Peace Tomorrow: A Verón City Novel

by M. Roberts

  “Cops!”

  The declaration was enough to weaken Lane’s swings and Malcolm was able to pull him away from Lucius.

  “Get off me,” Lane demanded, though was able to pry Malcolm away himself before storming back across the street, jumping behind the wheel of his black pickup and tearing out again while Malcolm, Nathaniel, and Lucius scurried away from the scene.

  As he sped down Sixth Street and onto a side street, the rush of the moment dissipated and weight returned upon his shoulders, twofold. Instead of driving back east, he took his truck west, following the sun as it made its gradual descent towards the ocean. As he neared the water, driving through swanky neighborhoods of the vastly wealthy and celebrities, avoiding the highway traffic to enjoy a more steady, relaxed drive with his windows down and the air in his face, he tasted the sea as he approached it. He parked at the tail end of the beach, where less foot traffic led, though a few girls in bikinis strolled past and Lane’s eyes were distracted for a moment as they waved fingers at him. He watched them as they continued down the paved walkway, watched how their bathing suits clung to their cheeks as they bounced, batting eyes over their shoulder and giggling. But when they were far enough away, he recalled the reason he sought the beach. He removed his shoes and socks and stepped into the hot sand to walk towards the water. His pace was slow, he wanted to slightly burn his feet before dipping them in the cool waters of the ocean. As he did, he watched the sun begin its nightly dip. He was transfixed until a woman’s voice beside him distracted his focus.

  “You like sunsets, too?”

  He turned his head to see her, stepping into the water after having made the same walk he had. She was older, her voice deeper than most women Lane was accustomed to. And yet she had a very playful quality to the way she dipped her toes into the water, gently splashing the top layer. She wore a colorful flowing skirt that danced around her ankles and a bikini top that showcased her soft, radiant skin. She turned to face Lane and smiled, awaiting his answer, which he had momentarily forgotten to give.

  “Doesn’t everyone?”

  “Sure. But they’re all at the pier. We enjoy it another way. A deeper way.”

  Lane would normally contest such a notion, or mock the girl saying it, but her voice gave the sentiment a certain nuance he hadn’t encountered before.

  “I suppose,” he replied.

  “My mother used to say people who loved the sunset were people who secretly hated life. She loved sunrises.”

  “Do you agree?”

  The woman shook her head. “No. I think we just appreciate its absence.”

  Lane had turned to her. She was gently twisting, her feet playing in the wet sand as the waves washed over the tops of her feet. She was smiling. She was staring at him. He knew what she wanted. He wanted it, too. He had a craving to taste her, to place her back in the sand at the edge of the beach where it met the water, spread her legs, and taste her. It was a very uncommon urge for Lane, mostly he wanted the reverse. Staring back at her, he knew it could all happen so quickly. The tumble into romance and its gestures always was. But so were the following steps, its seduction, its implant of fantasy. Could he spend every night, here, at the edge of the sea, with his head between this beautiful woman’s legs as she moaned with pleasure? Could he spend the rest of his days anticipating the moment where they turn to night so he could taste her again? Could he leave behind his responsibilities to partake in her for the rest of his life? He would want that, if he were to take this first plunge, he knew it would plant a seed in his heart that would grow a rotten dream within him.

  She reached out her hand to grab his, but instead of allowing her to take him away, he raised it to his lips and left a light kiss before heading back up the beach to take a seat behind the wheel of his black pickup and drive off east, towards home, the whole way wearing the weight on his shoulders.

  Lane pulled into the driveway at the house just as the sky was turning over from dark blue to black and entered in through the front door to find Joan on the couch. She turned her head up to look at him while flipping pages of her fashion magazine with indifference.

  “Titus come through?”

  Titus was forbidden from the house, though Rose always let him in when he came around, Joan took no stance, and Lane never raised a stink, it was a small secret of the children kept from Ezekiel. Had the man known himself, he likely would have taken an ambivalent stance on the issue himself. But to spare the drama, Rose, Joan, and Lane remained silent. The infrequent guards, men under Ezekiel’s employ, that sometimes stood watch at the doors followed their lead.

  “Yeah. Left already.”

  Her eyes laid on his for no longer than they had to, and then even less than it took her to answer, shortly returning to her magazine. Lane rounded the arm of the chair that sat across from the sectional and beside the fireplace. He dropped into it with a groan, throwing his arms over its sides and staring into the empty fireplace, eyes drifting unfocused. Joan peered over her magazine at his still position.

  “Tough day, big man?” she prodded.

  Her words did little to drag his attention away from the void he rested in. He nodded slightly to answer.

  “You only just got back. Must be difficult to jump right into the grind again.”

  He nodded slightly again. She dropped her magazine entirely.

  “But you’re good at it. Taking orders, go fetch Titus, sit, talk.”

  Lane raised his head finally, rolling his eyes around to meet Joan’s.

  “Good boy.”

  “Always poking with your long stick, rousing people. What do you want?”

  “I heard Lucius is leaving the life.”

  “Bullshit.” Lane rolled his eyes back to the empty fireplace.

  “Why?” Joan tilted her head, extended her neck in an effort to enter Lane’s periphery. “Are you jealous of the thought?”

  “Lucas always talks big game. Love, paradise, plans, bullshit. It’s all bullshit, Joan. He’s a punk wannabe romantic trying to lie to himself. Saw him today. Way he fought for Sixth Street showed he’s really ready to leave it all behind.” Lane laughed. “Leaving the life. My skin’s air tight, Joan, stop trying to find your way beneath it. I know your girlish games.”

  She glared, though he didn’t notice. “Says a man no better than he is. What do you do that’s any different than him?”

  He turned back to her ready for rebuttal, but with no words arising. She smiled.

  “Mr. Righteous takes a look in the mirror and doesn’t like what he sees.”

  Lane looked direct into Joan’s eyes, zeroed in. While she was going for his attention, she now felt unnerved the way he looked at her, through her, unblinking, cold.

  “When we started doing this, we gave our lives to it. We entered into a contract, sling drugs, hold territory, maintain the flow. I know that. He doesn’t. I work for a living. He dreams for a living. Watch and see how that turns out for the both of us. Lucas and I, we’re not the same.”

  Lane looked back to the fireplace with the same stare he gave Joan. Watching him, Joan felt some of the weight he wore and, feeling uncomfortable, stood and left the room. Lane’s mind considered Lucius and himself, and whether or not knowing what they were would actually make a difference in the end.

  9.

  Lucius made the long stagger home after the sun rose, after Rose had left him at the beach, and after he had finally sobered, entirely from the drugs, and somewhat from the sex. He floated on its memory, her breath, her eyes half closed and her chin rose and fell with the fluidity of their motion, her smooth tan skin, her hip bones pressing into him, the way she went entirely silent when she came and how that felt on him. Completely intoxicating and he couldn’t shake it. He didn’t want to. And by the time he stumbled into his apartment, it was still playing in front of his eyes while the rest of the world was in a fog behind it.

  As he shut the front door behind him, appearing in the open door to Malcolm’s room directly i
n front of him was Joan, pulling down the ends of her dress over her hips to cover her thong. She didn’t hide this from Lucius, but rather smiled at him as she did so. Her grin was in the fog. Malcolm stepped up behind Joan, shirtless, placing his hands against the door frame.

  “Where were you all night, buddy?”

  “I, uh—” Lucius couldn’t say it without a small giggle first. “I met a girl.”

  Joan crossed her arms beneath her chest and popped her hip. She raised a brow. “Not just any girl.” She stepped up before Lucius’s face, just beneath it. He felt her body heat. “Do you know who I am, Lucius?”

  He looked down into her eyes. Green. Unremarkable in his opinion. Snake like. Then familiar. “Joan.” Then the full realization. “Dicaro.”

  She nodded. “Rose. I saw you sneak out the back to meet her. She’s my cousin.” Malcolm’s eyes shot wide behind her. “She’s Ezekiel’s daughter.” Malcolm started laughing.

  “Lover boy fucked the sworn enemy’s baby girl!”

  Lucius felt his heart sink. But it was still on fire.

  Joan grabbed his penis and leaned into him. “Careful what you do with that.” With her hand still on it, she threw a glance over her shoulder to Malcolm, who looked sour. “I’ll see you two later.” She looked to his crotch then back to his eyes and winked. She patted Lucius’s junk once, causing him to curl slightly, then walked out from the apartment.

  “Did you really sleep with Rose?”

  Lucius smiled and slowly nodded. “She’s the most amazing girl, Malcolm. The absolute most amazing girl.”

  “You’re still high.”

  Lucius shook his head. “Not at all.”

  Malcolm stepped up to him, lifted his hand, and sniffed his index finger. “Another sort of drug, my friend.” Lucius pulled his hand away.

  “You of all people should appreciate that.” Lucius signaled to the door with his head. “That one? She’s fucking nuts. She grabbed my nuts. Did you see that?”

  Malcolm gave Lucius’s balls a tap with the backside of his hand. Lucius gasped. “Felt better than that, didn’t it?”

  “Dick,” muttered Lucius.

  Malcolm went to sit on the couch, planting himself on a pile of blankets. However, when he did so, the couch moved, groaned, and a face shot up from beneath the blankets, eyes slowly opening to reveal the whites to be entirely red.

  “Nathaniel, when the fuck did you get in?” asked Malcolm.

  The teenager raised a hand to rub his chaotic hair whilst starring about the room before finally answering, “I have no idea.” Both Malcolm and Lucius burst into laughter. Nathaniel retracted his legs from beneath Malcolm to allow both to sit comfortably on the couch. “I remember,” He began, then trailed off. His eyes followed the vague memories and images of the night, until his face scrunched into a grimace. “I think I puked on some girl and then ran away to sneak in here through the window.”

  “Brilliant, kid,” teased Malcolm as he shook Nathaniel’s head with his hand.

  “What’d you two do?”

  “Females. Like grown ass men do at parties.”

  “Who?”

  “Your cousin here banged Ezekiel’s daughter.”

  Nathaniel’s face expressed shock, as best it could in its rough hungover state.

  “Why?” he mustered to ask.

  Lucius leaned against the wall behind himself. “She was everything, man. She was it. Perfection. Paradise. It was all there. I saw it in her eyes.”

  “Pink and brown?” posed Nathaniel. Malcolm laughed while Lucius sneered.

  “Hungover and still cracking jokes. Coolest high schooler I know,” said Malcolm.

  “Fuck hungover, I’m still drunk.” Nathaniel leaned forward to swipe a bowl and lighter from the table and hit it. Malcolm cast a look as if to chastise him for smoking what wasn’t his, until Nathaniel offered the bowl to Malcolm, who took it excitedly.

  “I’ve never had a woman dig into my mind how she is right now. She was like air, filling and cool. Like the sea in my ear and the moon in my eye.”

  Still holding his hit, Malcolm interjected, “Alright, Romeo. You just met this broad.”

  “Yeah. But she’s different. I feel different, Malcolm. One night with her, I’ve lost my anger, found my hope, and I see the end again. It’s so close.”

  “If you haven’t forgotten the fact you’ve learned this morning, allow me to repeat. Rose is the daughter of Ezekiel Dicaro, the drug kingpin who would throw out the finest steak for dinner happily if it were replace by your head.”

  “They just share a name. She isn’t him. She isn’t like any of them.”

  “That may be, but she’s still family. And moreover, she’s his fucking daughter.” Malcolm rose to his feet and headed to the door, stopping at Lucius’s side before exiting. “Don’t let your ideas blind you from the reality. I’m all for fun, but sober thoughts in-between keep the keel even.” He reached for the knob.

  “Where you going?” asked Nathaniel.

  “Day drinking, kido. Mimosas and bloody mary’s await.” Malcolm left.

  “You have a twinkle in your eye, Lucius,” said Nathaniel. “Or maybe I’m high.” His head swayed a bit for a prolonged silence before mustering the question, “Are things going to change?”

  Lucius walked over to the couch and took a seat next to his cousin. “I don’t know, Nathaniel. I just can’t keep on like this. Fighting, running, selling drugs. It’s all shit. It’s the true shit of life, and I’m sick of rolling around in it. I feel filthy. Nowhere near where I wanted to be, nowhere near who I wanted to become when I came out here to stay with you.”

  “Malcolm told me this happens to you and that you eventually forget about it.”

  Lucius chuckled. “That’s true. But they’ve all been collecting. I think this time it’s going to be different.”

  “He also said you say that.”

  Lucius sighed. “I know the stakes. Vince needs me. I can’t just abandon what we have here. But I can’t bear all the weight on my own. It’s bringing me down. Something has to give.”

  Nathaniel nodded until his head dropped to the pillow and he drifted off again into slumber. Lucius watched him with a smile, then turned his head to the window. It was a beautiful day, which he watched with true pleasure. Something about the wind in the branches just outside his window and the way it made them bob in and out of the sunlight gave him a very strong feeling of lightness and freedom. As if he could enter the wind stream and be carried off to anywhere. All this was framed by the window, resting in the wall of his apartment that he did not notice had paint chipping all around.

  Lucius

  Life is a struggle towards paradise. Life is about love, the substance that perfection consists of. And it’s all about living in perfection.

  I came out to Verón and the west coast from a long ass ways away. I mean that in every sense. Physically, spiritually, emotionally, socially. Everything changed when I hit this scene. It was summer all year round, it was parties, beautiful women, and playtime. For a month, at least. Victor and I had saved up as much, and with a little help from our aunt, Nathaniel’s mom, we were able to float ourselves that far. But it came to an end, and it was time to get to work. We had tasted the good life. We were prepared to do anything to return to it, and make it last forever. So Vincent hooked up with this source, a quiet guy who didn’t want much attention, grew the shit himself. He was once a dreamer, now he floats in a fog, much like my aunt, dipping into depression between the highs, which are empty. But he’s nice, his weed is premium, and he delivers. We established a client base through the college parties we attended and quickly developed our trade. That’s how I met Malcolm. We were an instant fit, preaching love and partying all the time. Dealing to him and his social circles damn near tripled sales. Much to the dismay of the Dicaros, who sent Lane to show us who ran the city. Lane’s a dog, blind to his own leash. Like a pit bull, there’s a heart in there, but it’s been shrouded by his owner. He roughe
d up my brother in front of me, told us to keep to Sixth Street and the campus, since the Dicaros were afraid of students anyhow. It was a truce, but I knew it would never be permanent. The Dicaros are ruthless, and refuse compromise. Sooner or later, they would want to take us out, even if we posed no real threat. It was business, it was empiricism, and my first experience with the soullessness of this life. We realized we couldn’t keep doing this forever, that it would be the eventual end of us if we tried. That’s when Vincent hatched his master plan. He was eyeballing an underground casino that existed on a boat in the Verón bay, thinking he could infiltrate with the aid of a mob boss’s daughter, swipe the safe’s contents, and make off with it like some crazy heist movie. I told him it was dumb, I told him not to trust her. But I was wrapped up with love myself, Vivian. She consumed me, reading her coursework to me while we smoked in my bed together. She was a poet, a beautiful wordsmith. She broke my heart with her poetry, and then with her betrayal.

  All this bullshit, all this mud and grime and lies and pain. You have to go through it, I’ve learned that, it is inescapable. The path isn’t paved with gold, but it does lead to paradise if you follow the signs. I’m always looking for them. Where I see love, I see perfection, and that’s an indication of paradise right there. I chase it. Beauty, pure and unspoiled, I’m an addict. I have its taste on my lips, its scent wafting in my nose, its caress on my skin, and its name in my ear. I will have it for my own. I will live in it and prove this world wrong when it so often tells me paradise is but a dream in the mind of a fool. I am a dreamer, but I am no fool. I’m a lover, but I’ll fight for what I love.

  10.

  It was the all too familiar set up, as Ezekiel hunched forward to cross his hands on the desk in an effort to convey the serious tone of the plans he was about to intimate to Lane, who sat rigid and attentive in the seat before the desk.

  “Lane,” he began. Lane took a deep breath, held it, then released in a slow and steady stream. Ezekiel continued, “We have a situation on our hands.” Lane nodded. Nothing new so far. “As the next few days unravel--” he corrected himself “—as the next twenty four hours unravel, we have to be very careful in the way that we choose to proceed. We stand on the brink of volatility. Depending on how we act, that can be directed one of two ways. Towards us, or towards another.”