“No.”
“No worries. I’ll look for her hair.”
I smile, “You can’t miss that golden mop.”
“Exactly,” he chuckles. “Love you.”
“Love you too.” I end the call. Knowing Lance is already there is a huge relief. I try calling Charity again but she doesn’t answer. I hope she’s still at the drum circle.
“Chaz!” Lark shouts behind me, running to catch up.
I spin around. “Did you find a space?”
“Yeah. Some guy pulled out a block away and I snagged it.” She’s breathing hard from running.
“Awesome.” I smile at her, “I’m so glad you’re here, Lark. Seriously.”
“De nada, bitch,” she grins.
We hear the booming of the drum circle long before we reach it. It’s on the beach sand out past the Venice Skate Park. When we step onto the sand, Lark kicks off her flip-flops and carries them in her hand. The circle is medium sized tonight. Sometimes the circle of people can grow as large as dozens of drummers and hundreds of spectators. Now it’s definitely less than a hundred total. But in the twilight, and with everyone moving around, it’s more than enough to make it difficult to pick out Charity.
If she’s even here.
I text Lance: We’re at the circle.
Him: I’ll look for you
Me: Have you found her?
Him: Still looking
It doesn’t take long to pick Lance’s wandering head out of the crowd because he’s so tall. And his black leather racing jacket with the two white stripes running down the left side sticks out against the tourists and skaters, and the hippies and granolas doing the drumming. He waves when he sees us. “Hey, Lark. What up?”
“Hey, Lance,” she smiles.
Lance and I kiss briefly. He says, “I don’t see her. I’ve circled twice.”
“Maybe she has a hoodie covering her hair?” Lark offers, tugging on her own drawstrings.
“Didn’t think of that,” Lance says.
The three of us split up and scour the crowd for another twenty minutes. Some girls are so deep into their dancing it’s hard to see their faces through their whirling hair without looking like creepers, but it’s obvious from their hippie clothes they aren’t Charity. At least, I hope not. For all I know, she bought a belly-dancer costume with her allowance money and is wearing it tonight.
“I don’t see her,” I say to Lance when we meet up.
“Call her.”
I do. No answer. So I text: I’m at the drum circle with Lance and Lark. Where are you?
She doesn’t reply.
Now I’m starting to worry. She could be anywhere. If she’s still as drunk as she sounded an hour ago, she might not even know where she is. Or what is happening to her. I don’t want to think about what kind of trouble my little sister might be in.
++++8++++
CHARITY
Black light.
Middle finger straight up.
Ty Dolla Sign In Too Deep poster.
“Your van is a red bedroom,” I giggle.
“Something like that,” the spider smiles as he closes the door.
No more outside.
Spider takes my shoes off.
I smile at my feet, “There you are!” I thought they’d disappeared.
Spider smiles, “I’m right here.”
I meant my feet. I don’t speak spider so he doesn’t understand. But I have so many toes! Look at them! They wiggle all by themselves!
Spider crawls on top of me.
Did you know spiders have tongues?
They don’t?
This one does.
I can taste it.
++++8++++
CHASTITY
“What do we do now?” I sigh.
“Keep looking,” Lance says. “Do you have a good picture of Charity on your phone?”
“Yeah. Why?”
“Send it to me and send it to Lark. Then we can split up and show it to people up and down the boardwalk and ask if they’ve seen her.”
“Good plan,” I smile. “I’m so glad you’re here.”
Lark says, “I can go up and down Pacific Avenue and check the restaurants and coffee shops.”
Lance looks at her. Then at me. “You two should stay together. It’s dark.”
Lark rolls her eyes, “Relax, Lance. I can take care of myself.”
Lance puts a hand on her shoulder. “Do me a favor, Lark.”
“Yeah?”
“Stay with Chastity, okay? Please? I can’t be with both of you and I don’t want either of you alone.”
Lark nods, “Yeah, okay.”
He smiles at me, “Send me that picture so we can start looking.”
“Right.” I swipe through my photos until I find a good one of Charity’s face and send it to Lark and Lance.
“How drunk do you think she is?” he asks.
I wince, “I’m not really sure.”
Lark says, “She sounded hammered.”
He shakes his head, grimacing. “She’ll probably be stumbling around. Keep your eyes out for that. How many guys did she say she was with?”
“She didn’t.”
He nods, “Well, if she is with a group of guys, they might be carrying her or helping her walk.”
“You think of everything,” I marvel.
“If I did, I already woulda found her.” He sounds disappointed in himself. “You guys go south. I’ll go north. We’ll find her.”
“Okay.”
We split up and start asking everyone we pass on the cement boardwalk if they’ve seen Charity, showing them her picture on our phones. Everyone we ask shakes their heads. Some people sense our concern and they want to have seen her so they can help, but no one has. Not even the street vendors or the homeless people who’ve been here all day have seen her. I get more worried by the minute. It’s almost like Charity was never here.
I text Lance now and then. He isn’t having any luck either.
The crowds thin when it gets late.
I sigh, “She could be anywhere, Lark.”
“Maybe we should try Pacific or the side streets? There’s tons of food places. Maybe she’s at one of them.”
“Okay. Let’s try that.”
We snake up and down all the short streets that run between the boardwalk and Pacific Avenue, and along Speedway, which is more of an alley than an actual street. But Charity isn’t anywhere and it’s now completely dark and uncharacteristically cold for fall. I hope she has a jacket.
“I’m worried, Lark.”
“We’ll find her,” she says with obvious doubt.
I text Lance: Any luck?
Him: Checking basketball courts
Me: We’re right near you.
Him: Where?
Me: Muscle Beach by the gym.
Him: Be right there
The Muscle Beach outdoor gym is closed this late, the roll up doors shut down tight.
Lance looks hopeful as he approaches. “Did you find her?”
“No,” I sigh.
He sinks.
“Charity still hasn’t texted me back. Do you think something is wrong?”
“I hope not. We need to keep looking.” He’s insistent. “Are you two warm enough? It’s getting pretty cold.”
Lark has her hood up on her hoodie, which is now zipped up to her neck, and her hands in her pockets. “I’m fine.”
“I’ll be okay,” I say. All I’m wearing is a T-shirt and jeans. I should’ve brought a jacket too.
“Here,” Lance says, “take my jacket.” He shrugs off his motorcycle racing jacket and drapes it over my shoulders before I can stop him.
“Thanks.”
I notice the brightly lit T-shirt shop beyond the empty weight benches of the outdoor gym. Featured out front are rows of colorful striped knit Baja hoodies. Maybe I should buy one for Charity. If it gets any colder, she’ll need it.
But we have to find her first.
Wherever
she is.
Chapter 28
CHARITY
Spider is all over me.
Tasting me.
His tongue tickles.
Where did my pants go?
I don’t care.
“Fuck,” the spider says.
“Uh huh,” I say.
“I’m all outta herb.”
I smile. “He’s funny.”
“Huh? Who’s funny?”
“Herb is funny.” I giggle.
“Herb makes me funny too. Let’s go get some, yo. You’ll like it better if you’re high.”
“Hi,” I giggle. “Are we friends?”
The spider smiles, “Yeah, we’re friends, baby girl. Let’s go.”
I’m only fourteen!
Shhhhh. Be quiet.
Giggle.
++++8++++
CHASTITY
Lance’s head drifts to his left, following something.
“What?” I ask.
Two street kids stumble up the steps leading into a shop two doors down from where we stand. They’re inside before I get a good look. The sign over the door is yellow, green, and red and it reads WALL’S GREEN COLLECTIVE. There’s a marijuana leaf in the center of the circled text. Below that the sign reads: MEDICAL EVALS - WALK INS WELCOME. It’s obviously some kind of marijuana dispensary.
Lance strides toward the building.
“Did you see Charity?” I call out.
He doesn’t turn around. “I don’t know!” He’s agitated.
Lark and I jog after him.
Lance jumps up the steps leading inside.
When Lark and I catch up, Lance is already at the end of a long white hallway with several plain metal doors on each side. He’s walking toward us.
“Where did they go?” I ask, afraid to get my hopes up.
“All the doors are locked. They fucking disappeared.”
Lark says, “I bet they went in here.” She stands beside a door near where we came in and presses a small doorbell button.
Lance looks up and spots a camera watching the door. “Security check. Try to look friendly.” At the moment, Lance looks anything but.
I smile and wave at the camera. “Say cheese,” I mutter.
“Flash your tits,” Lark snorts. “It usually works better.” She unzips her hoodie half way, revealing cleavage, and thrusts her chest up toward the camera.
The door buzzes.
Lance grabs the handle, opening it. “Ladies.”
I walk through first.
Inside is what looks like a waiting room that has been stripped clean. It’s white and brightly lit with cold fluorescent lights. The receptionist’s window is closed and made of black one-way glass that is probably bullet proof. More than a dozen people sit in several rows of cheap chairs in the middle of the room and along the walls. Everyone looks incredibly bored. I scan their faces. Two surfers. A guy in a business suit. Three hipsters with curly mustaches. A bunch of street kids huddled together along one wall. I concentrate on them. All have lip piercings or eyebrow piercings, earlobe stretchers, dyed hair, too much makeup, tattoos, boots, leather, ratty clothes.
Shit.
I don’t see Charity.
Whir.
“Chaz?” The slurred word comes from a sleepy girl squeezed between two street kids. Sleepy girl’s cheek is squished against the leather jacket covered shoulder of the guy sitting next to her. She lifts her head, revealing black lipstick and enough greasy black eyeliner to make Cleopatra laugh.
“Charity?” I stare right at her. I barely recognize her.
The hood of her purple hoodie hides her golden mop, but a few strands poke out. It’s her. That’s when I notice the guy she’s leaning on. He has a chin-only blond goatee, pale pocked skin, and a bad tattoo of a spider on his neck. He’s dirty and looks at least twenty and mad at the world. If he wasn’t so grungy, he’d actually be cute. But he’s way too rough for my sister. He watches me closely, unsure what to do.
I rush over to Charity, squeezing between a row of seats and nearly tripping over the three hipsters. “Sorry, sorry,” I mutter as I pass.
Charity’s face melts into a sloppy smile. She stares at me, her eyes struggling to focus. “What are you doing here?”
I lean down and shake her knee. “You were supposed to wait for me at the drum circle.”
“I was?” Her eyelinered eyes are thin slits. She tries to sit up but is too weak and she slumps back in her chair. Wow, she’s drunk.
“We need to get you out of here.” I grab her arm and try to pull her to her feet.
The guy with the spider tattoo barks at me, “Who da fuck are you?” He projects a wave of hatred.
“I’m her sister,” I hiss, tugging on Charity’s rubbery arm.
She flops forward and her head tumbles between her shoulders.
Spider Neck stands up. “I don’t care who da fuck you are. Get your hands off my bae.”
His bae? Great. How much trouble has Charity managed to find in one afternoon?
“Let her go, yo,” Spider Neck growls, fisting the shoulder of my t-shirt. “Fore I make you, bitch.”
Out of nowhere, Lance slams him in the chest hard, knocking him back in his chair. “Sit the fuck down, buddy,” he growls.
Everyone in the waiting room is now staring at us, eyes wide.
Spider Neck tries to pretend he’s not scared shitless, frowning like he’s tough. “Home boy don’t know who he messin with.”
“Neither do you, Emi-Ned. So shut the fuck up.”
Spider Neck plays it off like he’s tough, but he just sits there staring at Lance.
Lance glares at him, “Was it your fucking idea to take my girlfriend’s kid sister to a pot shop?”
He doesn’t answer.
Lance’s eyes burn. “Well? Not talking?”
Spider Neck glares back switchblades.
“Drunk got your tongue?” Lance asks, pissed.
“Forget about him,” I whisper.
He grunts.
After I’m sure Spider Neck isn’t going to pull a knife or a gun, I say, “Lark, help me with her.”
Lark grabs Charity’s other arm and we both pull.
Charity leans forward in her chair like a limp doll. And throws up all over the white tiled floor. Vomit splatters everywhere like someone dropped a bucket of liquid pizza on the tiles.
“Aw fuck!” The people sitting close by are all instantly disgusted, lifting their shoes off the floor, scampering up onto their chairs and flicking off vomit or backing away from the stench which is like a punch in the nose.
I almost barf myself when the smell hits me.
“Breathe through your mouth,” Lark gags. Her too.
We manage to get Charity to her feet. Warm puke stains the front of her purple hoodie. Lark and I get our shoulders under Charity’s arms and walk her around the rows of seats, heading toward the door.
BLAM!
I turn and see Lance towering over Spider Neck who is lying on his back on the tiles. The guy slowly turns over on all fours, reaches into his leather jacket, then springs to his feet, a knife flashing in his hand.
“SIT THE FUCK DOWN!” Lance roars. He sounds so scary, he even scares me.
Spider Neck is considering his next move, eyes dancing between his knife and Lance.
Lance bares clenched teeth, “Don’t make me tell you twice, dumbshit.”
Spider Neck snarls.
“You gonna stab me?” Lance challenges. “Go right ahead.”
Spider Neck is confused.
I’m scared out of my mind he’ll do it.
“Do it,” Lance growls. “Or are you too much of a bitch?”
“Lance!” I hiss.
Lance doesn’t turn to look at me.
Spider Neck’s eyes are wide with fear. Good. He lowers his knife and in a small voice says, “Sorry, man. I—sorry.”
“Gimme the knife.” Lance holds out his hand.
“What?” Spider Neck is confused.
/> “Gimme the fucking knife. I’m not gonna use it on you. But you’re not gonna jump me when I turn my back either.”
Spider Neck considers the gleaming blade.
I want to tell Lance he’s going to get his hand cut open, but I don’t want to distract him. My heart is pounding with adrenalin.
Spider Neck sets the knife gently on Lance’s hand.
“Sit down and stay there,” Lance commands as he closes the blade. “And put your hands under your ass.”
“What?”
“Sit on your fucking hands.”
Spider Neck nods and sits down slowly on the floor, on top of his hands.
“And put your feet out in front of you.”
Spider Neck hesitates.
“Do it.”
“Okay, okay,” he whines then complies.
“Don’t get up till we’re gone.”
“Yeah, dog,” he mutters absently.
Lance turns and walks toward the door. There’s a little waste basket near it and Lance drops the knife in with a clatter. He smiles at me and Lark. “Let’s go, ladies.”
I grin as Lark and I walk Charity outside into the cool night air.
++++8++++
CHASTITY
“Lance is a total fucking hero,” Lark muses as we drive home and Lance follows behind on his Gixxer.
“Yeah,” I smile.
Thankfully Charity doesn’t throw up all over the inside of Lark’s car on the drive home. But she did throw up once more while we walked her to it. When we get to Lance’s house, I climb out of the back seat where I sat nursing Charity during the drive.
Lance pulls up on his motorcycle and parks in the driveway next to us. “Let me get her out.” He peels his helmet and gloves off before leaning into the car. He scoops her up and lifts her out. “Whoa, that’s ripe.”
He’s talking about the vomit on her hoodie. Lark and I had the car windows down the whole drive home. We did our best to clean her up before we left with some napkins and a water bottle Lance bought on the boardwalk, but the smell of vomit always lingers.
The Bad Boy Next Door: Lance & Chastity Page 31