Hustle Page 12

  Bear broke the silence, “Where do you want me to drop you?”

  “Next corner is good. Donny? Donny, wake up, we’re here.”

  Donny was awake, he wasn’t asleep, not real sleep. He was only in a nod, a half dream.

  As Bear pulled into a bus stop, Big Rich pressed him, “So, here, tomorrow. Right here, at the bus stop, in front of this liquor store. What time did you say again? Noon?”

  “Let’s make it one,” said Bear. “It takes me a while to get into the city.”

  “One it is,” said Donny from the back seat, his throat raspy from the dope.

  “How do we know that you’re gonna show up?”

  “Shit, what your friend said, you’re gonna have to trust me. Believe me, I don’t wanna come here and cart you two buffoons around, but I said I would, so I will. Goddamn it, have a little faith.” Bear reached across Rich’s lap and opened his door for him. “Go on, I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  Reluctantly, Rich got out of the car. Donny had already climbed out of the back and was trying to light a smoke in the wind. They watched Bear’s Toyota pull away and move up Taylor Street.

  “Oh shit,” said Rich.

  “What?” said Donny.

  “He’s still got the gun. The piece you took from Gilly, it’s still in his car.”

  “He’ll still have it tomorrow. What, were you planning on shootin’ somebody tonight with it? C’mon, let’s go get well.”

  “Fuck, Donny. Why’d you have to agree with that fucker? You know he’s never coming back right? We’re fucked. The phone is gone; we’ll probably never see Gabriel again. The plan is fucked.”

  Donny looked down at the dirty sidewalk beneath his feet. “It’s not fucked.”

  “It’s fucked all right. Now what do we do? You got any money to get us through tonight? You wanna go back to that fucking corner?”

  “I got a little left.”

  “A little. That’s what I got too. Fuck, we’re gonna have to go down to the corner and work for it now.”

  “Not now,” said Donny. “Not yet. Let’s go upstairs and do a hit first.”

  On this point there was no discussion. They’d finish what they had, call the man, do some more, then hit the corner. They were back on the wheel, in the groove, in the rut.

  Chapter 13

  Gabriel Thaxton stood in the shower, waiting to drip dry. He’d tried the towel, but it was too painful on his back, so he stood waiting. He noticed the water snaking into the drain was light pink. Christ, he thought, what have I done to deserve this?

  The sunlight in the bathroom hadn’t shifted, but he knew he’d been in there a long time. He was surprised that Dustin hadn’t come upstairs and hurried him along. He heard muffled voices coming from the direction of downstairs, the way he’d come in, so he knew he wasn’t alone. More voices than just Dustin’s and the man he’d introduced him to. Then he remembered the cook, if that’s what he was, and thought maybe his was the other voice. To Gabriel though, it sounded like a party. There was the soft thump of music, too, just the beat; no way to tell what kind of music. It blended with the voices and the sound made Gabriel feel like he’d just as soon stay in the bathroom forever.

  He began to chill so he stepped out of the stall and started to put on his dirty clothes. The white robe was too pristine to wear, not with his cuts and sores; it would be ruined. He picked up his dress-shirt, one of his favorites. It was crusted along the inside and dried puss scraped his shower-softened wounds as he put it on. He slowly finished dressing, underwear, pants, socks, shoes. When he was done, he sat on the toilet seat with his head in his hands.

  The music stopped, only for a minute. Then he heard footsteps coming up the stairs, down the hall, toward him. The door flew open.

  “What the fuck are you doing up here? What the fuck is taking you so long? Why are you sitting there like a scared little baby?”

  Gabriel couldn’t answer. He looked up at Dustin’s face; it was knotted and snarling. Gabriel felt a whole new wave of exhaustion pass over him.

  “We’re guests here, Gabe. You’re being rude. You get the fuck downstairs and be nice. You got five minutes to get down there or I’m coming up here and sticking that hairbrush straight up your ass.” Dustin pointed to a rather large antique silver hairbrush.

  Gabriel looked at the hairbrush and nodded.

  The music got louder as he walked down the stairs. At first he thought it was disco, but now could hear it was some sort of Latin hybrid, something you’d hear at a nightclub when you knew it was time to go. He moved toward the voices and music that were coming from the kitchen.

  “Well, look who decided to join us,” the cowboy said. The hat was off now, but he still looked like a cowboy.

  “Hello,” said Gabriel. He hated hearing the meekness in his own voice.

  “Hungry? I think the meat is still warm. Raphael?” he said, turning his attention to the young Latino helper, “see if that meat is still hot. Get Mr. Thaxton a plate.”

  Gabriel looked at the counter where they were sitting, a high marble island with tall stools lined around it. There were three plates of food already set out. They looked like they had barely been touched. Three beers sat in tall, thin glasses and, beyond that, a square silver piece of mirror with several lines of white powder cut into neat little rows.

  The man, his host, noticed Gabriel eyeing the drugs and said, “You want some blow?”

  Gabriel thought for a moment about the numbing anesthetic affect of cocaine and wished he could pour it over the burns on his back. “No,” he said.

  “You like a taco? You want avocado? Let me make one for you. You like cilantro? Maybe just a little bit? Give me one minute, I fix you a plate,” said Raphael. The young man was full of life, energy, and, now Gabriel was noticing, very good-looking.

  “Sit down, sit down, Gabriel,” the cowboy was saying, “Let me pour you a nice cold beer.”

  “I’m sorry, I don’t mean to be rude, but I’ve forgotten your name already.”

  The man was pulling a beer from the fridge and popping off the cap. He turned to Gabriel and said, “I’m sorry, we rushed you in here, we didn’t get a chance to say anything but hello. I’m Terrence Halford. You can call me Terry. This is my place, my palace. Make yourself at home.” Then to Raphael, “Me casa, su casa, eh, Raphael?”

  “That’s right,” Raphael sang back to him, gyrating his hips to the beat while he fussed over Gabriel’s taco plate.

  Halford, thought Gabriel, I know that name. He watched the man pick up a straw and bend over the mirror to inhale a stout line of the blow.

  “I know who you are,” said Gabriel, the fog clearing. “You’re an attorney.”

  Terrence straightened up, his face tight from the coke, and smiled. “Used to be. Not anymore.”

  Gabriel saw in his grin that his teeth were perfect and white. They were false.

  ***

  Bear had come home, didn’t bother to lock the front door, and splayed himself out on the couch. He slept for five fitful hours until he was woken up by his phone. He reached for his pocket before remembering that his cell was gone. It was the home phone that was ringing. He let it ring. After about three more minutes, it started ringing again. This time Bear got up to answer.

  “Hello,” he said, although he wasn’t sure if his voice made any noise.

  “Hello?” said the voice on the other end. “Hello?”

  He tried again. “Yeah, hello.”

  “Bear? I’m so sorry to bother you at home. It sounds like I woke you up.”

  He recognized the voice immediately. It was Thaxton’s secretary, Beatrice.

  “Bean, that you? You didn’t wake me; I was just, uh, napping. What’s up?”

  “Bear, I didn’t want to call you, but I don’t know what else to do. You were Mr. Thaxton’s last appointment on Friday. I haven’t seen him since. He hasn’t been answering his calls. I just don’t know what to do.”

  “Appointment? That was last Frida
y—a week ago. He hasn’t been into the office since then?”

  “No. He’s called on the phone a few times, but he hasn’t made any of his meetings. He had me cancel everything. I know sometimes he keeps a funny schedule, but Mr. Spreckle is quite concerned and I’m starting to worry now, too. Have you heard from him?”

  She was trying to sound composed, but Bear could hear the shaking in her larynx; she was scared. He wondered if she’d had a few drinks to get up the courage to call.

  “Only once,” he said.

  “Is he okay? Is he sick?”

  “Bean, why don’t you give me a day to try to reach him. Let me poke around and see what I can find, then I’ll give you a call.”

  “Thank you, Bear. I really would appreciate anything you can do. Let me give you my cell number. If you find out anything, please, call me right away. Even if it’s late, please call.”

  She recited the number and Bear scratched it down on a piece of paper stuck under a magnet on the fridge.

  “Bean?”

  “Yes, Bear.”

  “When you finally gave me your number, I was hoping it’d be under different circumstances.”

  She didn’t appreciate the flirt, but her voice softened just a little. Bear felt stupid the moment the comment left his lips.

  “Seriously,” she said, “if you find out anything, call.”

  They said goodbye and hung up. He was awake now; time to get to work. He pulled the most prominent numbers he’d collected from Dustin’s notebook and sat down in front of his computer. He started to pump the phone numbers from the top of his list into the search engine. He then focused on the numbers that were cross-referenced with the ones from Gilly’s phone. The calls made and received. The sites weren’t being very helpful. The information they gave was barebones. Once the number was fed in, it spat back an inaccurate blip on a map of San Francisco—and they were all San Francisco numbers. That was about it, all it would tell him. He could have figured that out on his own. Bear stopped and lit a Camel. He sat back in his chair and tried to think back on exactly what Gilly had said. Two names: Terrence and Gavin. Something about an attorney. The bitch at the door mentioned an old guy, but he assumed that meant Thaxton. Christ, he couldn’t imagine Thaxton being dragged through that shooting gallery. If it was him, the old fucker had to be under duress to even sit down in that shit-hole. Bear checked the numbers taken from the phone. No Gavin, one Terrence, one Terry. Terry L. He typed in Terrence’s number. No result. Then he put in Terry L’s number into the computer. It had a 415 area code, but it came back as a Marin location. Southern Marin. He knew these things didn’t pinpoint exactly where a private number came from, but he knew from experience it was roughly accurate. Marin. His neck of the woods.

  Who was this Terry L? He had to be a scumbag; otherwise his number wouldn’t be sitting in this punk’s phone and Dustin’s little black book. Bear smoked and wondered who would know such a person in Marin. He decided the best place for him to find out would be the Roadhouse. If there was any information to be had, he could get it there. If there wasn’t, well, then he’d spend a little time with Sheila, have a few beers, and forget about this shit for a minute or two.

  ***

  Big Rich and Donny had gone back to Rich’s hotel room. The boys first did their hits—what was left in Rich’s pockets—and smoked a bit of the raw, soapy speed that Rich seemed to have an endless supply of, and then decided to call Jose to cop. Jose was the best deal for what cash they had left. They wandered the nearby Tenderloin streets trying to find a payphone, cursing Dustin the whole way for stealing their cells. By the time they were done, it was nearly eight o’clock. They were good and high, but out of money and out of drugs, save for the few Vicodins they’d lifted from Gabriel’s house.

  “We better start thinking about what we’re gonna do,” said Donny.

  “What’d ya mean, what’re we gonna do?”

  “I’m out, you’re out, right? We gotta have it together tomorrow when Bear is picking us up. We got to make sure we’re well. What if we end up on some wild goose chase? I don’t wanna be gettin’ sick half-way through.”

  “What the fuck else we gonna do, Donny? We gotta go down to the corner to find some money.”

  “One last time.”

  “Right, one last time.” Rich’s tone was thick with sarcasm.

  “I been thinking. What’ll that old man give us for saving his ass? We rescue him from that freak, gotta be worth something.”

  “That’s what that biker is thinking, too.”

  “I know, I know,” said Donny, “but there’s enough to go around. He gives us a sweet reward; we wait a few weeks, then hit him with the video.”

  “If I get my phone back. No phone, no video: no point.”

  Donny looked at Rich, wondering why he was being so snide. His tone had changed; he kept shooting down everything Donny said. Rich seemed, for the first time, resigned to giving up on their plan.

  “You don’t think Bear’s gonna show tomorrow, do you?”

  “I’m just sayin’, don’t be surprised if he don’t. I mean, why would he?”

  “Because he said he would.”

  “Jesus, Donny, maybe you should see if that biker’s got any dough. You can go suck his dick tonight, let him be your Daddy.”

  Donny let the comment hang in the air. He wasn’t sure how to respond. He hated Rich for his cynicism, for his instinctual inability to trust anyone. He didn’t want to end up that way, with that black hole for a heart. He looked around the room—the dirty spoon, the dirty floor—at anything but Big Rich. He lit a cigarette, got up, and went to the window. It looked cold outside, windy. Scraps of garbage were blowing down Eddy Street.

  Big Rich softened his tone, “C’mon,” he said. “The sooner we get down there, the sooner we get back. We’ll cop, get higher’n fuck. Everything’ll be alright.”

  “One last time,” said Donny. It didn’t even sound like he believed it now.

  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 laughed. 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.”

  “Skye 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.”
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  Donny took it as an apology for doubting 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.”

  They 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 against 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.