When I pull up to my mother's flat, everything is quiet. Perhaps too quiet as I park the motorcycle on the sidewalk and remove my helmet. The chill in the air hacks through my leather jacket and straight into my bones like a chainsaw. So, I grit my teeth against the wind and jog up the stairs, two steps at a time. I'm still thinking about Chloe wanting to kill her ex-husband, Barry, and the look on her face when we parted ways.
I don't think she'd do anything stupid, but of course, I don't have good luck these days. If I were a religious person, I'd say a quick prayer, so I'll just cross my fingers for now.
The front door squeals as I push it open and enter the living room. My mother's favorite telenovela is playing, so why isn't she sitting on the couch with her attention glued to the TV?
"Ma," I call out, but there's no response.
Glancing around, I notice an abandoned mop and bucket on the floor with a soapy puddle catching a beam of sunlight from the windows. It's not like her to leave a mess like this, so my hackles go up.
"Ma!" I shout again because holy fuck. She better not be keeled over somewhere from a heart attack. "Ma!"
"In here," she finally says, and I jerk my head towards the hallway. "I'm in the bathroom."
Oh, hell no. She better not need me to wipe her ass.
But I'll do it if I have to.
Dragging my feet over there, I enter the hallway and pause. Was there an earthquake I didn't know about? The photos on the wall are crooked, as if someone or something bashed into them, and one of the frames is shattered on the floor with pieces of glass everywhere. A million thoughts invade my head with the possibilities of what I'll find. Yet, when I reach the bathroom, I didn't anticipate the scene before me.
Richie is sprawled face down on the tiled floor of the bathroom with eyes closed, and my mom is sitting on top of him. Somehow she managed to tie his hands behind his back with the shower curtain. When I step into the bathroom, my boots crunch against porcelain shards all over the floor, and that's when I notice the toilet cover for the tank is beside her and covered in blood.
"Jesus, Ma, what happened!?"
"You tell me. He said you've kept him, prisoner, downstairs." Her eyes meet mine in a cold glare that has me clenching my buttcheeks. She's about to rip me a new one. But I kind of like the butthole I have, so I better start explaining.
"Well, you see-"
"Eres un idiota!" she spits out. "Nos jodiste!"
"Ma, hold on a sec. I did not fuck us over," I say, and it's probably the dumbest strings of words I've put together considering the situation.
"How long have you been keeping him in my house, and who is he?" she demands.
"First, can you at least explain what happened?"
"Eres serio?" She scrunches her face in disgust.
"Yes, I'm serious! Please, Ma. Tell me, and I swear I'll explain everything."
"Fine, but I need you to do something with him because I can't sit on him forever."
"Ok, switch spots with me."
Extending a hand, I help her off Richie's back, and she gets to her feet, dusting off her pants. The bathroom isn't huge, especially with Richie's sorry sack of flesh sprawled on the floor. So, my mom and I do a bit of a slow dance, with her arms across my shoulders and mine around her waist as we pivot to readjust ourselves. She's such a tiny woman. I could lift her with one arm if I wanted to, so I have no idea how she managed to wrestle Richie to the ground, but I'm impressed.
"This place is a mess," she huffs. "All I know is, I was watching the season finale of Dos Corazones while mopping the floor, and then I see this man running past me. I screamed and threw the mop at him. Then he screamed and ran down the hallway, so I chased him."
"Ma, why did you do that? What if he had a weapon."
"I'm not letting someone scare me in my own house!" she huffs. "I grabbed my shoe and threw it at his head."
Picturing my mother chucking her shoes at Richie like some quarterback football player causes me to snort. So she smacks my arm and scorches me with a glare, and I fix my face. "Sorry. Keep going."
"He ran in here and started screaming that you've had him locked up. I was so scared the neighbors would hear him, so I grabbed the lid for the toilet tank, and bam, bam, bam, I hit him over the head."
"And down he went," I conclude, but my mother places her hands on her hips and arches a brow.
"Yes. Now tell me who he is."
"Remember that woman I told you about? The one I'm interested in?"
"Mmhm..."
"Well, this is her husband." I shrug, and my mom jumps up to smack my head. "Ow, Ma, fuck!"
"Imbécil!" she shouts in Spanish.
"I had to! He put his hands on her."
"I want him out of my house." My mom wags her finger in my face. "At this point, I don't care what you do with him. I want him out!"
"Alright. He's gone."
But my mom isn't done as she stands there rubbing the creases on her forehead. "Why you do this to me? I came to this country at fourteen years old so one day I could give my future children a better life. But look at you."
"Yeah, well, maybe you should have stayed in Nicaragua."
"You shut your mouth! I've given you more than any kid back home could ever dream of, and instead of being grateful, no lo aprecias para ni mierda!"
"I do appreciate what you've done for me!" I object. "But it's also hard considering a year after dad died, you married that fuck-face, Chuck."
"I did what I had to do," she shouts at me on her tip-toes. "I was a single mother, who spoke broken English, and had a little boy to take care of. Chuck will never compare to your father, but he put a roof over your head and food in your stomach."
"He also kept you covered in bruises and almost killed you."
"Yes, well, you took care of that, didn't you? And now we will always have a secret to keep and an unmarked grave where his body rests."
"Rests? I hope that fucker is twisting in hell!"
"Well, that makes two of us," she says with hands on her hips, and we glare at each other for a few breaths, but I don't even know why we're arguing about Chuck. She hated his ass.
"Look, Ma..." I sigh. "I'll get this piece of shit out of here, and I'll clean up the mess. I'm sorry for keeping him a secret."
"Listen to me." She leans up on her toes and holds my face. "I know your heart is in the right place, mijo. But sometimes you scare me."
"I know."
As she retracts her hands from my face, she darts her gaze, unable to look me in the eyes anymore. She wanted to give me the American dream, but instead, I've become a nightmare, and disappointment hangs on her slender shoulders like a cold front of silver clouds swallowing the sky. A draft swarms the small bathroom when she leaves, and it spreads goosebumps up my arms.
The truth is, sometimes I scare myself too.
But that's a care for another day. Right now, I have to figure out what to do with Richie.
∆∆∆
There's a rundown storage facility in Bayview where the old Candlestick Football stadium used to be. It's discrete and far from where anyone will recognize me, yet close enough to drive Richie without worrying about getting pulled over by a cop. The storage unit used to belong to Chuck, my stepfather, but I took it over after he died without realizing I might need to use it in a pinch.
Right now, it contains old workout equipment I thought I'd use one day when I own a gym. But that dusty dream can wait. For now, it will be the new prison for Richie.
This time he's tied to a stationary bike, and I must tell you, it's nice seeing the equipment finally getting used. I rip the tape off his mouth, remove the blindfold from his eyes, then slap his cheeks.
"Wake up!"
"Where the fuck am I?" He jerks his head back, eyes searching wildly, but then groans. "I think I have a concussion."
"You'll survive." I point to an IV drip next to him. He glances down at the needle taped to his hand and darts his gaze back to me.
"What is this!"
"Medicine. You're welcome."
"And this?" He motions with his head at our surroundings, where kerosene lanterns illuminate the plastic covering the walls and tarps covering the ground.
"Your new home."
"Who the hell do you think you are? Dexter!?"
"Nah, not Dexter. Although, it's a damn good show, so you get points for that one."
"So, is this where you kill me?"
"Unfortunately, no. I still need your dumbass alive. So for the love of God, quit asking."
"I think the real reason is that you're a pussy who is too scared to get his hands dirty," Richie scoffs.
"Seriously?" I snort. "After all this time, you think I'm scared of getting a little blood on my hands."
"You're all talk! Little pussy."
"If you think taunting me will get me to kill you faster, so you don't have to sit here in your piss and shit, then you're dumber than I thought. Actually, scratch that. You are as dumb as I've always thought."
"You can call me dumb, but I'm the one who will have the last laugh."
"Keep telling yourself that. But, speaking of pussy..." I stick my fingers under his nose and grin. "Smell that? It's Mindy."
Richie jerks his head away and snarls. "You lie!"
"Nope." I bounce my shoulders, the grin spreading even further across my face. "All nine inches of me were deep inside her, and she was so, so very wet for me. I got to run my tongue between her legs and kiss that heart-shaped mole on her inner thigh. You know the one I'm talking about."
"Fuck you!" Richie thrashes, and it's pretty comical because this time, there's no way he'll get loose from chains, rope, and duct tape. "You're done, so done. Your days are numbered. I told you not to fuck with me, but soon you'll find out, and I can't wait to watch you squirm! No one touches Mindy but me."
"Not this again." I roll my eyes.
"You think I'm playing, but you've picked the wrong man to fuck with. I have connections out there looking for me right now, and when they find me, you'll wish we never met. You'll wish you never went near Mindy."
"I doubt that." I pat his head and slap a fresh piece of duct tape over his mouth. "I've got to go, but I'll be back to check on you, and if you're a good boy, I'll let you smell my fingers again. They'll be newly coated in Mindy's aroma."
As I stroll away, whistling and twirling the storage keys around my finger, I think about how amazing it will be when Richie is gone for good. Mindy and I can finally date in peace without him coming around to scramble her head. Part of me can even see us going the distance. We could move somewhere else and start brand new away from this place where our exes contaminated the ground. I think Mindy and I would have cute kids, but I'm getting ahead of myself and need to focus on the present, which is finishing my business with the Sisters.
And crazy Angie Mendoza.
There are still a few hours before I have to head to the gym to meet my first client, so I head home. And as I pull up to my apartment, all I can think about is washing up in my shower. As much as I hate to rinse away what remains of Mindy on my skin, my armpits are starting to stink like a rotting animal carcass in the desert. So, the anticipation has my feet skipping upstairs to the back entrance, but it's also the memories from last night making me giddy.
Mindy and I aren't ready for this step in our relationship, yet moving forward with her feels right. We're like puzzle pieces coming together, and not just literally coming. Figuratively, it's as if the pulse of our broken souls is a chaotic staccato, but when we're together, we make each other better, and our vibrations sync.
Our souls sync.
Our hearts beat as one.
Our lungs expand and contract together.
And when our eyes meet, everything else fades.
Mindy does that to me, and I'll do anything to protect it. Anyfuckingthing. Like, kidnap her ex-husband.
When I reach the top of the steps, my hand pauses on the doorknob. I love my support group, so I wouldn't trade them for the world, but our group also likes to gossip. What will happen when Angie finds out about my night with Mindy?
Or worse. What will happen when Mindy finds out about Angie?
Shaking my head, I decide I'll deal with that when it happens, so I yank the door open and step into the hallway. My pocket buzzes, and I hope it's not my mom again. I seriously need a shower and refuse to go anywhere else until I've had one.
"Well, well, well," I say when I glance at the message.
Franky: I have what you asked for. You have a 48hr window to pick it up. After that, it gets tossed in the fireplace.
Me: I'll be there later today, but at the latest tomorrow morning.
Sliding the phone back into my pocket, a triumphant grin spreads across my lips as I proceed down the corridor because I can't wait to discover what Angie's secrets are.
Except, I freeze again because the devil herself is pacing in front of my door in that signature fur coat.
Fucking hell.