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His words hit too close to home, and I turn my head to hide a wince. Schooling my face into a neutral mask, I bump fists with Jason and shake hands.
“How’s it hanging, man?”
“You know how it is.” He tsks and nods at the busy avenue. “Work, work, work. You should be the one to tell me tales now. You said you were going to work at a tattoo shop in the center of town. How did that work out for you?”
“It’s great,” I say and mean it. So great in fact that I often feel guilty for everyone I used to know, like Jason, who didn’t get that opportunity. “You should come visit me one day.”
“Yeah, of course.” But I know he won’t. He doesn’t feel he can wash the stench of the street off him. It’s like he has a brand on his forehead marking him as homeless and a hooker and is convinced everyone can see it.
I feel that way sometimes, too, although it’s not as bad as it used to be.
“Are you seeing the others? Mayleen, Adam, Josie? They still around?”
“I see them. Where would they go, man? We’re stuck here.”
Except me. Familiar guilt washes through me. I’ve tried giving them my money, but they won’t take it. They’re proud people, and I know how they feel about charity.
“They okay? No trouble?”
“You talking about something specific now, aren’t you, J?”
“You know what I’m talking about.”
Jason nods. He knows, and normally he’d tell me to chill, and that everything’s calm.
This time, though, he remains silent, and I don’t like it. He glances down the street, then behind him. On edge.
“Come on, Jason, spill.” I want to shake him, rattle any information out of him, so I ball my hands into fists and wait him out.
“There’s this new guy,” he finally says, shuffling his feet, uncomfortable as hell. “Mikey. Sixteen or seventeen. Pretty face, though no comparison to you, J.”
I huff. Jason has hit on me a couple of times. I’m used to men hitting on me, as much as chicks, but I hope Jason has taken the hint. I just don’t swing that way.
In fact, I managed, against all odds, to only service women. Jason helped me with that, and I owe him big time, taking on the guys who’d hit on me and putting out the word about me to lady friends.
“Go on,” I say when it becomes clear he’d rather not. “What happened?”
He lets out a frustrated sigh, checks the street again. “He won’t say, but we found him beaten up pretty badly. Not far from here, in fact.”
A chill runs up my spine despite the warm day. “You think it’s the same guy? Simon?”
Pimp and leader of a MC gang, he arrived to take this city under his “protection.” Simon Gomez.
“Could well be. Kid mumbled something about turf wars and ran. Never heard where he ended up.”
I swallow sourness. “Has Simon ever threatened you?”
Just his name makes me feel sick.
“Kaia keeps tabs on him.” The local pimp. “But she’s getting sicker by the day. If she passes on, I don’t know what will happen.”
“Yeah.” I jam my hands into my pockets. “Me neither.”
“You could press charges, J.”
He’s told me this before. Jason is the one who found me and patched me up. He found a doctor to sew my arm up for free—or if he paid in kind, he never told me.
“I can’t. He’ll find out I ratted him out. Too risky. Besides, it’s been years and it’s not like I had any witnesses.”
