“Well, when you put it that way.”
“I got a new piece up downtown. On Fifth. Took me two hours.”
“I’ll have to check it out. I know you got mad skills.”
“You hungry?” Josie asked, holding out a granola bar.
“Thanks,” Gavin said, ripping open the paper and humming in delight at the taste of chocolate.
“Here’s the rest,” Josie said, handing over the four bags filled with food. “You’ll give it to the kids down in the plaza?”
“I always do.”
“Good. Keep what you want, but make sure Sarah gets the gummy worms. She loves those.”
“Yeah.”
“Anything new? Those asshole cops still bothering you?” Josie asked.
“Nah. Shorty was arrested for bathing in the fountain again. Gregory sends his love, as always. Kim and Kim moved down by the 163. And Logan…”
“Out with it, Gavin.”
“Logan’s gone. Haven’t seen him in weeks.”
Josie blew out a breath, frustrated she couldn’t keep up with the kids better. Since her time on the streets, she’d become attached to them. They represented the only family she’d ever known.
“Well, if you see him, let me know. How’s your girl?”
“Who knows, Stems. I heard she’s headed up to L.A. with her new boyfriend.”
“Sorry. I thought you two were going to make it.”
“Sure felt like it. That’s what I get for messing with a bi girl. They never know what the hell they want.” Gavin sighed. “Maybe she didn’t like her nickname.”
“Well, I like Stems,” Josie said. “Maybe I’ll have to give you one too.”
“What’s wrong with Gavin?”
“I’ve never met a chick named Gavin before.”
Gavin closed her eyes and tilted her face away from Josie, her shoulders tense.
“It’s just a way to stay anonymous on the streets, you know? It was my brother’s name,” she admitted.
Josie didn’t press her for more information. She knew what it was like to have a past that you’d rather not relive or retell. Both had been discarded by society. The difference was Josie had felt empowered by the freedom of unregulated days and nights. They had shared a common ground, a common sleeping hole, and a common need to burn their pain away. An easy silence fell between them as they waited for their miracle man, the deliverer of coping aids and pharmaceutical highs.
4. Ejecta
The material thrown out of an impact crater by the shock pressures generated.
“Hello, hello. What can I get for you this evening?”
Josie eyed the greasy man suspiciously.
“Where’s Nigel?” she asked.
“He’s busy tonight, but didn’t want to leave you fine ladies hangin’. He sent me to take care of you.”
“How do we know you’re not a cop?” Gavin asked.
The man laughed and tugged on the brim of his hat.
“Shit, I ain’t no cop. Hate them bastards. Just got out of lockup a few weeks ago.”
“Likely story,” Gavin said.
“Show your tits,” Josie demanded.
“What?” he asked.
“You heard her.”
The man shook his head but followed instructions. He lifted his shirt up under his armpits. Josie made a twirling motion with her index finger and he turned in a circle. The girls eyed him skeptically, but each nodded, confirming she was satisfied.
“See? No wire. No cop.”
Gavin reached into her bag and pulled out an envelope of money, counting out a stack for him. She folded the envelope and shoved it deep into the bottom of her bag. The man watched her carefully, averting his eyes just in time.
Josie pulled out her fold of ready bills and handed it over in exchange for a new bag of pills. She smiled at the comfort they represented.
When Gavin finished her purchase, the man stood there, lingering. Josie didn’t like the hunger in his eyes. He seemed to be wavering, waiting for something. Suddenly, he reached down, grabbed Gavin’s bag and took off running.
“Hey!” Gavin screamed.
Josie jumped from the bench and took off after him. She caught up in no time. When she reached him, she threw herself onto his back. They both tumbled to the ground, rolling down a small hill. On the way, Josie took an elbow to the eye. When they stopped, she was on top with the bag firmly in her grip.
“Drop it!” she yelled.
“Make me,” he spat.
She shrugged and stood up, feigning defeat.
“Ha. That’s right.” He gloated.
Josie swung around, raised her foot, and slammed it down between his legs. He let out an awful howl and rolled onto his side, releasing the bag. Josie put it over her shoulder and walked away.
“You bitch!”
“They call me Bundy!” Josie yelled victoriously.
Tristan took a seat in a corner booth at City Deli. The waitress, in standard uniform and orthopedic shoes, smacked her gum and asked for his order.
“I’ll just have coffee for now. I’m waiting for someone.”
“Sure,” she answered, rolling her eyes before shuffling off to fetch his brew.
He pulled a paperback book from his back pocket and opened it to the dog-eared page. He read the words, but by the end of the page he had no idea what they were. It was an odd feeling for him. So he reread them, this time absorbing each one permanently. Every time the door opened, Tristan craned his neck to look for Josie. Each time it wasn’t her, he would return his attention to the book, concentrating on Amis’s words about John Self’s wild and glutinous life. Soon he was wondering if she’d even show up.
His coffee appeared in front of him as if mentally summoned, and the waitress took off to her next table. He poured copious amounts of sugar into the black drink, stirring until the clinking of the spoon against ceramic annoyed him.
Josie threw herself through the door of the diner like she was being chased. The sight of Tristan tucked into her favorite corner booth filled her with relief she hadn’t even known she needed. She brushed off her clothes, as if it would somehow help her disheveled appearance. Slowly, she passed each booth, labeling patrons as she went. He’s a prick, she thought, as a fat, balding man wiggled his eyebrows in her direction. Josie flipped him off and continued past the others. They’re having an affair, he’s in the closet, that one’s an alcoholic, she might be a he. Gold digger, prostitute, and cabdriver rounded out her assessment.
Tossing her bag into the booth, she slid in after it. The sound of metal cans and ball-bearing mixers announced her arrival. Tristan’s shoulders jumped in surprise and he wondered when he’d stopped checking the door. Their eyes met across one steaming cup of coffee and a Formica tabletop.
“What the hell happened to you?” Tristan asked, his face screwed up in worry.
Josie reached up and smoothed down her knotted hair. She knew she should have gone to the bathroom to check herself before sitting.
“What?” she asked casually.
“You have a huge red mark on your cheek and your eye is bruising.”
“Oh, that. I got into a fight.”
“What the fuck?” he replied loudly, garnering the attention of every guest in the quiet establishment.
“Calm down,” she said, shushing him. “What do you have, ’roid rage or something? I’m fine. I met a friend at Balboa and this asshole tried to steal her bag. I didn’t let him.”
“He hit you?”
“Yeah, but I hit him back,” she answered, smirking.
“What were you doing in the park at this time of night?”
“Buying drugs.”
Tristan went quiet at her admission, not sure how he should react to such honesty. He thought her frankness could either mean that she was fearless or that she had indeed found the drugs.