by Fox, Harley
“Jesus,” I can’t help but say. “This is … is it okay to store this all in here?”
“We passed it by the owners,” Flynn tells me. “And everything here is registered and verifiable, even the hand grenades. We have somebody come in once a week to check on everything, make sure nothing’s been tampered with, make sure everything’s oiled and secure.”
They’ve got it all figured out, I think. Maybe busting them won’t be so easy after all …
“Do you have any questions about anything so far?” Flynn asks me, and I turn to look at him.
“What are you planning on doing with all this?”
He gives me a smile, and it’s a struggle not to melt.
“Well, we’re part of a pretty big thing,” he says, closing the lids of the crates he’s opened. “And when you’re this big you tend to have enemies. There’s no plan in mind right now, but it’s always good to be prepared.”
“Prepared for what?”
Flynn shrugs, and he doesn’t look at me now.
“War. Petty battles. Persuading people to do the right thing. It all depends.” He closes the last lid, snapping the clasp shut. Then he looks at me again. “All good?”
“Yeah,” I say to him, and we leave the storage unit, Flynn turning off the light before pulling the door open.
We snake through the labyrinthine corridors again and then step out into the sun. Flynn blinks up at it, breathes a sigh.
“Fuck, it’s hot,” he says, looking at me. “You don’t need to see the other caches, do you?”
I shake my head. “No.”
Flynn nods. “Good. I’ll give you the addresses and the unit numbers. And we’ll get those keys to you.” He breathes out another sigh. “There’s just one more place to go, and then we’ll head back. Okay?”
“Okay.”
Flynn and I walk to our bikes and get on, Flynn leading the way out of the parking lot and onto the road.
Flynn’s not actually such a bad guy, I’m finding out. I didn’t know he was a member of the Bullets when we met last night, but even then he was a sweet guy, not to mention easy on the eyes. I don’t know if he planned to have sex with me like that or not, but he hasn’t been hitting on me now that we’re alone together, which is a pleasant surprise. I thought he’d take advantage of this time out. But he’s not.
We go north, up toward the warehouse district, and I feel like he’s going to take us back to the Bullets warehouse but he doesn’t. Instead of turning east he keeps going north, then makes a turn left.
At night this area is like a no man’s land for police officers. It’s almost like no rules exist here. We know that bad things are happening, but the people doing those bad things aren’t afraid to fight back. Going in here on your own when you’re in uniform is like printing out your own death certificate.
For a while I wonder where we’re headed, but then Flynn starts to pull off in front of a particularly beat-up looking warehouse and my jaw drops when I see it more clearly.
The chain-link fence in front of the large building is broken, and the dusty dirt that makes up its lot is riddled with trash. Most, if not all, of the windows have been broken and pockmarked holes riddle the building, all around the front and a little up the sides. My stomach churns as we slow down enough to park our bikes, not inside the lot but just beyond it. Flynn cuts his engine and I do the same to mine. The resulting silence feels heavy and oppressive as we look up at this building laid to waste.
“This,” he says, “is our old headquarters. This is where the shootout with the Chains happened.”
I feel sick. I feel frozen in place. But Flynn is putting down his kickstand and getting off his bike and I know I have to do the same.
I feel numb as he slowly leads the way past the broken fence, into the lot itself. I look around, taking in the sights, feeling it hit a wall just in front of my brain. We walk forward and I notice that there are bullet casings scattered around, mixed in with the dirt. The oil drums look punctured. There’s a stack of wooden crates, some of them knocked over, others lying broken on the ground.
For a moment I’m afraid Flynn is going to take us inside, but luckily he doesn’t. Instead he stops, staring around, the weight of all of this heavy on both of us.
“Did you hear about what happened?” Flynn asks me. “It was almost eight months ago.”
Yes, I think to myself. I heard what happened. My brother was killed here. My mom went into shock. Eventually I swore revenge on those who killed him. And one of them is standing right next to me.
I feel my upper lip curl, my jaw clenching together. Suddenly that numbness is gone, making way for anger, seething anger at the incredible injustice that runs rampant in this city. A noise comes into my ear seemingly from far away but all I can hear is the pounding of blood in my ears. All I can see is the sweet justice these fucking Bullets are going to receive.
The noise comes again. Softly, “Trista?” And then again, “Trista?”
A shiver runs over me and I actually give myself a shake, looking over at Flynn. He’s looking down at me, concern on his face.
“Are you okay?”
“Y-Yeah,” I stammer. “I just … this is a bad place.”
He becomes solemn again, nods his head. I struggle to hide my seething rage.
“I used to love this place,” he says, looking out over it. “We would get drunk, over there,” he points to the corner of the lot. “And inside it was like a home, you know? The best home I ever had.”
I have to swallow down my anger. “Must’ve been painful to shoot it up,” I say, trying to keep my persona intact.
But Flynn shakes his head. “I wasn’t here,” he tells me. “When this happened.”
I furrow my brow.
“You weren’t here? But I thought … I mean, I heard that it was the Bullets versus the Chains.”
“It was,” Flynn tells me. “But I didn’t go. One of the Chains almost broke the arm of a Slinger who tried stiffing him. I thought it was funny when the Slingers told us, but Maddox got all up in arms, and he sent a few guys over to the Chain Gang to threaten the Chains. Well, I don’t know why things escalated the way they did, but the next fucking day we’re told, in the middle of the night, that there’s going to be a fight and it’s going to be here. I thought Maddox was kidding when he texted me that, so I called him and he said no, it’s real. Get your ass down here.
“But I had a bad feeling, so I didn’t go. And I don’t know if I’m happy or sad about that, even now. I mean, I’m alive. But if I’d been here, how many more people would be? Or how many more would be dead? I don’t know. I don’t know.”
I’m watching him as he lets out a sad sigh.
“We lost a lot of good people that night,” he says to me. “A lot of lives taken that shouldn’t have been. All because of some stupid argument.”
“You mean you lost a lot of good Bullets,” I say to him, and Flynn looks down at me, narrows his eyes.
“No,” he says. “I mean a lot of good people. Chains and Bullets alike. We may be in different gangs, but we’re still all people, and nobody expects that kind of a death. Nobody.”
He looks away from me again, but I keep watching him a moment longer. That anger in me isn’t there anymore. It’s replaced with something else … something better.
Flynn lets out another sigh.
“Come on. I don’t want to be here anymore. Let’s go back.”
We turn around and walk out of the warehouse lot, past the broken fence, back to our bikes. Neither of us speaks, and when we climb on and kick our bikes into life I feel something in me reaching out to Flynn. Wanting to … I don’t know. Do something.
We ride away, leaving that depressing site behind us. East we go now, and south, down to the edge of the warehouse district and back to the Bullets’ current warehouse. I feel nervous again at approaching the gang. They all seemed like nice people last night. They’re not all like Flynn, are they? Tough on the outside, but soft on
the inside?
We make a right-hand turn, and then continue straight down to the warehouse at the end. As we approach it, though, my stomach bottoms out when I see a police cruiser parked in the lot. I slow down a bit, but then continue on, staring at it as we get closer.
The car is empty, which means whoever drove it must be inside. Flynn and I pull up and park our bikes alongside the others, then we get off. My heart is pounding in my chest. As we walk toward the front door Flynn doesn’t even seem to notice the car. We’re just about to reach the door when Flynn slows down and stops.
“Hey,” he says, turning to look at me. “I feel like I need to tell you something. Something about me.”
“Um, okay,” I say. I glance at the car, and then the door to the warehouse. Whoever’s inside could come out at any minute.
“Last night,” he begins, and I look at him, “was a lot of fun. But I have to tell you, just so we’re clear on where we stand, that I have a policy.”
“A policy?” I ask, keeping my eyes on Flynn but watching the door just behind him.
“Yeah. I don’t want to get into it, but I never sleep with the same girl twice.”
“Oh,” I say to him. My fingers feel like they’re tingling. I swear I can hear voices.
“I don’t know, though …” he goes on. “I mean, you’re a cool girl, and for some reason what happened last night …I don’t know. It was different.”
The voices have stopped and now it’s footsteps. I hear them approach it and then the door scrapes against the floor as it starts to open.
“I feel like I felt something between us. You know? Did you feel anythi—”
Behind Flynn I see the blue uniform of a police officer, and just underneath the blue cap the face of Deputy Captain Devon Mackenzie.
My heart stops. It all happens in the blink of an eye. I reach forward, grab onto Flynn’s jacket, and pull him down to me, kissing him. His words are cut off in a muffled shout as I hear Deputy Captain Mackenzie’s farewell stop short. Pulling Flynn toward me, I pin myself between him and the wall, being sure to keep myself out of the view of the others.
Flynn’s lips feel shocked and firm for a moment, but then they soften and his strong arms envelop me.
“Oh,” comes the deputy captain’s voice. “Excuse me.”
Neither Flynn nor I respond as I hear his footsteps crunch in the parking lot, retreating as he walks to his car. But for some reason those sounds don’t seem to matter as much to me anymore. My lips part and I feel Flynn’s tongue enter my mouth, my own tongue dancing alongside his. Somewhere in the distance a car starts, tires crunch as it backs up, then it drives away.
Slowly, slowly, I force myself to slow down, and then I pull my head back, just enough to stop kissing Flynn. His arms are still around me, and I’m surprised to find my hands on his chest, underneath his jacket, my fingers holding onto him.
I open my eyes and see him open his. I feel flushed. My heart is racing at a mile a minute. But then I pull myself away, as much as my body cries for me not to.
“I … I’m sorry,” I say when I step out of his arms, off to the side. “I um … what were you saying?”
Flynn clears his throat.
“I was saying that I never sleep with the same girl twice.”
We look at each other.
“Oh,” I mutter.
Flynn swallows.
“We should go inside.”
And without waiting for a response he turns and walks into the warehouse. I take a moment to compose myself—and to pointedly ignore the dampness between my legs—and then I take in a breath, let it out, and go in too.
Flynn
My cell phone buzzes on my bedside table and my eyes fly open.
I’m in my bed. I was just fast asleep, but the cell phone woke me up. Through the open shades on my window I see the sunlight streaming in. There’s no arm draped across my body, nobody lying in my bed beside me. I turn my head on my pillow, looking at the empty space next to me and breathe in a sigh.
I was having a dream. A dream about her. Trista. I don’t know why I’ve been thinking about her so much lately. Nothing’s happened between us, not since last week when she kissed me out of the blue in front of that cop. I didn’t bring it up, and neither did she. And even though she’s been at the warehouse and the bar, sometimes during the day, sometimes only at night, I can’t seem to get my mind off of her.
I breathe out a deep sigh. What’s wrong with me?
Am I so shallow that I’ve completely forgotten about Elizabeth? What happened to her happened over five years ago, and while I’ve tried to move on I still haven’t forgotten about her. She was my first love. She was everything to me. I close my eyes, remembering my dream. It was of Trista holding me, looking up into my eyes. Those emerald green eyes, her beautiful red hair. She smelled so good. And the way she looked at me …
No. I have to get my mind away from her. She’s not interested in me. Otherwise she would have done something, anything, this past week. And she hasn’t. So there you go.
But what about that kiss?
It came out of nowhere. I was in the middle of telling her I never sleep with the same girl twice and she kissed me. She kissed me! And then nothing. Well … maybe I shouldn’t say nothing. I’ve seen her looking at me, at times when she thinks I don’t notice. Around the meeting table her eyes wander over, and if I glance at her then she looks away. Even at the bar, if she’s a few beers in she’ll talk just a little too close to me, maybe put her hand on my knee when she’s making a point. It’s at those times that I feel my cock stir in my pants, but beyond that my heart starts beating fast and my palms feel sweaty. And then Trista, as though she realizes what she’s doing, pulls her hand away and the moment’s over. It’s over.
I shake my head. I’ve got to get this girl off of my mind. I’ve got to get together with somebody else.
But that’s another problem: I’ve found I haven’t been looking for anybody else. A few days ago at the bar, for instance, I saw this smoking-hot girl standing by herself having a drink. I’d never seen her before, and my cock was already reminding me of just how long it’s been since I last got laid. But I didn’t go over there. Not because she was off-limits or anything. But because Trista was sitting beside me, and … and I didn’t want to leave.
“Ugggh,” I moan, closing my eyes. This sucks. This is ruining my life. I have to figure things out between us. I have to get her off of my mind. Starting today.
I sit up in bed and reach over, grab my cell phone off of the nightstand. I turn on the display and see that Maddox has texted me.
Got an assignment for you. Come to the warehouse
I reply back, telling him I’m on my way, and get up out of bed.
Slipping on some clothes, shrugging my Bullets jacket on over my shoulders, I leave by the front door and take the elevator down to the parking lot. My bike is there and I get on, start it up, ride away onto the road and head northwest along my usual route to the warehouse.
When I get there I see a few bikes parked outside of the building, but some of them don’t look immediately familiar. As I get closer I see one bike that’s Maddox’s and three beat-up, dirty-looking things with tires gone practically bald and chrome finishes having chipped away long ago.
Slingers.
Those fucking guys. The only reason we hire them is because they’ll do any shit job we tell them to. Their specialty is drugs, hence their name, but honestly I wouldn’t trust these guys as far as I can throw them. Which is pretty fucking far, considering how scrawny they all are.
I push the door open and walk inside to see Maddox and the three Slingers around the meeting table. I walk up and join them. Sitting on the table are about two dozen small baggies of white powder—either coke or heroin, I can’t tell.
“Hello, Flynn,” Maddox says.
I nod to him, and then glance around at the Slingers. I don’t spend much time getting to know these pieces of shit, but I’m pretty sure thei
r “names” are Olly, Twixer, and Aces. Aces is the girl, the other two are guys. They give me crooked smiles, their sunken eyes already glassy, even though it’s still the morning.
I turn to Maddox. “What’s going on?”
But he only tilts his head and says, “We’re waiting on one more. Then I’ll tell you.”
So the five of us stand around the table, not talking. The Slingers keep sniffing, and I see their eyes dart down to the baggies on the table. A few minutes of silence go by. Aces scratches her arm but doesn’t say anything. Finally the front door of the warehouse opens and I look over to see who the final person is. My heart skips a beat when she walks in.
Trista marches through the open space, wearing her leather jacket with the stitching Maddox had put in late last week. I see her eyes dart to me and then look away, and I swear I can see color rise up in her cheeks. But maybe that’s just wishful thinking.
Flynn! Stop it!
I mentally shake my head and Trista joins us at the table. She takes in the plastic baggies and then she looks at Maddox.
“What’s going on?” she asks him.
“I have an assignment for you five,” Maddox tells us. “This is some of the newest product. Coke. It’s already been cut, so it’s ready to go. Olly, Twixer, Aces, I want you three to go to the college and try selling it off to the students there. Flynn, Trista, you two are going to make sure these three don’t just snort the entire stash.”
I see Trista’s mouth open and she blinks at Maddox, but then she closes it.
“I thought we were going to lie low and wait to get the new shipment in before we starting slinging.”
“Yeah well, we got a preview in of the latest batch,” Maddox tells her. “Might as well get people interested.”
“Yeah, but,” Trista goes on, “the college? It’s … the middle of the day. We could get caught.”
“Don’t worry about it,” Maddox tells her. “These guys know what they’re doing, it’s in their blood. You won’t get caught.”
“But … isn’t there campus security? And sometimes the cops come by just to check the place out, don’t they?”