Bryce's P.O.V.
Paranoia took on a new form in my mind, manipulating the world around me and putting forth a deluded reflection of reality. Things that I enjoyed before my run in with the cops were now a hassle. I took double glances whenever I walked on or off campus, wondering when I would speak to George de la Torres next.
Did he know what I did? Did he know what I was about to do? The date for my deposition was getting closer and closer. I gradually gave Conner more responsibility in the gang, knowing that I would not be in control of anything in a few months.
I had no clue where I would be going after my day in court. Agent Karrington said it wouldn't be until next year, possibly in March or April, depending on a few other components. I wanted it to be sooner. I wanted to rip off the bandaid and get this over with. But just because I wanted it didn't mean I could change the court date.
For a moment, I let myself foolishly think that George would be fine with me throwing him under the bus for his daughter's safety. Confiding in my uncle Roy, I talked to him - hypothetical - about what I was going through, trying not to make it obvious that the hypothetical scenario I was creating was really happening to me.
I conjured enough courage to speak to him about it, sneaking looks around the bar every time I spoke - fearful of someone eavesdropping. I was a mess, undoubtably. I hadn't gotten much sleep in the last few days. That could be to blame as well. I almost fell asleep behind the wheel while driving to my Uncle's bar.
"I wouldn't see why that person would be angry if their child was being given another chance." Uncle Roy said, drying one of the cups with his towel behind the bar. "If it came down to me or my kid going to jail, I would take their place."
"That's what I thinking, too." I swirled the ice cubes in my drink with my black straw. I was drinking a club soda, uninterested in ordering anything that could make me lose sense of control. "But that doesn't mean everyone would do that."
"What are you guys talking about?" Conner rushed on to the bar stool next to me. He slapped a twenty down. "Can I get a rum on the rocks?"
"Coming right up." Uncle Roy took the twenty and gave him the change, then started on his order. "We were talking about a case scenario Bryce made up."
"Oh, about what?" Conner spun his chair to look at me. Exhaling deeply, I explained it to him. Right when I finished, he asked: "Can you use someone as an example? It's more interesting if I can imagine who this question is directed to."
"For example, let's say George de la Torres," I supplied. "If he was given the option to save his daughter's life from going to jail or go to jail himself, which one would he choose?"
Uncle Roy slid Conner's drink to him. While taking the first sip, Conner laughed with his mouth on the rip of the glass cup. "George de la Torres wouldn't go to jail for anyone. He's a selfish piece of - "
"Hey, that's Sophia's dad," I interjected. "I get that you don't like him, but try to not be an asshole. If you're going to talk about him, call him by his name."
"I can call him whatever the fuck I want to call him." Conner tipped his drink back, consuming it in seconds. "Like I was saying, George is too selfish to go to jail for his kid."
"I don't think he is."
"I know he is," Conner spat. "After my dad dropped ties with him and moved us away from Southern California, he told me how George once stabbed his brother over fifty thousand dollars in the 70s."
"I don't know, Conner. I can't speak for something that happened in the past. He seems to really care about his kids," I added. "He could be different."
"You don't get it, Bryce." Conner caused his jacket to fall of his shoulders and fall on the back of the stool. "George didn't get a contract killer. He didn't outsource the killing. He did it himself. He said he wanted to do it...He said that about his own brother," Conner emphasized. "And when the cops got involved, he got someone else arrested for the murder of his brother."
Conner handed his cup back to my uncle to refill it. "Now," he went on, "you're trying to tell me that he's selfless enough to go to jail for his child? I call bullshit. Men like him don't care about people; they don't care about family. They care about profit and power. When you get to his level of dominance, you're not even human anymore. You're a monster, feeding off wealth."
I created this conversation, hoping it would help my paranoia, but with what Conner said, my hysteria came on stronger. If I was worried before, I couldn't see how this talk would improve my mood.
Sophia said she wanted me to be free by seven, so I drove home at six, playing a mixtape. The song Mind Playing Tricks On Me started pouring out of my speakers, matching my nerves with each lyric.
"I keep looking over my shoulder and peeping around corners."
"Day by day it's more impossible to cope. I feel like I'm the one that's doing dope."
"I often drift when I drive. Having fatal thoughts of suicide."
Two white beams of light, coming from nowhere, shined into my car. Jerking the steering wheel to the left, I veered out of the way and rammed on to the shoulder of the road.
But I was not quick enough to see the tree up ahead.
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