by M. N. Forgy
“We can’t go in there, it’s too risky. So we’re going to find a phone so I can call Paw.”
“Paw?”
“Yeah, it’s his gangster name or some shit, I don’t know. He moved from Vegas because California had a better supply and demand for the product he was wanting to move. Last time I knew he was hanging out around this area.” Paw was one of my best sellers, he took growing weed, and cutting coke seriously. When he informed me he was moving farther west I wasn’t happy about it. It’s hard to trust people in the business of drugs as it is, and a man I knew from childhood was bailing on me. The only reason I allowed it was because he put me in contact with another dealer he swore would be profitable. The new guy is good, but I’m not sure he’s as great as Paw was.
“You’d think for a gangster he’d come up with a moniker a little more intimidating than Paw.” She grabs her seatbelt, getting situated.
I can’t help but smile, wait till she sees the guy. Paw is a big guy, with tattoos all over him. His name could be Tiny, and he’d still scare the shit out of kids.
I drive to the closest gas station, and pull next to the side of the building. Flipping the dashboard inside out I look for a couple quarters to call Paw. After finding a few, I eye Jillian. I can’t leave her here, she might run or try and drive off.
“You’re coming with me.”
“What?” she retorts, sass heavy in her tone.
“I don’t trust—”
“You don’t trust me. Yeah, we established that.” She rolls her eyes and unbuckles her seatbelt. Gritting my teeth, I scowl. When she finally forgives me, I’m going to fuck that bratty attitude right out of her.
Getting out of the car, I grab her by the cuffs and pull her closely behind me so nobody can see the metal wrapped around her wrists.
Keeping my hand on her, I put the quarters in and dial the last number I remembered Paw having.
“Ello?”
“Paw?”
“Who da fuck is this?”
“It’s Zeek. I need a favor.”
“Zeek, my motherfucking brother from another mother. What’s up, man? What you need?”
“I need somewhere to stay, just for a while.”
“You in some shit?” His tone dips, as if someone might hear him.
“Yeah, yeah, I am.” I look at Jillian, the sun beaming off her blonde hair as she looks out at the passing cars.
“Aight, I got you. You know your way around LA?”
“I can manage.”
“No doubt, No doubt. Head to Rustic Creek, and head on Green Eldgewood, House number 1356.”
“Got it.”
“Aight, I’ll meet you there, homey.”
I hang the phone up, and pull on Jillian’s cuffs.
“Let’s go.”
CHAPTER FIVE
Jillian
WE DRIVE FOR WHAT SEEMS LIKE FOREVER. Eventually passing the ocean, which I can’t help but stick my head out of the window and inhale the salty smell. Crossing my arms on the windowsill of the door, I rest my chin in the crook of my arm. The warm breeze is strong and uplifting, throwing my hair around wildly. For the first time in days, I feel…free. With the sun shining, and warming my skin, the thoughts of loving or hating Zeek fade as the sun blinds me with its rays. I wish I could just sit like this for the forseeable future, and not have to face the truth of reality.
It hurts, this nabbing pain in my chest reminding me that Zeek killed my father every time I get close to him. The fact that I am so utterly consumed with him that I want so badly to forget anything that has happened, but I can’t. My father deserves better than that.
I remember one night being on a call with my field training officer when we got a domestic dispute call. Upon pulling up there was a car on fire in the driveway and a girl sitting on the patio steps. When we asked what happened she said her boyfriend cheated on her, and she was so mad that the only way she could expel the pain in her chest was by setting his car on fire. I asked if she felt better, and she lit a cigarette, smiled, and said, “a little bit, yeah.” I thought the chick was crazy then, but I totally get it now.
I cringe internally. Oh God, I’m going to be that kind of a girlfriend. The kind who carves her name on her man’s bike and burns his clothes when he breaks her heart.
I give Zeek a sideways glance. Destroying something of his and mentally seeing his reaction already makes me feel a little better.
“What are you thinking about?” I snap from my daydream of throwing gasoline on Zeek’s bike, holding the red gallon of gas above my head and laughing like a mad woman.
“Hmm, what?” I try to play it off.
“Yeah, you, you have this look…it’s disturbing.” I chew my inner cheek, debating on what to say.
“Um, I was thinking about burning your bike, maybe your clothes, too. I thought it’d make me feel better about everything…” I sigh, trying to avoid eye contact because I’m sure he’s bug-eyed.
“Oh fuck, you’re one of those chicks.”
“This is new for me, too.” I half laugh.
His lips curve at the corner, a small dimple forming on one side.
“I like crazy, it keeps things interesting.” He reaches over and palms my hand. I stiffen, that nagging pain in my chest returning. I want to squeeze it back, but…it wouldn’t be right. Not only because I don’t have all the facts about my father, but I feel selfish wanting to be with Zeek. The two of us together…it just brings everyone around us pain.
Casually I pull from his grip and act as if I’m rolling up the window some.
God, I hate this.
“So you’re sure about this guy?” I try and break the unbearable tension.
“Yeah. If not, I’ll put a bullet in his head.” His tone is casual, my eyes are wide as saucers.
“I’m nervous, where I’m from we don’t trust gangsters, let alone sleep on their couch.” Shaking my head, a chill runs up my spine.
“I know, it’s just temporary.” I wish we could just sleep in the van. “Hey, I’m not going to let anything happen to you.” Zeek continues after seeing the look of conflict written on my face.
I swallow.
“It’s just a couple days. I can do it.” I wring my hands, my toes curling. “However, you can’t hold me responsible if my training kicks in, and I end up handcuffing him to the toilet.”
Zeek barks out a laugh that is contagious.
“I’d love to see that.”
Zeek pulls the van into an upper-class neighborhood. The houses are big, with Bentleys or Cadillacs parked outside. Narrowing my eyes I shoot Zeek a puzzled look. I thought we were going to some gangster’s house?
“There it is.” He points out the front of the windshield to a house. Showcasing tan stucco and a gray roof, the entryway is paved with walking stones, a double glass front door, with two white pillars on each side.
“A gangster owns this?” I’m so confused. I thought we’d be in a rundown house with a chained dog barking in the back yard. Maybe a broken down fence, and bars on the windows even, but not this.
A black Denali whips in front of us, and the garage door to the house opens.
A short man in a black windbreaker and white shirt with dark blue jeans gets out and points at the garage. The gold chain around his neck blinging with the sun.
Zeek drives the van inside the garage, and turns the engine off. The garage is mostly empty. The only thing in here are a bunch of long tables that are folded up along the side of the wall.
“My motherfucking homey!” The man shouts, striding toward the van. Zeek gets out, so I follow. My heart thundering in my chest so hard my hands shake.
“Wow, I think you got fatter, Paw.” Zeek chuckles, doing some handshake thing with Paw. “Thanks for looking out, man,” Zeek states, patting Paw on the shoulder before stepping back.
“Yo, don’t mention it. It’s the least I could do after how cool you were with things when I left.”
Coming around the back of the van,
Zeek’s eyes focus on me, Paw’s looking my way, as well. His eyes fall to my cuffs.
“Damn, brother, what kind of shit you in?”
“Some deep shit,” Zeek replies, his tone thick. His head tilts back, dark hair falling in his eyes. That look, that image of dark outlaw that crosses his face makes my teeth impale my bottom lip. It’s scary, and sexy.
“I’m headed to my brother’s, but he’s got some heat on him. We just need to wait it out is all.” Paw looks at me again, then Zeek.
“Right, well let me show you the place.”
Paw opens a door attached to the house, and we follow him in. It’s practically empty. The smell of fresh paint and new carpet strong. It’s as if it’s a brand new house.
There is a small purple love seat in front of a fireplace, and a stereo on top of the mantel. A bookshelf with a few books sitting by itself on one wall. A table on the far side, with scales and baggies littered everywhere.
Wait. I do a doubletake at the table.
“I mostly got everything cleaned out from the previous owners, just gotta get that fucking bookshelf out of here. I ain’t about to box all those books myself and trying to find men who aren’t lazy is hard as fuck. Anyway, there is a bed in the back room, sometimes my boys get to working so many hours on a drop they just crash here.”
My eyes widen as I take in my surroundings, my heart beating. This isn’t just any house. The words are lodged in my throat that I so desperately want to spill.
“How long you need to stay?” Paw juts his chin out at Zeek, who is looking around the place. “I gotta set up shop by next week or I’ll get behind on orders.”
“A week maybe, tops.”
“I can make it work. Here, I brought you some shit. I ain’t stock no food yet, and I wasn’t sure if there was anything left behind in the cabinets.” Paw sets down a white grocery bag I didn’t notice he was carrying.
“Thanks, again, for looking out, Paw.” Zeek nods.
“No doubt. Got some whiskey in there that’ll help with that arm too.” Zeek looks down at his shoulder.
“I could use that. Thanks.”
“Don’t mention it, brother. I’ll leave ya to it. Holler if you run into some shit.” When he turns around there is a tattoo of a big ass tiger paw inked into the skin of his head. The house vibrates as the garage door closes and Paw leaves.
“It’ll do for now, at least we won’t be sleeping in the back of the van,” Zeek states, bending down to grab the grocery bag off the floor. The words I had lodged in my throat expel into a vengeful scream, as I shove Zeek hard. Anger slamming in my chest so hard I feel my face redden. His head whips in my direction with surprise as tears spring to my eyes from being pissed.
“You brought me to a fucking trap house, Zeek?” I scream. My hands balled into fists, I push him again just for the hell of it. I can’t believe this is where he’d take me, that he’d just accept staying here knowing who I am and what I stand for. He had to know I wouldn’t be okay with this.
I go to shove him again, but he steps out of reach. Having enough of me pushing him around, he grabs both my wrists, and forces me to stop.
“I didn’t know, Jillian. Fuck!” he hollers, letting go of my hands he swipes his hands through his hair.
“We can’t stay here.”
A trap house is place drug dealers use to make or sell drugs out of. Sometimes they even use it to squat and do drugs. They pick houses in normal neighborhoods. The ones with Home Owners’ Associations, expensive houses, and flashy cars. Ones where there is no violence, and cops wouldn’t think to give a second look unless the Botox face next door lost her purse poodle.
“It’s not like we have much of a choice. We can’t stay in the van, we’re lucky nobody has spotted it with it being stolen.”
I fall into the sofa, resting my elbows on my knees, and let my head fall into my hands. I know he’s trying the best he can, but I feel more out of my element here than I have anywhere we’ve been. I am trained to spot places like this and take them down. Yet, here I am, hiding in one so I don’t get caught in a stolen van. I’m losing it. I’m seriously losing my shit.
The only thing I ever had growing up was the dream of being a sheriff, I put all my eggs in that basket, and that basket just got thrown against the wall.
“This is against everything I stand for,” I whisper, my eyes threatening to spill unshed tears. I thought Paw was just some wannabe drug dealer. I thought maybe he slung dope to some potheads on the side, but when there’s a trap house involved, we’re talking the big deal here. This is the kind of place that is a fucking wet dream to the DEA.
“I know.” He squats into my line of sight, his eyes holding sorrow and regret. Reaching forward he thumbs a tear from my cheek, rubbing it between his index finger and thumb. The way he looks at my tears is as if he’s never seen the emotion before, like it confuses him and that always takes me by surprise. I used to think that his family raised him to be an animal, but even animals feel. No, they turned Zeek into a weapon.
It makes me feel for the both of us when I see him do something human, feel something he’s not used to feeling. I want to climb in his lap, wrap my legs around his waist, and suck his face.
“You’re going to have to get your hands dirty if you want to clean them. I told you…just trust me.”
I stand, pushing him out of the way. “Yeah, and before I know it I’ll be the one killing cops. It all starts somewhere.”
The way I’m headed, it won’t be long.
Zeek
I STAND, WATCHING JILLIAN walk into the room that holds the bed.
I didn’t know Paw would take me to a trap house, but I wasn’t about to refuse it either. We need somewhere to lay low for a while, and this will be perfect. I know it’s against everything Jillian stands for, I know she’s been pushed so far past that line of blue she lives by it’s not even in sight anymore.
This shit with her dad though, I gotta squash it. I know I’m not supposed to reveal shit to her. It’s the club rules not to share details about what goes down in the club to ol’ ladies. But Jillian isn’t just my ol’ lady, she’s a fucking cop. A double-edged sword in the way of the rules. However, she’s had a front row seat to what goes on in my world, I think I owe it to her to know just who the fuck Lieutenant Oaks really was. Not telling her is weighing on me, and pissing me off with every accusatory glance her beautiful eyes swing my way. She’s breaking.
I can’t stand to have her look at me like she hates me one second longer. It makes me want to grab the nearest person and rip their fucking throat out. My hands flex at the thought of violence. I’m getting antsy doing all this damn running. I don’t run from shit, I face it with vengeance.
Doing this back and forth crap with Jillian is getting old too. I’m not the boyfriend type yet here I am trying to make up for the piece of shit I am.
Love is exhausting. Who actually wakes up wanting to find love? It’s painful as fuck. I’ve had bullet wounds hurt less than this shit.
Grabbing the bag Paw brought I pull out a bottle of Jack Daniels, a burner phone, and two bags of chips.
Keeping hold of the whiskey, I toss the other shit on the counter.
On second thought, I know why people find love. It’s those moments that make you feel like you’re going crazy. Like when Jillian wraps her arms around my neck and hugs me. I can’t help but take in the smell of her, and think if anyone came between us I’d fucking slit their throat and fuck Jillian in their blood for trying to take that moment away from me.
A hug used to seem like a simple gesture but it’s not. The feel of her beating heart against mine, the meaning of her arms pulling me in close, it all means something. It breaks barriers, it broke mine. It made me fade from numb to something more human.
I take a giant sip of the booze.
I hate love. It’s painful. It reminds me of cancer. Starting from somewhere small inside, and spreading throughout your entire being until you feel like you might act
ually die.
Fuck love.
Setting the Jack on the counter, I set up the burner phone and call Felix.
“Hello?”
“It’s me.”
“Dude. What the fuck?” He’s worried. Like a parent who turned around for one minute only to find their child missing the next.
“Sorry, been running. It ain’t easy doing it with someone who doesn’t want to run.” I growl, taking a sip of the Jack.
“Oh, yeah, how’s that going?”
“She fucking hates me, as to be expected.”
“Wouldn’t you?” he rebuttals.
“How is shit there?” I ask, ignoring his question. I don’t blame Jillian for hating me, but I ain’t about to say that to him. I remember the hell I went through when I found out when my club was ratting. I broke, questioning everyone, including myself.
“Uncle Frank took over the club, man. I mean, me, Machete, Mac, and Gats are still your boys. We’re just waiting for your call to find out where the hell to go. Machete nearly got himself killed when Frank took over. Frank basically made us the bitches. We’re fucking doing Prospect shit. You gotta come back.”
“You told me to run, you told me to take Jillian and run. If I hadn’t ran, you know he would have her killed and me.”
“Right to get her to safety, because I know she has you wrapped around her fucking finger. But I didn’t know you wouldn’t come back. You gotta get back here and take back what is yours, Zeek, this club is all I have.”
I rub at my temples. “It’s all I have, too. Trust me, I know I should be there taking my club back.”
“Man, to be honest, we need more men. There is no way just us can take Frank, he has all the power, especially with the Mob behind him. That is why Machete went nuts, it’s out of our control, and we just have to sit back and let it happen.”
“Oh, trust me, I’m getting it back.” I know that for sure. I have a plan, it’s just going to take time. Nothing great and worth a damn happens overnight.
“How do you plan to do that?” His voice is doubtful.