I Know What Sin Is

Chapter 17

We walked for maybe a good three blocks before I noticed the guy following us.

At first I just assumed he was walking in the same direction. But then we turned a corner, and sure enough, after a few not-so-subtle glances behind me, I confirmed: he was still there.

"Michael," I whispered, staring straight ahead as to not alert our stalker. "Michael!"

"What?" he huffed. "I'm very busy. My favorite steakhouse just got a bunch of new-"

"Shut up," I said, trying to force myself to walk as naturally as possible. "He's right behind- wait. Don't look now."

"You're talking about Rusty, aren't you?" He stopped dead in the middle of the sidewalk and turned all the way around. "'Sup, Rusty?"

The man nodded silently in greeting and continued his menacing walk.

"You knew he was there?" I hissed. "And you didn't think to tell me?"

Even though it was only September, the night air was already chilly. That, combined with Rusty's presence and the fact that we were basically in some alleyway, made for a very unsettling atmosphere.

"Who is he anyway?" I asked Michael.

"I suppose an appropriate term could be 'backup'."

That disturbed me further, but I didn't get much time to ponder it. I suddenly became preoccupied with looking at the four guys leaning against the side of the building in front of us. One stood out in front, flanked by two others, each wearing dirty white tank tops and baggy jeans.

The one in front straightened up and lifted the large cowboy hat he wore to wipe his forehead of sweat. He was the only one to wear a cheap-looking gold chain around his neck.

"Thought you'd never make it, my friend," he said to Michael, in this really weird country accent. They both reached forward to engage in an intricate handshake.

I stood back, waiting until they were finished to speak. "So... you're Ralph?"

"Rolph," he corrected. "Howdy."

"Rolph, right-"

"So anyway," he interrupted, looping his arm around Michael's shoulder. "We gotta discuss plans, you and me. Got a location or what?"

Location for what? I thought. Committing a crime? I supposed maybe it would be fun to commit a crime. A minor one, of course. Nothing too intense. Maybe just, like, a quick vandalism.

Something touched the back of my neck and I fidgeted, ignoring it. Then I felt another touch to my scalp.

"The fuck?" I muttered as I turned around. Behind me was the third of Rolph's guys, largest of all. I could see the sweat-stained armpit of his t-shirt as he lifted his arm towards me.

I looked at Rusty, wondering if he would be of any assistance. He was studying a long crack in the brick wall. The sweaty guy suddenly yanked my hair hard, as if he were attempting to uproot it. I stumbled forward, my vision spinning, and crashed into him.

"Buck, chill!" Rolph yelled. I felt "Buck" release his grip on me and wobbled back, still reeling from almost getting my scalp torn off. "He gets like that," Rolph explained with a shrug. "Can't tell why for shit. Like a dog, I tell ya. Savage, though. That's why I keep him around."

"So, like, if a rival gang came and tried to beat you up and steal your bag of drugs, Buck over there would rip them to shreds?" I asked.

Rolph narrowed his eyes at me. "We ain't no gang. This here is a cartel."