Hustle (14 page)

Chapter 14

“It’s fuckin’ freezing out here. I can’t even light a goddamn smoke,” said Donny. They both were bent forward, pointing themselves into the wind. “I don’t think anybody’s gonna be out here. It’s too cold.”

“What do
ya mean? It’s warm in their cars. Rain, wind, fucking earthquakes, there’ll always be someone out there buying it or selling it. It’s the way of the world. People have needs. It’s like when stock people sell the stuff that people need, you know, what do they call that stuff, that people have to have?”

“I
dunno,” said Donny, still trying to light his cigarette and walk at the same time.

“Yeah, you do. You know, like orange juice and coffee and shit.”

“Oh, you mean commodities.”

“Yeah, sex is like a commodity. People are
gonna buy and sell it till the end of time.”

“Shit, if that was the case, we
shoulda bought stock.”

Rich lau
ghed. Despite the weather, the situation with their phones, the lack of money or drugs in their pockets, they both felt pretty good. Being good and high probably had something to do with it.

“Fuck
, Donny, how do you know all this shit? You know about stock shit and school shit. Maybe Skye was right; you’re too smart to be out here doing this stuff.”

“Sky
e said that?”

“Yeah, that’s what he told me.
You’re smarter than you act. Maybe you grew up rich or somethin’.”

“
Fuckin’ Skye is the one that thinks he’s too smart to be out here.”

“True,” said Big Rich, “but he’d be wrong ‘bout that. He
ain’t even smart
enough
. And that’s sayin’ something.”

They both laughed about that.

Rich decided he wanted a cigarette too, so they both stepped into a doorjamb to light up. When they were sheltered from the wind, Rich said, “Hey, I been thinkin’, maybe we should check out that name the biker told us. Dustin whatever it was. Maybe look him up on the Internet like he did and find out what we’re dealing with.”

Donny took it as an apology for doubtin
g him earlier. An acceptance of the fact they were going to show up for the meet and wait for Bear no matter what happened. They both wanted to push forward with the plan. They were a team now, a team with a goal: to get the hell off that corner.

“Good idea,” said Donny, “Knowledge is power. We can ask Skye if he’s up there tonight. Maybe we can go by later and use his computer. Smoke a little
crank with the poor fucker. It’d make him feel good, like he had friends.”

“He’d have more friends if he was the one paying for the drugs he always smoked.”

“He’s alright. He’s just a weird little kid. He’s like a nerd or somethin’, but instead of being in the math club, he’s out here on the street with the rest of us. You know they say there’re book-smarts and street-smarts? Well, Skye’s got book-smarts, and he ain’t equipped to deal with the world, you know?”

“Whatever, I doubt he’s got any smarts, I think he might be part retarded.”

Donny decided to let it drop. “He might be that, too.”

The
y reached the corner and, sure enough, there were johns cruising and boys hustling. It was business as usual. “Fucking God, please, let this be the last time,” said Donny to himself. He didn’t have the will tonight. He was high, but maybe not numb enough.

They were out there about ten minutes, leaning a
gainst the wall with one leg up, trying to look both casual and bored while the wind whipped around them, when they saw a familiar face coming up the block. It was Jerry, one of kids that came to the corner around the same time as Donny started showing up. His name was Jerry, but everyone out there called him Cherry because his story was he’d never turned tricks before. That’s what he told his johns. He figured that’s what they wanted to hear, just an innocent boy who needed some money and, no, he’d never let a man do this-and-that to him before. Rich and Donny joked that the ruse wouldn’t last, he’d be too worn out to sell it, but Cherry kept at it, a virgin re-born every night.

Cherry was out of breath, “Hey, you guys hear about Skye?”

Rich said, “We were just talking about that little dumbass. You seen him tonight? I wanna talk to him about somethin’.”

“No, dude, I won’t see him
either. You really didn’t hear?”

“Hear what?” said Donny.

“He’s dead.”

“Bullshit,” said Big Rich,
instinctively not believing any kind of story that originated with Skye, especially if it was coming out of Cherry’s mouth.

Donny thought different. The first thing that came to his mind was, yes, of course he was dead. Because w
e were just talking about him, like their thoughts had the ability to curse anything and everything. Then he thought, damn it, he’s been murdered. Struck down by one of these sick-assed motherfuckers who are cruising the corner right now, some psycho serial-killer preying on young men. He’d always known it was possible—even probable—with the kind of lives they were leading. Hell, in some ways, he thought they were taunting death, temping killers to do them in. What did they expect?

“How?” said Donny, wishing he hadn’t as soon as he’d asked.

“He OD’ed,” said Cherry. “They found him in his hotel room the night before last, sitting in front of the computer, you know, like he does. Didn’t even take the needle out of his arm.”

Donny didn’t know why it surprised him. It made more sense than murder. He wondered if he actually sighed with relief, if it was audible. He felt bad for Skye and could imagine him sitting right there in
the chair he’d dragged off the street, his skin grey, staring at the blue computer screen. He was a statistic now, not so much a victim. He now felt a kinship with Skye that he never could have felt when the boy was alive.

“Poor
fuckin’ kid,” he said.

Big Rich’s reaction was different.
He said, “Poor? At least he could afford enough dope to off himself.” Rich was callous, but it struck Donny as bravado. Donny could tell Rich was processing the news, trying to think what it meant to him, if Skye owed him anything or if there was something in Skye’s hotel room that Rich could use. Big Rich finally said, “I wonder where he got his dope from. Musta been good shit.”

***

After recognizing Terrence, Gabriel pieced together some of the cowboy’s story in his mind. Terrence had been a defense attorney, just like Gabriel, but he was disbarred under a dark cloud in the late nineties. Gabriel recalled that Terrence Halford was somewhat of a rising star, but didn’t know the exact nature of his downfall. It happened at the same time Gabriel was having his own troubles, having invested a good portion of the firm’s profits in some dot-com start-ups that failed miserably. Embarrassed by his misjudgment, Thaxton had insulated himself from the news and gossip that floated around the legal scene, the insulated gaggle of high-priced lawyers that fed on bad news. Gabriel did, however, remember rumors of drugs, of money laundering, but couldn’t recall what the details were.

“You had a practice in San Francisco, no?” asked Gabriel after he finally accepted a cocktail, a margarita expertly blended by Raphael.

“I had more than that,” said Terrence leaning into the mirror for another line of blow. “I had a whole career, a future.”

“What happened?” said Gabriel.

“I got fucked, that’s what happened.” Terrence sucked in one of the white lines through a short straw. “The State Bar had it in for me, didn’t like some of the friends I was making.” He pinched his nose, then sniffed hard again. “They didn’t like the money I was making. But, shit, that was a million years ago. I’m over it, moved on.”

Gabriel took that to mean the subject was closed. He sipped his margarita and tried to act as though all of this were normal.
A nice, late luncheon with his captors. Perfectly normal.

The lunch turned into
dinner, and, then, a kind of dinner party. The mood was deliberately light. It barely masked the underlying conspiracy. Terrence and Dustin had plans for Gabriel, but they weren’t discussing them. Something, Gabriel surmised, was keeping them from moving forward. Dustin kept quiet, drinking his beer and accepting a line of coke whenever it was offered. Coke wasn’t really Dustin’s thing, but he wasn’t one to turn down free drugs, especially of the stimulant variety.

The afternoon wore on to early evening.
The drinks kept flowing and Gabriel started to catch a buzz. Over and over, Terrence would offer him a line of cocaine, but Gabriel refused. “I’m too old for that stuff now,” he said, acting almost flattered. “Maybe there was a time, but it’s gone past.”

Raphael said, “See, Terry, we should have asked him sooner.”

“He doesn’t mean today, silly boy. He means earlier in … he means he’s too old, that’s all.”

Raphael said in that same sing-song voice, “You’re only as young as you feel.” And he, too, bent over for another hit from the mirror.
He moved around the kitchen, light on his feet, playing host and making sure everyone’s plates were filled. No one, however, was doing much eating. The only thing being devoured was the pile of cocaine on the mirror and Terrence saw to it that it was replenished every hour or so.

Gabriel tried to take on some nourishment
to regain his strength, but his teeth and jaw were sore from one of the many smacks that Dustin had given him the night before. The blended ice drinks, on the other hand, felt nice and soothing in his mouth. He sipped at his drink and tried to relax, knowing that the pleasantries weren’t going to last forever. Every once in a while, Dustin would give Terrence a blank, expectant look and Terrence would shrug his shoulders before carrying on with whatever he was doing. They were waiting for something.

It was dusk now and the weather had cooled. Raphael suggested they go outside to smoke their cigarettes and have more cocktails. Without waiting for an answer, he opened up the glass doors leading out to a
large wooden deck and turned up the music so it could be heard outside. All four of them grabbed their drinks and headed outside to the patio.

It was still warm and the house sheltered the deck from the wind blowing up from
the direction of the ocean. With the drinks, the music, the cheerful company, Gabriel felt again that it was almost like a vacation; except for the pain from the torturous night before and the unavoidable truth that he was being held hostage.

Raphael was going on a
bout his margaritas. “No salt. Real margarita is no salt; that is for the tourists. And you have to make it from scratch, no mixers.” He poked a finger toward his mouth and feigned vomiting. “That stuff makes you sick. In fact, it is best when there is no blenders either, just ice cubes. That is the way God would want his margarita.” He paused to sip. “Dustin, you are so quiet, you like me to make you a margarita? I can make it real strong, some kick, you know.”

Dustin shook his head and got up from the lounge
chair. “No, I’m gonna piss and grab another beer.”

He ambled through the sliding glass door into the house. Ra
phael waited till he was inside. “I think he no like the cocaine. It make him nervous.”

Gabriel noted that with every margarita that Raphael drank, his accent became thicker and his manner more effeminate. Clearly, he had a good buzz on now; he talked and talked and talked. “May
be I go help him. See if he wants something stronger.” Raphael followed Dustin into the house to flirt with him.

“How’s your cocktail, Gabriel?” Terrence asked. He was leaning on the wood rail with his elbows, beer in hand.
Still keeping up that cowboy pose, thought Gabriel.

“Fine, fine.
Delicious.”

“Did you get enough to eat?”

“Yes, I’m fine.”

“Good. T
hat Raphael is one helluva cook when he wants to be, but when he’s had a few, his mind … wanders. I don’t want you to go hungry, a victim of a poor host.”

Terre
nce laughed, but it wasn’t a funny joke. An awkward silence fell upon them. The music inside thumped away and Gabriel looked in to see Dustin and Raphael hovering over the mirror on the counter, doing more lines.

“No, you have a beautiful home. It’s been a great evening,” said Gabriel. “I’m just wondering …” Gabriel’s voice trailed off.

Terrence smiled with his too perfect white teeth. “What you’re doing here? What the plan is?”

“Yes,” said Gabriel, still keeping an eye on Dustin,
hoping he wouldn’t come back outside before he got his answer.

“Tonight, you’re my guest. Enjoy yourself. Try to relax. I know that hanging out with Dustin can be a, well, a
trying
experience. Try to unwind here, get some rest. I’ve got plenty of room upstairs, don’t worry about anything.”