Hustle Page 3

  “That’s us,” said Rich to Donny. They both climbed into the car, Rich in the front and Donny in the back. As soon as they were moving, Rich said, “Gabriel, this is my friend, Donny.”

  Donny held out his hand, but Gabriel didn’t turn to shake it. The old man kept both hands on the wheel. Donny watched the older man eyeing him through the rearview and met his eyes there.

  “Where we going?” asked Rich.

  “The Nikko. I’ve booked a room.”

  “Nice,” said Rich.

  “Well, I’m sorry about the late call. I just had to get away from the house. The room will be nice, two beds, we can order room service as soon as we get there.”

  The Nikko Hotel was only blocks away from the single-room-occupancy dive where Big Rich stayed, yet they were worlds apart. There was valet parking, and an expansive marble entrance that led into the most luxurious hotel either of the boys had ever been in. They got out of the car and Gabriel handed the key-fob to the valet. They strode into the lobby, Gabriel with a leather attaché case in his hand and the boys with their hands in their pockets. The Nikko was modern and expensive, the type of place most of their johns couldn’t afford. Gabriel walked up to the front desk and checked in. The boys stood behind him, trying not to be noticed.

  “And, Mr. Thaxton, are these your guests?” said the concierge, eyeing them suspiciously.

  “No, these are my associates and they’ll be staying in the room with me.” Terse and quick. His tone was all business and he expected the clerk to assume the same.

  “Would you like someone to show you to your room?” said the concierge, his voice now hiding any judgment that he felt.

  “Not necessary,” said Gabriel, pulling the card-key from the desk and turning toward the elevators. They were on their way.

  When they reached the room, Donny and Rich flopped down on the bed like a couple of kids on a family vacation, bouncing up and down a little, feeling the springs.

  “Fuckin’ posh,” said Rich.

  “If you boys want anything to drink, feel free to grab it from the mini-bar. Later, after, we’ll order up some food.” Gabriel went into the bathroom and turned on the faucet. He splashed water on his face and washed his hands.

  The room, sparse and utilitarian, had a small mini-fridge, two queen-size beds and some uncomfortable-looking, wide, brown leather chairs. Donny walked to the fridge, opened a Coke, took a slug, and then opened and poured in a tiny bottle of rum.

  “You could get used to this shit, huh?” Big Rich said.

  “Whew,” said Donny, in response to the rum, not to Rich.

  Rich said, “Gimme one of them.”

  Gabriel came out of the bathroom drying his hands on a towel and said, “Richard, let me see it.”

  “Already? We just got here. Gimme a chance to settle in.”

  “Just let me see it, so I know that you have it with you.”

  Donny didn’t know what it was. He thought maybe this Gabriel was into the same kind of drugs they were. He hoped.

  Big Rich turned toward Gabriel, with his back to Donny, unbuttoned his pants and unzipped the fly. He pulled free his cock and balls and said, “Yeah, I still got it.”

  Gabriel said, “Can you take those off?”

  “I’ve gotta, uh, freshen up first.”

  Gabriel smiled. “Be my guest.”

  Big Rich went into the bathroom and shut the door. Gabriel took a seat on one of the brown leather chairs. Donny sat across from him on the bed, sipping his rum and Coke from the can.

  “So, Donny, tell me a little bit about yourself.”

  “What’s to tell?”

  “Well, why don’t you tell me how you ended up working with Richard?”

  “I met him on the corner, same as everybody.”

  “I guess what I mean is, how did you come to be on the corner? What happened to you that you would decide this was an acceptable way to make a living?”

  “Acceptable’s got nothin’ to do with it. I needed the money, I guess.”

  “No, Donny, I mean, what happened to you? What drove you to this lifestyle in the first place? Did they beat you at home? Were you abused, sexually?”

  Donny took a sip from his drink. Gabriel licked his lips.

  “This is what I like, Donny. I want to hear your story. Were you a bad boy?”

  Donny saw where this was going and decided to play along.

  “I’ve been in some trouble.”

  “With the law?”

  “Yeah, some.”

  “What did you do?”

  Before Donny could answer, Big Rich walked out of the bathroom in his T-shirt. Just his T-shirt. He wore no pants and no underwear. Donny could smell the faint residue of the meth smoke from where he sat.

  “Shit, you two gettin’ to know each other?” Rich was grinning.

  “Now you know why they call him Big Rich,” said Gabriel.

  “I’ve seen it,” said Donny, unimpressed. “We’ve worked together.”

  “Really? Well, maybe you should make yourself more comfortable, too.”

  “I gotta piss,” Donny got up and walked to the bathroom.

  Rich whispered to him in a voice that was loud enough for everyone to hear. “It’s in the cupboard.”

  Donny closed the bathroom door behind him, bent down and opened the paneled door below the sink. There it was: Rich’s glass pipe. There was a thick layer of crystal on the bottom that made Donny smile. Big Rich had held out at his hotel. He always seemed to be able to pull some crank out of a hat. He wondered if Rich had an endless supply of the shit.

  He stood up straight and watched himself in the mirror as he touched his lighter to the bulb and rotated it slowly. He watched the smoke gather in the glass and sucked it back. He blew out the smoke at his reflection. The chemical taste made him feel comfortable, right at home. He hit the pipe again, then once more, before returning it to the cupboard.

  When he returned to the room, Rich had taken his place on the edge of the bed and was sitting with his legs spread wide, his cock and balls hanging over the edge of the mattress. Gabriel had moved to the small table and was sitting there with his open briefcase. Beside the briefcase was a glass of water and a blue oval pill. That, Donny guessed, was the old man’s drug of choice: Viagra.

  “Donny, you’re back. And you’re still wearing your jeans? I thought you were going to make yourself comfortable.”

  Donny looked at Rich and Rich gave a quick nod. Without hesitation, Donny undid his belt, unbuttoned, unzipped, and let his jeans fall to the floor. He kicked off his shoes with the tangle of his pants and shoved them with his foot to the edge of the other bed. He stood in his underwear.

  “Well, at least that’s a little better,” said Gabriel.

  “What’s next?” asked Donny, not to either one in particular, just to the open air. The speed was making him anxious and he was ready to get on with whatever he had to do to earn his money.

  “Relax, Donny. I just want to talk to you two boys for a while,” said Gabriel. “But first, take off that ungodly underwear.”

  Donny looked down, wondering what was wrong with his underwear. He took them off slowly, self-consciously, feeling the old man’s eyes on him. Gabriel took the pill from the table and swallowed it, washing it down with a hit of the scotch. Donny sat on the other bed, across from Rich, and spread his legs in the same fashion. Both of them now only in T-shirts, with Gabriel, triangulating them, fully dressed, waiting for his Viagra to kick in.

  The small talk continued. Gabriel asked questions about their lives while he stared at their meat. After a few minutes, the old man began to massage his own crotch. He did it absentmindedly, not missing a question. Donny felt like they were being interviewed for a job. In a way, they were.

  The questions got more personal, digging into their histories, uncovering painful memories. Donny could tell the more they revealed the harder Gabriel was getting. Donny was beginning to wonder if this was the whole gig, if this was all t
hey had to do, when Gabriel opened up his briefcase and took out a white plastic lobster bib, then carefully tied it around his neck. The old man got down on the floor, grunting with stiffness and age, and sat directly between them. He opened the fly on his dress pants, took out his own cock, and started to jerk it.

  “Get hard, gentlemen,” was all he said.

  Donny looked at Big Rich, but Rich was already doing his best, massaging his cock with his eyes closed. So Donny did the same. All three of them, now, were silent, tugging away.

  Donny opened his eyes and saw the old man watching, his eyes darting back and forth between Big Rich and himself. He looked at him there on the floor, lobster bib around his neck, not caring that Donny watched him. He saw the old man’s tongue flicking between his lips like some kind of hideous reptile. Donny was repulsed.

  Gabriel commanded, “When you’re ready, cum on my face.”

  Donny closed his eyes again, trying to think of something, somewhere else. His sexuality had become so confused, so oversaturated, so polluted, that he didn’t know what to fantasize about anymore. He just kept pulling at his cock, hoping he could get there. Images flashed through his mind, but none of them stuck. A fast montage of pornography—unfocused, spliced, and flickering. It was useless. He thought about the girl he lost his virginity to, a junior-high sweetheart named Becky. He thought about the woman across the street he used to watch mow her lawn. He’d watched her from his bedroom on sunny Saturday afternoons and masturbated while he focused on her tanned brown cleavage. These were the images that never failed him, usually. They weren’t even getting him hard.

  He opened his eyes to see Big Rich achieving his goal and the old man making whimpering sounds beneath him. Donny reached for his underwear and jeans and started to dress.

  “So, would you boys like to watch TV while we order some food? I believe they have HBO.” Gabriel was already on the phone to room service, taking the liberty of ordering for them.

  “Yeah, turn it on, Donny; I gotta use the shitter again.”

  Donny picked up the remote and tried to figure out how to work the TV. He wanted to get back to the pipe in the bathroom too, and, as he did every time after turning a trick, he wanted a hit of dope. He watched Big Rich grab both their jackets before heading to the bathroom and said, “Save me some.”

  Big Rich shut the door.

  While Donny waited for Rich to come out of the bathroom, Gabriel went back to his briefcase and took out a tablet and a portable keyboard. He plugged the keyboard into the tablet and told Donny, “I’m just going to answer a few emails. You relax, son, until I’m ready again. I’m not as young as I used to be.”

  Donny shrugged, said okay, and pretended to be absorbed in the TV. Big Rich seemed to take forever in there, finding a vein, hitting the pipe, doing whatever the hell he was doing. Donny flipped through the channels without ever noticing what was on. From the corner of his eye, he watched Gabriel completely absorbed in his work. The old man typed quickly and lightly without pause and kept his own eyes on the tablet before him.

  Donny finally asked, “Um, Gabriel,” he’d almost forgotten the man’s name, “what kind of lawyer are you?”

  Gabriel looked up, smiled with his yellowed teeth and said, “Criminal.” He said it in a tone that made Donny feel foolish for asking, then, seeing the boy’s response, added, “Is there any other kind?”

  Donny didn’t answer. He didn’t like the man’s smile.

  Big Rich finally came out of the bathroom. He whispered to Donny that he’d left a spoon under the sink and to be careful, cause there was blow in it. Donny knew that meant be careful not to spill it, careful to take it all, not to be careful with his life.

  The evening continued in the same fashion. The boys stripping from the waist, Gabriel and the lobster bib, then the boys taking turns in the bathroom. Gabriel didn’t seem to mind the bathroom trips, but eventually, when the boys began to nod uncontrollably, he said he had to head home.

  “I trust that you’ll be out by check-out time, Richard?”

  “Yeah, of course,” mumbled Big Rich.

  Gabriel stopped and surveyed the room. “Oh, and be sure that there’s no paraphernalia left behind in that bathroom. Donny, it was a pleasure. Perhaps we can do this again sometime.”

  Before Donny could say anything, the door swung shut and he and Big Rich were alone with their drugs.

  ***

  Dustin had been in his room, their room, drawing. He was waiting up, wide-awake. What else would he do? He was always awake. Ever since his release from prison, he’d vowed to not spend another minute unconscious. He was trying to get back the time he’d lost.

  The room was covered in paper, unfinished drawings that would remain as they were: pencil-etched visions from his darkest places. Dustin drew picture after picture of human misery, torture, and immeasurable grief. He knew he had no real talent. The drawings were just a way for him to unseat some of the sickness that lingered in his damaged head. They weren’t therapeutic; they catalyzed whatever viciousness rattled his brain. He drew to validate those thoughts, bring them to the fore. They weren’t art; they were wishes.

  It was nearly four a.m. when he heard the car pull into the driveway. He pulled back the blind and saw Gabriel getting out of the Bentley. Empty-handed, as usual. He wondered why the old fuck wouldn’t just die already, but something in his head reminded him to think of the big picture. Dustin wanted everything, and he was close to getting it. He needed that old fuck alive. Dustin looked down at the drawing in his hand—a man being pulled apart by horses; drawn and quartered, he thought they called it. The horses looked child-drawn and the man’s limbs were out of proportion. He crumbled up the picture, threw it to the floor with the others, and marched to the top of the stairs.

  He stood there, perched, waiting for the front door to open. It did. He watched Gabriel enter, quiet as a burglar, and creep toward the kitchen. When the old man was midway across the cold tile floor, Dustin yelled, “Do you really expect me to sit up here all night with nothing?”

  “I’m sorry,” said Gabriel. “I didn’t want to wake you. I was working late.”

  “I don’t give a fuck where you were, just like you don’t give a fuck about me.”

  “That’s not true, Dustin.”

  “Bullshit, that’s what you are. Fuckin’ bullshit. Go to wherever you hide that shit and give me what I need. Then we can talk about what an asshole you are.”

  “Dustin, I’m sorry, it couldn’t be helped. I had work to do.”

  “I know you were working, I checked your email, you son-of-a-bitch. Stop holding out and bring that shit up here—before you make your goddamn drink.”

  Gabriel felt he had no choice. It was too late to put up a fight. He did what he was told. He walked through the kitchen to his office in the back and opened a closet door. In it there was a steel safe bolted snuggly to the ground. He punched in the combination and the thick steel door swung open. Inside, among papers and pictures, a small amount of cash, his passport, and an unused handgun, was a plastic box. He removed the box, opened it, and took out a plastic baggie that bulged with glassy shards of methamphetamine. Dustin’s dinner.

  Gabriel moved to his desk and shook out a couple of the larger pieces before returning the bag and box to the safe. The speed was sold to him by one of his former clients, a murderous biker named Bear. Gabriel felt an affinity for the biker, not because he’d helped him out of so many legal quagmires, not because they’d developed a strange friendship, but because they were both outsiders. Outside of both society and their peer groups. He’d been dealing with the biker for years and his client had assured him that he’d find no better speed anywhere, including the SFPD evidence room, Gabriel’s other source. Gabriel told Bear he would purchase all he had.

  Gabriel carried the shards of speed upstairs cradled on a glossy magazine cover. He walked into the bedroom and found Dustin, naked save for his silk robe, waiting with a pipe in his hand. He handed over the
magazine without word and watched Dustin smile and wave him off.

  Gabriel glanced once more at Dustin, hunched gargoyle-like with a lighter in one hand and a glass pipe in the other, before quietly closing the bedroom door.

  Chapter 4

  “Dude, you’re burning the sheet.”

  Donny opened his eyes and saw the cigarette he’d been smoking laying on top of the bed. The smell of burning cotton rose with the thin wisp of smoke.

  “Shit.” Donny brushed his hand at the small oval hole that’d been burning into the top of the linen sheet. “I guess this is only a three-hundred and ninety-nine thread-count sheet now, huh?”

  “Watch what you’re doing. We don’t wanna rack up a bunch of charges on our golden goose.”

  “Yeah, yeah, yeah,” Donny said as he dropped his butt into an empty soda can. “How long we gonna stay here?”

  “Till check-out time, like he said.”

  “You have enough downtown?”

  “Not really. Enough for a small wake-up for each of us.”

  “Did he pay you?”

  “Of course he paid me. Fuck, Donny, what do you think I am, his wife?”

  “Is it too late to cop?”

  “Maybe.”

  Donny could see Rich thinking about it, working it over in his head, thinking about the time, how many hours till daylight, what they had left. The seed had been planted.

  Rich said, “We could try. If not, then we can call Xavier any time after nine.”

  “What time is it now?”

  Big Rich looked at his phone. “Four-thirty A.M. I can try to call Jose, he delivers late.”

  “Try,” said Donny.

  Rich tried and then tried again. No response.

  “Looks like we’re fucked till morning.”

  “I’ll live, I guess.”

  “You think you’ll make it, high as fuck, sitting in a goddamn four-hundred-dollar-a-night suite?” Big Rich teased as he went back to what he was doing, whatever it was. He was trying to put the idea of copping out of his mind. He sat at the table going through the contents of his wallet and pockets, searching, organizing, tweaking.