Find Me (Truthful Lies Trilogy - Book Two) (25 page)

Another dumb move? Sure. Rearview mirrors,
as they say. But we’ve already established that I ain’t no genius.
So please don’t rub it in. Because it hurts like a mofo as it
is.

Hurts like a
motherfucker
.

Still on the primer:

Tatiana Watkins had
hidden surveillance cameras set up at
various angles of her bedroom. Judging from the photos I would see
later, I figured it as being six of them. The key one being the one
aimed straight at her bed, the one that caught me surrounded by the
three women, squashed up between them, touching their skin. It’s
incredible, the facial expressions you pull when stuck in a moment
of shock. It’s incredible how many of them look like sexual
expressions.

There’s a photo of Samantha “riding” me
from behind. Remember when I fell and she “helped” me up? What I
didn’t notice was her lips eerily close to my neck.

Remember that shot of Kate
and Prince William? Remember
Samantha bending down to pick something up? Let’s just say that my
hand—and my facial expression—could “not have looked better if it
had been planned.”

Then there’s the shots of me groping, not
one, but two sets of tits—Samantha’s and Tatiana’s. Tatiana’s
occurred when Dalya walked into me and thrust her own pair
of
cajoonkas
deep
into my chest, thereby throwing me off balance and getting one
helluva set of good groping snapshots as I struggled and flailed
backwards. And don’t forget those fantastic contortions of my
mug.

Guess where else she had a
camera
—you ain’t gonna
believe it, it’s so rich. Remember the
Trojan 36
pack?

There’s
also a shot of Dalya’s areola shining from above
the sheets, a perfectly light-brown half-moon, and in that shot I
look a lot closer to her than I really was.

I figure
Tatiana must’ve had twenty-four shots going a
second: like video, but these were of top photographic quality. Not
like the low-res crap you see in CCTV cams. She
must’ve
had that rate going per second because she
caught
every
possible
bad pose I got
caught in! And there weren’t that many! This entire exchange lasted
for, maybe, two or three minutes?

I’m not a photographer, but I believe you
need
good light to have
a fast shot-rate or something.

Remember the open curtains?

Of course,
Blaze getting the shots would all happen later. At
the
worst
possible
time. But not much later.

Today,
now
, while we drive home, Blaze is oblivious to all this. And
I’m also horny.
Not
because
I’ve
seen three naked sluts in front of me! It’s because I’m
seeing
Blaze’s
naked
body in my mind. The most beautiful girl in the world to me. The
one I’ve been dying to get back to every time that Tatiana skank
threw herself at me and Trev. Blaze’s body: Small breasts, and both
utterly magnificent. Perfect.
Her
tits. Her O-shaped mouth, full lips, small oval face, soft
cheeks. A sleeve tattoo from heaven. Eyebrows that form a light
arch in the center, and eyes so deep and green I could spend a
lifetime in them.

Yes, a
picture paints a thousand words...

Even if those words are lies.

But, l
ater, later. Let’s get back to now...

Blaze Ryleigh

It’s a new set of condos in Williamsburg,
high-end. That’s where Xavier lives.
The carpeting in the hallway smells new. Vlad,
Sasha, Vikki and I stomp over the plush covering on the way to
Xavier’s apartment door. I knock on it a few times and he doesn’t
answer. “Xavier! It’s Blaze. Xavier?”

I hear a door open behind me. I turn and
see a gray-haired woman in a flowery kimono smoking a cigarette.
She scowls at me like I’m one of the devil’s minions. Doesn’t
bother me, my tats and hair generally do that to people.

I turn my attention back and knock again.
This time I shout. “XAVIER—”

“Young lady!” The dowager takes a long drag.
“If he were there, he’d answer, now please stop making such a
ruckus!”

Ruckus?

I ignore her; knock again. I hear Mizz
Kimono huff and close her door, mumbling something to the effect of
“youth!”

Vikki
asks, “Is it open?”

I put my hand around the brass knob and
turn.

The door clicks open.

The room is brightly lit. Everything is
white, except for a huge red and black splatter painting on the
left wall. Huge glass windows lead out to a terrace, washing the
room in bright afternoon light. The place smells like an
uncomfortable mixture of the sweet scent of weed and the vinegary
tang of burned heroin.

Xavier
sits in the center of the room, at a round table. Dressed
in a white suit. And a white fedora hat. On a white
chair.

Eyes
a sickly mixture of red and yellow.

Burning cigarette in one hand.

And his tiny
black
Ruger
revolver in the other...

Snoop Dogg
gangsta-funk (“
Gin and Juice
”) grooves lightly over what is clearly an
expensive sound system, because the sound is crystal.

The gat’s on the table,
Xavier’s hand over it. He clasps it, picks
it up, swings it languidly at the ceiling. Vlad and Sasha are on my
right, just a little behind me. Vikki’s on my left. She’s the
reddest thing in this place, wearing her trademark crimson
clothing. I sense Vlad’s hand twitch to an obvious gat of his own.
My hand fires off to his forearm and, my eyes locked on Xavier, I
shake my head slowly.

Xavier’s baked. Even from this distance, I
can see this.
His eyes
struggle to stay focused on me, on anything. His head sways lightly
from left to right.

Vlad twitches again.
Too fucking trigger
happy
.

Xavier puts the ciggy in his mouth and its
smoke teases his eyes. He squints, then flips the revolver’s
cylinder. While its ratchet sound echoes in sync to
Warren
G
’s rapping, Xavier
says, “One bullet.”

Ratchet-ratchet-ratchet.

The cylinder stops
turning.

What he does next is too fast for me to do
anything:

He puts the gun to his head.

And he pulls the trigger.

It clicks! My bladder almost
gives.

“
Hmpf! Too bad.” He pulls the smoke from
his lip, then aims the gun at me
—weakly. “You. Alone. Tell whoever
dees
bozos are to wait outside.”

“Put the gun down, Xavier, and I’ll come
inside. Alone.”

It takes him a second to grasp what I say.
Then, he swings the cylinder—

My hand flies out to stop him. “No!”

He stops the cylinder swinging with his
thumb, says, “You. Alone.” With the gun, he aims erratically at my
crew. “They leave.”

When I look at Vikki, her golden eyes are
wide with terror. She mouths,
No!

“Yes, Vikki. I must.”

She shakes her head vigorously. She looks
at Vlad. I turn to look at him as well. His hand’s still hanging
dangerously by his side—
the piece
.

“Vikki, please. It’s OK.”

She doesn’t stay silent. “No!” She turns
to Xavier, “You fucking piece of shit! Go ahead and blow your
fucking brains out! No one gives a shit—”

“Vikki!” My hand goes to her wrist.

She stops. Then, she points a long finger
(
bright red nail polish)
at Xavier and says, “I don’t give a fuck
how
high you are. You lay a
finger
on her and...” She runs her index finger across
her neck. “See these men here?” She points at Vlad and Sasha. “I
will have them take your fingernails out one by one if you fuck
with me!” Then, to me, she says, “I hope you know what you’re
doing. Because he’s
not
worth
it!”

But he is, because he’s the last link I have
to Savva.

She storms out. Vlad and Sasha follow suit
hesitantly, Vlad’s eyes lingerin
g a second on me before exiting. The door closes. Xavier
says, “Lock it.” I do. Then he says, “Sit.”

“No.”

“What?”

“
I said no. You got something to say to me,
say it. But I’m not your fucking pet. And Vikki’s right, you wanna
blow your goddamned brains out, then fucking
do it
! I actually called you to thank you. You know,
you did
one
good fucking
thing in your life, Xavier. And you deserve thanks for that. But
I’m not going to give you the sympathy that you think you’re gonna
get if you blow your goddamned brains out—”

He growls the next words out. His hand
quivers hard on the trigger. “I’m not looking for sympathy!”

“
Put the gun down, Xavier. You’re baked,
and if you wanna take your life, go ahead. But I
have
a life to live, and I don’t
wanna risk you pulling that trigger on me—”

“
I’d never do that—”

“
Just put the fucking gat down! CHRIST!” He
does it. Instantly. On the table. “On the couch!” I point to it.
Zombified, he does that as well, then sits forward again at his
table. “Now, I’m just gonna tell my friend I’m OK. Because you
scared the shit out of her with your fucking
drama queen
act. So...just hang there, and don’t do
shit!”

I step back, always facing him, and I
unlock the door. I open it
—my back to it—still looking at him. “Vikki, we’re cool.
Just so you know.”

I hear her whispering by my ear. “Blaze, you
sure?”

“
We’re OK, Vikki. He’s put the gun down.
And I’m leaving the door unlocked.” I say that last part louder, so
Xavier can hear me. He seems to be fading. “Xavier! I’m keeping the
door unlocked. Because we’re just chatting here, right?” He waves a
dismissive hand at me. Quietly, to Vikki, I say, “Vik, it’s cool.
Door’s open. I’ll shout if I need your help, OK?” I feel her
fingers on my shoulder through the crack in the door. She gives me
a tight squeeze. Then I close the door.

I ease up to Xavier. The piece is still
within his reach, but we’d have to fight for it if he suddenly went
crazy like he did at
Swallow Café
,
because it’s not
easily
within
his reach. We sit in silence for a few minutes. He takes his fedora
off, throws it on the white rug. Rubs his fingers through his black
hair. There’s an ashtray on the table. At least twenty smokes in
it, a few joints as well.

“How long you been sitting here playing
Russian Roulette?”

He mumbles.

“What?”

“A few hours.”

“And how many times have you pulled the
trigger?”

He looks up at me. “It wasn’t loaded the
first fifty times. I pulled it three times after I put the bullet
in. Including when you were in the room here.”

I imagine what it would’ve been like to
see Xavier’s
glowing
blood smattered everywhere around this pristine room. “That’s not
right, you know?” I say.

“What?”

“Having other people find you like it’s some
statement you’re making to the world. It’s disgusting. And it hurts
those who love you.”

“
No one loves me.”

“
I
love you, Xavier.”

“You don’t love me. You never did.”

“
I
did
.
And I do. Just not the love you maybe wanted. We were never made
for each other romantically, Xavier. You should know that. What we
shared was wonderful and beautiful, but you know we were both
smoked out of our minds in those days. And I wasn’t ready for that
shit emotionally either. But, like a brother, I’ve loved you ever
since we were kids.”

He wipes his eye.
Snoop Dogg’s singing
Whoop Your Ass
with Kurupt. “Life was simple
when we was kids, remember?”

“I do.”

“How did it all get so fucked up, Blaze? How
did we get so far into the shit?”

“We made choices, Xavier. Choices we have to
live with.”

“
I can’t live with the choices I made. My
choice killed my sister.” His chin starts trembling. Tears fall on
the table. He reaches in his jacket and I react instantly by
jumping. “Chill. It’s just smokes.” He pulls out a pack of
turquoise American Spirits; lights one up. His hand is
trembling.

“What you on now?”

“Just weed. Did some H earlier.”

“
Xavier, it’s been over a year since you
and I spoke
regularly.
But I can’t be friends with you if you carry on this lifestyle. I
appreciate what you did for me with Randy, getting me the gig
at
House
Market
. It’s opened up
so many doors for me...” I leave out my feelings for Declan, who’s
first and foremost in my mind right now. Especially when the
Ruger
was waving aimlessly in our
direction earlier. “...but that doesn’t excuse your actions when
you’re high. It doesn’t give you the right to raise a hand to
me—”