by D. A. Young
The five of them trooped out, talking and laughing as the librarian held the door open for them with a disapproving frown. After a quick look around, he followed behind the group, licking his lips in anticipation.
The well-groomed, older Hispanic gentleman stared through the tinted window of his town car, surveying the group of bikers waiting for him. Two burly enforcers stood lookout, guns ready as their leader perched cockily on his motorcycle, staring up at the cloudless sky as if he didn’t have a care in the world. Next to him was his right-hand man who stayed quiet and watchful through each transaction. Farther behind them, in the shadows of the abandoned warehouse, was a small U-Haul van.
Finally, the biker lifted his black sunglasses and yelled, “This shit happenin’ today or what?! I’m not your little errand boy, Barrera. I’ve got others interested in my product as well, hombre!”
Gualtiero Barrera grimaced with distaste at the word hombre. In his country, such disrespect wouldn’t dare be shown to him. He pulled out his knife and ran his fingers lovingly over the long, double-edged blade. He wished he could show the gringo exactly why.
“Cuando, Jefe? Por favor.”
He smiled faintly at the abrupt question that came from one of his soldiers, Benito Garza, who sat across from him. The disrespectful biker was striking a nerve with his men, and that was not good for him, but excellent for their boss. It showed Gualtiero exactly how loyal they were to him. Loyalty was something that he appreciated and believed in rewarding handsomely.
“When? In good time, mi amigo. For now, we have to grin and bear the American imbecile. When that changes, you shall be the first to know. There will be nothing silent about his death when that time comes. Comprende?”
With a respectful nod, a reassured Benito smiled in understanding. “Si, Jefe.”
“Todaaay, Ricardo Montalban!” the biker sang, causing his group to snicker.
Gualtiero’s eyes tightened at the insult. As did his grip on the knife. Aware of Benito studying him, he forced himself to loosen it and relax. Perhaps, the gringo’s death would come sooner rather than later. Except, then, Gualtiero would have to explain himself to his boss, who would not take kindly to his orders being disobeyed. With a sigh of resignation, he put his baby away.
“Come, Benito. Let us get this over with, por favor.”
The soldier stepped out first and respectfully held the door open for Gualtiero who took a moment to coolly observe the crowd as he buttoned the jacket of his designer black suit. From the two other cars on either side, more of his soldiers emerged, their guns on display, ready to hail bullets and avenge the blatant disrespect by these motociclistas sucios on his command. From the shadows of the warehouse, unseen but heard, more guns were loaded and cocked, another reason Gualtiero hesitated to kill Lawson. The man always seemed to stay one step ahead of him.
“You done powderin’ your nose?” Harley demanded, insolence radiating from every fiber of his being. He slid from his motorcycle with a yawn and stood to meet Barrera. “It’s about time.”
Fucking pussy, he thought contemptuously, waiting for the arrogant Mexican and his goon to approach. Harley noted the blatant hostility in the soldier’s eyes, and it made him grin, knowing how much it would set him off. The behemoth of a man growled and the menacing vibration had the bikers behind Harley reaching for their guns. He waggled his eyebrows and blew him a kiss before greeting the olive-skinned man.
“Hola, Barrera. Got the dinero?”
“Have I ever come empty-handed?” Gualtiero politely inquired, his brown eyes betraying nothing. “Show me the product first.”
Harley spun around and did a few salsa moves before waving his hands with exaggerated flourish toward the van. “After you, Señor.”
Gritting his teeth at such blatant disrespect, the capitán approached the van while Benito trailed behind them.
“Think you’ll be really happy with what I got you. Open it up, Digger!”
The driver of the van got out and unlocked the back doors before stepping aside. Gualtiero forced himself not to react as he leaned in carefully to inspect the merchandise—two blondes and a redhead. All three unconscious from the drugs Pitch had injected them with.
The biker was right, Gualtiero thought, hardly able to remain devoid of excitement. He’d outdone himself. Jefe would be quite pleased.
“What’d ya think? All natural, too! I checked myself,” Harley added with a lewd wink. “Don’t worry, the merchandise wasn’t sampled.”
Gualtiero grunted. “Not bad. Can you get more?”
The wily look in Harley’s eyes cautioned Gualtiero that he wasn’t fooled by his indifference. “Yeah, but for prime quality like this, the price just doubled.”
Gualtiero’s eyes shuttered, and his thin smile revealed the promise of violence to come.
“You’ve just proven that you’re as stupid as you sound, pendejo. The price will remain the same and business will continue as unusual.”
He snapped his fingers, and Benito gestured for one of the men to retrieve the black duffle bag from his boss’s trunk. “One hundred thousand dollars, just like we agreed. Same time next month.”
Harley laughed as if Gualtiero had just told the funniest joke he’d ever heard. “Whooooo! I don’t think so, Barrera. You see, I can go places that you and your men,” at this, he shot a scornful glare at the soldiers and tapped the back of his hand, indicating his complexion, “can’t access. You should think about that before I take my business elsewhere. It’s all about accessibility. Isn’t that why Vargas needed us dumb gringos in the first place?”
The biker was right, and they both knew it. The thought of having to acknowledge defeat made Gualtiero’s body burn with a corrosive hatred that threatened to consume him.
Harley gestured to the product with a smug expression. “Take this as a gesture of good faith that I’ll deliver more of the same and let me know what you decide. I’ll be waiting to hear from you.”
Lawson was too full of hubris, Gualtiero thought as the younger man took the duffle bag of cash and counted it. He nodded to Benito, who called for three men to assist with transferring his newly acquired merchandise. It wasn’t until they were back in the car and on the road that Gualtiero made his decision.
“Benito, I do believe that the moment you inquired about is finally upon us.”
Harley waved them off with a triumphant grin, knowing just how much Barrera hated him. He turned back to his group and opened the duffle bag. “Alright, bitches! Who wants to get paid?!”
The men celebrated while Harley distributed five-thousand dollars each to the two actors he’d hired to play the roles of enforcers, and Pitch brought the recorder and speakers out from the warehouse. “Same time next month. We’ll call and give you a location. Need you there two days before the exchange. No one deviates from the plan, agreed?”
“Agreed!” they chorused before departing, eager to spend their earnings.
“I’m going to run the van through a car wash and get it detailed before turning it in,” Digger volunteered. “I’ll catch a cab back to the motel.”
“Yeah, we’ll meet there,” Pitch concurred. He waited until Digger hopped in the van and drove away to discuss business with Harley.
“He’s proven to be a great asset. Didn’t think he had it in him, but I like his efficiency. After our shares, we’ve got close to two hundred and twenty thousand dollars saved. Just a couple of more runs, and we’ll be able to go to Vargas and make a deal with the Aztecs.”
When Harley didn’t answer, Pitch prompted him with, “Still with me, brother?”
“I don’t know if I want to go back, man. The more I’m away from that club shit, the better I feel,” Harley admitted. He was growing confident in who he was and his purpose. Going back to his old life would mean surrendering his power and voluntarily rendering himself insignificant again. “I feel like we should capitalize on what we’re doing here and think bigger. Move on from that bullshit. Fuck Slade and ‘e
m.”
“That wasn’t the plan, Harley!”
They’d come too far to think about deviating now, Pitch mentally raged. “Your father cut you out of your inheritance! You can’t let that slide. Do you think Ransom defended and fought for you?! He’s been against you from the beginning. They’ve gotten away with disrespecting you for so long because they could! Your father understands strength. Once you make your move, he’ll finally understand yours. Don’t let them shut you out, Harley. Stick to the plan.”
A pensive Harley considered his words. “You really think Vargas can be bought?”
“He’s already proven that he’s desperate for money. My plan is going to make it all come together,” Pitch assured him, relieved that victory wouldn’t be slipping from his grasp. “Trust me. Haven’t I always been there for you, brother?”
“Unlike the others, you’ve never let me down, Pitch,” Harley agreed hollowly. There were days that he wanted to pick up the phone and talk to his brother. Except, he was aware that Ransom wasn’t interested in communicating with him.
Sensing that Harley wasn’t fully convinced, Pitch sought to distract him.
It was feeding time again.
“Come on, Harley. We got an invite from that hot little blonde in the room three doors down from us to join her in the hot tub. I think we should take her up on that offer, don’t you? It would be rude to keep the lady waiting. Let’s go.”
Harley walked with him, but his thoughts were still focused on his brother. He knew Ransom blamed him for losing Billy, and he deeply regretted his twin’s unhappiness. Was she unhappy as well? Had their breakup saddened her? Or had she rebounded quickly?
Maybe it was time he looked her up and saw for himself.
Fall in northern California was much different than So-Cal, Billy thought as the chilly zephyr swept across Famon University’s courtyard, and leaves scattered aimlessly. With a drowsy yawn, she pulled her makeshift jacket closer around her and left the theater department. It was four on a Friday afternoon, and she had no plans for the weekend except to hit the books and do some research on English Renaissance or Elizabethan theater as it was better known. The director had given the assignment for the department’s first production a play called “Hieronimo is Mad Again” by Thomas Kyd.
Billy wasn’t really interested in this particular play; however, she planned to express her dedication to her professor by working on the set and with costume design. Thanks to Melody, Billy had a great eye for detail and hoped that the director noticed as well. Her stomach grumbled loudly, reminding her that she hadn’t eaten anything but an english muffin for breakfast hours ago. Billy deliberated what she could pick up for dinner before heading back to the dorm-flat that her grandparents had arranged for her.
“Let us do this for you,” Neville pleaded, regarding the small, five-room space, consisting of two bedrooms, a kitchenette, a bathroom, and a living room. “I want you to have space to walk around and be comfortable in rather than feel closeted with some stranger that you might not even get along with.”
“It would give us peace of mind, my dear,” Porsha cosigned sweetly. “You know how much we worry about you.”
Billy was glad that she’d agreed to it because her roommate was definitely a few fries short in her happy meal. Her circumstances made her shy and paranoid to interact with strangers as if they might be judging her. But she was quiet and kept to herself, which Billy appreciated, so she could focus on her academics. School was going great. No one knew her, and she appreciated the anonymity that assisted her in carving out a new life. She’d made friends and loved the classes she was taking, and had even ventured out on a couple of casual dates. College was everything it was supposed to be and what Melody had wanted for her.
She still felt her mother’s presence so strongly that Billy always expected to see or hear Melody Lashay, pre-cancer. Billy talked to her about everything except Ransom. She couldn’t share him yet. Four months later it was still very painful and bittersweet to divulge to anyone. No matter how hard Billy tried, the memories wouldn’t fade. So, she stopped trying to suppress them and welcomed them instead.
All of them.
There were nights when she sought relief with her fingers, but it was nothing like the real thing. The obvious next step to ending her misery would be to sleep with someone else, but that felt like a betrayal to Ransom, and Billy just wasn’t ready for that yet. What if she never was?
Every love song was about him, and Billy wished she’d stayed that last day, just to kiss him longer. That they’d met in a different time and place with an even playing field. That their laughter and lovemaking and connection hadn’t been unforgettable. There were times when everything hurt so much, Billy wanted to get in her car and drive to Chatham and beg Ransom to make everything stop hurting. Yet, she couldn’t do that to herself or him. Billy had made this choice and somehow, she’d find a way to live with it. Constantly, she wanted to ask Marcus about him during their calls.
How is he? Does he miss me as much as I miss him? Would you tell him I love him? That I’m in danger of never stopping?
Aside from her heartache, things with Marcus were going extremely well. He’d visited twice since school started and was coming to spend Thanksgiving weekend with her and her grandparents whom he’d established a solid relationship with. Not once had Marcus mentioned or encouraged her to come visit him for her upcoming holiday breaks. It was probably for the best.
“You’re too fine to be so stressed.”
Billy pivoted around at the familiar tenor and screamed her happiness, launching herself into the strong arms of her best friend, Kenton Medina. “You didn’t tell me you were coming! What are you doing here?!”
“Couldn’t let my best girl spend her birthday weekend alone,” Kent smoothly replied. His thick blonde hair fell in casual disarray over one blue eye, and if Billy didn’t know him so well, she would have thought it was deliberate. Tall, golden, and blue-eyed, Kenton could have passed for a model, like his mother, with his chiseled, good looks. Instead, he was a basketball player at Fresno State like his father and older brother before him. “Still as pretty as ever. What are we going to do for the big day?”
“Honestly, I’d forgotten all about it. I was just gonna chill at home.” Billy beamed up at him, and Kent felt his heart leap. He tried to recall a time when he wasn’t in love with his best friend. Everything had changed between them on Grad Night, but after he got back from Europe, they’d committed themselves to rebuilding their friendship. Billy was the real reason Kent decided to go to Fresno not because of his family’s legacy. Their colleges were only an hour apart.
Unfortunately, for Kent, Billy didn’t feel the same. The night they’d slept together, Kent knew going in that she was only seeking comfort. That she saw him as her best friend and trusted him implicitly not to read more into it. He’d wanted her badly enough to overlook that fact. But there was still time to change her mind. He wasn’t dating and neither was she. Yeah, there were other chicks but only one Billy. He reached out and fingered the sleeve of her shirt-jacket. “Not tonight. I’m taking you to dinner. Where’d you get this thing? Is this your “Kurt Cobain-grunge” stage? It’s not a good look on you. Definitely burn it because you can’t wear it where I’m taking you.”
Defensively, Billy jerked back at the derision in his tone. It was the shirt Ransom had left behind in the hotel. She meant to leave it at the front desk for him but couldn’t bring herself to part with it. “Quit being a snotty, over-privileged dickhead.”
“I’m not being snotty. I’m simply stating facts. It’s an ugly, low-quality shirt that I never expected you to wear,” Kent said in his practical manner, palms raised defensively. “What’s with the attitude?”
Billy rolled her eyes. She’d almost forgotten what a clothes horse Kent was. He was very meticulous about his appearance and spent a ridiculous amount of time grooming. With Ransom, everything was so easy. He threw on whatever and made that shit look goo
d effortlessly.
“How about we agree to disagree? Come on; let’s go to my place so I can shower and change.”
They discussed Kent’s family and school on the way. As she inserted her key into the door, Billy warned him, “Don’t tease my roommate and don’t come off as a cocky jock. More importantly, don’t try to sleep with her! Put your ho-ish tendencies away! Keep in mind that I have to live with her after you slither back to your dorm.”
It hurt Kent that there wasn’t an ounce of jealousy in Billy about that last scenario happening. His eyebrows shot to his hairline when she assumed a “Mary Poppins” voice, chirping, “I’m home!”
“Hey! I’m in my bedroom! I was feeling like pasta tonight. Have you eaten? I’m starving!”
Kent waited in the small living room while Billy disappeared. She returned shortly with another woman who hovered uncertainly in the doorway. “Kent, this is my roommate, Angela. Angela, my best friend Kent.”
She nodded at him warily but made no move to speak or enter the room.
At first, Kent was pissed at Billy’s nonchalant comment regarding his ‘hoeing’ as she liked to put it. Now, he was outraged that her opinion of him was so low that she really thought he would try something with her roommate. Especially, like, right now. Kent couldn’t stop staring at the her. Even Billy’s scathing glare didn’t deter him. Finally, an irritated Angela addressed it.
“What’s your problem? You’ve never seen a woman pregnant with twins before?!”
THE END
D. A. Young is a daughter, mother, Gigi, wife, and work in progress who loves God and the life she’s been blessed to create with her family and friends. Food, traveling, reading, and music are her passions. Raised on dramas like “Dynasty” and “General Hospital”, D. A. Young is an author and lover of adventures featuring multiple characters and subplots.