“Grab yourself something to drink out of the fridge.”
He leaned against the counter, considering the body he had gotten to know so intimately when they were teenagers. Hers was the first one he had ever seen naked, and also the last one he’d touched before Kristen. Greg noticed that Junior carried herself differently these days—more like a confident woman, and less like a punk-rock temptress. Although she definitely looked like she could still throw a punch.
She caught him staring, but did a bad job of pretending not to notice.
“Hungry?”
“Starving. Where’s Chris?”
She slammed her tongs down and steadied herself on the counter.
“Caught that little bastard with a bag of weed yesterday. I told him to stay out of sight until dinner tonight, or I might murder him.”
“Wow. Where did he even get it from? School?”
“No idea. I did find out that he’s been hanging around with Jeff Barrett and his crew—chasing after them like some desperate little puppy.”
That piece of information caught Greg like a punch to the gut. Barrett was a local thug turned contractor who had made a small fortune off of the booming local real-estate market. He and Greg had been at each other’s throats ever since they were kids.
“Those idiots are always looking for new recruits. You don’t think he gave Chris the weed, do you?”
“I honestly don’t know what to think.”
Greg took a moment to collect himself, controlling his anger before he went on.
“Regardless of where he got it, Chris has been through a lot in the last year. You both have.”
He put his hand on her back and waited for the moment to pass. Neither of them wanted to talk about the woman who had ripped their world apart. Greg was the one who finally broke the silence.
“Does Eddie know?”
“He knows something happened, but he doesn’t know exactly what. I’d prefer to keep it that way or he might have a heart attack.”
Junior shook her head and went back to finishing dinner. Greg wasn’t ready to let it go.
“Want me to talk to him?”
“You planning to scare him straight or something? Be my guest.”
Greg was heading for Chris’s room when Eddie stopped him. They took a seat on the couch in the living room. The old man’s knee pumped as he tried to form his words.
“I wanted to tell you that I’m sorry about Marco. I always thought he was trouble, but I know he was your friend.”
“He still is. I just need to find him.”
Greg stood. Eddie stopped him a second time.
“Listen. I don’t know what you’re planning to do for work, but you’ll always have a spot at the bar.”
Eddie’s L Bar was a neighborhood institution, and Eddie was the king. He had run the bar himself every day for decades, while quietly building a North Bay real-estate empire on the side. These days, he was worth more on paper than some of the millionaires living along the beach in South Bay. But he still wasn’t willing to let the L Bar go. He’d been trying to get Greg to take the business over for almost a year now.
“I thought Junior was in charge these days?”
“She is, but she needs help. You could run the bar and let her focus on the salon. You know, keep it in the family. Just say the word.”
The only word that Greg could think of at the moment was “no,” but it wasn’t like he had a lot of other options. His police career seemed like a distant memory and he was way too old for a full-time career in punk rock.
“Thanks, Eddie. I’ll let you know.”
Greg walked across the living room and grabbed the knob on Chris’s bedroom door. Surfing posters covered all four walls. Greg could hear an old Bad Citizen Corporation song playing on the stereo in the corner as he stepped inside. His eyes fell on the empty bed before he saw the open window. He didn’t need to investigate any further to know that Chris had snuck out. It was something Greg had done several times himself when he was about that age.
Chris wasn’t even his son, but Greg suddenly understood how his own father must have felt all those years ago. That magic combination of rage, terror, and disappointment that makes you want to murder the people you love the most. Some things never change.
Two Months Later…
September 2011—The van wasn’t moving any longer, but Mary’s head spun. She slowly opened her eyes and looked up at the dome light, willing it stop. Wherever they’d brought her, it was much quieter than anything she was used to. There were no police helicopters whirring overhead. No addicts threatening to kill each other all night long.
Something in the back of her mind kept telling her to get up and run, to get as far away from there as she could. But where would she go? The streets of Hollywood didn’t care if she lived or died. And going back to her mom’s house would be a slow death of a different kind. It was sad, but true, that this might be the safest place she had woken up in months. Hell, she thought, at least I still have my clothes on.
Mary put her hand on the back of the bench seat and pulled herself up. Her head felt thick and her mind was reeling. The view out the window didn’t offer many clues, except that she was in a garage. The cluttered workbench beside the van was filled with a random assortment of greasy tools, silhouetted in the darkness. She reached for the handle and slid the door open as quietly as she could.
One foot out the door, she pause.
“Hello?”
She almost didn’t recognize the fear in her own voice. It sounded so soft, so vulnerable, like the little girl she never got to be. Mary groped her way to a door that led into a kitchen. She opened it and saw the driver standing there. He was about her stepdad’s age—maybe a little older—with the same hard eyes, but otherwise more polished. The man popped a piece of popcorn into his mouth and gave her the once-over.
“Want some food?”
She was hungry all the time these days but never felt like eating.
“You got anything else?”
He smiled and nodded. “Sure. Follow me.”
Scoring drugs hadn’t been that easy since, well, forever. She knew they wouldn’t be free.
Mary followed him through the small house. The walls were bare and there was almost no furniture. He walked fast, with a sense of purpose. She didn’t hear the moaning until they reached the bedroom door. Glaring lights flooded the hallway as he pushed into the room.
Two young women were on the bed. One was blindfolded and handcuffed to the headboard. Mary recognized the second one from around Hollywood, but hadn’t seen her in a few weeks. She straddled the other woman with a riding crop in her hand.
They wound through a forest of tripods and a couple of oblivious crewmembers. There was a small sofa pushed against one wall with a glass coffee table in front of it. Lines were already chalked up in neat little rows. He handed her a rolled-up dollar bill.
“Have as much as you want. There’s plenty more where that came from.”
Mary hesitated for a brief moment before sitting down and getting to work.
She did two quick bumps, one right after the other. It was pure and strong. She felt the instant burn and rush as she leaned back. They sat side-by-side, watching the action on the bed. It all seemed so mechanical, like pistons and lube—a fake ecstasy compared to the narcotic euphoria