For a year, I was his shadow. He taught me how to track people using my skills of observation and my persuasive nature. He said my good looks were nothing but an advantage. I learned how to manipulate conversations to get what I wanted. I knew when people were lying or telling half-truths. I could identify a certain gesture or nervous laugh and let it lead me to a better line of questioning. I was able to detach myself from the job, to become this heartless machine.
I was good at it, too. Soon I left Mickey and started out on my own. Jobs were hard to come by in this business, but my reputation grew quickly. I never failed to get my target. Word spread and then I couldn’t keep up with the requests. It was job after job. So much money that I didn’t know what to do.
Eventually, I matured and grew into my career. It became all that I lived for, all that I am. I stay in a small apartment, with elderly neighbors who I never see. I’ve stashed all my money away, besides a couple of real estate investments. After ten years, I sit on a large nest egg and a desire to leave the business. Kat was right. I sleep with random women and never commit to more than one or two nights. I only have two friends. I trust no one, besides them. It is a lonely existence.
Still, after four weeks on the road, I long for that pathetic life. Kat has turned me upside down. She’s got me twisted and I hate feeling out of control. I can’t wait to get back to my place and back to my schedule. I want to be on my own time, not driven by money, employers, or targets.
Maybe I’ll give it all up and head down to my house in Cabo San Lucas. That place is my sanctuary. Nameless senoritas and time with my surfboard sounds amazing. My footsteps quicken as I picture retiring on the beach with a cold beer in hand and the ocean breeze washing over me.
The tourists seem to multiply the closer I get to the theater. There are vacationing families and couples, everyone taking pictures with their phones. A dollar store version of Spider-Man poses with two boys as the dad makes faces at them. The kids strike a fierce pose and then fall out with the giggles. Captain America walks about aimlessly, no damsels in distress or dollar bills to save. Catwoman purrs when I pass. She looks hot in that suit, but there’s something crazy about her eyes. What I don’t need is another crazy woman in my life.
I make my way to the corner of the building and sit in the shade. I watch people put their feet in celebrity footprints and trace the names of movie stars. The sun sets over the hills and the streetlights come on. I don’t leave my post.
10: her
I choose a direction and walk. Los Angeles is much different from what I imagined. I’ve walked for an hour and haven’t seen one celebrity yet. I love wandering aimlessly, exploring the city. I came here for a specific reason, but there’s no way I can pass up seeing more of West Hollywood.
It’s a warm day, so I take my hoodie off and tie it around my waist. There’s too much traffic here and the air smells different from anywhere I’ve been before. Billboards and advertisements cover entire buildings trying to sell the latest movie or designer perfume. I stand in front of a bus shelter and mimic the model in the poster. She’s beautiful, but awkwardly posed.
An old man watches me from his bench, disapproving that I’d mock such beauty. When I’ve finally got the pose down, legs crossed and mouth hanging open, a kid slides in front of me. He’s about sixteen years old. His hair is in braids and piercing sepia eyes stare back at me. He’s much taller than me, sporting a dirty blue jean jacket and shoes with holes. His sharp jaw is peppered with pubescent stubble and his smile is purposely crooked.
“No, you’ve got to put your hand here,” he says. He grabs my hand and places it on my hip. “Perfect.”
“I’ve got it? I look like her?” I suck in my cheeks and try to imitate the hollow, lifeless eyes of the model.
“Hell no, shortie. You look way better.” I release my pose, shaking out my legs and relaxing against the brick building.
“I doubt that, but thanks.”
“No really, she’s got nothin’ on you. Look, she’s too skinny. She needs to eat a cheeseburger or something.”
I laugh and stare down at our shoes. We have matching black Converse—both worn in—but his are much worse than mine.
“Hey, I’m looking for Grauman’s Theater. Could you point me in that direction?” I ask.
“You’re not from here, are you?” He leans on his shoulder next to me. We’re closer than strangers should be. I get the feeling that this guy has no issues with personal space.
“Is it that obvious?” I ask.
“Yeah, it is. I won’t hold it against you. You new to the streets too?”
“The streets?”
“Yeah. I don’t wanna make assumptions, but you look residentially challenged,” he says.
“Oh, you mean homeless? I guess so. I’m more of a wanderer.”
“Well, wanderer, I can take you to Grauman’s if you want.”
“You don’t have to do that, really. Just point me in the right direction.”
“Nah, I ain’t got nothin’ to do,” he interrupts. “It’s no problem.”
I debate the pros and cons in my head. In my travels, I’ve been lucky so far. It creates a false feeling of invincibility that I embrace. I imagine what Dennis would think about him. All he would see is a homeless black kid, worthless trash. I decide Dennis was the kind of judgmental asshole who didn’t know shit about people. So, I decide to trust this guy.
“I’m Lisa,” I say, holding out my hand.
“Gregory. Don’t worry, I’ll take good care of you.” He takes my hand and brings it to his lips. His kiss is soft, but his eyes look up at me to seal the gesture. It’s cheesy and strange, but I go with it.
“So, Gregory. How are we traveling?”
“I got a bike. You get the handlebars.”
I laugh and shake my head. “No shit? I haven’t done that since I was like ten. Hey, I’m down.”
“Good. Let’s roll.”
Gregory walks me a block over and unchains an old beach cruiser from a parking meter. I slide my bag in front of my body and climb onto the handlebars. My ass is a bit heavier since the last time I did this, I hope this kid’s upper body strength is enough to keep us straight.
Gregory points out things as we pass them, great views of the city and extravagant houses up in the hills. The metal bar is digging into my ass, but I’m too scared of toppling over to readjust.
Two police cruisers zoom past us and my entire body tenses up. It saddens me that my gut reaction is fear. Will it always be this way? Yes, I realize. Whether I suffer a life on the run or one in prison, I will always be paying for my actions that night in Dennis’ office. And I accept that. I took a man’s life and will have to live with the consequences for the rest of my days—however numbered they may be.
I try not to dwell on the fact that I’m sightseeing while being on the run from the law, a hit man, and one gorgeous bounty hunter. This is my life now. Freedom is the only thing I have left, and I want to take advantage of every minute.
“Is this the way to the theater?” I ask when I notice the neighborhood changing.
“It’s just a shortcut,” Gregory says. “Don’t worry, I know this city like the back of my hand.”
“Okay,” I say.
Gregory turns into an alley that even in the afternoon is really dark. The buildings here are all boarded up and abandoned. They’re covered in illegible graffiti. Two men lean against a Dumpster, counting out money.
“Aww shit,” Gregory says.
One of the men, an enormous bald beast of a guy, steps in front of us blocking the way. He crosses his arms and nods his chin to the other man who disappears without a word. Gregory slows to a stop. Losing my balance, I hop off the bike and stretch my legs. My hands knead my ass unapologetically.
“Man, that is not a great seat,” I say.
“It was good for me,” Gregory answers and winks at me. I can tell he’s uncomfortable and trying to make light of the situation.
“Gre
g,” the big guys offers a greeting. “Who’s this?”
“This is Lisa. She’s with me.”
“Maybe she is, maybe she isn’t. Sweetheart, are you with him?”
All eyes are on me and I shove my shaking hands into my pockets to hide them.
“He’s my tour guide. I rode on his handlebars,” I blurt out.
“I bet you did,” the big guy says. “Don’t you got somewhere to be, Greg?”
Gregory snaps to attention and grabs me by the elbow. “Uh, yeah. We’ll go. Hop back on, shortie.”
“Leave her.”
Those two words pull the breath from my lungs. My legs feel weak, like they may collapse on me. I look to Gregory, begging him. Please don’t leave me here.
“Come on, Damon. She got people waiting on her. We don’t want no trouble.”
He walks slowly toward me. My feet are glued to the spot. As much as my brain screams to flee, I don’t move. I wonder what’s happened to my sense of self-preservation now. I wonder what Steel would do in this situation and am now regretting my decision to run from him.
When Damon stands in front of me, I realize he’s even bigger than I thought. He has a huge scar running down his cheek and I try not to stare at it. He stands close to me. So close that I can smell cigarette smoke and beer on him.
“I don’t want no trouble either,” Damon says. “Just some company.”
He reaches out with mitt-sized hands and runs them along my shoulders. I flex my fingers, making a plan to bend down and grab my knife when I realize it’s not there. I mentally call Steel every name I can think of before refocusing on the man in front of me. Though I don’t want to appear weak, my eyes sting with tears.
“I’ve really got to go. My boyfriend is waiting for me.”
“Don’t worry about him,” he says. He closes the last bit of distance. “All you need to worry about is me.”
Damon’s arms surround me and I’m helpless. So, I do the only thing I can think of. I scream. Finally, my brain catches up with the gravity of the situation and I start to fight him.
“Let her go, man!” Gregory yells, jumping onto Damon’s back.
I stomp my feet and swing my arms frantically. Though I land several blows against Damon, he doesn’t even flinch. I’m no match for him, but I don’t give up. He shrugs Gregory off like he’s swatting away a bug.
“Please don’t do this,” I whimper as Damon presses me to the dirty brick wall.
When he leans down, I see an opportunity and take it. I lift my foot and kick forward with all my might. Both of his hands grab his crotch and he goes down. I try to scramble away from him, but he catches me by the ankle. I scream and hit the ground hard, knocking my face on the bike on my way down.
There’s a loud thud and his grip on my leg goes limp. I turn to see Gregory standing over Damon’s motionless body wielding a large brick. His expression is murderous, but relaxes when he meets my eyes.
“Is he dead?” I ask.
“I don’t think so. But let’s not wait around to find out.”
Gregory grabs his bike and we take off down the alley. On the next street, we turn left and keep running for a couple of blocks. I lean against a mailbox, trying to catch my breath. I feel like my heart is going to explode.
“Come on, shortie! We can’t stop now. Damon runs this neighborhood. We got to move!”
I jump up on his handlebars again and we’re off. I can tell he’s tired, but Gregory keeps pedaling us to safety. We make so many twists and turns through warehouses and neighborhoods it feels like we’ll never break free. Finally, we come to a well-lit street with lots of people milling about.
I hop off the bike as he locks it to a streetlamp. Leaning on a coffee shop window, I try and calm my racing pulse. Gregory stands on the corner, asking people for change. I can tell that he’s been on the streets a while. He’s got an honest face that puts you at ease and eyes that look guarded, always aware of his surroundings. I watch as couples pass him by without a second glance. They walk their dogs and fetch their dinners like I wasn’t just attacked, like this brave kid doesn’t exist. They live in their safe little bubble and they are untouchable. I cringe when I remember that used to be me.
I catch my reflection in the window and sigh. My hair’s knotted, my clothes are dirty, and my cheek is bruising. I’m a mess, but I don’t feel like a victim. I feel alive and thankful for it.
“Here, I only got a couple of bucks,” Gregory says, pouring a handful of coins into my palm. “It won’t get you far.”
“Thanks, Greg, for saving me from that ogre.” I give him the change back and another twenty dollars from my bag. “I don’t need it. You take it.”
“Looks like you don’t need my help no more. And my name is Gregory. I only let Damon call me Greg because he’s crazy and dangerous. Nobody else gets away with that shit.” He winks at me and I smile back.
“Ow!” The ache in my face surprises me and hits me like another blow. “Damn, your bike pedal got me good.”
“You had some good moves of your own. Sure surprised the hell outta me. You look all soft and you bringin’ down street thugs, girl.”
“I surprised myself too,” I admit.
“You ever been in a fight before?”
“Once,” I say. Images of a violent Dennis, hands around my throat, flash through my head.
“Well, you’re a natural then. I got to be moving along. Damon will be looking for me. Where you headed?”
“Grauman’s,” I answer.
“I’m headed that way anyway. Let me walk you there. Teach you a few things on the way.” He starts off down the sidewalk and I fall in step next to him. “First, don’t go off with strangers.”
“You’re a stranger.”
“Exactly. It’s like you learned nothin’ today. You lucky I got a soft spot for older ladies.”
I shake my head at him. “I don’t feel lucky.”
“Believe me, that situation could have been much worse.” I nod in agreement. “Alright, next. If you’re asking for change, you want to target the middle people. The rich won’t give and the poor don’t have it. When in doubt, check out people’s shoes.”
“No strangers. Look at shoes. Got it.”
“In this city, don’t wear red or blue. Don’t throw gang signs. Don’t tell anyone where you’re from or where you’re going.”
“No primary colors. No sign language. Mum’s the word.” He rolls his eyes at me as we cross the street. “How did it get so cold? It was warm a few hours ago.”
“Welcome to LA,” he says.
He stops, removes his denim jacket and unbuttons his green-and-white plaid shirt before sliding it off his arms. He wears a dirty white T-shirt underneath.
“Is this where you’re from?”
“I’m from nowhere, going nowhere.” His voice isn’t dismal, just reciting the facts. “Here,” he says, holding the shirt up for me. “You lost your hoodie back in the alley.”
I slide my arms inside and pull it tight around me. I expect it to smell bad, but it doesn’t. I feel like a presumptuous ass for even thinking it.
“Thanks. Aren’t you the charming gentleman,” I tease. He puts his jacket back on and we continue our journey.
“Nah. A gentleman would have given you his jacket. But, I don’t part with this. A friend gave it to me.”
“A girlfriend?” I ask, poking his ribs.
He grunts and shakes his head. “No. Just a friend. She died a couple of years ago. It’s all I got left.”
“I’m sorry,” I offer.
“No worries, shortie. That’s life. Sometimes people come in to help you along and leave just as quick. She was good people. Like you.”
“And you,” I say.
He grins and pulls me along the star-lined sidewalk.
11. HIM
Yawning, I stretch my arms wide and push out my chest. I’m so wound up, my muscles and head ache. I rub my temples and stare out over the courtyard, ignoring the possibi
lity that Kat has already come and gone from this place. I refuse to believe that she could have done so with no resources.
So, I continue to sit and wait. I wait for the girl who’s had me on the road for over four weeks, making me laugh when I don’t want to, and confess things I never have before. I wait for the girl who tears down my walls like they’re made of paper. She makes me crazy and yet, I want to see her again.
I stand up and walk to the gift shop just to get the feeling back in my ass. There’s a short line at the register that seems to be moving slowly. The employee behind the counter is distracted and barely present. I follow her gaze as it moves across the store and finds a guy in matching uniform pretending to fold T-shirts. He works on the same one three times before moving on to the next. The two clerks give each other secret smiles, their unresolved sexual tension palpable. I ignore them and look through some postcards while keeping an eye on the theater.
“You look like Superman,” says a tiny voice.
I look down to find a little girl smiling up at me. She’s got brown ringlets and a black shirt that sparkles with a cartoon cat on it. There’s a stamp on her hand that says Madame Tussauds. Her lips and cheeks are pink against her innocent porcelain face. I check the immediate area for parents and find none.
“Who me?” I ask.
“Yep. And I know ’cause my brudder watches dat movie all the time. I know it real good. There’s a fake Superman out dere,” she whispers pointing to the sidewalk.
I squat down so that we’re eye level now. With my long sleeve shirt and most of my tattoos covered, I can understand how she doesn’t find me threatening. Still, she moves closer and I’m put off at how comfortable she seems to be with me.
“Can you keep a secret?” I ask. She nods. Her brown eyes shine. “You’re right.”
I smile at her and she covers her mouth with both hands, giggling. She steps forward now, her pink shoes between mine.
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