Burnished Gold

[redsox907]

Season One, Episode Nine - Foreign and Familiar

Driving from Phoenix back to the McNeel Apartment felt like he was moving through a dream. It didn’t help that the heat was sweltering outside, shimmering off the pavement and anything else unfortunate enough to be left in its glare for too long, giving the whole town a slight hazy feeling. He thought he knew how the heat would feel, sitting in the comfy cabin of the airplane, but now that he was exposed to its unrelenting fury, he longed for the cold chill of September in Alaska. Not enough to cut to the bone, but just enough to cool the sweat that formed during a late fall practice.

The heat was enough to numb the senses, but the feeling of vertigo added an extra layer of discomfort. As Phoenix turned into Tolleson, everything looked equally familiar and foreign. Iggy had never worn glasses, but he imagined this was what it felt like trying to see without them. Like he could remember the shape of the buildings out of his memories from ten years ago, but not the details, leaving everything looking alien instead of comforting. Driving down I-10 he could see in the distance the Hooters his Mom used to work at, where she’d met Clay. He had a sudden flashback, six years old, Miriam making him sit in the hot car while she went in to fetch Cassie, and a cold beer. Had it been this hot back then? He didn’t remember feeling like he was being baked in an oven, but maybe all those years in the frigid cold of Alaska had cooled his blood.

They turned off the highway, driving away from the shopping centers and grocery stores to the industrial side on 96th, then down Van Buren towards the residential area nestled right off the highway. They passed the Sonic on the corner of Van Buren and 96th. The same place he and Cisco would get milkshakes every Friday after school. They’d sit in the backset of Cassie’s Honda Civic, stealing long glances at the waitresses on roller skates, trying not to get caught. Back then the place had seemed bright and welcoming, an escape from the dry urban colors that surrounded the neighborhood. But now? It looked like any other building, maybe even worse. The paint had faded after years in the sun, the asphalt was cracked, lines cutting across the lot with no rhyme or reason. He couldn’t believe the one place he had a vivid memory of was so drastically different in real life.

The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints on the right hand side of 95th was the only exception. Despite all the years, the unforgiving sun, and the rough neighborhood, the building still stood pristine. The brick was still bright red as if it had been constructed yesterday, the spire still gleaming white after all these years. He’d once asked his Dad why they never went to that church, since they lived practically across the street, instead of driving down to the Lady of Guadalupe Church.

Rodrigo had sucked his teeth at the question. “And go to a church that doesn’t honor la madrecita?”

While Iggy was taking a trip down memory lane in the passenger seat of Rodrigo’s old Toyota Tacoma, Rodrigo rambled on while he drove, telling Iggy about what his grandparents were up to, how Claudia and Cisco were, how they still lived in the McNeel Apartments. All information Iggy knew, his father had told him everything at one time or another on their Sunday phone calls, but it felt like Rodrigo was as nervous as Iggy himself was, so Iggy pretended not to notice. He was coping in his own ways, surely.

So Iggy nodded at the right spots. Added an ‘mhmm’ where it was appropriate, all while moving through the city that he still called home that felt like the memories of a past life.

Then, they pulled into the McNeel Apartments parking lot. The only place he’d really considered home. Where he grew up. Until his father was ripped away, then Iggy himself as well.

Somehow, it looked unchanged. The stucco was a faded tan, instead of the bright sandstone he remembered. But somehow, that was all that changed. Or at least, that was all he noticed had changed.

The parking lot was still there, cracked and rough from years of abuse from both the sun and tenants. The concrete stoop Iggy and Cisco had spent many a day sitting on, contemplating how they would make it out of Tolleson one day. Then the tall glass doors on either side that had symbolized safety in his younger years, the place he could run when gunshots rang out down Van Buren, or the police suddenly swarmed the neighborhood like flies to shit.

For the first time, Iggy didn’t feel like he was walking through his memories.

He felt like he was home.

~~~

He had his hands at 10 and 2. Seat belt locked. Rear-view focused clearly through the back window. He went the speed limit, exactly, the streetlights casting a faint glow over the windshield as they passed overhead before disappearing behind the roof of the car. Every turn was sharp, every brake was steady. He stayed a car length back, at least, at all times. No music played through the speakers. Aside from the noise from the road, all was quiet in the cab.

His phone buzzed once in the cup holder, a notification banner appearing at the top.

Instinct moved his hand off the wheel, reaching for the phone as he turned onto Garvey Avenue, his fingers barely brushing the smooth glass surface of the Galaxy phone before his mind screamed in protest.

He snapped his hand back to the wheel, checking his rearview mirror out of habit. Nothing but the residential area of Maricopa fading into the distance as he moved down Garvey.

‘Don’t give them a reason to pull you over.’

The words echoed through his brain, reminding him this was no joy ride. This was business.

The worst part of the trip was coming up. He eased the Ford Escape off Garvey and onto Estrella, minding his lane and turning speed. On his left was the Fire Station. He turned at the next intersection onto Edison and now the Maricopa Police Station was on his right. It had never been a part of the route prior to this year. The newly constructed building still held the shiny new brick red look the county loved for all of their municipal buildings, as if the shiny rock made it a beacon of hope in the unforgiving Sonoran Desert.

He glanced out the passenger window as he passed the station, spotting a police cruiser idling at the stop sign, waiting to turn right down Edison. The officer made eye contact through the window. Mid thirties, caucasian. Shaved head with a red goatee. He nodded, one hand on the wheel, the other holding a coffee cup that was mid-downswing from a fresh sip.

Cisco returned the nod, his hands in their same positions, and faced forward again. He kept driving, glancing once at the speedometer to ensure he was still at the speed limit.

The patrol car waited for a moment at the stop light. Then two. Finally, on the third beat of his pounding heart, the squad car turned.

Left, down Edison. The way he’d come.

He let out the breath he didn’t know he was holding.

He could see his final destination coming up on the left hand side, as Edison turned into Loma. As always, the barbed wire gate was open, just enough to slip the Escape through. He sped up just a little, his eyes flicking to the rearview mirror before inching the accelerator a fraction farther down.

The moment the back tires thumped on the pavement, indicating he’d cleared the speed bump, the gate hummed into life, quietly sliding into place behind him.

Cisco drove behind the building, passing the parked semis, some with trailers, some bobtailed from their last trip, others already loaded with new freight for the next run of deliveries.

He pulled into the same spot he’d been in maybe fifteen times before, the car disappearing behind the two 53’ trailers flanking either side of it, the fiberglass battered and bruised from the years of assault from the sand and sun combined.

He cut the engine and killed the lights. Now, he waited.

Sometimes it was five minutes. One time it had been 25. However long the boys felt they needed to make sure he wasn’t followed.

Cisco pulled the Galaxy from the cup holder, thumbing the screen to life as he pulled it close.

Claudia: “Where are you?! We were supposed to meet Rodrigo.”

Then another had come, two minutes before, while he’d been holding his breath awaiting the cop’s next move.

Claudia: “You’re best friend is home after ten years and you’re Mary knows where. GET HOME!”

Cisco sucked his teeth.

“I don’t give a fuck if that pendejo is home,” he said aloud, unaware he’d voiced his inner thoughts.

Before he could type out a response, he saw shadows moving behind the car.

Three rhythmic taps followed, two in quick succession before a delay beat on the third. Then, a hand stuck out, visible in the sideview mirror.

All Cisco could see was a hand, the thumb and index forming a circle, and a tattoo on the skin between the digits. That was the signal.

He popped the hatch and watched through the rearview as the men started unloading the trunk. He stayed in the car, eyes on the rearview mirror. He could hear the shifting of bags, the clinking of metal, a few hushed words in Spanish. After two trips, the hatch slammed shut with a click. The same man gave him a circle with his thumb and pointer finger—tattoo visible again, then gave a light salute and disappeared into the night.

Cisco always waited five more minutes after the drop was done to re-ignite the engine. No one had told him to do this, but it felt necessary. At least to him.

While he waited, he typed back a quick response to his mother.

‘Be home soon. Baby Iggy can wait.’

He backed out of the parking spot, drove through the gate that was once again open just enough to fit the Escape through, then down Edison, back towards the police station.

His right hand was at 12, his left hand out the window, dangling against the side panel. Bass thumped through the speakers as Pooh Shiesty rapped over the beat.

“FDO, FTF, first day out, bitch, fuck the feds”

‘This is one experience I don’t want first hand. Shiesty can keep the FDO,’ Cisco thought, a small grin pulling at the corner of his mouth as he glanced over at the police station again. The lot was quiet this time.

The song continued as Cisco drove back through Maricopa towards South Mountain Village, where his own car was waiting. As he glided through the Maricopa suburbs, he couldn’t help daydreaming about finally getting his Mom out of the ghetto, getting her a place to call all her own in Maricopa.

~~~

The living room felt smaller than it really was, full of all the small items you collect over a lifetime. Usually, some of those items eventually get tossed away during a move, deemed unimportant, or simply not worth the effort. But, when you live in one apartment for almost twenty years, things have a habit of sticking around.

Nicknacks occupied every space imaginable. The bookshelf, the small entertainment center that held the modest TV, both coffee tables, and every window sill. The furniture was a ragtag collection of garage sale finds and free items from friends. The loveseat that Claudia and Rodrigo were nestled together on had been a find from two weekends ago. Rodrigo had spotted it on his drive to work and had called Claudia, who was in dire need of a new love seat after Rodrigo had spilled pasta sauce on it in a frantic escape attempt to keep Cisco from catching them together.

This time, there would be no mad scramble to avoid suspicion. Only because this time they had a viable reason. That didn’t mean they couldn’t take advantage of it.

“Are you sure this is okay?” Asked Rodrigo through pressed lips as Claudia climbed on top of him.

“The door is locked and he never uses his key,” she sighed back between kisses, lips never disconnecting from each other.

“He’ll walk head first into the door before he uses the key.”

“And Iggy?”

“He’s unpacking and talking to his girlfriend. I think he wanted the space anyway,” answered Rodrigo as his hand slid underneath Claudia’s blouse.

As if on cue, there was a thump on the door, followed by a low curse, then the jangle of keys.

Claudia quickly slid off Rodrigo’s lap, giving him a swift kiss, retreating to the other end of the couch, putting distance between them as she fixed her hair and pulled out her lipgloss.

After another low curse, Cisco burst through the door, the knob hitting the worn spot in the drywall with a soft thud.

“The fuck?” Cisco exclaimed as his eyes took in his mother—still applying lipgloss—and Rodrigo on the loveseat.

“Cisco! That’s no way to talk.”

Cisco sucked his teeth and rolled his eyes, kicking his shoes off in opposite directions and stomping towards his room, duffle bag clung close to his hip.

“Hold on,” Claudia called back, but Cisco waved her off. “Hold on, let me at least put my stuff away,” he shot back, the door slamming cutting off the end of his sentence.

“Ya know,” Rodrigo started. Claudia turned on him, eyes daring him to continue. Rodrigo lifted his palms in surrender.

Cisco emerged from the bedroom a few minutes later, the black clothing stripped to a white tank-top and black Nike shorts.

“So, what’s up?” Asked Cisco as he crossed the hallway to the kitchen, pulling out the tinfoil wrapped tortillas and some leftover carnitas.

“You’d know what was up if you weren’t out all night doing God knows what. Where have you been?”

“Out.” Cisco put the carnitas on a plate, putting them in the microwave to heat.

“Where?”

“With Stefan.” The microwave hummed to life as Cisco punched in the numbers. Claudia stared at Cisco as he watched the plate rotate in the microwave, the steady hum the only sound inside the apartment. Rodrigo put his hands in his lap, then back at his sides, suddenly uncomfortable in his own skin.

The microwave beeped that its job was completed and Cisco resumed making his taco.

“Really?” Claudia threw her hands in the air for emphasis. Cisco just shrugged, taking a hefty bite of his reheated carnitas.

“What was up,” Rodrigo started, causing both Cisco and Claudia to turn on him with looks of equal surprise and confusion. Rodrigo glanced at Claudia, threw his own shoulders up in a shrug, and pressed on.

“Is I need a favor.”

“You? The fuck you want?”

“CISCO!” Claudia yelled, anger bubbling quickly to the surface.

“It’s okay, Claudia. He has every right to question why I’m asking a favor.”

“To be honest, it isn’t even for me. It’s for Iggy.”

Cisco took another bite and chewed, deliberately slow, eyes working from Rodrigo to Claudia and back. Claudia waved her hands, gesturing for him to hurry up, but Rodrigo never moved. He simply watched and waited, holding Cisco’s gaze whenever it fell on him.

“Iight,” he finally said after swallowing the bite. “The fuck he want?”

Claudia threw her hands in the air again, then started absentmindedly rubbing her temples.

Rodrigo resisted the urge to reach out and stroke her back. Letting slip that he was involved with Cisco’s mom wouldn’t help him secure his help.

“He’s got some stuff he has to do while he’s here this summer. Court ordered stuff.”

Cisco scoffed, a small smirk forming and disappearing equally as quick. “What, like probation? Mano ripping and running up in the icebox?”

Rodrigo’s own smirk showed through, but unlike Cisco, he eagerly accepted it. He wanted Cisco to think he was in control.

“Yeah, something like that. Point is, if he misses them then he has to go back to Alaska, and I lose my opportunity to see my son for the first time in ten years.”

“I feel that, but what’s it got to do with me? I ain’t talk to Iggy since he left with the gringo.”

“Because I have to work. So, I need someone to take him to these things when I can’t.”

“You want me to drive him around then, eh? Gas money and hourly, up front.”

“Gas money upfront, hourly each week.”

“Nah, viejo. You need me, I make the rules. Everything up front, or you find yourself another Mexican to play chauffeur.”

“Okay, you win. Gas money and $10 an hour, prorated.”

“Twenty.”

Claudia hadn’t looked up throughout the whole exchange until now, fury lighting behind her eyes again.

“God damnit Cisco, stop being an ass and just be helpful for once?! Please?”

Cisco held his Mom’s look for another minute before returning his eyes to Rodrigo.

“Fifteen.”

“Deal.”

Cisco nodded, scooped up the last of his carnitas and retreated back to his room.

“All things considered, I think that went well,” Rodrigo finally laughed after five minutes of uncomfortable silence.

“We’ll see if you’re still singing that same tune when I kick you out with no play since Cisco’s home,” huffed Claudia.

“It’s gonna be like that, huh? Win the battle, lose the war?” Rodrigo joked, inching closer to Claudia on the love seat.

She swatted his arm with the throw pillow beside her, “Boy, get out of here with that. Go check on your son.”

“Alright, alright,” he laughed, rising and moving towards the same door Cisco had burst through earlier.

“But when I come knocking once the kids are asleep don’t be acting all surprised.”

He barely got out the door before the pillow thudded against the wall.

[Caesar]

the Hooters his Mom used to work at, where she’d met Clay

Cisco gonna have Iggy trafficking by the weekend.

[djp73]

trouble brewing with Cisco

[redsox907]

the Hooters his Mom used to work at, where she’d met Clay

Cisco gonna have Iggy trafficking by the weekend.

I'll say it for you. Rich white man picking up poor white girl at Hooters is the midwest dream

also

trouble brewing with Cisco

[redsox907]

Season One, Episode Ten - Gearing Up

Iggy sat at the grey folding table with his breakfast. Four scrambled eggs with pepper jack cheese, three pieces of bacon. Rodrigo had cooked home fries that Iggy politely declined. Rodrigo then made toast. Then offered to make pancakes.

“Dad, I’m good with eggs and bacon. Promise.”

Rodrigo shrugged his shoulders, bringing his plate consisting of a double serving of home fries and bacon. He’d intended the two of them to split the eggs, underestimated how many Iggy would eat, and now was left with just the potatoes and bacon.

Rodrigo pulled the other folding chair out, the only two chairs in the small makeshift dining room now occupied. Like everything else in Rodrigo’s apartment, it screamed single Dad.

No pictures on the walls. No plants. No decorations of any kind. Rodrigo had a small patchwork loveseat, a 32” TV on another folding table, one picture of Iggy in his football gear from sophomore year—the first year he’d made varsity—next to the TV, then the folding chair in between the small space that led from the kitchen to the living room.

The table still had the sticker on it from Wal-Mart, Iggy had noticed it when he sat down with his eggs.

“Did you just buy this table before I came?”

Rodrigo nodded, then shrugged as Iggy stifled a laugh.

“Hey, I’m trying here kid,” Rodrigo said defensively, humor in his voice with pride layered underneath.

Rodrigo picked at his homefries, reaching for the Cholula on the counter.

Iggy shoveled another mouthful of eggs into his mouth, picking at the sticker on the table as he ate. The sounds of forks on plates, chewing, and the occasional sip of juice filled the small apartment as they ate their breakfast.

Rodrigo pushed his plate away, only half the potatoes gone. Iggy pointed his fork, Cholula from his eggs still stuck to one of the tines, and laughed through his last bite.

“You better not tell me I gotta clean my plate when your food’s half eaten pops.”

“When you pay for the food come talk to me kid.”

They both laughed for a minute before the silence crept in again. Iggy could see Rodrigo was trying, feeling his way through the dark after all the missed years, and he appreciated it more than his father would likely ever know.

“Speaking of paying for things,” Rodrigo said, taking his plate towards the kitchen as he spoke.

“Did your Mom talk to you about this football stuff?”

Iggy nodded. He hadn’t forgotten about the stipulation from Clay. Or the envelope of money still in his bag, sandwiched between the pages of printouts from last year’s playbook.

“So I’ve been scrounging Facebook Marketplace and I think I found a pair of football pads on the cheap that will fit you. I got time before work today if you want to go check them out.”

Iggy’s laugh started small, but he could only stifle it for so long before it broke out in full force, starting deep in his chest and rolling out.

Rodrigo stared at his son, a smile on his lips, not because he got the joke. Just because. While Iggy worked through his humor, Rodrigo collected his plate and started washing the dishes, scrubbing each one and placing it in the drying rack.

“You never played football did you?” Iggy finally asked, small chuckles still fighting their way through.

“Nah, I was too busy raising a kid and living in the streets.”

The words were out of his mouth before he’d thought about them, his quick wit betraying the situation. Iggy’s smile faltered, tipping down at the edges for a moment. Then, he caught it, the smile returning, not as wide as before, but still there. Still genuine.

“I don’t need pads for non-contact drills, pops. I just need to get some good cleats, some workout gear, and maybe some gloves.”

Rodrigo raised his eyebrows. “It’s not going to be cold outside? Why gloves?”

Iggy snickered again, covering his mouth to keep another bout of laughter from rolling out.

“They help with gripping the ball, Dad. Normally I don’t wear them in practice, but it’s hotter than a bitch—“

“Hey now, just cause Cisco talks like a sailor doesn’t mean you have to.” Rodrigo had stopped mid-scrub on his plate, turning his hips to glare at Iggy, soap dripping from the scrub brush onto the counter.

Iggy raised his hands in surrender, “My bad. You don’t correct him, so I figured it was fair game.”

“He’s not my son.” Rodrigo hadn’t raised his voice, but the register had changed. It was deeper, the promise of action behind it.

“I got you, my bad, Dad.”

“Anyways, it’s hot out here. Hands might be sweaty is all.”

Rodrigo nodded as he moved back to the table, sitting across from Iggy again, drying his hands on a dish towel that had seen better days as he sat.

“Now, at the risk of being laughed out of the room again, I’ve got one more question.”

“Shoot pops.”

“Why do you need to grip the ball if you play safety?”

“You telling me you ain’t never seen Ed Reed?!”

The look of confusion on Rodrigo’s face brought another uncontrollable bout of laughter out of Iggy.

“We’ll have to watch some YouTube when you get home from work pops, I’ll get you educated. Besides, I don’t play safety anymore.”

Rodrigo’s eyebrows rose again, asking the question without any words.

“We had some injuries last year, so coach moved me. That’s why Clay wants me to do camps, get up to speed since it’s a new position.”

It wasn’t the full truth, but it was close enough to be believable. At least for now.

Rodrigo didn’t understand, he’d never been a sports guy. But he nodded like he did, smiling behind his cup of orange juice.

~~~

“You really ain’t gonna tell me how you got $500 in crisp bills in an envelope? I thought we was primos!?”

Iggy just shrugged his shoulders at his old friend. Since they’d gone into the Big 5 to get his new gear, Cisco hadn’t stopped badgering him about where the money had come from.

“I know your pops ain’t got it like that working at Wally World. So, c’mon man.”

Iggy gave Cisco a blank stare until Cisco tossed his empty cigarette packet at him in mock anger.

“You buying me a new pack then if you ain’t gonna tell me where you got the come up.”

It had been awkward hanging out with Cisco at first. Ten years in Alaska had turned the person he once considered a brother into a complete stranger. Even worse, Iggy could tell that Claudia was forcing Cisco to spend time with Iggy, making the entire friendship feel awkward and forced.

That had all changed when the pair realized they liked the same music. Sitting in Cisco’s Blazer outside the same Sonic they used to visit as kids, Tupac’s ‘Hit ‘Em Up’ came barreling through the speakers, commanding the attention of anyone listening as he boldly yelled out, ‘That’s why I fucked your bitch,” before dismantling his opposition.

“You probably the kinda dude who thinks Bigger better than Pac, huh?” Cisco shot at Iggy, side eying him at the same time, ready to challenge any notion that Tupac wasn’t one of the greatest MCs of all time.

“The fuck? Biggie always been on some weird shit,” Iggy had laughed. Cisco eyeballed him for a minute, waiting to see if Iggy was testing him, then joined in the laughter as they mocked Biggie in unison with Tupac.

And just like that, their friendship began to reforge.

They’d been sitting outside Big 5 in Cisco’s Blazer for almost thirty minutes, long enough that the air conditioning had evolved from merely pushing around the warm, stagnant air, to providing that chill that was eerily like fall in Alaska. It made the hairs on his arms stand up and turned the sweat that had soaked through their tank-tops cool to the touch.

Like everything the Zazueta’s owned, the Blazer had seen better days. Cisco was unsure of what year it was, but it was definitely early 2000’s. The odometer read 278,213 miles, the fabric seats had long been stained and ripped, the paint was starting to chip around the edges, the paint fading under the unforgiving assault from the sun.

“Don’t knock her till you try her,” informed Cisco the first time the pair got in the vehicle, Iggy eyeballing the ride less like a car and more like a roller coaster at the amusement park he didn’t trust.

At his feet was the bag from Big 5. A pair of Adizero cleats, a couple of Under Armor compression shirts and shorts, and a new pair of gloves. Cisco had asked Iggy the same question as Rodrigo when he saw the gloves.

“You mean to tell me you’re 17 and don’t play football?”

Cisco had shrugged as if it wasn’t a surprise.

“What about basketball? Baseball? You gotta at least play soccer. For the culture!”

Each sport was met with another flat shrug from Cisco.

“So what do you do when you ain’t in school?”

“Stuff.” That was the only answer Cisco would give him.

Cisco eased the car into drive and started to turn onto Buckeye, muttering to himself as he turned.

“Motherfucker gets mad at me but then acts all shady with the dough.”

That Mexican OT rolled through the speakers, the bass rattling the frame of the Blazer, as they cruised down Lower Buckeye, passing a Chevron on the way.

“Calling up plays in my circle like I’m Matt Ryan,” rapped BigX as he took over the flow from That Mexican OT. Cisco rapped along with the beat, moving his right hand with the words as he went, left hand on hanging over the top of the wheel as he drove the Blazer.

“Man don’t know football but rapping bout Matt Ryan,” snorted Iggy.

“Who the fuck Matt Ryan?” Cisco turned the music down, the sound of rapping fading behind the thump of the bass.

“Nevermind,” Iggy laughed, earning a fresh scowl from Cisco. Cisco turned the volume back up and the song changed. Tee Grizzley was next, one of the songs from his Robbery series, the one where he went to prison for murder.

Iggy’s thoughts instantly gravitated towards his father. His Dad was trying, but even from just observing over the last week, Iggy could see the side effects of years watching your back. Every sound earned his attention. Every detail was addressed, from a line in the carpet to the fridge being out of order. He surveyed rooms before he greeted their occupants, eyes darting to corners and shadows as if it were second nature.

As the music played and the two friends minded their own business—Cisco rapping with the lyrics while Iggy thought of his father, they turned left off onto 83rd Avenue, continuing all the way down till they reached the border of the Industrial area.

Cisco edged the car into the parking lot of Love’s Travel Stop, a less than flattering truck stop right off I-10.

“We passed four gas stations on the way here,” Iggy questioned, eyebrows raised and bunched together in the middle of his forehead.

“Yeah, but those ones are corp. They ain’t gonna sell me no smokes.”

“But Betsy inside looks the other way when you ask for smokes if you buy her a honeybun and tell her she got a fat ass.”

“Does she?”

“Fuck no,” Cisco snorted, “But that’s the point. You gotta give to get.”

“Oh, that’s the secret,” Iggy fired back, already laughing at his own responses before Cisco was clued into the joke.

“You be dicking down ol’ Betsy with ya freaky ass.”

“I will deadass leave you in the middle of the desert if you put that on my jacket again, bruh.”

The two continued to fire jabs at each other as they swung out of the vehicle, doors slamming shut in unison as the sound of their shoes hitting the pavement echoed off the Stucco of the building.

“Lowkey tho,” Cisco said in a low register as they approached the corner, the glass doors leading inside the store just on the other side.

“If no one would find out, I’d throw her some dick.”

“Probably suck on her toes and errything huh,” snorted Iggy as he rounded the corner, leaving Cisco standing in stunned silence just at the turn.

“Ay, you nasty for that!” Called Cisco after him, flying into the store, the bell bolted just above it clattering loudly to announce another customer.

“Hey Cisco,” called Betsy from behind the counter, twirling her hair with one hand as she waved with the other.

“Hey B,” called back Cisco, turned down the second-row of aisles, the Hostess rack fixed along the far wall.

Iggy and Cisco made eye contact over the aisles, a small grin spreading from ear to ear on Iggy’s face, the laughter behind it contained. For now.

“Don’t you even dare,” shot Cisco, snatching up two honeybuns and retreating back toward the counter as Iggy snickered behind him.

~~~

Charlotte came through the door in a rush, the sound of her knee banging against the mahogany door followed by a quiet curse drawing Cassie’s attention away from the glass she’d been staring into for God knew how long and back over her shoulder towards the door.

It was a vodka night. The handle of Ketel One was half drank on the bar top, condensation pooling around the base and wetting the label still, the chill long gone. The frozen blueberries she’d put in her glass as ice cubes had thawed and swollen as they absorbed a mixture of vodka and lemonade from the drink, sitting at the bottom of her glass plump and full. Normally she’d savor bursting the fruit in her mouth, tasting the last drops of the vodka it had stashed away, before pouring a fresh glass. Today, she hadn’t found the motivation. At least, not yet. If she succeeded in killing the bottle, the bloated blueberries would serve as a nice final drink to cap off the night.

“I’ve been calling for you for like, twenty minutes,” Charlotte exclaimed, still rubbing her knee, the pale skin already a bright red from the impact. She took in the scene at the bar, her Mom half turned, half slumped towards the door. The vodka bottle. The jug of lemonade, cap nowhere to be found.

“Apparently you had better things to do,” she scoffed, gesturing with her free hand at the scene.

Cassie gave a halfhearted shrug. She’d stopped trying to hide her drinking from the kids a long time ago. Clay controlled everything else in her life, she was allowed to have this. And who would blame her, after everything she’d dealt with, everything she continued to deal with, all to try and give her children a better life than she’d ever dreamed of.

“Anyway,” Charlotte continued, starting the ritual of cleaning up behind Cassie. The bottle went back in the freezer, hidden behind the various boxes of ice cream. Charlotte knew she’d eventually find it, she always did, but at least it would delay her a bit.

“Have you seen the $500 Daddy gave me? Becky, Savannah, and I were going to go to 5th and get our nails done, but I can’t find it anywhere.”

Cassie’s eyes flicked up at Charlotte at the mention of the money. Charlotte had her back turned, strategically hiding the Ketel One bottle in the small freezer, the small flicker of recognition unseen by her.

‘Did I give Iggy Charlotte’s money?’ Thought Cassie to herself through the fog. That wouldn’t make sense though, why would Charlotte’s money be behind the bar. She was the only one who indulged in the bar.

Or was she?

“When did he give it to you Lottie?” She tried to sound empathetic, almost concerned, but the words slurred together so thickly any context clues were lost.

“The night before Iggy left,” she answered, scrubbing the counter with a Clorox wipe where the lemonade had turned sticky on the counter, the lemon scent wafting into the air.

“Unless he took it because he knew his Daddy couldn’t afford to feed him,” scoffed Charlotte, pulling her iPhone out of her jeans pocket and thumbing the screen to life, the glow brightening her face.

“Lottie, c’mon now,” Cassie slurred, reaching for her glass and finding it empty. Her eyes instantly cut around the room, searching for the bottle she’d left open.

Charlotte put her hands up in defense, the phone still glowing in her hand. “I’m just saying what Daddy says,” she snickered, her eyes going back to the screen as soon as her hands came down.

“So you haven’t seen it?”

Cassie shook her head no, still searching for the vodka bottle.

Charlotte sighed. “That means I’ll have to get into my stash so I don’t have to tell Daddy I lost it,” she sighed, both hands going to the phone and pulling it up, the screen sitting inches away from her face as she walked out of the room, navigating her way through the doorway without incident.

The door closed softly, the action engaged to keep it from slamming. Clay’d installed them two summers ago to avoid Cassie accidentally slamming the doors when she was leaving the den in a drunken stupor in the middle of the night.

‘Iggy has Charlotte’s money and she’s looking for it,’ her conscience warned her, trying to cut through the fog that was slowly enveloping rational thought.

‘We have to figure out a reason for it, or replace it, or Clay will blame Iggy.’

Then, her eyes found the blueberries in her glass.

She picked one up, rolling it between her index finger and thumb, before popping it into her mouth. It squelched under her teeth with little resistance, blueberry juice and the bite of liquor just underneath it.

She reached in and popped two more into her mouth, her eyes wandering to her phone on the counter.

She grabbed the final handful of blueberries out of the cup with one hand, popping them into her mouth as she clawed her phone towards her. As she chewed the blueberries, the taste filling her mouth, she thumbed the phone on. Cassie tapped the Facebook icon, hit the reels tab, and started scrolling.

[djp73]

Still thinking Iggy stays
Maybe gets Cisco on the field

[Caesar]

Clay gonna leave Cassie out in the tundra when he found out what she did.

[Soapy]

“FDO, FTF, first day out, bitch, fuck the feds”

[The JZA]

At least Rodrigo's trying, wheras Cassie...

[redsox907]

Still thinking Iggy stays
Maybe gets Cisco on the field

Clay gonna leave Cassie out in the tundra when he found out what she did.

Cassie a drunk. She can just say she don't remember and who gonna say differently? There's a reason the bars tucked in the back of the house. Outta sight, outta mind

“FDO, FTF, first day out, bitch, fuck the feds”

At least Rodrigo's trying, wheras Cassie...

Rodrigo trying to make up for ten years in a summer