by S. W. Lauden
“All of them do, but all they want’s my body. Nobody around here knows where I came from, what I’ve done to get to where I am.”
Greg tried working the ropes around his wrists, but they were too tight. Was it really worth prolonging the inevitable? There couldn’t possibly be any satisfaction in knowing why Gabriella wanted to watch him suffer. The problem was, he couldn’t help himself.
“I always thought you were some rich girl who was obsessed with the hood. Probably the head cheerleader at some private school in Orange County.”
“Shit. I never even made it to high school thanks to my drunk-ass dad. Got mixed up with some gangbangers downtown when I was in eighth grade and the next thing you know I was in the life.”
Greg tried to imagine her as a skinny little kid, scared but acting tough. He wondered how she managed to survive without a single tattoo or scar on her perfect body. He figured she would tell him eventually, if he just kept her talking.
“I was Big J’s girl. He used to call me mariposa—butterfly—because I could dress up all slutty and put on a show. I was like a distraction. They’d send me into clubs or house parties to check shit out, shake my ass, and report back. Then my crew would roll up and take care of business. We must have done that a thousand times.”
He could hear the nostalgia in her voice, the little girl still proud of herself for impressing her fill-in father figure.
“Until your music career took off?”
“None of that happened until after Big J got capped. Our crew kind of fell apart without him. Some of them joined other gangs, others got on the straight and narrow. I got the hell out of downtown, went to stay with some friends in Virgil Heights. That’s actually how I found out about you, from my new boyfriend.”
Greg’s body went rigid. Things were starting to click, and it was even worse than he could have imagined. He tried to play it cool, pretending like his voice wasn’t shaking.
“Anybody I know?”
“I think so. His name was Manny.”
Greg watched as she stood up, tracking her silhouette as it floated across the mixing room for the door into the studio. He saw the hand come through first, but it wasn’t Gabriella’s. A skinny kid in baggy pants and a white T-shirt emerged instead. He’d been wearing a baker’s hat the last time Greg saw him.
The kid took one look at Greg, shook his head, and grinned.
“You’re one stupid motherfucker.”
Greg had to agree, but couldn’t afford to let it show.
“So much for getting your act together. I guess this means you won’t be working at that café anymore.”
“They don’t have to know what goes down tonight. I’ll wash your blood off my hands and pretend like nothing ever happened.”
Greg felt a strange sense of relief knowing he wasn’t going to die by hanging. Unless the kid planned to use him as a punching bag after he was already dead.
“You started dating your brother’s girlfriend after he got killed? That’s pretty cold.”
That stopped him in his tracks, but the look on his face didn’t change. He was close enough to kick the stool out from under Greg now.
“You still don’t get it, do you, pig? Manny found God inside. Told me I had to forgive you for shooting me and move on with my life once we got out. He said it was the only way we would ever find peace, or some stupid shit like that.”
“And you didn’t agree with him…”
“Hell no! I don’t believe in anything but getting even. It’s all I’ve been thinking about since that day in the alley. He threatened to rat me out unless I promised to leave you alone.”
“So, you had your brother killed?”
Greg was so focused on the kid that he almost forgot about Gabriella, until her voice came through the speakers again. She sounded a little more intense this time, as if she was getting high off of the violence building up in the room.
“Some of my boys took care of him. Manny was an embarrassment.”
The kid stepped forward, foot against the leg of the stool.
“Time to say goodbye, pig.”
Greg arched his back, waiting for the bottom to drop out. He closed his eyes tight and gritted his teeth in anticipation of the end. The moments dragged on, giving him time to say silent goodbyes to all of the people in his life; friends he’d turned his back on when he needed them the most. Kristen. His son.
Slowly, but surely, Greg’s thoughts turned to his brother Tim. He wondered what went through his head in those final moments. Tried to make peace with the fact that he would never know for sure what happened to his brother at the record store. Greg almost wished he believed in heaven so he could see Tim again. But there was no God in the recording studio with them; only desperate people trying to make sense of the brutal world they inhabited.
Greg opened his eyes to have one last look around when the outside door flung open. Five uniformed BCPD officers stormed in, waving their weapons. The two bodyguards who had been quietly lurking in the background pulled out their guns and fired. Bullets flew around the room, ricocheting off of cymbals and shredding the fronts of amps. The kid turned to run, slowly knocking the stool over before he went.
Greg’s body dropped a few inches before snapping back and starting to swing. The air to his lungs was instantly cut off, causing him to thrash around in a spastic, swirling dance. His feet kicked out at the empty air as the rope burned its way into the soft skin around his neck. Every passing second was more painful than the last, until Greg was left wishing it was over. His head felt like it was about to explode as the cacophony all around him sputtered and popped. Bursts of golden light glittered at the edges of his vision, alternating with the cascading waves of blackness that consumed him.
His body jerked involuntarily one last time before it went still.
Chapter 21
Tim didn’t look a second older than the day he died. Greg stood up from the sofa, hesitant at first. He couldn’t believe this was actually happening. It had been twenty years since they’d seen each other. Greg went over to where his brother was peering out the garage window, placing a hand on his shoulder. Tim didn’t respond at all, his eyes fixed on something in the backyard. Greg stood on his toes, catching a glimpse of the terrible scene outside. The garden had been replaced with a wooden gallows, where two bodies swung side-by-side in the ocean breeze. The corpses were dressed exactly the same—jeans, hoodies, and low-top sneakers—except one was a skinny twenty-something and the other was a middle-aged man. Tim reached up with an ice-cold hand to grab him…
Greg’s arm jerked upward, the handcuff catching his wrist. It was fastened to the metal rail on the hospital bed where he lay. The monitors connected to his chest beeped wildly as he flailed and thrashed. A team of doctors and nurses rushed in, calling his name to calm him down. Greg tried to scream out for his brother, but the words got caught in his bone-dry throat. He was struggling to get up—bucking the bodies pinning him down—when a fresh dose of narcotics hit his bloodstream. The blackness that followed was an empty void where time did not exist.
h
Greg woke up early the next morning. His transition into the living world was much slower this time around, thanks to the residual effects of the morphine. He opened his eyes slowly over the course of several minutes; only half fighting the urge to slip back into nothingness. It wasn’t until somebody squeezed his hand that he decided there might be something worth waking up for.
He eased his head to the left, expecting to see Kristen, but found Junior instead.
“I’m guessing this isn’t heaven.”
His voice was a wispy grumble. She snorted, sucking back a sigh of relief.
“That ship sailed a long time ago. Thirsty?”
“Depends on what you’ve got.”
She brought a plastic cup up, feeding the end of a straw between his lips. He
took several small sips of water, each one working its way across his tongue and down his parched throat. His neck muscles ached with each tiny swallow.
“How long was I up there swinging?”
The look on her face was both tender and scolding.
“A minute or less. They say there shouldn’t be any permanent damage.”
“Then why am I still here?”
“They wanted to monitor you, mostly because you were severely dehydrated. Which should come as no surprise considering…”
“I drank half the vodka in The Bay Cities?”
Junior forced a dry laugh, her disappointment filling the room. Greg went on.
“Don’t worry, the last thing I want right now is another drink.”
“You promise?”
Greg didn’t respond, so Junior let it go.
“What the hell were you doing at the Flores Estate?”
“Looking for answers, I guess. Where are Kristen and Timmy?”
“Gone. They went up to Deer Springs to stay with her sister.”
Greg’s chest felt like it might cave in.
“For how long?”
She opened her mouth to answer when Marco wandered in. He gripped a bouquet of Mylar “Get Well” balloons in his fist. The pink and blue ribbons got looped and tied off near Greg’s handcuffs.
“Welcome back, you drunk.”
Greg motioned to the needle in his arm.
“I’ve moved on to the hard stuff now.”
Junior got up to leave, stopping in the doorway.
“I need to pick Chris up from the rehearsal space. He’ll be happy to hear you’re alive.”
Greg watched her leave. Marco stepped in front of him, ruining the view.
“I’m kind of pissed off at you, bro.”
“Then why are you here?”
“Had some questions that couldn’t wait.”
“About?”
“Gabriella.”
The mention of her name sent Greg hurtling back into the recording studio. Gabriella’s voice was crystal clear in his memory, taunting him all over again as he teetered on the brink of death. Greg pictured the mixing room door opening and the kid in the blue hat kicking the chair out from under him. Relived the seasick feeling of swinging from a rope.
Greg strained to sit up, the words rushing from his mouth.
“What happened to her?”
“She got away in the gunfight, her and that kid from the bakery.”
Greg’s memories of that night were patchy at best, but that didn’t seem possible.
“How? There were cops everywhere.”
“The bodyguards’ guns were blasting, bro. They had the cops pinned down for a few minutes, so the two of them must have snuck out through the back. Every cop in town is hunting for them.”
Greg couldn’t believe all of this happened while he dangled from the ceiling.
“Where are the bodyguards?”
“Both dead.”
Greg laid back, willing his heart to stop racing.
“It was them. They killed all those people at our shows.”
“No shit. That cop in Santa Barbara figured it out. He’s the one that tipped the BCPD off. But they weren’t expecting to find you there.”
Greg watched his friend go pale. It looked like he might be sick.
“Listen, Marco. I was out of my mind. Nothing made sense. I went there to—”
Marco nodded.
“Save your breath, bro. I got the answer I needed. Maybe I’ll come see you when you get home.”
Marco backed out of the room. He’d been gone for a few minutes before it dawned on Greg that he was all alone.
h
Greg spent the rest of that night answering questions for Detective Bowers at the hospital. Like everybody else, he couldn’t figure out what Greg would have been doing up at the Flores Estate. Even when Greg explained it to him—came clean about going there to sleep with Gabriella—Detective Bowers kept pressing, looking for clues that tied him to the murders. He must have been disappointed when the hospital discharged Greg before the BCPD could fabricate a reason to arrest him.
It was close to midnight by then, so Greg took a taxi home. The house was dark when he arrived, and everything was silent. He climbed straight into bed, tossing and turning as he relived memories from the pool house studio. It didn’t help that this was the first time he’d slept in the bedroom without Kristen since she left.
It was close to dawn when he finally gave up on sleep, getting up to make coffee instead. The house seemed unnaturally empty and still without the baby crying or his wife wandering around looking for a pacifier or a bottle. He pulled a chair out at the kitchen table and sat down to wait—for what, he wasn’t quite sure. Greg worried he might sit there forever, drowning in the same terrible thoughts until there was no line between the present and past. The distinction was already iffy.
He sat there in silence trying to figure out when it had all gone wrong. Was it really Tommy’s book that set it all in motion, or something long before that? Could it have been the moment he unwittingly stumbled into Grizzly Flats, or the night at the tidal pools when he rescued Junior and Chris from a serial killer? When his best friend got shot on stage at Eddie’s, or when he shot that kid in the alley in Virgil Heights?
Greg reached up to scratch the rope burn around his neck, certain the answer was in front of him all along. Everything changed the day he found out his brother died. He still felt gutted remembering how the news ripped the heart from his chest, leaving him hollow and empty forever after. Every day since then had been about filling the void—whether drinking himself blind, having meaningless sex, surfing, becoming a cop, or playing the hero. His life had become an endless pursuit of external gratification, no matter the cost to him or his family and friends.
And it had finally caught up with him. Everything he’d fought so hard to avoid was right in front of his face now, demanding to be reckoned with. Greg still wasn’t ready to confront it all, but no longer had a choice. He was wrestling with that uncomfortable reality when he remembered the question Officer Bob asked him. Did you ever realize I’m not the one you needed to forgive?
The coffeemaker sputtered and popped, exhaling a puff of fragrant steam. The noise pulled Greg out of his own head. He jumped up to pour himself a cup of coffee, taking it out onto the back deck. The sun was coming up in the east, filling the backyard with a pale-yellow light. Greg sipped at his mug while working out Officer Bob’s riddle. The more he thought about it, the angrier he got.
Greg stood up, dropping his mug to the ground. He paced back and forth across the deck, his chest getting tighter as his mind whirled. The same sick need for escape was back again; only this time he had nowhere to go. His only hope for a little relief was out in the garage where he left it the other night; full bottles mixed in with the empties.
Greg cut across the backyard, lunging for the garage door. He was almost inside when he heard somebody open the back gate. Marco was standing there when he turned around, Tommy right behind him.
“I wanted to visit you at the hospital, but they said you got out last night.”
Greg stepped back outside, closing the door behind him. He studied Tommy, making note of his stylish new wardrobe. It was clear somebody else was shopping for him these days.
“You guys want to come in? I’ve got coffee inside.”
They followed him into the house, spreading out on the living room couch while he got their drinks. Greg’s hands were shaking when he handed them their mugs. Marco noticed right away, but Tommy seemed oblivious.
“You can’t keep yourself out of trouble, can you?”
Greg sat down in the armchair across from them.
“Never could. When did you get back to town?”
“Came in yesterday for a la
te-night talk show. That’s where I was when I heard what happened. You doing alright?”
Greg gave Marco a sideways glance.
“Depends on who you ask.”
Tommy set his mug down on the coffee table, rubbing his palms back and forth on his distressed jeans.
“Listen, man. I wanted to apologize.”
“For what?”
“For ruining your life. I had no idea my book would turn your world upside down. That was never the goal.”
“Don’t sweat it. My life was a mess way before I met you.”
They all laughed at once, cutting the tension in half. Tommy leaned back, talking to the ceiling.
“I heard Kristen left. With your son.”
“It’s nothing permanent. We’ll work it out.”
“I really hope so. It’s one thing for you to almost get yourself killed—that’s some everyday shit for you—but I’m not sure I could handle the guilt of tearing your family apart.”
“Jesus, Tommy. Did you come here to bum me out? Let me make you guys some breakfast.”
Greg went into the kitchen, flinging the refrigerator open. Anything was better than sitting around apologizing to each other. He piled eggs, bacon, and a stick of butter onto the counter, pulling down a box of pancake mix from the cupboard. His hand was on the burner knob when somebody got a call.
Marco reached into his pocket, pulling a phone up to his ear.
“What the hell are you doing up? I thought you worked the late shift last night.”
Greg and Tommy both watched as Marco’s jaw dropped.
“We’re on our way.”
He brought the phone down, shouting to Greg and Tommy as he headed for the backyard.
“Gabriella and her little friend are outside of my condo trying to get in. JJ’s stuck inside.”
Greg dropped what he was doing, racing to join Marco without any thought. His only plan was to grab the gun from the garage before climbing into Marco’s car. He wasn’t surprised when Tommy hesitated, lingering on the couch.
“Where the hell are you guys going?”
Greg slowed down on his way outside, trying to hide his disappointment. Tommy had been his partner for everything that happened at Grizzly Flats, but now he felt like a stranger.