Hustle (18 page)

“No key? What happened to your key?” Rich didn’t wait for Donny to answer; he understood the gravity of the situation. “No problem, we’ll go to my place.” He took Donny by the elbow and steered him toward his hotel, telling Donny it’d be al
l right, that he had plenty of junk. “Xavier’s got the best shit right now, we’ll get you well. Hang in there.”

Rich threw a crumpled ten-dollar bill under th
e opening at the bottom of the Plexi-glass before the manager could protest that he was bringing someone so sick and decrepit into the hotel. Like sick and decrepit weren’t on the regular menu here at this shit-hole.

The manager called after them as Rich dragged Donny up the stairs. “What is wrong with your friend? No calling ambulance, take him out of here. No dying upstairs. Take him out to the street.”

Donny sat slumped on the bed and watched Rich perform the familiar ritual. As soon as the water in the spoon hit a boil, the acrid, vinegar aroma made Donny lurch toward the sink and gag. He was already drained of bile. All there was left to do was dry-heave. 

Rich giggled.
“Holy shit, you are sick. Hang on a minute, Don, it’s almost ready.” Big Rich rolled up a piece of cigarette filter between his fingers and dropped it into the spoon. He took a new rig from a fresh bag and pulled the cap off with his teeth. He drew it up as Donny’s dry-heaves began to subside.

“You
wanna tie off and I’ll hit you?” asked Rich.

Donny answered by grabbing the rig, still warm from the spoon, and plunging it straight through his jeans into his thigh. He pushed the plunger down as fast as it would go and then flopped backward on the bed to wait for some sort of relief.

After about a minute he asked Rich for a cigarette.

After the cigarette, Rich asked, “Feel any better?”

Donny said, “Little bit. Let’s cook up a bit more so I can hit it in the vein.”

“Now you’re
talkin’. That’s m’boy, you must feel better.”

They repeated the whole procedure again, this time taking several minutes to find veins and, after a coupl
e of tries, successfully got the dope into their bloodstreams. They both fell back onto pillows and lit new cigarettes.

After drifting off into a nod for a few minutes, Rich asked Donny, “So what happened to you last night? Where’s your shit?”

Donny related the whole story; the car, the motel, the crack, the gun, everything. Big Rich sat with his mouth hanging open, his facial muscles slackened by the heroin, occasionally saying, “Shit,” or “Fuck.” When he was done, Donny hung his head down and said, “I’m done with this shit.”

“With what shit?”

“With the corner, with junk, speed—all of it. I can barely fuckin’ walk. That fucker was gonna kill me, I know it.”

Big Rich
sighed, “I know, man, I know. But if you want off the corner, it’s gonna take some cash. What’re you gonna do until you can figure out how to kick? You gotta pay the hotel, you gotta pay for methadone, you gotta eat.”

Donny knew where this was going.

“If we can get those phones back, my phone, we can get enough dough to get out. Really get out. We won’t have to be out there again. Shit, you can probably pay for one of those rehabs that the movie stars go to.” Rich’s voice was serious now, selling it. “It’s about ten-thirty right now. We’re supposed to meet the biker at one o’clock. We can still go, get the phone, get Gabriel, show him the video and collect.”

“I
dunno, man. I dunno.”

“Sure you do. C’mon, Donny, what else you
gonna do? Sit around here and wait to get sick again? Let’s stick with the plan. I got some extra shoes—Chuck Taylors—a jacket, too. In fact, I got that jacket you left here about a month ago. Let’s get ready. We’ll meet the biker, go get what’s ours, and then you can decide what to do.”

Rich’s comment hung on the
smoky air for a moment. Then he said, “At least with some money, you got options.”

Donny reached for Rich’s cigarettes
on the dresser, took one out and lit it.

“I
dunno, man,” he repeated. “You got any idea what I been through?”

“Yeah,” said Big Rich.
“Of course I do. We all been through …”—he paused, searching for the right word—“…unspeakable shit out there. It doesn’t matter what you been doing or what’s been done to you. What matters is what you’re gonna do.” Rich seemed quite pleased with himself for sounding this philosophical and waited for his words to sink in.

“You know what I
wanna do, Donny?”

Donny, only half listening, lifted his head and said, “What?”

“I wanna go back to Oregon. I wanna be with my daughter. I wanna get off this shit, too. Get off the street and go up there and show her bitch-of-a-mother that she was wrong about me. Show her that I can be a good father. You know, provide and all that shit. I can do that. I
want
to do that, Donny.”

Donny saw that Rich’s eye
s were beginning to water. They were glassy and pinned, but there were definitely some kind of tears forming there. He’d never heard his friend talk this way. Not about quitting.

“Okay,” said Donny.

“Okay, what?’

“Okay, we’ll go meet Bear at one. We’ll go get our phones back.
We’ll see if we can get some money out of this old fucker, but, Rich, promise me one thing.”

“Yeah, of course, what?”

“No more of this, ‘one last time’ shit. If we’re gonna do this, let’s do it for real. I mean it; I don’t want to be out on that fucking corner ever again.”

Rich smiled and said, “That’
s m’boy.”

***

Bear hit the road after a hurried breakfast. Not because he was late to pick up the boys, but because he didn’t want to go over last night with Sheila again. When he woke back up on the couch to the smell of frying bacon, he knew her mood had lightened. Bacon was definitely a peace offering. She was quiet while she fixed him a plate of scrambled eggs, toast, and bacon. He was grateful and didn’t say much while he shoveled it down. They managed to make a little small talk before he told her he had to run an errand.

“An errand?
” she said, her voice full of doubt. “I hope it’s nothing to do with those little faggots you were telling everyone about last night.”

Bear only
said it was something he had to do. He didn’t want to get into the whole story of Thaxton and Dustin and Terrence. For all he knew, Sheila might know who this Terrence was, and although he could have used another opinion, something told him Sheila’s wasn’t going to be so helpful. He got up from the table, told her he’d call her later, and gave her a kiss. Her lips were cold and unresponsive.

Before heading to
the city he slipped back up north to his place to pack the trunk. This time he decided he’d bring a gun. Definitely not the piece that Donny had picked up from Gilly. Who knew where that thing had been? He would hide that one deep in his cottage and bring something of his own. He owned a Walther PK .380 and a snub-nosed .38. He held one in each hand, trying to decide which was better suited for the occasion. Then he put them both in the trunk. Under a moving blanket in the well of the spare tire he placed the guns, extra ammo and clips, his trusty hunting knife, and a half-pint of Jim Beam.

He got back into the driver’s seat and head
ed out for the city. He drove with the radio off. He wanted to clear his head and think about what the hell he was going to do once he got to Terrence’s.

While he crossed the Golden Gate Bridge
, blue sky peeked out over his head. The fog was receding and it was turning out to be a nice day. As he reached into his pocket for the bridge toll, he wondered why he was going to the city at all, why he was going out of his way to bring those two fuck-ups back into this mess. He doubted that saving Thaxton was their reason for wanting to be included so badly. Getting their phones back didn’t really seem like a good enough reason to risk their lives either. There had to be something else they wanted.

Bear r
eminded himself he gave his word. If there was one thing he tried to cling to in life, after all the bullshit he’d been through, it was his word. Being a man of your word meant that you were a real man. It was the only thing that had real value. Maybe he shouldn’t have given it, but he did.

It took a few minutes and a few miles for Bear to admit to himself, though,
that he needed them along. If Thaxton was being held at Terrence’s by Dustin, that meant he was at least outnumbered by a crooked mouthpiece and a psychopath. Bear had no idea who else, or what else, was at that house. The last place he looked for Dustin and Gabriel was crawling with junkies. He’d be foolish going it alone. It was too late to drag any of his biker buddies along to help. Besides, the story was too ridiculous. They’d wonder why he was putting his ass on the line to save the old pervert anyway.

Bear lit
a Camel and wished he’d thought to have a beer at home before he started out on this journey. His head was killing him.

***

Gabriel finished his coffee in the kitchen and decided to have a Mimosa after all. It couldn’t hurt, he figured. In fact, it may help ease the pain. He sat at the counter, while Raphael worked at the frittata, and watched Terrence and Dustin argue on the sundeck. They were trying to keep their voices down, but Dustin was having trouble remaining calm.

From what Gabriel could gather, the two
were still waiting for someone. Terrence had promised Dustin that the person in question would be here Saturday and it was now Sunday and Dustin didn’t seem to think this person was going to show at all. It must be the lady that Raphael had mentioned, most likely. This missing person seemed to be integral to their plan.

Their plan.
What plan? Dustin had spouted off so many ideas over the last several months. Gabriel thought most of them were grandiose delusions. It was the speed talking. He was afraid of Dustin and what he knew about his personal life, but he had no clue as to how this maniac would piece together a plan to emancipate himself from him. He felt that he and Dustin were tethered somehow. Tethered by needs. Dustin, he felt, lacked the wherewithal to go out on his own. The boy had been institutionalized and needed looking after.

That’s why he
had called Bear, because Gabriel felt there needed to be an outside force separating them, untangling them. He hoped, on some level, that Dustin still cared for him.

Gabriel felt an uncontrollable wave of emotion pass over him. Watching the frail and pale Dustin out on the deck, he was reminded of his grandson who
m he may never see again. There was a sadness that he was not able connect to this life, to couple this bizarre circumstance with the wholesome reality of real-life. He’d let things get too far out of hand. He knew, in his heart, there was no going back. His wife, his daughter, his grandson would never be able to resume a normal healthy relationship with him. He’d crossed a line.

He lifted hi
s Mimosa and took another sip, then set it down, wondering if the champagne was feeding this melancholy. He needed to keep a clear head, perhaps look for an escape. He didn’t like reminding himself that he was a prisoner here, a hostage, but it was true. If he could spot an opening, an opening that an old man like him could fit through, he’d have to take it.

His
thoughts were broken by the chime of the doorbell. The sliding glass door to the deck area slid open and Terrence came in first, followed by Dustin.

“I’m glad to see you decided to enjoy yourself this morning. Relax and have Raph
ael serve you some of his world-famous frittata. It’s excellent.” As Terrence spoke he moved past Gabriel toward the entranceway of the house, saying, “At last, she’s arrived.”

Dustin stayed behind in the kitchen. He thrust a boney finger out at Gabriel and said, “Watch your
fuckin’ manners, you old fuck. I’m keepin’ an eye on you.”

Chapter 17

It was ten minutes after one when Bear pulled up to the same spot where he’d dropped the boys. He saw them sitting on the sidewalk, backs against the building, with cigarettes in their mouths. At first he thought they were sun-tanning, sucking up what little sun San Francisco had to offer. Then he realized they were on the nod, eyes closed, slack-jawed, near unconsciousness. He honked the horn; when that failed, he rolled down the passenger window and shouted, “Hey, you assholes, you can’t sleep here.”

That got a little rise from them. Donny opened his eyes and nudged Rich with his elbow. They both struggled up off the sidewalk and moved toward Bear’s open passenger window.
Big Rich leaned in and said, “Shit, we thought you weren’t coming. We been waitin’ out here for a while.”

“Bullshit,” said Bear. “Climb in.”

The boys resumed the same positions as the day before, Big Rich in the front seat and Donny in the back. Bear asked if they were ready, and, without waiting for an answer, said, “Let’s go.”

They were already heading out of
the Tenderloin on Geary Street before Donny thought to ask, “Where are we going anyway?”

“To Marin, just past Stinson Beach.
I don’t know exactly where, but we’ll know it when we get there.”

“What the fuck is up there?” asked Rich.

“Dustin’s lawyer. Or at least who Dustin thinks is his lawyer. I don’t know for sure that he’s hiding out there, but chances are he is. And, if he’s there, then I figure he’s got Thaxton with him.”

“The old man?
” said Rich, feeling confused.

“Gabriel,” corrected Donny.

Bear said, “Right.”

Donny leaned in fro
m the backseat and said, “What do we do?”

Bear kept his eyes on Geary Street and admitted, “I don’t know. We take a look-see at the place, I guess,
then we go in an get him.”

“Get who?” asked Rich.

“The old man, who do you think?” Bear was realizing that this kid was pretty fucked up.

After another block, Rich added, “And our phones.”

“Yes, your goddamn phones. What the hell is so important ‘bout those phones, anyway?”

“I already told you,”
Rich said.

“I know, I know, I know.
You got your baby’s pictures on there. What else?”

When Rich didn’t answer, Bear look
ed into the rearview at Donny. He wasn’t talking either. “I’m just sayin’, it seems like a lot of trouble you guys are going to trying to get back a couple of phones.”

“We got our r
easons,” Rich said with a defensive tone.

“What about
Thaxton, aren’t you guys worried about him? When I met you at his house Friday, you said you were his friends.”

Donny said, “We are. We want to know that he’s okay.” Donny waited a moment for Rich to
chime in, when Rich didn’t, he punched the back of his seat, “Don’t we?”

“Yeah, yeah, of course we do,”
Rich croaked. “We wanna know if the old fucker is okay. He’s been very good to me, to us.”

Bear let that one go. After a few more blocks of silence he hit the radio and turned it up. They rode along the streets of
the city, out Geary, up Franklin, and toward the Golden Gate Bridge. They each lit a cigarette and Bear cracked the windows for air.

Big Rich seemed to be deep in thought, nodding off, or already asleep when he suddenly asked Bear, “How come you’re going to all this trouble?
Seems, like, if that guy is your lawyer, you already have to pay him. What’s he to you? Why are you puttin’
your
ass on the line?”

The question was tinged with challenge. They were getting off on the wrong foot. Bear
was thinking they needed to at least feel like they were on the same side. Besides, it was a long, winding drive up there; he may as well pass the time with a story. He reached out and turned the radio back down.

“Gabriel
Thaxton helped me out a long time ago. He’s been lawyerin’ for me and my buddies for years, seen us through a lot of scrapes, but there was one time he really pulled my ass out of the fire. I kinda feel like I owe him.”

“What happened?” asked Donny from the back.

“Years ago, I was at a party. Well, wasn’t really a party, just some guys gettin’ together to do some business, but we were partyin’. Doing blow, drinkin’, you know. This was up north, real isolated spot. I was into some shady shit in those days and it was like a safe-house situation.” Bear paused and shook his head at his own memory. “Anyway, I used to run with some ruffian types.”

“You?
Nah,” said Big Rich.

Unfazed by the sarcasm, Bear said, “I know, hard to believe, huh? Like I said, this place
we were at was way out in the boondocks. I had a chemist friend of mine cooking a little go-fast in the shack in back.”

“Nice,” said Rich, his interest perking up.

“This was the real deal, too. Not that ephedrine shit you guys are gettin’ nowadays. The old-school biker meth made with the red phosphorous. Anyway, this guy Ramirez was up there for another reason, supposedly. We had a little weed crop out back and he was there gettin’ a sample for his old lady. She was in that business. So,” Bear paused to flick his cigarette out the window, “we were there most of the day, drinkin’, doing lines and shit, and this guy Ramirez is getting’ kinda snakey. Everybody else is good and relaxed, enjoying the day, and this fucker’s getting’ shifty, going into rooms he ain’t invited into. Snoopy, y’know?”

The boys, both paying attention now,
nodded.

“So it gets to be dark, I’m
fuckin’ tore up. Drunk from the whiskey and beers and numb from the coke, I’m not noticing this guy is sneaking around, digging through stuff and casing the place. Finally, it’s getting late, me and a few of the boys are sittin’ out by the fire and I notice this guy, Ramirez, is trying to get into the shed in back.”

“The lab,” said Rich.

“Right,” said Bear, “where we been cooking this shit. The guy is trying to rob me right under my nose. I see the guy rootin’ around in there and I get up to say, What the fuck? None of my so-called brothers seem to be backin’ me up. So I go to this Ramirez and I tell him what’s what, that I want him gone, I don’t want him coming ‘round no more and so on. He don’t wanna hear what I have to say. We end up in a square-off and this fucker swings at me. At
me
, at my own place. So we tussle, man-style. We’re rolling around and trading blows and, still, nobody’s jumping in. After a minute or two of this shit the guy breaks free from me, gets up and pulls a fucking piece on me. Now, nobody’s steppin’ in for sure. The guy’s got a goddamn pistol pointed right at my chest and you know what he says?

“
He says, ‘We’re here for the shit, Bear. We’re takin’ it with or without your permission.’
My permission
? You know what that means, right? Give us your stash or we’re gonna shoot you. Well, I know what kinda guys these are, and, more importantly, they know what kinda guy
I
am. They know that if they take my shit, I’m coming after them hot, so I know that I’m as good as fucked. They’re gonna bury me no matter what I say.”

“So what’d you do?” asked Donny.

“I’ll tell you what I did; I reached out and grabbed this fucker’s gun. Right by the goddamn barrel. I twisted it to one side and yanked it out of his hand and punched that piece of shit in the face. He went down, but not out. He got off the ground and came running at me. So, I shot him. Right in the fuckin’ chest. One shot. Dead.”

The boys were quiet, listening to the old biker recount the tale.

“Self-defense, right? Open and shut. Guy brings a gun onto my property and tries to kill me. Then, I look down in my hand and, holy shit, the fuckin’ pistol is mine. Fucker stole my gun when he was in the house. I just shot the guy with my own damn gun.”

“It’s still self-
defense, though, right?” asked Donny.

“You’d think so.
But it would have been cleaner if the gun was the other guy’s. Now it gets a little more complicated. I think I got witnesses to back up my story; they, one by one, turn and run. Turns out this Ramirez is more connected to the big club than I realize. He’s got a brother who’s flyin’ the colors of the big club, you know who I mean. And he’s also got some other connections that come to light.

“To make matters worse, the cops get there, they see all the other shit, the lab, the weed, another firearm or two, they book me for all kinds of shit. The prose
cutor says it’s murder during the commission of a felony and, bam, that’s it, fucking capital case. One minute, I’m having beers and warming my toes in front of the fire, the next I’m on my way to San Quentin, death row.”

“Shit, that’s so fucked,” s
aid Big Rich. “What happened?”

“I’ll tell you what happened. Gabriel
Thaxton of
Thaxton, Spreckle, and White
, that’s what happened. I’d dealt with him once before and the guy did me right. It wasn’t cheap, but he did good work. So, I got a hold of him and he came right down and seen me. Right away, he believed me. I was still cuffed in the holding cell, looking guilty as hell. I know that all lawyers are supposed to believe their clients, that’s their job, I get that. But this Thaxton, I could tell, really had my back, right from the start. He’s got good instincts, that’s why he is who he is. There was no talk of pleadin’ out, taking any kind of deal, giving up nothin’. You gotta understand the cards were stacked against me, really stacked. I thought I didn’t have a chance in hell to beat this shit, and ol’ Gabriel, he just kept sayin’, ‘Don’t worry, I believe you’ and ‘we’re going to get you out of here. Free and clear.’ He meant it and he did it.” Bear took his eyes off the road and looked at his passengers before adding, “I guess, in a way, you could say I owe him my life.”

Donny sat back in his seat and thought about this. What it must mean to have a friend like that.
Someone who you could count on. Someone to save you. Donny knew that Big Rich was his friend, his good friend, but he also knew it was the drugs that drove Rich. He knew that, if shit got bad enough, Rich would abandon him. He knew he had no one in his life that would save him. Donny was alone. He looked at the back of Bear’s head while the biker drove and felt a terrible sensation of sadness overcome him. It swept over his pain from the previous night, it swept over the drugs he’d saturated himself with to quell that pain.

***

Gabriel was still in the kitchen when the front door opened. He could hear Terrence making the same welcome pleasantries as when he had arrived at the house. Dustin’s back blocked Gabriel’s view of the entrance. He stood facing the doorway, as curious as Gabriel.

They heard the heavy front door shut and a moment later a short, squat woman entered the kitchen with a large box under one arm, and a fabric brief
case under the other. The case looked worn. It had a faded floral design and the zipper was broken along the top. The woman flopped it onto the kitchen counter and said, “Sorry I’m late.”

She had muddy
, dark red hair with a few strands of grey woven in. There were sparse, thin dreadlocks in between the natural curls. She looked tired and, for whatever reason, Gabriel thought, she looked like a heavy smoker. Perhaps it was only because she was feigning being out of breath.

“Late?” said Dustin. “That’s
an understatement. It’s fuckin’ Sunday.”

The woman ignored Dustin and pushed the big box
from under her arm up onto the counter beside the floral briefcase. To Terrence she said, “Terry, honey, do you know how hard it is to find a VCR in Marin County these days? I had to drive all the way over to the East Bay and find a Walmart to get one. When’s the last time you were on the Richmond/San Rafael Bridge? That thing terrifies me. What the hell do we need this thing for?”

Terrence, still playing host, said, “Thank you
, so much. Diligent effort, indeed.” He moved beside her and took her elbow lightly. “Miranda, I don’t believe you’ve met my associates. Miranda, this is Dustin. He’s one of the interested parties here today, and behind him there is the famous Mr. Gabriel Thaxton.”

The woman merely nodded at Dustin
, but at hearing Gabriel’s name lit up and put out a hand to shake his. “Mr. Gabriel, well, I’ve certainly heard of
you
. Quite a big shot ‘round these parts. It’s a pleasure to meet you in person. I’ve been a great admirer of your work.”

Gabriel took the hand and notice
d each finger was outfitted with a large gaudy ring. Turquoise, jade, big fake rubies.  The rings pinched and hurt his own fingers when they shook hands.

“And
, of course, you know Raphael,” said Terrence.