The air feels dense in the car. “Good, then… Now… tell me something. Why did you cut your hair like that?” Is this really what’s bugging him?
“I don’t know. I guess I needed to change something in myself.” He doesn’t reply verbally; he just nods in silence.
A few minutes later, he pulls over at a crappy diner right off the highway. The surrounding area looks almost barren, the lot is partially full, and we start to walk towards the entrance. Walking through the front door of a public establishment with him, for the first time since I’ve been out feels better than I had anticipated. Maybe it’s the outfit he picked for me, which makes me blend right in, with this worn-out ridiculous cap paired with your typical pair of sunglasses. Or maybe it’s the gun he gave me, for which he provided a more than needed crash course on how to properly handle it. Or perhaps I feel safe with him by my side. All these emotions are rushing through me at 100 miles an hour, making it impossible for me to pinpoint the exact reason for them. Inside, this place looks like a snapshot from the seventies, and I don’t mean in a good way— nothing is new, not even a single surface looks clean. I’m thinking I’ll have to burn these clothes afterwards, and then I see them: butt-crack-showing people sitting at the bar, having drinks and watching a game on a— yes, you guessed correctly, a TV so old that all the colors on the screen are shades of green. But that doesn’t seem to stop them from yelling at it. Looking further down the booths, we see the last one is taken by two men; one of them raises a hand and waves once. Bruno says, “This way. Stay close to me.”
The man who waved is Carter, who just saw me and frowned— that seems to be a family trait. He switches his gaze from me to Bruno, and I can tell he’s asking, “What the fuck is she doing here, cuz?” without saying a word.
Bruno points where I should sit, and he sits right next to me. Our legs are touching and even though he doesn’t look at me, I know he can feel the same tingling sensation I’m feeling. The stranger is sitting in front of me and asks, “Who is this?”
“Fucking Santa Claus. Let’s talk,” Bruno says.
The man looks at Carter. Before he can say anything, the waitress shows up and says, “What can I get y’all?”
“Water, bottled, and a tuna sandwich, no crust,” Bruno claims without taking his eyes from the man.
“Okay. The rest of you, folks?”
“That’s it, for now,” Bruno adds.
“M’kay, bottled water, and a tuna sammich' with no crust. Comin’ right up!” she says and goes into the kitchen. Bruno waits until the waitress is far enough and starts talking. While they talk, I look at the man, who’s wearing a red and black lumberjack shirt, buttoned up to the very last button and sleeves rolled up showing colorful tattoos on both arms, and I can’t help but think that if Cassandra came across this man on the street, she’d cross the street in a second. Me on the other hand, I look at him hoping that he knows something about the person who destroyed my life.
“I’m not talking until I see the money,” he says raising his chin, showcasing a lot of scars on it.
“Where did you get this one?” Bruno asks Carter; he shrugs in reply.
“You’re going to pull this on us?” Carter says and crosses his left arm over the man’s shoulders. “You know how this goes— you talk, we pay, end of story. Don’t make this a B-rated movie where the snitch dies at the end of the scene.”
“I ain’t no snitch and I ain’t talking to nobody. You can shoot me with that gun o’yours and it wouldn’t make a difference,” the man says to Carter. I hadn’t noticed that Carter was holding a gun in his right hand and poking the man’s ribcage until he mentioned it—my body jerks back.
The guy notices it.
Bruno notices it.
Carter probably notices it as well but is more focused on keeping the gun on the ribs.
“Listen, punk. I didn’t drive all the way up here to hear you whine like a little bitch about money,” Bruno says gravely. “The way I see it, you’ve got two options— first, like Carter just said, you talk, we pay, everybody’s happy; second, no, we’re not going to kill YOU, not at all. We’ll pop every person in this God-forsaken place, shoot you twice in the knee and call the cops. With luck, the EMTs will show up fast, patch you up, save you the hospital trip and send you straight back to the big house. Since you’re in parole, I’m sure they’ll skip the trial.” Bruno’s voice darkens. Is he being serious? Is this the Professor talking?
“Hey, hey, hey. No need to go all loco in here. I’m just looking out for my interest. I’ve been ripped off before, you know? But I guess the Professor wouldn’t do that.” He laughs nervously. Bruno doesn’t say anything. “Oye, all I know is that a young guy in his early twenties bought me a nine mil and a bunch of other stuff, and paid loads for them.”
“This guy had a name?” Bruno asks.
Before the man answers, the waitress shows up with the order. “Heeere we go. Bottled water and a sammich'.” She leaves the plate and the water in front of Bruno and leaves.
Bruno moves the plate in front of me without a word, but the message is pretty clear.
Eat.
“He wouldn’t give me his name, and for the big wad of cash he gave me I wasn’t going to press him for it.”
“Don’t fuck with me, Jorge. You know I don’t give a shit about putting on a show here tonight, and I’m sure as hell nobody will do business with someone who sells his customers to the highest bidder. So, will you be a dear and be cool? I don’t want to apologize to my friend for making him come all this way for nothing,” Carter says while poking Jorge’s ribcage harder and harder with the gun. He makes me laugh even when he’s threatening someone, but I can’t express that. My poker face is solid and Bruno’s too, with one small detail— he looks like a nuclear reactor about to go into overdrive.
“You guys are tough customers. Alright. He went by the name of Leon. You know, like lion, but in Spanish.”
“Okay, keep going. Give me dates and an address, something worth my time,” Bruno says.
“We met two weeks ago, I think.”
“Where, exactly?” Carter asks.
