Hustle (17 page)

“Awe, c’mon, Bear. We’ve been friends a long time.”

“No, I’d say we were more like acquaintances.”

Bear turned and kicked Rivas one more time in the stomach. Not too hard, he just didn’t like the son of a bitch. Then he walked back into the bar to have Sheila pour him a double. Watson didn’t
follow; he was done with the Roadhouse for tonight.

Chapter 16

As soon as Donny pulled on his jeans, he knew the pockets had been emptied. The three fifties, his hotel key, even his disposable lighter—all of it: gone. That sick fucker had robbed him. He slumped down onto somebody’s stoop. He was far from home. It’d be a long walk in his condition. The pain in his rectum flared as soon as he’d stopped running. The adrenaline had worn off, so, too, had anything else in his system. He felt exhausted, abused, and, to add to the misery, he was getting dope-sick.

He hadn’t bothered to grab his jacket when he ran out of there so he had no cigarettes either.
Pathetic. He sat on the stoop and pulled his knees as close to his chest as he could. No money, no smokes, no drugs, far from home without even a jacket. And no shoes, he ran out of there without his goddamn shoes. He felt like crying. His eyes were already watering from the withdrawals. He felt the familiar gurgle in his stomach that could only be quelled by junk. He hated his life. He hated himself.

If he could get into his hotel room, he could pound some
cottons and maybe beat out enough dope to get well, but it was too late to wake his hotel manager and get a replacement key. The prick would want ten bucks for it anyway. He could head back to the corner and see if one of the guys could lend him twenty bucks to cop, but even then, he had no works, no spoon, and no way to call his dealer. His phone was probably long gone with that Dustin character. He tried to recall the number for Jose in his head, but came up blank. He wished he could sit where he was forever. Let the sun rise and warm him, wait for the sickness to pass. But it wouldn’t pass, not for days and days and days.

He had no choice but to hoist
himself up off the stoop and begin making his way back to the Tenderloin and hope that he didn’t start puking before he got there.

He realized he was in Stevenson Alley, only a few blocks from the Tra
vel Lodge. As he shuffled in the direction of his neighborhood, he was forced to pass the motel monstrosity once again. He looked up at the place—the wall of identical orange doors layered up three stories—and spied room 237.  It was closed and quiet and looked like any other door up there. No signs of life. He wondered if that sick fuck was still in the bathroom smoking crack. Donny lost it and began puking right there on the sidewalk. He heaved and heaved until there was nothing but bile left.

The retching left him gasping for air. He slumped back against a parking meter and sucked in what oxygen he could. He noticed the sky over the roof of the Travel Lodge Motel was turning from black to
gray. Soon it would be blue. A light, hopeful blue, morning was coming. How long had he sat there? He had to get up, keep moving. One way or another, he’d get well soon.

Donny got up and pointed himself toward home.
Either his hotel or Rich’s. He didn’t know exactly what time it was, but it was only a matter of counting down the hours until he was supposed to meet Bear. He walked as fast as his stocking feet would carry him. He was in pain from being violated, but his entire body was now aching. His nervous system was put on high-alert from the lack of junk. His pain receptors were ratcheted way up. He was in full withdrawal now. Every step, every movement, rocketed pain throughout his body. His skin began to hurt. The goosebumps from his chills, his fever, prickled and annoyed him. Even his hair hurt.

He kept his eyes on the sidewalk, hoping to
spy a healthy enough cigarette butt to pick up. There were none. Even if—
when
—he reminded himself, he did spot a decent smoke, he didn’t have anything to light it with. He felt his stomach seize. His intestines rumbled. He stumbled forward. Lunging, grunting, whimpering. People on the sidewalk pulled back from him. Whether they did it out of repulsion or caution, Donny didn’t care. He was an animal now, moving ahead on raw instinct.

***

Bear woke up thirsty. It took him a moment to figure out where he was. There was a ceiling fan spinning directly over his head making him nauseous. Sheila’s fan. Sheila’s apartment. He was on Sheila’s couch. Not a good sign if he didn’t make it into her bed. Sheila must be pissed. Before he tried to piece together the end of the evening, he needed water.

He pulled himself up from
the couch and stumbled into the kitchen, the hardwood floor lurching beneath his feet as though he were on a ship. It was still dark outside, but Bear could see the sky had begun to lighten. He made it to the sink and hit the cold faucet. He leaned in and gulped and gulped like a dying man in the desert. When he was done, he stood up straight, felt the water sloshing in his stomach, then leaned in and drank some more.

“Well, well, well, look who’s alive.”

Sheila’s voice startled him. He turned to find her leaning against a door jamb, arms folded across her chest. Dressed only in a T-shirt, she looked as though he’d woken her up.

“Oh, hey baby, what’s up?” His voice
was so full of gravel, even Bear hardly understood what he’d said.

“Don’t baby me, Bear. Do you have any idea what you did last night
?”

He groaned involuntarily and leaned back against the sink.

“I’ll tell you what you did. You beat the shit out of two regulars
at my work
. Two guys who come in almost every night. Then, you come into the bar—
my job
—and start demanding free drinks. I don’t mind slipping you free drinks, Bear, but to stand there and demand liquor saying we have to ‘pay the exterminator’ was not cool.”

“I’m sorry, baby.”

“Oh, I’m not done. It didn’t end there. When I told you that you’d had enough, that the police may show up and haul your drunk ass to jail, you tell me to go fuck myself and climb over the bar and grab yourself a bottle. This is my fucking work, Bear. Do you even get that? Tony the manager was there last night, Raul, Percy, everybody there was a regular.”

“I said I’m sorry
. I had a few too many.” His head was pounding; his mouth had already dried up again.

“You already said you were sorry, I heard you. It doesn’t undo what happened last night.”

“It’s been a tough couple of days.” It sounded feeble as soon as it came out of his mouth.

“I know about your tough couple of days, and
, thanks to your loud mouth, so does half of Marin County. Just what I need, a boyfriend who spends his spare time running around San Francisco with a couple of gay hustlers. Do you know how sick that shit sounded? These are my customers, Bear. I have to see them every night.”

“Look,” said Bear, finally growing tired of what was becoming a lecture. “I’m
gonna lay back down on that couch for a couple more hours. You do what you like. When I wake up, we can have a little breakfast, talk this over. If you don’t want to talk, then that’s okay, too.” Bear stumbled back to the couch and flopped down with a loud moan. He heard Sheila mumble something about never cooking him breakfast again, but he couldn’t quite make it out. He covered his eyes with his forearm and waited for her bedroom door to slam.

***

“Good morning, Sunshine.”

Raphael’s voice
was as piercing as the sunlight streaming through the window. The yellows and whites of the guest room were even more abrasive on the eyes than they were the night before. Gabriel lifted his head, looked at the bright, beaming face of Raphael, and laid his head back onto the pillow.

“Come on, Mr. Gab
riel. This is the big day. Terry says to wake you up and make sure you get downstairs. You have to get up and have a good breakfast, then you feel better. I’m making a frittata. Maybe you like a Bloody Mary first, maybe a Mimosa?”

The idea of alcohol brought
forth a wave of nausea. Gabriel lay still under the covers and blinked open his eyes. “What do you mean it’s the big day?”

“You and your friend have the business with th
e lady that’s coming. Then we have a little party afterward. Come on, get up. I’ll help you.”

Gabriel felt Raphael’s weight press onto the bed. The young man was lying next to him. Gabriel turned
his head and there was Raphael, beside him with his white robe open, exposing his smooth, youthful brown skin.

“You need some extra help? Maybe a little
massage, a morning release?” Raphael reached over and lightly touched Gabriel’s thigh through the comforter. “I was told you like younger men. Is this true, Mr. Gabriel?”

Gabriel didn’t know what to say. He felt like
he’d been in a car wreck. A sexual encounter was the last thing on his mind. “No, no thank you, Raphael.”

“What’s a matter? You
no like Latino boys?” Raphael move his hand a little further up Gabriel’s thigh. “We are very passionate.”

“
Thank you, really, but no. I’ll be able to get up. Tell Terrence that I’ll be down in a few minutes.”

Unperturbed by the rejection, Raphael hopped up off the bed and asked, “So, what would you like, Mimosa or coffee?”

“Just coffee, please. I’ll take it downstairs.” Gabriel tried to sit up and realized just how sore he was. He moaned out loud as he swung his legs over the side of the bed to find a pair of new slippers waiting for him. On the back of the bedroom door was a white robe identical to the one Raphael was wearing. His hosts were making a great effort to make him feel pampered. He decided he liked it, but promised himself he wouldn’t let his guard down.

He got up, joints popping and muscles straining, feeling every bruise that Dustin laid on him, donned the slippers, the robe, and made his way downstairs.

The aroma of coffee and baking frittata filled the lower level. It smelled warm and comfortable. He looked into the kitchen and saw Raphael hard at work at the stove, a pint-glass Mimosa in front of him. Terrence was at the kitchen counter, perched on a stool, with a steaming cup of coffee and a sheaf of legal documents spread out before him. He wore reading glasses and looked deep in concentration. Gabriel stood there a moment wondering if they would notice him. The scene was almost idyllic. Almost. 

Gabriel looked around for Dustin and then noticed him out on the deck sitting and smoking, his white skin repelling the sunlight, refusing to tan. He looke
d uncomfortable in the sunlight, twisted up like a pretzel, his arms folded, legs folded, his body language a tight knot. Gabriel knew he’d probably been up all night. It reminded Gabriel that he was no guest at all. It made him wonder when the hospitality would end.

***

Donny felt he had no choice but to curl up and wait. He’d lost track of the time and stopped caring. He plunked himself down on the sidewalk on Eddy Street in front of his hotel. He’d found a space between a hopeless drunk and sleeping bag-lady. He stayed curled up in the fetal position for a while, until the drunk wet himself and the puddle crept out onto the sidewalk. Donny saw the urine creeping outward and straightened himself up and shoved a little closer to the crazy lady, who was only feigning sleep. She sat with her head in her hands, breathing loudly. Every once in a while she’d say something that sounded like “Sunny Beach.” Donny wondered if, in her delusion, she thought they were basking in the sun at some tropical locale, but, after she’d said it three or four times, he realized she was calling him a son-of-a-bitch.

The sun was slow to warm the sidewalk and the concrete felt like the
marble slab at a mortician’s. Donny did his best to hold still, but muscle spasms and the chills made it almost impossible. He couldn’t remember the last time he was this dope-sick. He swore to himself that he was going to make changes, that this would no longer be his life. He was done with hustling, done with the street, all he had to do was get well and then, only then, could he figure out what to do.

He felt a sharp kick in his shin.

“He dude, what’s up? I fuckin’ knew I’d find you here. You waiting on your biker boyfriend?”

Big Rich was
towering over him, blocking the sunlight. Donny grunted. He wanted to say something, but was holding back another stream of bile.

Rich bent down on his haunches.
“What the fuck, Donny? You look awful. Where the fuck you been all night? I went back to the corner to look for you, but you disappeared. Where’s your jacket? Where’re your fuckin’ shoes?” 

Donny tried to speak again, but couldn’t. He managed a high whimper and that was it.

“You sick, bro?” It was a stupid question. Big Rich reached into his pocket and pulled out his fist. Under Donny’s runny nose, he opened up his hand and in his palm were seven small multi-colored balloons. They looked like some strange candy. Salvation: his prayers had been answered. Donny wanted to cry.

“C’mon, dude. Let’s go get you well.”

Donny felt Big Rich’s hands pull him up on his feet. He felt his rubbery legs moving under him. Rich was guiding him toward the hotel’s front gate. “No … can’t. No key,” Donny managed to say.