Hustle Read online

  ***

  It was an older taqueria in the Mission and not one of the better ones. It was one of the only places that still had booths and wasn’t set up like a cafeteria. The food was average, as were the prices. There were so many taquerias on 24th Street. The competition was stiff and this place just didn’t have any fight left. That kept the joint quiet; perfect for indiscreet meets with clients who didn’t always feel at-home in the expensive tie-only spots in Union Square.

  Gabriel sat in a booth near the back. He sipped a strawberry aqua fresca and kept his eye on the entrance. At about ten minutes to three, his old friend Bear walked in through the door. Bear was big, bearded, and ugly, but always carried an almost jolly air. Thaxton admired someone who was so comfortable in their own skin. He waved him over to the booth and stayed seated as he shook Bear’s meaty hand.

  “Gabe, my man.”

  “How you doing, Bear? Sit down.”

  “Not till I get a beer first. You want somethin’?”

  Gabriel pointed to the aqua fresca and shook his head.

  “I meant to eat, counselor.”

  Gabriel told him to order whatever he wanted and to just get some chips and salsa with it. Bear did. He ordered a super carnitas burrito, a carne asada quesadilla, two long-neck Budweisers, and, almost as an after-thought, chips and salsa.

  “You on a diet, Bear?” said Gabriel.

  “You’re kinda long-winded, I want to be prepared.”

  They made small talk while they waited for the food, Bear draining his first beer. What small talk they could make, anyway. There wasn’t much the fifty-year-old biker and the lawyer had in common other than their legal entanglements.

  The food arrived and Bear took a pull from his second beer and started eating. He peeled back the tinfoil on the burrito and took huge bites, leaving dabs of sour cream and guacamole in his beard.

  Gabriel watched him eat for several minutes before he spoke, “I have a problem.”

  “Sorry to hear that; I hope I’m not it,” Bear said with a mouth full of food.

  “No, but I was hoping that you could help me with the solution.”

  Bear set down the burrito, “I know, or you wouldn’t have dragged my old ass down here today.”

  ***

  Donny and Rich’s lives ground on in a short cycle of copping, getting high, turning tricks, hiding from the world, then getting sick. Their time was marked by hours, not days. Once the idea of exploiting Gabriel had taken root in their minds, it was hard for them to return to their previous existence.

  They didn’t hear from Gabriel for nearly a week. Big Rich even tried to call him on the cell number logged in his incoming calls, but there was no answer. Rich assured Donny that he’d be back, the plan was still on. The boys went out and got the memory chip for Rich’s cell and waited for the phone to ring.

  Time wore on and Donny began to give up on the old lawyer. Maybe he spooked the guy. He told Rich they should start looking for a new mark; there had to be more than a few out there in the endless parade of johns.

  “No, Donny, he’s the guy, I’m telling you. I feel it. He’ll be back. He’s an addict and this is his drug,” Big Rich said as he grabbed his crotch. “You’ll see.”

  ***

  Bear, too, didn’t hear from Gabriel Thaxton. After the sick shit the lawyer told him that afternoon at the taqueria, he figured he’d hear from him right away. You call an exterminator, why keep living with bugs? Or, Bear thought, he’d never hear from him again. Maybe the shame kept him from calling. He knew the old guy had some weird habits and unsavory friends—why else would he need all that speed? But he wasn’t prepared for the confession he got over lunch that day. This wasn’t his thing. He’d done some dirt for his biker buddies, but the kind of thing that Gabriel asked was out of his comfort zone.

  Bear tried to forget about it. He went back to doing what he did best; sit around his secluded house, smoke dope, drink beer, and watch satellite TV. He’d tinker with his three Harley’s. Two he kept in the garage and one in parts spread across his living room floor. A lifetime on bikes had taught him how to assemble every nut and bolt on the machines.

  All three bikes seemed to be apart more than they were together, so he kept his little Toyota running for business. The Harleys drew heat anyway. As much as he loved to ride, he preferred being in a car when he hauled weed back from Mendocino County. Besides, his saddlebags weren’t big enough for the sizes of the loads he brought back. He’d made a run up north a few weeks before so he still had cash; no need to worry about making more until he needed to. His expenses were low while he was isolated. He had dope to smoke from the run, beer stockpiled, and he cooked his meals at home.

  He was comfortable where he was in life, respected by his peers and left alone by everyone else. His wild days behind him, he could now afford to spend time doing the things he never thought he’d enjoy, like watching golf, getting sucked into soap operas, and not drinking till mid-afternoon. His only social activity was his occasional visit to a bar on the highway near his house. It was the closest thing Marin had to a honky-tonk. There was a waitress who worked the bar. He was trying to get close to her. That was all the action he needed. For now.

  It was out of sheer boredom one sunny afternoon that he decided to do a little web-surfing and find out what he could about Gabriel Thaxton’s house guest. He sat down at the computer, woke up the monitor, brought up the search engine, and typed in the kid’s name. Dustin Walczak. He’d scrawled the name on a napkin at the taqueria and made a crack about the kid being a Polack. Gabriel didn’t laugh, didn’t even try to fake it.

  The search brought up a number of results. Find Dustin Walczak on Facebook! People Finder—sign up to join! Bear scrolled down till he glimpsed Thaxton’s name with an entry. He clicked. It was an article from the San Francisco Chronicle dated August 19th, 2004. It showed a picture of a scrawny pock-marked kid, a mug shot. Underneath was the caption: Derek “Dustin” Walzcak at the time of his arrest. Ugly little fucker, thought Bear. How’d Thaxton let a little shit like this get under his skin?

  Bear began to skim through the piece. Dustin, it seemed, had been charged with three murders that occurred down on the peninsula in the summer of 2004. Three separate killings on three separate dates. And Thaxton, of course, was his council. Bear wondered how the little fuck could afford a big-league attorney like Thaxton. He read on. The bodies of the victims, all in their thirties, were found in their respective homes. Each had been tortured, then mutilated. This was the only connection among the crimes: the twisted M.O. Bear moved the mouse to a link near the bottom of the page that said, The Victims. Photos popped up on his screen of the three men, all square-jawed yuppie-types with jobs and homes in Silicon Valley. The article contained no crime-scene photos, only the posed pictures that they always posted for sympathy in these kinds of things. One was a high-school graduation picture. Another was from a family portrait where the wife and kids were blurred. Why blur out the family, wondered Bear. The captions gave brief summaries of the victims’ lives, their families, and the potential taken from them when the killer wandered into their lives. Bear clicked back to the original article and decided to give it another read.

  When he was done, Bear leaned back in his chair and said, “You sick little fucker.”

  Chapter 6

  When the phone finally did ring, Rich and Donny were on the corner with some of the other boys. It was a slow night and they were just about to give up till the next day. The ring-tone sounded in Rich’s pocket. He showed the caller-ID to Donny and smiled. “See, what’d I tell ya?”

  “I need to see you,” Gabriel said.

  “Long time, no see,” said Big Rich. “Did you get any of my calls?”

  “I had to turn my phone off for several days. Trouble with work. I’m sorry, I hope you understand.”

  “Sure. So, you wanna meet, or what?”

  “Yes, I’d like that. Right away, are you … available?”

  “Fo
r you, Gabriel, I’m always available.” He knew the old man would be grinning ear to ear. “But, I’m with Donny. Is that okay? I know he’d like to come along.”

  “I’ll pick you both up and you can cum together.”

  “Who’s the bad boy now, Gabriel?”

  “Can you be at Turk and Polk in fifteen minutes?”

  “We can be there in ten.”

  Big Rich pocketed his phone and told Donny, “Let’s go. We’re on. You still got enough shit on you to last you till the morning?”

  “Yeah, but you got some, too, right?”

  “We got enough—between us. After we get to wherever we’re going, I’m gonna give you my phone and do what we talked about.” Rich smiled and looked down Polk Street in the direction they were going to walk and said, “Shit, this is gonna work.”

  “It’s about time,” said Donny. “I gotta stop for smokes on the way.”

  “Stop after we meet. Let the old man pay for ‘em”

  The boys walked down to the corner of Turk and Polk, their pace quick and energized. They arrived there quicker than Rich had estimated. Across the street was 450 Golden Gate, the federal building. It loomed over them, dark gray, square, and oppressive. Its employee entrance on Turk Street never closed. Lined up in front of it were the usual assortment of police cars and official vehicles. Rich and Donny stood across the street waiting in the wind. Ten minutes went by.

  “The fucker is late. He’s never late,” said Big Rich.

  “He could have picked a better place to meet,” said Donny.

  They waited on in silence, each of them checking the headlights of every approaching car. Rich pulled out his phone every few moments to check the time. He was ready to call Gabriel back when the black Bentley rolled up to the curb. The boys got in.

  Gabriel looked tired, his voice hoarse.

  “Jesus, Gabriel, is that a bruise on your cheek?” said Rich.

  “Yeah, I took a spill in the kitchen the other day. It’s okay.”

  “You need to be more careful,” said Rich. He shot a look over his shoulder at Donny in the backseat. He knew the old man was lying.

  They stopped at a corner store and Gabriel gave Donny forty dollars to go in and buy cigarettes, beer, soda, whatever they wanted, while he and Rich waited in the car.

  “What’s the plan, Gabe?”

  “I have a room reserved, you know, just a quiet party with the three of us.”

  Donny came out of the store with a small paper bag in his hand. He got back into the back seat and Gabriel pulled away from the curb. They were heading up the steep incline of Taylor Street, cresting Nob Hill and making a right onto California when Gabriel’s phone began to vibrate inside of his suit-jacket. He pulled it out, looked at it, and said, “Shit.”

  Rich could see from where he sat on the passenger side that the phone’s ID read Home. He turned and gave Donny a wink.

  The phone kept vibrating and Gabriel finally said, “I’m going to have to take this. Excuse me.”

  The boys stayed quiet as Gabriel pulled into an empty loading zone and answered his phone.

  “Yes?” he said. “No. No, I didn’t … there should have been enough there …. I can’t … I’m working, I can’t … yes, you can … yes, I’m in the car, but I’m heading back to the office … can’t this wait?” The voice on the other end was shrieking, cursing. Gabriel hit the end-button and pulled away from the curb. “I’m sorry, boys, but we’re going to have to make a detour.”

  “That’s okay. The wife giving you some trouble, huh?” said Rich.

  Gabriel didn’t say anything at all. He turned the car around and headed back over the hill toward Pacific Heights. Gabriel hunched over the wheel. He seemed nervous, distracted.

  “Everything okay?”

  “Everything is fine. I just have to stop by the house for a minute and then we’ll be on our way.” They reached their destination and Gabriel pulled onto the cobblestone driveway. He turned off the car and said, “I’ll be right back.”

  Rich said, “Take your time.”

  The boys watched the old man go in through the enormous oak front door. Rich swung around in his seat to face Donny. “See, what’d I tell you. Look at this place. It’s a fucking palace.”

  “Was that his wife on the phone?”

  “Who else would it be?”

  “Sounded like a bitch,” said Donny.

  “Of course she’s a bitch. Only bitches live in houses this nice. What’s the address, Donny? Write it down so we know how to get back here.”

  Donny took out his cell and texted the address to Rich. Big Rich’s phone made a beep. He took it out and looked at the message. “Perfect.”

  They sat waiting in the silent car, watching the huge house for signs of life.

  “What do you think he’s doing in there?” said Donny.

  “Giving the bitch some money to order Chinese. How the fuck do I know?”

  “How much you think a place like this costs?”

  “Fuck if I know. You figure one of those shitty condos South of Market goes for a million, this place has gotta be, like, fifty-million.”

  Donny said, “It doesn’t cost fifty-million.”

  “You know so much, why the fuck you asking?”

  “Why you getting so pissy?”

  “I’m not. I just wanna get this show on the road. I don’t want anything to go wrong. We can do this tonight. You ready?”

  “Me, yeah. It’s you that’s gotta do the work.”

  “No, Donny, the work ain’t it. It’s the filming. It’s gotta be right. You gotta get his face real clear. You gotta be able to see it’s him. That’s the only way it’ll work.”

  “Don’t worry. I’ll get it. Just give me your phone, and, when that fuckin’ bib comes out, I’ll start rolling.”

  Gabriel’s frail silhouette appeared in the doorway of the house, his back turned, saying something to someone inside. The boys couldn’t tell if he was shouting, if he was leaving happy or mad. The old man shut the door behind him and scurried toward the car.

  When Gabriel got behind the wheel, he said, “Good news, I’ve brought a surprise for you boys tonight.”

  “I don’t like surprises,” said Big Rich.

  “You’ll like this one—party favors.” Gabriel smiled and started the car. “Now, let’s get this show on the road.”

  Big Rich laughed, “I was just tellin’ Donny the same damn thing.”

  ***

  The night went on much like the last one had. They checked in—different hotel this time. They went up to the room, got comfortable, the boys fixing in the bathroom and Gabriel pouring his scotch. Then the old lawyer brought out his party favors to show the boys, about a gram of crystal meth so clean it looked like a bag of crushed-up glass.

  “Damn, Donny, check this out. Fucking Gabriel’s got the shit. Damn it, Gabriel, you must have one hell of a connect. Where’d you get this shit?”

  “It’s not polite to ask, Richard. You boys just enjoy. Let’s make a party of it. Help yourselves.” Gabriel popped open his briefcase and extracted his bottle of blue pills. He shook out two onto the table and swallowed one with his scotch. He waited patiently as the two young men pulled glass pipes from their pockets and began to stick little shards of the drug into each. He admired the boys, looking at their jeans, their crotches. He was free to stare at them as much as he liked. He was already getting hard.

  Soon the boys were high, distracted, but not enough to forget about their plan. Rich took off his jeans and underwear and Donny removed his T-shirt. Gabriel got out his lobster bib and took his place on the floor.

  Donny, sensing the time was right, moved across the room and took the cell phone out of Big Rich’s jean-jacket, then he moved behind Gabriel’s right shoulder and readied the phone.

  Big Rich began his show. They didn’t call him Big Rich for nothing. He fondled himself close to the old man’s face and got himself hard. He grunted and made faces and said to Gabriel, “
You like that? You want to touch it, lick it? Go ahead? You’re a dirty old man. Go ahead, touch it.”

  Gabriel sat in front of Rich with his pants undone and pulled below his waist. Moaning softly, he began to stroke himself with one hand and grab at Rich’s balls with the other.

  Donny began filming.

  Through the lens of the phone, the scene appeared, even to Donny’s jaded eyes, decadent and perverse; Rich shaking his hips and stroking his cock, the bibbed old man on his knees begging for the young man to let go on his face. Donny envisioned what someone else would see when they viewed the footage. They would be disgusted.

  During the performance, Gabriel turned to Donny, “Donny, what are you doing back there? Why aren’t you in front of me? Let me see you. Are you on your phone?”

  “I’m only texting someone, just a sec, I’ll be right there.” But Donny kept on rolling, moving around the room, arm extended, capturing the scene from every angle possible. He waited until Big Rich was finished, and the old man was in the most humiliating position possible, then he turned off the phone. He stood behind Gabriel and grinned at Big Rich, giving him a big thumbs-up.

  The tone of their evening immediately changed. The boys began acting less like guests and more like hosts. They did what they liked without asking, they declined a repeat performance and fixed in the main suite instead of the bathroom.

  If Gabriel was taken aback by their rudeness, their sudden lack of respect for him, he hid it. He opened his briefcase, took out his tablet and keyboard and began to work as he had last time. Big Rich reminded him that he hadn’t paid for their services and Gabriel dutifully dropped two one-hundred dollar bills on the table and then added another fifty, saying, “I’m a little tired, boys. I was wondering if we could call it a night. I’d like to take a nap here in the room before I head back home.”