So when Ethan Black told me that I no longer needed to remain indoors so long as I wore sunglasses and clothes that covered my tattoos, I did what I’m sure was expected, and I laughed at him.
Had he learned nothing about me in our time in partnership?
He glared at me a whole minute before shaking his head and walking away, only to return a moment later and bark at me to decide on what I wanted for dinner.
I chose steak, and I requested it from a decent place too.
I expected a dispute and wound up surprised when Black cooled his jets and agreed. When he muttered something about wanting to chew on a nice, thick piece of meat, I bit my tongue. I mean, c’mon. He set that one up from a mile away. I really wanted to tell him that he couldn’t chew on mine but I wasn’t in the mood for a war of words with the guy who had a four-foot stick shoved up his ass.
The food arrived, and Black paid the delivery guy, moving the brown paper bags of dinner into the kitchen. We sat in silence, dishing up our own plates before sampling what was one of the best cuts of meat of my life. Either it was sincerely incredible, or it had been way too long since I had eaten a decent meal.
I was thinking a little from column A, a little from column B.
The scab on the apple of my cheek had itched almost constantly since my first session of laser tattoo removal. The skin specialist I spoke to told me that because the tattoo had been done so long ago and had already faded quite a bit that she was confident I wouldn’t need any more than five sessions, but she would judge how clean the area looked after four.
She advised me that after the session, the skin might swell or blister. I wasn’t too happy about that. She then said the area would likely scab, itch, and bleed. That kind of sucked. Then she reminded me to stay out of the sun, massage the area for ten minutes a day and drink plenty of water to stay hydrated. I was confused. They were treating me like I was going to have an amputation or some shit.
Luckily, I had only been subject to the scabbing and itching, nothing too serious. But still, I couldn’t shave and had already started to harbor a decent growth, which prickled. For the moment, I was irritated as hell.
As I lifted my hand to scratch at the area, Black coughed in warning. My hand fell back down to the table, causing my cutlery to clang loudly against my plate.
“It’s only for a little while,” he muttered unsympathetically.
My lip curled at his cool reasoning. “Gotta do this shit maybe five times over. Didn’t know it’d feel like this.” I sighed loudly, picking up my fork and jabbing a garlic green bean before shoving it into my mouth, then garbled, “I want to shave, dammit.”
Black’s lip twitched.
Motherfucker wanted a go at me. “What?”
He wheezed out a laugh, cutting his rare steak and stabbing a piece then using his fork to point at me. “You’re acting like a little bitch.”
I was dumbfounded.
Did this wrinkly ole ball sack know who the fuck he was dealing with?
I deserved respect.
At my stunned silence, he tipped his head back and laughed with glee. “Oh, I know you won’t like hearing it, but goddamn. You haven’t stopped complaining the entire time we’ve been here.” He got serious, tilting his head to the side, looking at me with pure frustration. “I have a wife. I have two sons and a daughter. Do you think I’d rather be here with your surly ass or home with them?” I didn’t answer, because if I did, I’d leave myself open to being called Captain Obvious. He went on, “You hear me finding fault with every damn thing?”
No. He wasn’t. But it wasn’t a fair comparison. “You get to see your wife and kids any time. My entire life depends on this next couple of months.” I held him with a stare. “You’ve had your family for a long time. A little time away from them can’t possibly hurt. Fuck, might even feel like a holiday to you.” I played with my food. “It ain’t the same thing.” I might’ve been sulking, but I didn’t care. “My woman mourned me. I got a son that doesn’t know his pops. He’s my world, and he doesn’t—” I stood fast, cutting myself off.
I was critically close to breaking something, and before that something became Black’s nose, I stood, carrying my almost empty plate to the sink. I dumped the rest of the food into the trash then rinsed my plate, using the running faucet to splash some cold water onto my face, careful to avoid my healing scab.
The breathing exercises I’d been taught came in handy at this very moment. I closed my eyes, inhaling deep and exhaling slowly, mentally counting out ten reps. Once I was through, my shoulders sagged in relief.
This was a means to an end. It wouldn’t last forever. I needed to calm my shit down.
But I didn’t want to calm my shit down. I wanted to brawl with a worthy opponent. I knew it would help nothing. Thing is, it was who I was. And I may not feel better after the sparring was over, but while it was happening, I was on cloud fucking nine.
I heard Black approach the sink and opened my mouth to blast sharp words at him like knives, but when I turned, the words turned to dust in my mouth.
My eyes remained glued to the spot at the center of the dining table.
Behind me, he placed his plate into the sink, pausing only a moment to lay a hand on my shoulder, squeezing firmly for a split second before heading up the stairs and into his bedroom on the first floor.
The door closed quietly and, without feeling much of anything, I moved toward the table, my bare feet padding along the cool tiled floor.
I moved to the chair I had occupied at dinnertime, reached over and snatched them up in my hand, not daring to look at them until I made it to the safety of my room, closing the door behind me and switching on the light.
The bed beckoned me to it, and I sat quietly, lifting the small bundle of photographs up to eye level.
I smiled down at the first candid photo.
AJ sitting in a shopping cart, looking decidedly shamefaced as he snuck a candy bar in with the other groceries. A young woman dressed in all black with her hair styled into a short black bob, black painted lips and smoky eyes mock glaring at my son, her hands on her hips.
I didn’t know the Goth chick, but she couldn’t have been any older than twenty-one.
The next photograph had my heart skipping a beat.
In the park, AJ playing with his trucks
as Lexi lies flat on her stomach on the plush grass. He rolls the trucks over Lexi’s jean clad bottom, using my baby’s spectacular ass as a mountain for his earthmovers to move across. It was a little thicker than I remembered, but not at all less tempting, maybe even more so. I brought the photo closer to my face and squinted, but Lexi’s smiling face was blurred. Disappointment flooded me.
Damn.
The next photo had my throat thickening.
Lexi, dressed in a white sundress, her long, wavy hair flowing around her as the wind carries it. She held herself, looking miserable as she leaned her back against the front of a white marble headstone, a single daisy tucked behind her ear.
My white marble headstone.
My everything, this woman.
The next image was taken the same day. Lexi leaning into the white marble, pressing her cheek to it, an expression of sheer longing worn on her beautiful face. The daisy now laid across what should be my eternal resting place.
Dangerously close to crying, I flipped to the next image and bit the inside of my cheek as I took in the image of my somber son placing a handful of chocolate buttons on top of that headstone.
And just like that, I crumbled.
The first of the tears fell, and my breathing hitched, echoing into the silence of the cold, sterile bedroom. The place where my heart should be ached uncontrollably. My chest heaving, I tried to take in a full breath as I clutched the photo in both hands, so hard that it wrinkled, and kissed the image of my son over and over again.
I needed to get home to him.
To them.
My purpose renewed, I reminded myself that everything I do, I do for the people I love.
Failure is not an option.
Two weeks, three days later…
Phoenix is hotter than I remember, even at night.
The black military-style convoy bounces, jolting all the occupants of the vehicle, as we travel the bumpy road into the desert.
This bust is going to be easier than the others, easy because Bogdan Mihailovic was arrested this morning. That doesn’t necessarily mean it’s going to be without its work. My thinking is now that Mihailovic is in lock-up, his shit is going to be tight. Tight, as in triple security. That’s if his crew aren’t already moving locations.