Collateral damage

"Bullshit, you were being a dick," I accused exasperated after arguing with him for the past fifteen minutes.

"If you say so but I'm telling you... I was saving you from yourself," Ryan returned in defense.

"The hell you were."

"You know what a naturalist is?" he sneered.

"Of course. Someone who appreciates nature," I countered.

"In the nude," he spit.

"Bullshit," I said firmly, making it clear I didn't want to talk about it anymore.

We were done. We drove along in silence... again.

"You are here," the voice of the Gps voice vibrated.

"This is a new one. Never been in this neighborhood before," Ryan said as we pulled up in front of a new housing complex.

Eight houses and four models were complete with a green privacy fence spanning the road at the end of the street. On the other side, a dozen more houses like this one in various states of completion stood empty.

A single story, unassuming stucco structure with a sterile, overly contrived front yard, it stood between two, new and as yet unsold, counterparts.

An old, beat up, rusty 1949 Ford pick up truck sat in the driveway. The contrast between the two was odd at best. No other cars, no signs of life existed any where else in the neighborhood.

"It looks new. What kind of problem do you think they have?" I asked, glancing at the clipboard.

"Well, you can bet it's not rats," Ryan Joked.

"Maybe it's a ghost... or a raccoon," I added.

"Shut up. You know it wasn't her," he said sourly.

"Maybe so. Like Horace said... Could be," I teased.

I didn't know why it bugged him so much but it felt good to give him a little jab every now and then for a change.

"What's wrong with you? Don't make me tell your new girlfriend you've got a screw loose," he said, getting out of the truck.

"She's not my girl friend," I protested.

"Oh I see... raccoon jokes are okay but talk about your model girlfriend are off limits? Hardly seems fair," he tormented.

"Service before self," I returned as we approached the door, ringing the bell.

After a few moments, a young, attractive, blonde woman answered the door. Dressed in a light pink blouse and blue jeans, she looked us up and down without a word and then simply walked away without any sign from her that we should follow.

"Hello? We're from Handy Dandy services," Ryan called, taking a few steps inside. I stood at the door way and waited.

The woman had crossed the room to the kitchen. She turned to lean against the counter, sipping from a glass, staring at us without so much as a come on in or a simple hello.

I followed Ryan as he stepped deeper into the room. Too my surprise, it was empty... not a single stick of furniture... nothing that spoke of anyone living there at all. Slowly, almost without my notice, the front door began to swing closed behind us.

"Hello poppie," a man said in a low, menacing tone. He had been hidden by the open door, now exposed by it's closing.

More upsetting was the size of the gun he held.

Swallowing hard, my heart jumped, I had never been robbed before.

With less concern than crossing the street, Ryan turned to face our mugger.

"George, long time," Ryan said nonchalantly.

I hadn't realized it but I had been holding my breath. As I began to relax, a second man with an equally large gun entered from somewhere beyond the kitchen. 

"Diego," Ryan said as he entered, letting his voice drop and I held my breath again.

The two men, each wearing a pair of loose fitting tan shorts that came just below their knees, tied with exceptionably long belts and a plain white, sleeveless wife beater t-shirts appeared to be in their mid-twenties. Their arms and chest held several, large, disturbing, multicolored tattoos.

"Diego you running with Caesar's crowd now?"

"You carrying Poppie?" the second man Ryan called Diego asked coming closer, pointing the gun at Ryan's face, patting at his pockets and waist.

"Not in the last four years. You boys starting your own little picnic now?"

"What about him?" the first man, George, asked, waving his gun in my direction.

"I can't trust him with a ball point pen. You think I'd let him have a gun?"

"He's clean," Diego shouted.

For a few moments nothing happened. Then the double doors leading to the dining room swung open. Behind them, two more men similarly dressed, stood by the doors. 

Exposed for all the world to see, across their folded arms the now familiar S V B tattoo.

Inside the room, the only furniture the house bore... a large, empty, oblong, dining table with three chairs. 

Filling two of them, sitting more or less at the head, were two Latino men dressed in almost identical business suits, only their ties were of a different color.

"Ahh, the gangs all here," Ryan said sharply, turning to face them.

"How have you been Ryan?" one of them asked, standing, gesturing to the empty chair.

"Not you," George said sourly, grabbing my arm, pulling me toward the front door.

"He's with me," Ryan said stepping in our direction.

"Not now he's not. He can wait in here," George said opening the door to the entry closet, revealing a small, gray, folding chair.

"It's alright," I said turning to Ryan.

"Get in," George ordered.

"George," Ryan said in a low, menacing tone. His eyes narrowed and his head tilted in a silent promise... a threat.

I didn't know if it meant anything to George but it made me feel better. I did as instructed, and sat in the chair.

As hard as I tried, I couldn't keep my foot from tapping nervously as the door swung closed. It was hard to breathe. I felt as if I were drowning as I was swallowed up by the dark.

At first, all I could hear was the pounding of my heart. Then, slowly, as the throbbing in my head began to subside, the muffled sound of voices filtered through to me. I pressed my ear to the wall.

If I was going to be shot I wanted the chance to jump out of the way... like a plane crash.. jumping to safety at the last instant... just in case.

"We have been friends for a long time..." one of the men said.

I pressed harder to the wall trying to make the voices more clear.

"When were we friends?" Ryan snapped.

"I took you from the streets and made you a king," someone shouted angrily.

"I made my own way, you just profited from it," Ryan returned.

"I cleared the way for you. You were nothing without me," the voice shouted again.

"I was left for dead because of you," Ryan accused.

"Let's come to it then," a second, deeper voice insisted.

I jumped a little as the sound of someone's fist struck the table. My heart began to beat more rapidly as a long silence held me. I glanced at the door, fearful for just a moment that bullets were about to rip their way through before continuing to eavesdrop once more.

I wasn't sure if they were still speaking but so low their voices couldn't penetrate my prison or if something terrible had happened and I... I was next.

I pushed as tightly to the wall as humanly possible, straining to hear any sound, staring at the faint outline of the door knob, waiting for it to turn.

"Bullshit. You think... you thought... you blame me for what happened to you?"

"Who else?" Ryan said.

"We found your attacker... five months after."

"Who? Where is the f****r now?" 

"I'm a shamed to say... one of Caesar's crew," came the voice solemnly, almost inaudible.

"One of our own people? Where is he? Did he kill Pinky?"

"I'm afraid so. Once we found out... the problem had been handled."

"He's dead then?"

"He won't be bothering you again... ever."

"I would have handled it myself," Ryan professed.

"No need. It's done."

"Why? Why kill Pinky? Why have me beaten to within an inch of my life? What did I ever do to Caesar?"

"He didn't know. His man was working on his own... trying to come up. He wanted your territory and you were in the way."

"What about Pinky? He wasn't one of us, he wasn't a user, he wasn't a threat to anyone, why kill him?"

"Collateral damage.  Caesar's man knew if anything happened to you it would be a matter of time before Pinky would hunt him down and put a bullet in his head."

"What about Caesar?"

The sound of anger in his voice sent chills down my spine.

"It's why we're here. He was killed two days ago."

Another long silence filled the closet.

"Why am I here, Ruben?"

My mouth immediately went dry. I was suddenly afraid of the answer.

"Oh, no, no, no, don't ask that," I whispered to myself.

"Ernesto was killed in a car crash two days before Caesar. We are not superstitious nor do we believe in coincidence. As far as we're concerned they were both murdered."

"And?"

"It happened after you reappeared," the deeper voice accused.

"Reappeared?"

"We have a report, you told some young men that you were one of us... again."

"They were sitting in my truck. It was six to one. What was I suppose to do?"

"And your friend?"

"Toby? You're right. One of the punks on my truck looked like he might have been at least sixteen, so it was five to one. It was a reflex. I meant no disrespect."

"You can see our concern. When two of the Sanchez brothers die within days of one another we have to ask ourselves how such a thing can happen."

"You have my word Ruben, it has nothing to do with me," Ryan swore earnestly. 

"One would have to admit, it's strange that both die within a day of the anniversary of Pinky's death, don't you think?" The second deeper voice asked.

"Why would I wait five years for revenge? And why the hell would I kill both Caesar and Ernesto? It doesn't make sense," Ryan asked harshly.

"That's why we're here... to discover the truth. If we thought you killed them, you would be dead by now. We wouldn't have taken the time to speak to you," Ruben voiced sincerely.

"I appreciate the consideration," Ryan replied humbly.

The conversation stopped. I waited anxiously.

"I have one question," Ryan began again. "Make that three. Who benefits from their death and who came to the hospital to see me?"

"No one person benefits. We split up their territory, their men, their assets equally and to the best of my knowledge no one came to see you in the hospital. Cops, questions and the like."

"Someone did. The very evening I came out of my coma someone was leaving my room. That person put a piece of paper in my hand. It had Istas' name and address on it," Ryan explained.

There was a moment of silence and then softly the sound of someone speaking Spanish. 

"We understand. She has nothing to fear from us... not then, not now... nor you brother," Ruben said, making it sound like a promise.

"I'm grateful," Ryan returned.

"Your last question?" the second, deeper voice asked.

"Where's Carlos?"

I held my breath waiting for a response.

Nothing... not a sound. Time seemed to stop. The silence was terrible. I didn't know what to think. One minute became two... two became three and three seemed to stretch on forever.

My mind began to fill with a thousand what if's... each more terrible than the first.

At last, the faint outline of the door knob began to turn and my heart raced.

"So this is how it ends," I whispered aloud, involuntarily squeezing my eyes tightly shut.

The door jerked open and the suction of it pulled at my lungs as if I had suddenly been thrown out of an airplane.

"You coming or what? You're making me late," Ryan grumbled.

An ocean of emotions washed over me. I didn't know whether to laugh or to cry. I looked about anxiously but the house was now completely empty. Not a single sign existed that the house ever held anyone other than he and I.

I almost had to run to keep up with him as we made for the truck. I had never seen him in this kind of a rush. Something else was going on.

"Buckle up newbie," he advised a second after snapping his seat belt.

The tires screamed, sending out giant plumes of blue smoke, filling the air with the smell of burnt rubber. 

"Damn man. Give me a chance, will ya?" I shouted, bracing myself with my feet against the dash, holding on for dear life, struggling to get my belt snapped. 

We swerved into the middle of traffic, Ryan honking wildly in warning as we kept going faster and faster. We thread our way between the slower cars making our way to the freeway. I leaned over to see the speedometer. In moments we reached fifty, sixty, finally leveling out in the upper end of the seventies.

The truck vibrated in protest as he tried desperately to spur it to go faster yet.

"Ryan, what the hell?" I shouted over the strained cries of the engine.  

"If you know what's best for you, you'll keep your mouth shut about this. They have eyes and ears everywhere," Ryan said, his eyes wild, his voice turbulent.

His hands twisted repeatedly on the wheel as he cut in and out of the other vehicles in front of us, each appearing to be looking for a place to park by

comparison to our speed.

My mind raced in an effort to keep up with the events surrounding me. Time seemed to be suspended, not moving forward or backward but becoming little more than a blur of color and movement beyond my window.

I wasn't sure how far we had gone or how much time had passed or even what roads we took but at last we came to a stop. The tires screeched loudly as we pulled up in front of a small white, clapboard house.

The truck hissed painfully in relief as Ryan threw the door open, getting out, running to the front door. Not knowing what else to do, I did the same.

He pounded on the door with his fist, rattling the glass in the windows. Again and again he pounded on the door as if the house itself were on fire until at last the door jerked open.

A young woman, dressed in blue jeans and a gray, zip up sweater stood at the entrance. Her long black hair hung nearly to her waist, cascading down her back, wrapping itself across her shoulders as if we had just woken her from a nap. Her face was twisted in a curious expression of anger, her mouth preset to scream at whoever was pounding at her door.

"Pakwa," she gasped, her voice catching in her throat. Tears suddenly appeared in her eyes as she threw her arms around Ryan's neck. She kissed his face repeatedly, muttering continuously in a language I didn't understand between each kiss.

"We have to go. You're not safe here anymore," he said urgently, pulling her toward the truck.

"Wait, please. Tell me what's happened," she pleaded, suddenly aware I was there. "Awh, you poor thing," she said, raising a gentle hand to my blackened eye.

I wasn't sure what was happening, myself. I didn't know what to say in response.

"Is this you?" she asked in an accusatory tone, shifting her expression to match her suspicion, giving Ryan the evil eye.

"Not me," he said flatly, "That's the by-product of an over active love life."

She turned to me for conformation.

"It's not like that," I answered, embarrassed by her inspection. "But it had nothing to do with Ryan."

"We have to leave. I can explain but not right now," Ryan insisted pulling her by the arm toward the truck.

"Wait, I forgot my shoes," she cried, stumbling in an effort to keep up, pointing at the still open door.

"Toby... fetch," he barked without hesitating.

I jumped at his command, grabbing a pair of shoes sitting by the door, closing it behind me.

I raced to catch up with them as the engine roared to life, jumping in just as the truck began to roll.

"We need a place to hide. Someplace no one would think to look... not in a million years," Ryan shouted in my direction as the truck gained speed.

"You can use my place," I offered out of reflex, struggling to snap my belt as the truck jerked from lane to lane.

"They already know where you live... I was thinking of something a little more private... more out of the way. Know what I mean lover?"

I didn't.  I had no idea what the hell he was talking about or why he was driving like a madman. I leaned forward to look past the young woman, now sitting between us.

I was about to tell him I didn't have the slightest idea what he had in mind when he turned to me.

I stared into his face as he lifted his eyebrows several times in my direction.

At first I was confused and then... as if he had spoken his will into my mind... the unthinkable washed over me.

"Oh no, no, no, no you can't possibly... please anything but that," I begged.

Ryan just smiled at me as he turned onto the freeway and we were pressed into the seat, reaching eighty again.

My mind raced, keeping pace with the truck as I tried to put things in order... tried to figure out what the consequences might be, what would... what could... happen next. 

Against my better judgment and my personal will, I knocked on the door and waited.  

"Like a moth to a flame," she said to herself, shaking her head as she walked away. "Dorothy May, it's for you," her mother shouted over her shoulder.

From down the hall Dorothy May entered, pink slippers and all. Trudging right behind her, her dog Bruno.

"No, lover. I said Friday," she said, holding her hands at her waist, shyly shimming her shoulders.

"I know, I do, but I have a favor to ask," I said, staring at the floor.

"Oh, no eager beaver. We can't do that until you done taken me out three times... less'n its someplace real nice," she said tugging at my belt with a single finger.

"Oh God no. No, not that... look there's been a problem. Ryan's girl needs a place to stay for a day or two. Just until he can get a few things straight," I said... just as I had rehearsed.

"You two timing me already?" she asked, only half joking, pushing me hard with the back of her hand to one side to look toward the truck. 

"No, it's not like that. I told you... it's Ryan's girl... just for a day or two... until it's safe," I explained again.

By this time, Ryan and his girl now stood outside the truck, leaning expectantly against the front fender. She had her arms folded, nervously sliding her hands up and down.

"Well, bring her skinny a*s on in here. Let me take a look see," Dorothy May said, stretching her neck, bobbing her head like a chicken trying to see over a fence.

I turned, waving them closer.

"Dorothy May, you remember Ryan and this is his friend..." only now did it occur to me I didn't know her name.

"Hi, it's Istas... my friends call me Izee," she said offering her hand.

Dorothy May took it, looking her up and down, inspecting her closely.

Only now did I get the chance to do the same.

Standing this close the smell of flowers, or a faint whiff of perfume drifted to me. With as quickly as everything had happened, I hadn't noticed it at all in the truck. Her skin, almost as tan as Ryan's, looked smooth, perfect in every detail.

Her face held a concerned expression, her eyebrows knitted as if she were afraid of being turned away. 

 "Momma," Dorothy May shouted. "We got company."

Reviews

[Cynical_Art]

This was an interesting read for me. I kept thinking something else was constantly the main focus since what was really going on always seemed to be something else but it kept my attention all throughout. I love dialogue so I like that the majority of it was dialogue. I also think your dialogue was very good and natural. Overall I think it was a good read.

[Tegon Maus]

Thanks Art. You would have to read from the begining to follow it. I wrote this in segments in hopes of being published in a magizine. Try Auggie... the same characters different situation.

[Marie]

Wow. Long, strange and convuluted story. But I enjyed it.

[Tegon Maus]

Thanks Marie... its a chapter from Service before Self... just trying to get a feel for what people think. Thanks for the read.