch, but found nothing. Another step and something hit her in the face. She swung her hands wildly in front of her and smacked what felt like a string, batting it away from her head.
Probably a pull cord for a light – this is the apartment time forgot, after all.
She stuck her arms out straight and waved them around, hoping to connect with the cord again. Instead, her hands connected with something else, knocking it off a shelf. A pouch of sorts hit her on top of her head and virtually exploded. Suddenly, she was surrounded in a cloud of dust. She yelped and coughed and gagged on something dry in her mouth. She back pedaled out of the pantry, rammed into the door jam, ricocheted into the fridge, then stumbled into the living room.
“What? What!?” Archer yelled, and she could hear him running from another room.
“Oh my god!” she screamed, looking down at her hands. They were covered in a white powder. The same white powder that was now covering her face and coating the inside of her mouth.
“Jesus,” Archer exclaimed, coming to a stop in front of her. “What happened to you?”
“Oh my god, is this coke?” she yelled, holding up her hands. “This is coke! Oh my god, I’ve never done this drug! I inhaled, Archer! I INHALED!”
“Just calm do-”
“This looks like a lot!” she started to panic. “Is this a lot? Did I just OD? Oh my god, am I ODing right now!? Call an ambulance, for fuck’s sake, I’m an OD!”
“First of all, you’re not ODing!” he shouted, reaching out and grabbing her hands. “Second of all, calm the fuck down and let me look at you!”
“How would you know?” she demanded, watching as he dragged a finger through the substance on her palm. “Have you ever ODed? It’s happening. Holy shit, I can feel my heart in my nose. I’m having a heart attack. Archer, I think I’m having a heart attack!”
“Shut up,” he growled. As she watched, he stuck a white-tipped finger into his mouth.
“What are you doing?” she was shocked. He sucked on his finger for a bit, then he started laughing. Guffawing, really. Loud and hard.
“Jojo,” he gasped for air, pressing a hand to his stomach.
“I’m glad my possible overdose and eventual death are so hilarious!” she snapped.
“Baking soda,” he managed to choke out. “You’re covered in baking soda.”
She blinked a couple times, then stuck her own finger in her mouth. She’d never tasted cocaine before, but she was pretty confident it didn’t taste floury and bitter. Plus, in the movies, dudes were always rubbing coke on their gums and getting a rush. She didn’t feel anything.
“Oh jesus,” she groaned, dropping her hands. Archer kept laughing.
“‘I just ODed!’” he mocked her. “‘I’m an OD!’”
“Shut up.”
They went back into the kitchen and she beelined for the sink, holding her face and hands under the faucet. When she’d cleaned the last of the baking ingredient out from under her fingernails, she turned the water off and moved back towards the pantry. Archer was standing in it with the light on, his head tilted up as he looked over all the shelves.
“Why does Bernard Krakow have a shit ton of baking soda?” he wondered out loud as she walked up next to him.
“He’s a baking enthusiast?” she guessed, though it didn’t seem likely. Literally every shelf in the pantry was lined with bags of baking soda.
“Sometimes,” Archer spoke slowly. “People use baking soda to cut cocaine.”
“They do?”
“Yeah. I mean, it’s total garbage coke. Makes more product at a shitty quality which you can sell at the same price as the good stuff.”
“You can?”
“Sure you can – doesn’t make it a good idea, though. Sell to the wrong person, and you’ll wake up with a shotgun in your face. Still, it looks to me like that’s what our buddy Bernard was doing.”
“You think so?”
“Yeah, I found a huge package of cocaine in the bedroom. He’s been fucking over his boss by cutting the pure stuff with baking soda, selling it, and keeping the difference,” Archer guessed.
“How do you know so much about this?” Jo asked, glancing up at him. He chuckled.
“A combination of shitty friends and the A&E show ‘Intervention’. C’mon, you take a shower and I’ll order pizza,” he offered, then he pushed her back out into the kitchen.
“No olives,” she insisted. “I think today of all days, I get to call the pizza shots.”
“You’re a pizza Nazi,” he replied, but when she went to argue, he held up a hand. “But you
have had a shitty day, so fine, no olives.”
Jo stood under the shower for a long time. Too long, the water started to turn cold before she got out. She felt kind of bad because it meant Archer wouldn’t be getting any hot water, but once she’d stepped under the spray, she hadn’t been able to move. She’d sat down on the floor and wrapped her arms around herself, her knees up to her chest, and had just let the shower beat down on her.
She couldn’t wrap her brain around it. Twelve hours ago, she’d been sleeping off a hangover, oblivious to the entire world. Twenty-four hours ago, she’d been getting ready for an evening out with friends, pre-gaming in her kitchen. The same things she did every weekend, for pretty much the past four or five years.
In fact, nothing had changed in the past four or five years of her life. She worked all week so she could spend all her tips on the weekend. She went out with random guys all while pining over Archer, who – it turned out – had been pining over her for years, too.
I’m such an idiot.
That’s what Jo felt like – stupid and young. Clueless and oblivious. She’d never been a big “goals” person, she hadn’t been one of those kids in drama class or junior achievers or anything like that, but she’d had some pretty basic dreams. Get a solid job, meet a nice man. Get married some day, have some kids, all that jazz.
Is that asking so much?
Sure, she’d never done much in her life, but she hadn’t done bad, either. How had she ended up in such a mess? What had she done to deserve any of this? She’d gone over and over it in her mind. Had she flirted too much with a customer? Had she invited the wrong person to a party?
No. The answer was no, none of those things. She was somewhat notorious at work for being a frigid bitch – hence why her tips weren’t very good. And she didn’t let strangers into her home, not even when Archer showed up at her parties with all his random construction buddies in tow. She made them party at his place.
So why the fuck had some drug dealing piece of shit been stalking her, on behalf of his evil bosses? And how had he ended up dead in her trunk?
Just a Little Junk Page 11
