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 dicks 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.”
“Yeah, well, I don’t know where she is. After the trial she kind of just disappeared. We only lived together for the two months before I went away to college. Everything seemed normal back then.” The man closed his eyes and took a deep breath. “She’s probably one of those bums living in Balboa by now, she used to like to go there.”
“Well, thanks for your help.”
With a convincingly appreciative smile, Mort left the middle-class home no closer to finding the girl. It was a long shot, but he’d have to check out Balboa Park. Maybe Josie had run away and disappeared into the streets like so many discarded children before her. She could be living under the freeway, begging for change, or sleeping on benches. He grimaced, knowing that it would be near impossible to find her.
He reached for his phone and dialed the familiar number.
“Speak.”