Hustle Read online

  Gabriel looked up and saw a huge house. The front consisted of almost all pane glass facing the direction of the ocean. The sun was high enough now to reflect off of the house and the result was blinding. You almost couldn’t look at it, like some real-world version of the Emerald City; it shimmered and burned like the sun itself.

  Dustin pulled the Bentley between two other cars in the gravel drive—a Jaguar on the left and a Volvo on the right—and put the car in park. The Jag looked like it hadn’t been moved for months. They both sat for a minute squinting at the great glass house, waiting for something to happen. Dustin laid on the horn.

  “Dusty,” a voice cried out. Neither Gabriel nor Dustin could tell where the voice was coming from until a shadowy figure appeared at the right of the place. The man was older, looked a bit like a cowboy, Gabriel thought, and seemed to have that bow-legged gait one got from too many years on a horse. He wore a dirty white cowboy hat, too; that helped. His white hair stuck out from under the hat like straw, uncombed and unclean. Gabriel got the impression that they’d just interrupted him from some kind of yard work. He was tanned and leathery from the sun, or maybe just from being in front of that house.

  The cowboy walked in front of the car where Gabriel could get a better look at him.

  “Dusty, my boy. How’re you doin’? I see you brought your friend.” The cowboy didn’t acknowledge Gabriel; instead he strolled over to the driver’s side and shook Dustin’s hand as he got out of the car.

  “How ya doin’, Terrence? Yeah, I got him. He ain’t doing so well right now, had a rough night. He’ll feel better after a shower and some lunch.” Dustin turned his head back toward the car, smiling a fake little smile that looked like it didn’t belong on his face. “Won’t cha, Gabe?”

  Gabriel felt more exhausted than he had the whole ride. He was too tired to guess what Dustin’s game was, why he’d brought him here. He let his head fall back against the seat and was painfully reminded of the cigarette burns up and down his back. He leaned against the headrest and let his mind drift. He fell back asleep.

  Gabriel dreamed he was far away from the car, outside somewhere on a sunny day. It was a wheat field, deep in the country, but there was a baseball diamond etched into the flowing grass. He was there with his grandson, Jason, alone under a stretching blue sky. He sensed his daughter’s presence, but she was nowhere to be seen. Perhaps she was hiding among the stalks of wheat. Gabriel and the boy played catch. Then, it formalized into a game. Jason was wearing a little league uniform. He pitched the ball while the boy was at bat. He wasn’t sure who was catching, maybe it was him. He wasn’t even sure if it was baseball, but it felt like it. He wound up and threw, feeling youthful and energized. He could feel the warmth of the sun on his back, and when his grandson got a hit, he was forced to squint into the daylight as the ball arced above his head.

  The next thing he was aware of was the slamming of the trunk; the noise and action shaking the car and jarring him from his sleep. He had no idea how long he’d been out. The sun still shone but had moved off the front windows of the house. He was covered in a film of sweat. He limbs felt heavy and stiff. He tried to sit up and was reminded of how much pain he was in.

  In the rearview mirror, he saw Dustin walking from the back of the car with a large briefcase in his hand, one of the old-style leather ones with the brass clasps. He wondered for a moment if it was his own. The briefcase looked heavy and his mind drifted off to his younger days as a lawyer, lugging such a piece back and forth to the courthouse. He envisioned his younger self; the eager attorney he thought was so naïve. He new better now, he longed to once again be so full of optimism.

  Then he saw the cowboy, standing in front of the car with his hands on his hips. It startled him, the cowboy standing there grinning, not moving or saying anything, but staring right at him.

  After an uncomfortable few moments, Dustin reappeared beside the car and opened the passenger door.

  “C’mon, sleepyhead. Get outta there. I want you to meet somebody.” Dustin pulled at Gabriel’s elbow before realizing that the seatbelt was still strapped across the old man’s body. Dustin reached in and unbuckled it.

  Gabriel sat, unable to move. He could smell Dustin’s chemical sweat, the methamphetamine oozing out his pores. It repulsed him.

  “Gabriel,” Dustin said, trying carefully to help the old man from the car, “this is Terrence Halford. He’s a friend of mine. We’re gonna be his guests for a few days”

  Terrence Halford? Gabriel knew that name. In his fog, he couldn’t recall where, but there was a feeling of déjà vu in hearing the name. He squinted in the sunlight to try and place the face.

  “Gabriel Thaxton,” the cowboy said, “The man, the legend. I’ve heard so much about you—for years. It’s a real pleasure to finally meet you.” The man stepped forward and stuck out his hand.

  Gabriel eased himself out of the passenger seat. His shirt peeled away from the seat where the puss had soaked through and stuck to it. He straightened out stiffly and shook the man’s hand. Getting closer to the cowboy didn’t help him place where he knew that name. The man stood smiling, not letting go of Gabriel’s hand, his grip tight and calloused.

  The cowboy said, “C’mon in, have a little lunch, get yourself cleaned up. We’re having tacos.”

  ***

  The boys sat in a booth with Bear. The boys on one side, Bear on the other. Jimmy’s on Mission Street was a landmark, Bear told them. To the boys, the cracked, red vinyl booths and grease-spotted menus made it seem like any other shitty diner they’d been in. It was noisy in there even though there were only a few patrons. One Mexican cook toiled over a grill while three waitresses shouted orders at him in Korean or Vietnamese, Bear was never sure. He just knew it wasn’t Chinese; he could recognize Chinese. The place was a seventies diner that had not updated its décor since it was originally put up. Oranges and reds that had faded over the years now looked as pale and tired as Bear himself.

  When their food arrived—three cheeseburgers and three orders of fries—Rich and Donny’s assumptions were confirmed, it was just another shitty diner. Bear took a huge bite out of his burger and made a deep growling sound to let the boys know how good it was. Rich and Donny each picked up a French-fry and took an unenthusiastic bite.

  “What we have to do,” said Bear, speaking with his mouth full of burger, “is to figure out how to,” he searched for the word, “analyze the information in Gilly’s phone. Figure out who’s in there that Dustin might know, if he’s called anyone. Then figure out what to do with the information. You know, detective work.”

  “Sounds like kind of a kind of a long shot,” said Donny.

  “You got any better ideas? That’s the best thing we got right now.” Bear took another bite. “Shit, you were happy about it when you took the damn thing. You musta thought it’d be worth something.”

  Big Rich squirted some ketchup onto his plate. The plastic squeeze-bottle made a farting noise. He stirred the red blotch with another fry. “We need to check them names,” he said, “quick, before Gilly shuts off that phone. What were they again?”

  “I don’t think it’s gonna get shut off quick. I think your friend is probably still at the hospital gettin’ a cast on that fucked-up arm of his. And I kinda doubt he stopped to look for his phone before he left, or his gun, for that matter.”

  “He’s not a friend of mine, just some guy I know. That’s all.”

  “Don’t get defensive there, son. Eat your burger.”

  The three ate on in silence, the boys barely touching their burgers. Bear finished his and asked for the rest of the boys’ burgers. Not much of a question, he reached over and picked up the scraps.

  After eating both of their burgers with quick determination, Bear said, “You gonna finish those fries, or what?”

  Donny pushed his plate across the table toward Bear. He took the phone from his pocket and looked at it. “We’ll probably lose the charge long before it gets shut off
.”

  Bear spoke to Big Rich, but pointed to Donny and said, “The brains of the operation.” Bear waved to the waitress, his favorite, an Asian woman named May whose accent was so thick little of what she said was understood, other than “Mr. Bear.” She greeted him as though he was their best and oldest customer.

  “A chocolate shake, please, May. You boys want anything?” They both shook their heads and May retreated from the table. Bear picked up Dustin’s black address book from the seat beside him, opened it, and began to sort through the slips of paper. He asked Donny for the phone, turned it on, and started the long process of cross-referencing numbers.

  The boys sat and watched Bear work. He scrolled through the phone, through the made calls, the missed calls, the contacts. Most of them were first names only. He found a Terrence, also a Terry—both in the 415 area code. He wrote them down. He also found a Gavin. And, although he didn’t refer to himself as a friend of Gilly’s, he also found Big Rich’s number.

  He took the piece of paper he’d written down the numbers on and began comparing it to the notes from the address book.

  Donny and Rich sipped at their waters and fidgeted. They shot quick, knowing glances back and forth at one another. It was getting close to copping time. They still had a little cash from the tricks they turned the night before last and it was burning a hole in their pockets. Both of them still hung onto the bottles of Vicodin they’d stolen from Gabriel’s house, but neither wanted to use them; partially because they would, for the most part, be ineffective for the oncoming sickness, and partially because they were saving them as a last resort. Big Rich still had a half-gram of Mexican tar crammed into the pocket of his jeans, but he didn’t want to remind Donny for fear he’d have to share. He’d slip upstairs and use the bathroom at the restaurant, but he had no needles with him.

  Donny whispered to him, “You still got that thing?”

  Big Rich might lie to his Mother, but he wouldn’t lie to his friend. “Yeah.”

  “Don’t sound so happy about it.”

  “There ain’t much is all. You got a rig?”

  “Yeah, I got two.” Donny always kept a coupled stashed in the inside lining of his jacket.

  Donny took a spoon from the table and slipped it to Big Rich along with the rigs. Bear pretended not to notice.

  Rich waited all of ten seconds before announcing, “I gotta shit.”

  Bear waited until Rich had gone through the door at the back of the place that led up to the bathroom, then he said to Donny, “I don’t know what to make of this shit. Yeah, I got some numbers, but I don’t know what I’m supposed to do with ‘em. I mean, call ‘em, ask for Dustin? I don’t know.”

  Donny shrugged and put his arms on the table. His mind was on how long it would take Rich to get out of the bathroom.

  Bear looked up, “You fuckers got no shame, you know that?”

  “It’s a …” Donny was stuck. He felt shame, more than he had in quite some time. He wanted the biker’s approval. “It’s a necessity.”

  Bear went right on, “But then again, look what you guys do for a living, you definitely got no shame. It’s in the fucking job description.”

  Donny was hurt, torn, half of him wanting to deny what he did, what he was, half of him yearning to be up in that bathroom right now, needle in his vein.

  “You two ought to think about making some big changes in your lives. I mean, I’m not one to judge anybody, believe me, but, what you two got going, you got some bad karma coming. It ain’t right. It ain’t right, right on down the line. This is no way to live your life. You know this.” Bear paused to see if he was getting through. He could tell he was, the kid looked like he was on the verge of tears. “You guys still haven’t told me what the hell you were doing at Thaxton’s last night in the first place. I gotta assume it wasn’t the usual funny business—whatever it was that brought you all together in the first place.”

  Donny felt like he was being admonished by his Junior High School principal. He slunk down in his seat, unable to drudge up anything to say. Bear was right—about all of it—he was right. The door leading to the bathroom opened behind them.

  “It’s in the usual spot,” said Rich and he stood waiting for Donny to slide across the bench in the booth.

  Big Rich sat down across from Bear. He wore a loose smile; his facial muscles were relaxed, almost drooping.

  Bear said, “Feel better?”

  Rich nodded his head, but didn’t say anything. He wasn’t big on secrets or subtlety. “You got any of that shake left?”

  ***

  The house smelled like spiced beef and onions, a warm hospitable smell that reminded Thaxton he hadn’t eaten since yesterday. Dustin led Gabriel past a modern kitchen, high ceilings, lots of light. Gabriel saw a young Latino man stirring something at the stove. Taco meat. He looked up from his huge frying pan and smiled as Gabriel moved past. Gabriel wasn’t sure if he’d smiled back.

  He felt Dustin’s hand pinch him above the elbow. He was being hurried along. Dustin led him up a carpeted set of stairs and down a long hallway. It was painted white and all the doors were closed but one on the left. Dustin gave him a shove in through the open door and they stood in a bright bathroom. A skylight kept the space warm and bright. The towels were yellow and matched the rug, the sink, the toilet paper, everything. He wondered if he were being held prisoner or if he’d been taken on vacation. The thought made him smile.

  “What the fuck are you grinning at?” Dustin’s voice hissed; he was trying to keep it low.

  “I just … it’s nice, that all.”

  “Yeah, that’s all. That’s all.” Dustin shut the bathroom door. “I want you to clean yourself up. Take a shower; wash some of that blood off. There’s a robe right there. When you’re done, come downstairs and eat.”

  Gabriel nodded obediently. Dustin opened the door and started to leave. Gabriel said, “Dustin?”

  “What? What is it?” he responded, his tone impatient, as though he were dealing with a child.

  “What day is it?”

  “Saturday. Saturday morning. Now hurry up. Don’t take too long up here and make me come and get you.” He closed the door and left Gabriel alone.

  Gabriel gazed at himself in the mirror. He had a bruised cheek and a small cut on his forehead. The sunlight warming the bathroom did him no favors. He looked old, drawn, and tired and he wanted desperately not to recognize himself, but he did. He had great difficulty pulling off his shirt, his back was sticky with the wounds he’d suffered and he could tell without turning and looking that it was mostly black and blue. He dropped his pants and saw the belt marks on his pale thighs. A body this aged shouldn’t be made to endure such abuse, he thought. He turned on the shower and stepped in.

  ***

  “What I need is a computer, something that’ll tell me the locations of these numbers.” Bear was behind the wheel and the two boys were in the same seats they occupied before. They were moving through the Mission in a zigzag pattern with no destination.

  “Like one of those reverse-number programs.” Donny said, confident and high now, eager to be of help. “I know what you’re talking about. You can put almost any number into a computer and it’ll kick back where it’s coming from.”

  “You think he’s using our phones?” said Rich. “We could call the phone company maybe and ask.”

  Bear was scanning the storefronts, “Don’t they have those Internet cafes anymore?”

  “We know a guy with a computer. In the ‘Loin. He’d let us come use it,” Rich said

  “Everybody on planet earth has a computer, kid. I need one right now.” Bear wasn’t ready to go on another adventure with these two fools quite yet. “It’s been a long night. I think I need to head home and use mine there.”

  “Great,” said Rich. “Where do you live?”

  “No offense or nothin’, but my place is off-limits. I think it’s time I drop you guys off and continue this quest on my own.”


  “But how am I gonna get my phone back?” said Big Rich. “I gotta have my phone. Donny needs his too, don’t cha, Donny?”

  Donny voiced a response from the back seat, but Rich was talking right over him. “And what about the old man? We wanna know he’s okay, too.”

  “Sure you do. Tell you what, let me know how to reach you, and I’ll call and tell you how things turn out.”

  “He’s got our fuckin’ phones, you can’t call us. That’s what I’m sayin’.”

  There was no way Bear was bringing these two mutts home with him. He had a rule in his house about guests. The rule was: No Guests. Especially not two heroin-addicted, speed-freak, boy whores.

  Donny leaned in from the back seat and said, “We wanna help.” And, in case it didn’t sound sincere enough, he added, “We wanna help save him.”

  Bear looked in the rearview at Donny. He felt bad; he was beginning to like this kid. Too bad he was so full of shit. “Look, tell me where to drop you, I’ll go home, do some recon shit, tomorrow I’ll pick you up at the same spot. I’ll share what I know and we’ll go find this fucker who’s got our friend.”

  Rich flopped against the back of his seat like a spoiled child, but before he could begin to whine, Donny said, “Okay, I trust you.”

  “Donny, what’re you talkin’ about? He ain’t coming back. How am I gonna get my phone?”

  “He’ll come back,” Donny’s voice was calm and even. “I trust him.”

  “I promise you,” Bear said, “I’ll come back. If I make you a promise, I’m gonna keep it.”

  “Shit,” said Big Rich. “Take us to the Tenderloin.”

  Bear pointed the car in the direction of downtown and they went on silently. He cracked the window and lit a smoke. He was exhausted from a night of no sleep and his eyes burned in the daylight. The boys were nullified by their drugs. No one reached for the radio, all of them lost in their thoughts.

  By the time they reached Turk and Taylor, Donny had fallen into a nod, freeing his mind from the problems in front of him. But Rich was still twisting in the front seat, not wanting to let go of the pursuit of his phone, of Gabriel, of their score. Rich believed with every fiber of his being the video on his phone was his only ticket off the streets.