“Whatever, man.”
Alex took a few bills from his pocket and laid them on the bar. Tristan slid the money back to Alex.
“On the house.”
“Look, I came here to talk to you without Jo around. She’d be pissed if she knew.”
“So I guess this is the part where you tell me to stay away from her. I’m not good enough, right?”
“Nah. Neither one of you assholes would listen. I’ll make it simple, Don Perfecto. I know you care, but this girl’s got issues.”
“I don’t need your advice on how to handle her issues.”
“If you hurt her, I’ll come after you,” Alex threatened.
“Ah, the ‘I’ll kill you’ speech. I judged the approach all wrong. Consider me warned.”
“I’m serious. I took care of her before you showed up,” Alex said, raising his eyebrows to insinuate more than he would dare say.
“I’m sure you did,” Tristan bit out between clenched teeth.
“I’ll be there long after you’re gone, vato.”
“I’m not going anywhere,” Tristan sneered.
“I can afford to have you killed.”
“Get in line.” A stiff air sat between them, electrically charged with passion and intended warnings. “I would never hurt her. Thanks for stopping by.”
Just like that, Alex had been dismissed. Tristan walked to the other end of the bar and, with his mask of a smile in place, began filling orders again.
Satisfied his message had been delivered, Alex threw a few bills on the bar and left his untouched beer where it sat. By the time he made it back home, Alex was exhausted. He settled in bed with SportsCenter on the television and drifted off to sleep.
Hours later, Alex woke to the sound of screaming. He sprang from the comfort of twelve-hundred-thread-count sheets, ready for confrontation. Within seconds of his feet hitting the floor, his pistol slid from the nightstand into his familiar grip. Soon he realized the sound was just Mrs. Thompson yelling at her cat again. He laughed and crawled back into bed, settling his Beretta back into its home.
Sleep escaped Alex as he lay in bed. His mind worked to piece together the coming day. There was a delivery to pick up, which would need to be inventoried and distributed. One of the downsides of being a one-man operation is that he had to play the roles of CEO, Sales, and Accounting. Job responsibilities kept him busy for much of the day. After lunch, he’d head down to Chula Vista to take care of a debt. He let no one take advantage of his generous nature. Alex would be paid. One day, these punk kids would learn that he was not to be fucked with.
Alex wasn’t sure how he landed in the game he played so well. It seemed to be a path carved out for him since birth. He was a thug now, a true-to-life dealer. Most transactions were with the rich kids of Bankers Hill, the middle-aged uptowners, and the queers in Hillcrest. Though his mother wished for a better life for her children, it was hard to provide that with no male role model in the house. His father sold drugs and his oldest brother did too. They’d both paid the price. His brother was killed for the contents of his wallet and a dime bag while his father was incarcerated for most of Alex’s childhood. When he was released, he tried to teach the boy about being a man. He showed him how to fire a gun, how to outsmart the streets, and how to keep women in their place. The lessons had not been lost on an impressionable boy.
For as long as he could remember, Alex had had the same basic priorities in life: wealth, power, and pussy. Not necessarily in that order. He’d accumulated a hefty savings, a sizable collection of drug and blood money washed clean of its sins and folded neatly in an uptown bank. Power had always come easy to him, his hulking size and self-appointed authority ensured that. Pussy was a whole different story.
Alex rolled over and huffed. He was pissed that the old lady had disturbed him from his sleep and, consequently, a hot dream involving twins. It had been two weeks since he’d gotten laid, but what worried him the most is that he didn’t even care. Sex was usually just a means to an end. Call up one of his regulars, drill her until she was speechless, and leave before her head hit the pillow. His skills soon pushed cringeworthy words and phrases from the lips of satiated women. Date, dinner, boyfriend. When the girls became too attached, he would attack their vulnerable side and, when needing the big guns, insult their sexual prowess.
Relationships were unheard of in his business. Trusting someone enough to hold your secrets and know your innermost thoughts was not practical. Alex was happy where he was, alone with his fifty-inch flat-screen television, free weights, and imported beer. At least that’s what he told himself.
It took seeing Tristan and Josie together to force him to face the truth of his loneliness. Alex had never seen such substantial love between two people. Every time Tristan looked at the girl, Alex burned with such jealousy that he couldn’t be in their presence for long. It wasn’t that he had developed feelings for his neighbor; he was simply resentful of their connection. Jealous of what he hadn’t even known he wanted. For the first time in his life, what Alex coveted couldn’t be bought or sold, no matter the amount of wealth, power, or pussy he possessed.
Josie woke feeling better than she could ever remember. There was a crackling electricity in the air, a heat radiating from within her own body. Her lips still tingled with the memory of Tristan’s teeth scraping against them. Her body still burned where his hands had gripped so tightly. The midday sun greeted her through the window, doing a shadowless rainbow dance across her legs. She felt unfamiliar, like a stranger was living inside her. Something was different, not bad, but different. Her hands slid up her body, over her stomach and eventually up to her face, where she found the distinction immediately. She’d woken up with a smile.
While still a creature of habit, Josie recently found herself deviating from her norm more and more. She’d been sketching less, the faces no longer calling out to be recorded. She hadn’t been out tagging in a while. While she loved the cloak of night, the whooshing sound of paint, and the vibrant images she left behind, she didn’t need it like she used to.
She now made eye contact with strangers and waved at her deranged old neighbor, Mrs. Thompson, when passing at the mailboxes. She still visited Gavin, though less frequently. She felt herself disconnecting from her old life and clinging to something new. Alex still came by, bringing food and staying until she ate. She found comfort in his protectiveness and longed to thank him, but she could not imagine anything appropriate.
It had been three days since Tristan and Josie’s date, but already she grew nervous at the separation. The air was harder to process in his absence. The lights seemed dimmer and the emptiness made her queasy. If Tristan wasn’t within the paper-thin walls of her apartment, she didn’t want to be there either. She questioned if it was healthy to feel this attached to someone so quickly. She decided she didn’t care.
For hours at a time, she would sit on the bare mattress of her bedroom and stare at the pencil-drawn faces before her. There were so many versions of Tristan, each so detailed and true to life. Josie wondered how she’d ever forgotten him.
Her mother had the kindest smile, just like Josie imagined every mother should. Warm eyes stared back, the roughly drawn charcoal lines doing nothing to diminish her softness. Tristan had described Josie’s mother as a fun free spirit who cared deeply for her family. She had died in a car accident a year before they moved away.
Her father was handsome, but his eyes seemed to reflect worry and sadness in every drawing. Perhaps her only memory of Earl had been after her mother’s passing. She wanted, so badly, to remember what his hugs felt like or the timbre of his voice.