“Can you imagine the thrill, though? Never knowing when you were going to die? Maybe you piss someone off and that’s it. You’re gone. I think it would force people to live the best life possible all the time. No working at jobs they hate or staying in bad relationships.”
“And also people would go around fulfilling all of their selfish desires, however heinous they might be. How would you separate the general population from the guy who wants to chain women up in his basement and torture them? You couldn’t. Anarchism is a philosophy that holds the government to be immoral because of its use of violence, authority, and force. Seems ironic that, with lawlessness, the citizens would be just as immoral.”
“Depends on your definition of morality, I guess,” Josie said.
“Conformity to the rules of right conduct. But then, what is right?”
“Exactly,” she said. “Getting high and tagging pristine walls feels right.”
“Psychopaths and deviants believe what they do is right. Or they just don’t care.”
“Kind of like me,” Josie teased.
“I don’t believe you don’t care about your self-destructive behavior. I’d say you were more masochistic as a result of neglect and dysfunctional feelings about yourself.”
Josie popped up and stomped to the kitchen. She pulled a beer from her otherwise empty fridge and twisted off the cap. As she brought the bottle to her lips and let the coolness soothe her scorching insides, she squeezed the cap tight into her fist. The metal edges cut into her palm until she released it to the floor.
She kept her back to Tristan as she finished the beer. When she slammed the empty bottle down, Josie realized her fingers were trembling.
Tristan’s shadow cloaked her in darkness as he approached. Josie closed her eyes and titled her head toward the ceiling. She exhaled slowly and deliberately before speaking.
“Not you too,” she said. Tristan remained silent, but he wrapped his arms around her. His embrace was comforting and the answer to all her problems. “Don’t head-shrink me. I’ve had enough of that. Not from you, okay?”
“I’m sorry,” he whispered.
Josie spun in his arms and gave her most convincing smile.
“Do you want to get out of here?” she asked.
“Yeah, where to?”
She just pulled him toward the door.
“Do you have your car?” He nodded. “Good.”
No questions asked, Tristan drove her to Trader Joe’s and followed her around as she shopped. He loved how domestic and utterly normal it felt to do this with her. As they loaded the bags into his car, curiosity finally got the best of him.
“Are you cooking?” he asked.
Josie laughed, throwing her head back and placing her hand over her stomach. Tristan just watched and waited for an answer.
“Uh, no. This isn’t for us.”
She instructed him toward Balboa, and when they were parked, she wordlessly grabbed half the bags and started walking. Tristan carried the rest of the food and followed her through the grass.
“Stems!” Gavin shouted. She sat on their usual bench smoking a cigarette.
“Hey, Gavin. What’s up?”
Tristan made it to the bench and set his paper bags down next to the others. He looked between the two women and waited for an explanation.
“Holy hell, Stems. Who’s this?”
“Tristan,” he answered, holding his hand out. Gavin placed her hand in his and smiled sweetly.
“Well, it’s certainly nice to meet you,” she said.
Josie laughed at the exchange while Tristan looked on.
“Stems?” he asked.
“It’s just Gavin’s nickname for me.”
“Yeah, it’s those legs,” Gavin answered.
“Oh. Well, I can second that appreciation. Gavin’s an interesting name,” Tristan said. “Some people think it originated with Sir Gawain who was a knight of King Arthur’s round table.”
“And smart too? Don’t you two make a pair. Damn,” Gavin said. Her eyes roamed up and down Tristan while she licked her lips.
“Gavin!” Josie almost shouted. “I thought you liked girls.”
“I did, until about two and a half minutes ago.”
The girls laughed while Tristan rubbed at the back of his neck and shifted from foot to foot.
“Anyway, make sure those get to the kids?”
“Of course, dear. She just loves to crack that whip,” Gavin said, giving Tristan a wink.
“You have no idea,” Tristan answered, returning the wink.
Josie stood and took Tristan’s hand in hers.
“I’ll see you around, Gavin.”
“You’re not staying for—”
“Nope. Don’t need to,” Josie cut her off.
Gavin smiled up at the couple as they walked away.
The ride back to Josie’s was quiet but not uncomfortable.
“Did we just deliver food to homeless kids?” Tristan asked when they parked in front of her building.
“Yes,” Josie said, looking out at the street.
Tristan sighed and looked at her. Every time he thought he had her figured out, something surprised him. He wondered if he’d ever truly learn all the secrets that made up Josie Banks.
“‘An outlaw that dwelled apart from other men, yet beloved by the country people round about, for no one ever came to ask for help in time of need and went away again without.’”
“What is that from?” Josie asked.
“The Merry Adventures of Robin Hood.”
“I don’t steal from the rich, though that’s an interesting idea,” she said.
“Let’s not add to your list of illegal activities, okay?”
Josie shrugged and stared out the window.
“When I turned eighteen, I left my foster home. I just had to get away from them. I didn’t have anything. So I ended up with a group of kids living near I-65 in the park.”
“Couldn’t anyone help you?”
“I was legally an adult. No one cared.”
“I’m not sure I’m an adult yet,” he said.
“After a few months Monica found me again. I had just started tagging. Throwing up pieces wherever I could. She tracked me down that way. She’s a persistent woman.”
“So she got you back on your feet?”
“She told me about my inheritance. Helped me get the money and a place to live. Now that I’m more fortunate, I bring them food whenever I can. It’s the least I can do.”
“That’s how you know Gavin and Gregory,” Tristan said, placing his hand over hers.
“The worst part is, most of us were better off on the streets than at home.”
Josie exited the car, ending the conversation.
A couple hours later, Tristan and Josie sat together on her couch.
“I’ve got to go soon,” Tristan said softly, running the pads of his fingertips along the back of her hand.
“What? No!” Josie protested.
“There’s nothing I’d rather do than stay wrapped up with you, but I can’t stand another day in these clothes, Josie. I have to work tonight.”
When he said things like that, Josie felt dizzy and mindless, like a happy drifting cloud with no direction. Despite his declaration, she huffed and pushed out her bottom lip, pouting like a child.
“Okay, I’ll let you go on one condition.”
“You’ll let me go? Am I being held hostage?”
“I guess it depends,” Josie hedged.
“On what?”
“Whether you’re here against your will or not.”
“Touché,” Tristan consented. “Well, the first phase of hostage negotiation is that you tell me your demands.”
She brought his nearest hand closer to her face, inspecting the small scars across his knuckles. She kissed each one reverently.
“Tell me about that night in the alley.”
Tristan frowned and curled his lips in on each other, as if locking his confe
ssion away. It occurred to him that Josie had already shared so much that he owed it to her to share this.
“Next we have the standoff. Ideally, this results in a peaceful ending,” he said. “But sometimes it ends in violence.”
“We wouldn’t want that,” Josie answered.
“Fine. I’ll terminate negotiations by giving in to your demands.”
“Good. I love winning.”
Taking a deep breath, he prepared himself to reveal secrets never spoken aloud before.
“I met Fiona when I was sixteen. She was beautiful, in that bought-and-paid-for kind of way. She was sad like me. I found out from a friend that her twin brother had recently died. I felt connected to her. At first, she ignored me. No matter how hard I tried, she dismissed me. She told me she wasn’t interested, but I never gave up.”
Tristan paused and glanced at Josie, nervous about her reaction.
“So not everything comes to you so easily?” Josie asked, grinning.
“No, not everything. After a few months of friendship, something changed and suddenly Fiona wanted more. By the time we graduated high school, I was completely infatuated with her. I was valedictorian of our class, had plans to go to Harvard and then law school. Fiona accused me of abandoning her. She cried and begged me to stay. I asked her to come with me, but she said her father would never allow it.”
“What did you do?” Josie asked.
“I blew off Harvard and enrolled in UNO. My parents were outraged. They said I was throwing away my future for a girl. They were right. I knew they were right, but I didn’t care.”
He could picture the fight in his head, his mother sobbing into her hands, his father throwing things around the house, cursing and shouting. He remembered feeling numb and unaffected by the theatrical meltdown. Tristan had only wanted to be with his girl. It was as simple as that.
“A few months after we moved in together, her father came for a visit. He was an intimidating man, loved to bully people with his money. He offered me a job. Said I’d be paid well and all I had to do was be available to deliver packages. He wasn’t the kind of person you turned down. That’s where it started. I didn’t know it at the time, but I was delivering illegal weapons, drugs, and cash to some of the dirtiest crooks in the South. Just like that, I was sucked into a life of crime.”
“Did Fiona know?”
He nodded and fiddled with the hem of his T-shirt. Of course Fiona knew, she knew everything. Tristan knew nothing.
“After a while, I dropped out of school and did her father’s work exclusively. I got my first tattoo after someone tried to kill me, the Day of the Dead skull on my shoulder. I also bought my first gun that week. I dealt with the shadiest people. They all feared me, and for a moment I felt like a god. The power, the money, it all got to me. My parents begged me to come home. Instead, I cut them out of my life.”
“How’d you end up here?” she asked, interlacing her fingers with his and pulling their joined hands into her lap.
“The guy in charge of the West Coast had been taken out and I was ordered to relocate. We moved four days later. When I wasn’t working, I was with Fiona. I could tell she wasn’t happy, not with me or our life. The more I tried, the more she resented me.”
Josie just shook her head, unable to imagine not being happy with Tristan.
“One night, I was supposed to accompany a delivery from Tijuana, but it was our anniversary. I wanted to do something nice for her. I got Padre, my second-in-command, to see about the delivery while I stayed home to surprise Fiona.
“She finally came home around eleven, but she wasn’t alone. From where I stood in the kitchen, I could see her kissing this guy with all the passion that she’d never given me. It was a side of her I’d never known. He fucked her, bent over our six-thousand-dollar leather sofa, and I just stood there.
“It was Fiona’s voice that broke me out of my trance, her declarations of love for that man sent me over the edge. Before I knew what I was doing, I pulled my piece and placed it to the back of his head. She screamed when she saw me. She begged for his life. I wanted to see his blood on her hands. But I didn’t do it. Instead, I threw everything that was important to me in a bag and left.”
“I would have probably killed them both,” Josie commented.
Tristan shook his head. He’d been a part of so much violence, he hadn’t had the will to destroy another life.
“I emptied my bank accounts and drove down to San Diego. I got a new apartment and had no idea what to do with myself. My jealousy and hurt consumed me. I tried to drink away my anger. That only left me worse off. One night I just walked. I walked and walked until my legs hurt and my high had disappeared. I saw this graffiti on the corner of your building. This boy’s face seemed familiar. I was drawn to it.”
“That piece is you,” she stated.
“Yeah. Maybe subconsciously I recognized that. I just lost it.”
“You were so wrecked that I couldn’t take my eyes off of you,” Josie admitted.
“I remember your face, lit by the moon that night. When I got home I wasn’t sure if I’d imagined you or not. I figured I’d made you up.”
“But you didn’t.”
She leaned over and kissed his jaw, then his chin and eventually his lips.
“So you could say that my graffiti led us to each other.”
“You might say that. I might say that your dangerous illegal activities captured my attention long enough to have a mental breakdown in an alley where I was more likely to be mugged than find you.”
“There’s nothing dangerous about what I do.”
“Right. There’s only being arrested, felony charges, going to prison. No big deal. Eighty percent of graffiti is gang related. That’s supersafe.”
Suddenly, the door burst open and Alex came barreling in.
“Damn, Josie, I told you to lock this door. You want some crackhead to walk in here?”
His voice boomed through her apartment before Tristan caught his attention.
“Oh, you’re still here.”
Tristan stood when Alex entered the room, his eyes assessing what he thought was a high-risk threat. Immediately, his hand slid along his waistline, searching for the gun that currently sat tucked beneath the front seat of his car. He cursed to himself and practically growled. His muscles twitched, readied for confrontation. Josie marveled at the ability of Tristan to switch from geek to guardian in a matter of seconds.
“Tristan, this is my neighbor Alex,” Josie said, standing between them now, not prepared for this introduction so soon. “He sort of keeps an eye on me.”
Tristan’s shoulders relaxed and he held out his hand. They gripped each other tightly and shook once before retreating back to their corners. As men often do, they sized each other up. A prickly air hung between them, and Josie could almost hear the snarling warnings between the two. She knew Alex relied on his size to do half the job of intimidation, but it was clear that Tristan wouldn’t be intimidated by the devil himself. She felt only a small tinge of shame at being turned on by the manly display of bravado.
“I’m heading home,” Tristan announced.
He stepped over to Josie and pulled her flush against his body, placing a less than chaste kiss on her lips.
“I’ve got to be at work in a few hours. I’ll call you.” Tristan nodded at Alex and headed toward the door.
“Wait, Tristan! Your book,” Josie said.
She grabbed his forgotten book and waved it at him.
“Keep it. I’ll be back.”
He gave Alex a pointed look over her shoulder and turned to go.
Josie couldn’t help the smile that swept across her face as Tristan ran down the steps, disappearing from view. She closed the door and turned to face her neighbor.
“Well, that was smooth,” Josie said to Alex, rolling her eyes.
“What?”
“That whole pissing contest you two just had. I’m surprised you didn’t just pull out your dick
s and compare size.”
“I don’t wanna shame your man,” he said, giving her his dimpled smile.
“He’s not my man. Give me that,” Josie demanded, eyeing the bag of food still clutched in his giant fist.
“So what did you guys do for two whole days?” Alex asked, wiggling his eyebrows in a suggestive manner.
“Not that. I thought about it nearly every second, though. We just talked.”
“Are you gettin’ up tonight? My boy said your piece on Fifth is crazy good.”
Josie nodded. While she loved her art, she didn’t want the notoriety that many writers did. She just wanted to be seen and heard in a way that didn’t make her vulnerable.
“Tell him thanks. Oh! There’s something you have to see,” she insisted, leading him down the hall toward her bedroom.
“I’ve already seen your chichis, Jo. They’re amazing.”
She smacked him on the back of the head and opened her bedroom door, glancing at the papered walls of now familiar faces.
“Come on, I want to introduce you to some people.”
8. Transit
The movement of a celestial body across the face of another.
Mort’s secondhand table was blanketed in government documents. His celebration upon finding Josie Banks in the California Child Services system had been short-lived when the path ended abruptly. It had shown the date she arrived and listed the caseworker assigned, Monica Templeton. After a few months, she went into a foster home, where she remained until the age of eighteen. The foster parents’ home was the last known address for her. Mort visited the home and found the only resident to be the couple’s son.
“Hi, I was wondering if you could help me out?”
“Who are you?” the man had asked while leaning against the open door.
“Oh, sorry. My name’s Chris. I knew Josie before she came here. I was hoping to reconnect with her.”
“Josie? Haven’t seen her since she put my parents in prison.”
Mort feigned surprise and shifted his feet uncomfortably.
“Wow, sorry to hear that, man.”
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