The Thick of lt

[Tanned_babe]

"You’re going to get in too deep, Tash. This isn’t the kind of guys we used to hang with at school; Rizz’s boys are dangerous, you’re just a piece of meat to them. A way for getting them more cash.” Tyron warned. He was her oldest friend; they were on the exact same boat in terms of affluence and lifestyle. Both lived in Maryvale on the Westside of Phoenix; the area had been plagued with gang violence since Tash could remember and although she had stayed out of it for most of her adult life, the alternative was not working out either. She was attempting to support herself, her grandmother and younger brother, both of which had managed to move to the outskirts of the area and away from the complex the 22 year old has resided in her whole life.

“I know, do you think I’ve not thought about this?” She sighed, blowing a cone of thick fragrant smoke into the room as she did. “Every kid in this block deals weed and you know crack heads don’t give a shit about the quality of our stuff. No bod gives a shit about quality. Nobody gives a shit about anything here.”

“Apart from getting high and making money, a combination that’s going to get you in a lot of trouble if you start working for Rizz and I can’t protect you, not against them.”

Tash nodded, looking around her tiny apartment. It wasn’t pretty, the kitchen had not been decorated since the 70’s, reflective of the orange and yellow floral pattern that plagued the walls. In a nice apartment in a nice city, such a design would have been deemed trendy and retro, but not here. Not in The Vic. Nonetheless, Tash kept her space tidy and clean. The living area’s worn sofa was covered in a patterned Mexican blanket and her bookshelf was arranged neatly, displaying her love of literature. Born into different circumstances the girl used to fantasise about what her life would have been like. Not anymore though, she was hardened to her environment, indifferent to it, almost accepting of it, but not quite. “I need out though. We both do. This place, this neighbourhood, its poison. The only way to get out is money and if I drive for Rizz for six months- a year tops, I can do that.” She could get a bit more money too on accounts of her ethnicity, not that her and Tyron spoke of this too much. In this kind of place having a Caucasian girl was beneficial.

------------------------------

She knew driving would entail more than just that, however, this wasn’t exactly what Tash signed up for she thought to herself as she looked down at the middle aged Asian man who lay at her feet. The side of his slender face was swelling up and darkening in colour as a result of her punching him in the temple with surprising force, followed by driving her knee into his crotch before pistol whipping him between the shoulder blades. “Just lie there and stay the FUCK down!” She growled at him as she pointed her hand gun down at his head. The young woman hoped to God he couldn’t see the unsteadiness of her grip or hear it in her voice. Tash kept glancing back to the kiosk of the shop where two guys she had met this morning were emptying the till. She was surprised at the calibre of comrades she had been teamed up with- they were useless. “Would you get a fucking move on,” Tash sighed watching the taller of the two punch the till several times. “The No Sale button, push that one.” She shouted, starting to panic; someone was bound to come in soon. The till sprang open and the shorter fatter of the two whooped loudly as he bundled the noted into a plastic bag along with as many packs of cigarettes as they could grab.

“Let’s bounce.” Tash nodded moving away from the shopkeeper who was slipping in and out on consciousness before grabbing several bottles of Jack Daniels from the shelf and turning back to the man once last time, “Just lay there, you call the cops and we’ll be back for you! I swear to fuck we will!!” Slipping her handgun down the back of her jeans, its metal cool against her moist lower back, she ran towards the beat up Mustang situated in the dusty car park.

Getting in, her hands shakily attempted to get the key into the ignition, resulting in it taking her several moments to start the car. It was hot, too hot, probably over 105 and the steering wheel burnt her hands as she took off out of the car park; not that she cared, she just wanted out and away from the scene. Sitting in silence, the 22 year old drove the two boys through the West side of the city, most of the area was rough, however as they got closer to The Den; an older garage about 10 minutes from Tash’s apartment, the poverty was rife: boarded up shops and Meth heads plagued the deserted streets.

“You did good, for a Chika.” One of the boys said as he got out the car, tossing her a pack of cigarettes. Tash reacted quickly, her toned, ink clad left arm flexing to catch the packet whilst murmuring a thank you in his direction. She was nervous and was more grateful for the cigarettes than the complement.

Upon entering the garage the three were ushered through to the back office. One of the boys tossed the plastic bag of money on the table. It wasn’t much- a thousand tops. But this wasn’t about the money, this was about shitting on someone else’s territory. It was only when the money spilled out onto the Plywood desk that the Hispanic boy looked up from magazine he was reading. He was about ages with Tash, but fighting and bad tattoos had clearly tarnished his appearance. He spoke to the two men for several minutes, their fast gang speak would not be easily decerned by the average person, but Tash, who they were yet to acknowledge, understood perfectly. “And her, did she fuck up?”

“She was OK, Boss.” OK?! Tash thought, they couldn’t have opened that fucking till if it hadn’t been for her.

Rising from his chair, the ‘Boss’- probably only a couple of hierarchical levels above the drivers moved towards Tash. He looked her up and down appreciatively. She was, after all, quite attractive; standing at just over 5 foot 7, a large proportion of her height being attributed to her long toned legs. Which were currently on display- she had planned on wearing jeans, however it was just far too hot, so instead she sported a pair of dusty denim shorts which sat a good few inches above her knee. Physically, Tash was very fit; she had learned from a young age to run, and run fast as well being well versed in kickboxing; this attributed to her carrying little excess weight.

“Were you scared? When you went into the shop?” He asked, looking into her deep dark eyes, not in a romantic sense, he was looking to see if she was lying.

“No.” She lied.

“Did you enjoy it? Did you enjoy hitting some asshole with a business? With a way to make a living?”

She hesitated, before being honest. “Not particularly.”

He nodded, “Ok, did you enjoy anything about it?”

“I enjoyed getting one over on Eion. Those Eastern faggots have no business coming to Maryvale. I enjoyed telling them that. I want to do it again.” She snarled.

“Good girl. That was a big complement, Rich paid you. OK, that’s good. Real good. We need a white girl that’s not going to pussy out. Keep the gun- I’ll be in touch.” He smirked, handing her a wad of cash. Tash knew there was over $500 in her hand and she was happy. Turning to leave, the boy grabbed the scruff of her loosely fitting black tank top. “Don’t think this is going to be easy.” He hissed in her ear before pushing her away from him.

 

[ArcticAvenue]

“I see nothing,” Mr. Koh said.

His wife, dressed in a red silk robe wrap and seemed half the size and half the age of her husband, laid into him with a flurry of Chinese.

He shook his head and responded in the language.

She spoke again, quicker, faster, angrier. Then looked at Vik “he see … he see.” She waved at her husband.

Mr. Koh looked sternly back at Vik and stated again, “I … see … nothing.”

Once again, she exploded in words, but this time, she was poking him in the shoulder.

He returned with harsher words, but did not raise an arm.

Soon enough she started slapping his shoulder, pushing at him, and getting more and more aggressive.

“Whoa whoa whoa,” Vik chimed in and pushed to get between them. He stood over both at 6’ 2” and his once sturdy football frame hasn’t slouched so much since college that he could push a smaller Chinese woman off her mate. “Come on now, there is no need.”

She kept yelling at him in Chinese, stepped back but kept on pointing at Vik and at Mr. Koh.

“Listen,” Vik finally chided, “Whatever you want to tell me, I don’t care, but there is no need to start shit between you two.”

“I see nothing,” Mr. Koh stated again. It was ridiculous. His slender face was clearly bruised and specs of blood could be seen in his whiskers near his mouth. How could you not see getting your face beat in.

“You see, you see,” she bitched. “They took four thousand … you see.”

“I see nothing.”

“Wait,” Vik interrupted. “How do you know it was four thousand.”

She shouted on in Chinese again at the man, and he shouted back just as hard.

“Wait wait … stop just stop.”

Finally, both stopped shouting, at each other but didn’t stop yelling.

“Good,” Vik calmed. “Now, Let me try to restate this so I understand the situation.”

Mr. Koh didn’t seem to be so keen on the conversation, but the wife stood there, her hands in her side by the silk robe that now rode up slightly on her fit frame.

Vik started telling what he knew, “Someone came in, held you at gunpoint, and someone else proceeded to remove four thousand dollars from the register of your store. Is that correct?”

“I see nothing,” Mr. Koh responded.

The wife laid in again, started swinging again, and Vik again had to stop him.

“NOW!” he shouted, and that quieted them. “Let me tell a different story with something far more reasonable. Because we both know you don’t make four thousand dollars by mid-afternoon in a liquor store, even if your register is where you keep the extra bills from the massage parlor next door, even the tips that ladies earn for extra services.”

Mrs. Koh looked at me and started saying something in Chinese that most definitely were meant to be curses.

“And don’t give me reason to step next door myself and check it out, Ma’am, you do not want that shit brought down on you, okay?”

She sneered at Vik.

“So, my guess is that you had cash on hand for a visit by one of our local protection agencies of the Eastern variety; but instead of getting protected, you got bounced by someone else. Does that sound about right?”

“I see nothing,” he responded again.

Vik rolled his eyes and crossed his arms. “Listen here, Sir! If there is anyone you want on your side right now it is the Maricopa County police force. If you took one look at my card when I gave it to you, you would have seen it says Detective … DETECTIVE Viktor Cooper. They didn’t send you a flatfoot, they sent you someone from Vice. Mother Fucking Vice! You didn’t get robbed. You got rolled. As much as you want to make sure you protect yourself from whomever came in here and took your god damned four thousand, you better make friends with me enough to suggest a car sticks around to make sure whoever it was that was going to come collect that four thousand doesn’t rip the shit out of you, your lovely wife, or anyone of the girls you have living behind this place. So, are you going to keep saying you see nothing? Or do you have another fucking four thousand lying around for whomever stops by later today once the patrol cars leave?”

Mr. Koh made a long stare to Vik. Stern, unflinching. Finally he stated, “They say … come back if I call cops.”

“Okay, that’s a start,” Vik replied.

The man looked at Vik confused.

“I am guessing you can tell whether or not these guys were organized, or if they were small time thugs.” Vik stated.

“Organized,” he replied.

Vik nodded, and slid his hands into his pockets as he spun through the possible gangs in his head.

Then Mr. Koh said, “But small time.”

At first, Vik ran his hands through his dark hair, but then he got it, “None you seen before.”

He slowly shook his head. “But I see nothing.”

His wife started chattering quickly and waving her hand.

“What is it?” Vik asked.

Mr. Koh waved his hand downward and said, “it is nothing.”

“Video,” the woman chirped. She then pointed to the wall where a camera was mounted.

Vik looked up at the camera then back at the store owner.

“No no no no,” he kept saying.

Vik spoke up quickly, “Sir, if you have surveillance tape, we can use that as our description. It doesn’t come from you, it doesn’t come from your wife. It is the tape. They can’t come back to rough up a tape.”

The wife started chattering quicker right over top of me, and he seemed to be figuratively backed up against a corner.

Vik had no idea what she was saying but still included, “Listen to your wife, sir, think about what is the right thing to do.”

Mr. Koh scowled, “You … You have no wife. You would not say that if you married.”

Vik, smirked, “No, maybe not.” Vik wasn’t married, hadn’t ever been, but that wasn’t really any of Mr. Koh’s business.

“You listen to wife once, she expects you to listen always,” he stated sternly.

She gave a huff, and crossed her arms.

Vik put a hand up, “Wait, hear me out.” He let man stop talking then stated, “You are a businessman, are you not? You … negotiate. So, negotiate. If you have video, I want it. You name the price.”

The old man crossed his arms, mimicking the stance of Vik. “Two days, cop car visible by store.”

Vik raised an eyebrow and shrugged. “Okay, but if I get that video and find nothing on it the car drives away.”

The woman started chirping again, waving her hands.

Mr. Koh stated, “And you park on north side. Away from spa.”

“Okay, but I want a freebie if I ever visit.”

The woman smirked and said, “Cop always free.”

……..

Gomez squinted as he leaned over the desk, “I can’t tell, that kind of looks like that little Mexican shit that was pushing dope to the college kids.”

“Nah,” Vik stated as he slowly flipped frame by frame of the video directed to the cash register. “Remember, he had the tattoo across his neck that misspelled Chihuahua?”

“Oh yeah, how can anyone misspell that shit.” Vik and his sometimes partner sat in the darkened office scanning over the store video, going back and forth to see if anything in the grainy texture was usable. “The fat one I think is Chino. But I heard he was bounced from the Latin Kings,” Gomez stated. “Matches the way he gets stupid. The way he celebrates opening a damn register, what a dumb ass.”

Vik though kept focused on the other camera. He stopped, and tried to enhance the slides of that, where it showed Mr. Koh down on the floor and the other over top of him. “You ever seen that girl before?”

“No,” Gomez stated. “Can’t see her face though.”

Vik tried to adjust things, but Gomez was right. The video was way too blurry to see her face. Way too blurry to make a positive ID. But she was definitely a she, that was clear.

Gomez then said what Vik was on the verge of thinking, “You ever seen any girl do a job like this, Beuy?”

Vik took a long breath, and kept staring at her. Beuy was something Gomez liked to call Vik, told him it meant both Friend and Ox, but came like a pet name between them. They had been in Vice for a couple years together, and since Vik is still relatively fresh to the force, hearing the older detective call him anything other than Rookie felt good. Still, he was a long way from having a really good reputation, and anything that looks like a good bust. Still, Gomez was right, with everyone they ever tried to investigate, this was the first younger looking girl.

“Put the word out,” Vik noted. “We may not be able to tell what she looks like, but there can’t be many girls working the crews. We look for a girl, five and a half feet tall, or there abouts. White girl.”

Gomez added, “And with legs that go to tomorrow, and up her ass as well.”

“Just get the word out,” Vik stated. Even in the grainy video, she was impressive. She seemed in command of the group, and acted with confidence; maybe even being the leader of whatever gang was going on there. But she was still a girl, and if there was a gang lead by a girl they would either be legendary or be crushed in a minute by the bigots that run the fucking gangs around here. Regardless, Gomez was right, you don’t see white girls working jobs. She is a rose among thorns. And Vik couldn’t stop staring at the girl on the screen.

 

[Tanned_babe]

Tash exhaled deeply as she returned to her apartment. For that moment she loved everything about her space: the shitty cooker that didn't work, the uncomfortable sofa, hell even the junkies who sat on her front step seemed nice compare to what she had just encountered. Shakily, she poured herself a large measure of Jack and looked out the living room window. No one seemed to have followed her, no cops, no gang members, no one. She felt the wad of cash in her back pocket for the umpteenth time- it was still there. No one had stolen it and apart from her new colleagues no one knew she had it. It was safe. She was safe.

Knocking back the amber liquid the tall brunette shuddered, "Fuckin' hell." She muttered to the empty space and then froze. Heavy footsteps on the landing outside were causing the kitchen utensils hanging on the wall to shake slightly. However, the commotion bypassed her front door and continued on to the floors above. Well, I'm just going to have to get used to looking over my shoulder, she thought to herself.

Pouring herself another drink the 22 year old set to dealing with the hand gun and cash she had acquired that day. She had no real interest in the weapon and didn't take anytime examining it or otherwise. Moving into her bedroom, she took an old tin box from under her bed and placed the cold black piece within it before quickly shutting the lid and returning the container to the hidden darkness.

Next was to deal with the cash; she returned to her living space, polishing off the JD as she went and moved to a shelf of books. Hidden within the small library was another locked box in which she stored the cash. It was added to an existing fund, which was mounting up. She made a mental note to travel across the city to her Grandmother's tomorrow and drop off a set amount.

The liqueur had started to take effect and the young woman began to relax. Today wasn't all bad, yeah hitting the guy hadn't been very nice, but Tash was sure he'd be ok- she had taken worse and bounced back. She switched on the radio and set to roll herself a joint. As she did so,the girl did some finances in her head, maybe if she saved the majority she could treat herself to something. A good pair of running shoes would be good, maybe a- But her relaxing train of thought was cut off by a loud rap at the door. Letting out an audible curse, both in fright and the fact that a good gram's worth of Purple Haze had went flying, she sat in silence. The knock came again, holding her breath she slowly rose from the sofa, silently moving, almost cat like, towards the door. Picking a large kitchen knife off the counter she reached the door.

"Tash, if you're in there, please open the door!" At this the brunette sighed with relief. She set the knife back down on the counter and opened the door to her best friend. She was, however shocked to see him in such a state. "Answer your fucking phone!" He snapped before crossing the threshold and embracing her. She hugged him back, tight.

"Hey, I'm fine. I'm here." She drew away from their embrace, mentally kicking herself. "I'm sorry I just got caught up in the job, and I was just so hell bent on getting away from The Den and the people I totally lost track of time and haven't turned my phone on. I'm sorry!" She hugged him again, suddenly aware of how nice it felt not be alone, to have a confidant, an outlet.

"I thought you had been arrested.... or worse!" He crocked. Tyron was right, any number of things could have happened to her- caught by the police, caught by a rival gang, turned on by Rich's guys. Tash shuddered thinking about it; she was lucky to be alright.

The two sat together smoking whilst, Tash told Tyron about every detail of her day. When she had finished they sat in silence for a moment. Finally the tall black boy spoke, "Sounds like it went as well as you could have hoped. I'm glad you're safe, but don't ever get complacent. Don't ever trust them."

Tash promised she wouldn't and two moved away from the subject of gang wars and passed the time discussing other things; there were always new stories from The Vic. Without fail there was always an arrest, a murder, a woman being attacked or a drug bust. To reflect these cheery subjects, the two quickly found themselves slipping into an alcohol and drug induced depression.

"Right! Enough of this!" Tash said, standing up and swaying slightly. "It's getting late, it's Friday night, I'm alive, we should celebrate! What do you wanna do?"

"True, dat sista." Tyron mimicked in a high pitched voice. "There's a party up in Block 68, a bit of a hiphop showdown thing. I vote, put some decent music on, finish the jack and head over." Tash raised her ink clad arm to vote in favour of the plan. "The motion passes- we party!!"

It was around midnight by the time they reached the 12th floor of the tower block, however, you could hear and smell the party long before walking through the door. The apartment was larger than Tash's- at a least three bedroom and rented by a few guys that she had gone to high school with.

"Hey Bitch! Where you been hidin'?"

"Hi Zara!" Tash smiled. "How's it going? Good party?"

The two girls embraced. "Yeah, it's alright." The tattooed Hispanic youth replied. "There's a some quality Base- Ken's selling."

"Cool. Thanks. Trying to quit, you know how it is." Tash replied awkwardly, rubbing the back of her neck. She had never been a full blown addict, or so she told herself it was just recreational. But it was difficult to be surrounded by the stuff, bored and a bit down, not partake for a bit of a lift. Nonetheless, the young woman tried her best to ignore the hedonistic atmosphere, enjoy the drink she had brought and listen to the guys who were battle rhyming in the living room.

As the night continued, the music got louder, the drugs got harder and alcohol continued to flow. A sound system had been set up on the balcony and a bunch of people had started to complain about the noise, but it was at that time in the early morning where neighbours complaining just seems like a big joke- something to be proud of.

Tyrone was in one of the bedrooms with some girl- he had made her promise to come get him if she was going to leave, to which Tash had slurred, "For sure, I'll just come and tap you on the shoulder whilst you're balls deep!" Before doing a corny fist pump and leaving him to enjoy himself. "C'mon, girl. It your turn up there. On the sofa. Get up." One of the guys, Kendrick, who lived in the flat had grabbed the lean young woman by the hips and guided her up onto the sofa. "M'on, Tash. Let us make fun of you're sexy white as trying to be street. I wanna fucking battle you." He smirked, handing her a bottle of tequila- for Dutch courage.

"Fuck you!" She smiled, taking a swig of the cheap spirit and picking up the mic. "You want me to show y'all how it's done?"

He smiled, standing up on the battered sofa with her. Mic in one hand crack pipe in the other. He offered it to Tash who hesitated but accepted it. Inhaling the illegal next are once, twice, three times, she smiled. Time stood still and for that moment she had never and would never be happier. The familiar kick followed- and the two youths, high as kites and drunk off their asses spouted impromptu lyrics at each other, with the accompaniment of a heavy beat in the background.

"Yeah, you better listen to exactly what's going on. Pigs out in this motherfucker do whatever they want, whenever they want. Robbing, killing, raping, you name it, they done it. And still do that. So next time you feel like you safe in the community..."

The next morning, Tash awoke with an extremely dry mouth and a hangover which was much milder than she deserved. The young woman stretched, almost cat like as her lean form began to wake. It would be a good day; she was going to head across the city to her families place as she did once a week.

Having showered and changed, selecting a pair of Levi shorts she had made from a pair of old men's jeans and tucked a sleeveless Iron Maiden t-shirt around the waistline, Tash fetched some breakfast. The brunette sat on an old keg discarded from one of the many crazy parties here in The Vic and watched the housing complex begin to wake. She liked watching it from up on her narrow fire escape, feeling almost like an outsider looking in. 'You're certainly not an outsider anymore, are you?' She muttered to herself through a mouthful of cereal and almost like clockwork she felt her phone vibrate against her thigh. Tash let out a groan, and ran a hand through her thick dark hair, the text from the unknown number read: The Den. 11pm. Tonight.

The 22 year old tried not to let the impending appointment spoil her day. True to her word she walked and bused the familiar miles through the city centre and towards the East Side, her black t-shirt clinging to the base of her back within a few minutes of leaving the apartment. Her family lived in an mouldy one bedroom apartment, you could t even swing a kitten in it, let a lone a cat. However, it was away from the ganglands that plagued any areas of deprecation within Baltimore and for Tash and her gran, that was the number one priority. Her half brother, Justin, would be sucked into such violence if he had stuck around the Vic. Here, he went to as good a school as could be expected; friends with fathers that were actually around and mothers that did their job. Hell, there was even a community, in fact, Tash's brother was playing in a basketball final this weekend.

The 48 year old greeted her with a slap across her striking slender face, took the the envelope which contained £500 dollars and then kissed her on both cheeks. "You better not have earned this on your back." She snapped in front of her 9 year old brother who was smirking behind the older woman's wide back.

Treating the comment with the contempt it deserved she opened her arms to the skinny boy, his skin a shade darker than Tash's. "You get taller every time I see you!" She smiled, embracing the kid.

"Gran feeds me a lot." He smiled, pulling away from her.

"Good!" Tash said firmly. There had been a spell where both kids had gone very hungry when their junkie mother was using heavily before their Gran, Marge stepped in.

"You need feeding!" The peroxide blonde said, heading back through to the kitchen. "Come set your skinny ass at the table."

Tash attempted to decline, reminding the older woman of the barbecue. "Nonesense" she tutted, tossing bacon into a frying pan. "The boys have got their games before that, you won't be eating for hours."

"But I've eaten brea-"

"Natasha, just let me care for you, God damnit!" At the, Tash conceded.

The two women settled into exchanges of the past week, enquiries into how, Justin was doing and a blow by blow account of Marge's new work shifts until it was time to leave. Tash was careful not to mention her home life and this seemed to suit both women, she didn't want quizzed about the money and Marge likely felt guilty that the young woman was having to support her daughter's child. "Ah, you're a good girl." Her grandmother signed, gathering up the dirty dishes.

"You ready?" Tash asked, nudging her brother as he jogged up beside her.

"Yeah." He grunted wiping the sweat off his brow. "They are just a bunch of Upstate faggots, anyway."

"Hey!" She snapped, grabbing the strap of his vest, "There's no need for that! You think you sound hard saying stuff like that? You wanna come up to The Vic and play the guys up there? Huh?!"

"I could if I wanted to." The eleven year old said without much conviction.

"Yeah?" His sister scoffed. "You're better than saying stuff like that. Go let your game speak for itself."

At this he turned on his heels and headed for the court to join the rest of his team. Tash watched him, frowning. What hope was there for him if he was already talking like that? She walked back to the bleachers where a collection of parents and guardians had gathered to watch their kids play.

Locating her grandmother, Tash walked up to sit down, her long legs flexing as she did so. "He's being a punk."

"Yeah, he's starting to notice things, Honey. He's not dumb. The kids in his school with the nice stuff- they are the white kids. The teachers are mostly white. 'Gran, why are the guys that serve us in McDonalds never white?' Fucking Trump."

As the game progressed it was as exciting as watching kids play sports gets. Justin was good, he was tall, lean, agile. However, the eleven year old knew it and was taking great pride in annoying the other team. Shaking her head, Tash retrieved her phone. 'Bring your piece.' She read before quickly pressing the phone back into her shorts.

"Hot date." She said, answering her grandmother's inquisitive look. "It's early d-" Before she could finish the lie, their attention was diverted to an incessant whistling. "For fuck sake." Tash muttered, taking the stairs two at a time and arriving on the court in mere seconds. She grabbed her sibling, who was rolling around in the dust with another boy and pulled him up by the scruff of the neck. "What's wrong with you?!" She blurted, struggling to control the youth.

"He said my Jordan's were from the thrift store!"

Tash was vaguely aware of the, she presumed father, of Justin's rival having a similar argument. However, her attention was on her brother. "C'm here." She sighed, putting an arm around his bones shoulder and proceeded to have a pep talk which resulted in, Justin believing he could be playing in the NBA in 7 years if he kept his head in the game and shaking hands with the other kid.

Once the game concluded, Tash sought out the guy who had helped separate the two kids. He was easy enough to pick out, tall, lean and his white t shirt was still covered in dust from the altercation. "Hey, 'scuse me." She said, pushing her Rayban sun glasses from her eyes. "About earlier- not sure who was at fault, but I'm sorry about, Justin. Think he needs to learn to channel his emotions a bit." If there was any doubt that the guy wasn't about to accept the apology, Tash flashed a smile, revealing her near perfect teeth. "They seem to be getting on ok now though." She nodded over to the court where the two evenly matched boys were continuing to play one on one

 

[ArcticAvenue]

The cherry of the blaze lit the dim garage, the crackle of the burning leaves barely audible over the drive of the older rock, but it was the smell that overtook the small area - oily, fregrant, and unmistakable. Immediately, Vik’s head became awash from the high, softening the edges around the jagged pieces of the day, and bringing some sense of calm to his self-being.

Holding in the smoke deep into his lungs, he held the sturdy blunt to Gomez who was just finishing a set of curls with a dumbell. Taking the roll, he took a quick draw on it and starts speaking as if he was in the middle of a story - but only just began it here, “and then I go into Alejandra’s room to have a look around, and there I find my shaving cream. And I was like, Jesus, I knew I was going through it fast, now my little princess is stealing the shit from me.”

Vik turned on the weight bench, laying back under the bar. “Little princess, what is she now, eighteen?”

“Still my princess,” Gomez spat back between coughs.

“Eighteen means even I can date her, ese.”

Gomez smirked and laughed, “Beuy, you have some cajones when you are high.” He stood up and stepped around the bar to spot for Vik. Just as Vik began pushing up the weights from the bench, Gomez continued. “You know what she uses that shaving creme for?”

Between grunts, Vik responded, “I assume … shaving.”

“Everything,” Gomez replied.

“Everything?”

“Yeah, everything. Arms, legs … she’s like a baby down there.”

Vik stopped lifting and propped the bar up the stand. “Don’t do that, man. Now I got the picture of your daughter naked and shaven.”

Gomez huffed, “Hey beuy, don’t be picturing my princess like that.”

Vik sat up and spun around, “it’s your fucking fault for putting it there. I didn’t ask you to describe to me her shaving habits.” He reached for the blunt and sucked down another high. The smoke was high caliber, not a stem or seed to be found. When he started out, Vik found it ironic that cops would have the best shit. Now, it just makes sense. So much more makes more sense. In the great fog of a really good trip, Vik lay back down on the bench. “Besides, it ain’t me you need to worry about who she’s shaving it all for. I still see her like that princess of yours too. It’s them other boys who come knocking at her door.”

Gomez took the blunt from Vik’s hand and pulled down what looked to be the last good drag. “She knows better, she brings them around for the cop daddy to approve.”

“Approve or not, she probably isn’t doing that just for the good hygien.”

Gomez got up and flipped the switch to open the garage door. The place immediately lit up with the morning sun, and the light was a lot to take all of a sudden. But it needed to be done. Hot boxing in a garage during a work-out is nice and all, but what Gomez doesn’t need is to have his kids come in and get themselves a contact buzz. “I ain’t no dumbass, Vik. Alejandra’s probably had herself a ride or two by now. We were no different. I just want to make sure that if she does something stupid like getting pregnant, I know the boy’s face that needs to be punched.”

Vik grabbed the ashes and threw it outside on the grass. “That would be a stupid thing to do, first person they would suspect for beating up the kid is you.” Vik smirked and patted his partner on the back, “besides, you know you can just tell us where to find him and we’ll take care of the rest.”

While a chuckle, Gomez returned the pat on Vik’s shoulder. “Want to stick around for lunch? I am grilling.”

“Sure, nothing else to do …” Vik got out just as his phone buzzed. One look at the text and he ate those words “... shit!”

“What?”

“Oh … I fucking blew it,” Vik stated. “My sister.”

“That fucking bitch?”

“Yeah, but it’s her son. Shit stain has a basketball game in the city, and I said I would get him there.”

“She too good to come to the city now?”

“Told me she has to work. Some fucking open house or something. She schedules the damn things, so it’s not like she can’t get out of it. So yeah … she’s too good to come to the city.” Vik got up and grabbed his t-shirt. Good thing he worked out with it pulled off, because at least it doesn’t stink of sweat. Just weed. “Hey, can I use your shower? No way I can get home, clean up and get out there again.”

“Sure beuy,” Gomez replied as his older body waddled towards the house. “But unless you want to share the tub with me, use the kid’s bathroom. I need to get this stink off of me before the wife gets home.”

Vik knew this house pretty well. It seemed like the day he partnered up with Gomez he was spending time here. It was part of Gomez’s charm, willing to let a younger fellow become part of an extended family. At first, it was strange to Vik. Gomez was of course in his mid-forties, had a wife and four kids, and the eighteen year old Alejandra wasn’t even the oldest. But when you enter into a team like Maracopa County’s Vice Squad at a young age, it was good that Vik had someone to take him under their wing. Now 27 years old and a couple years under his belt, Vik and Gomez were true partners on the squad and true friends outside. It maybe soon enough that Vik might look for greener pastures or rising the ranks, but having Gomez as a friend was invaluable.

As Vik scrubbed his face under the water, he tried his best to clear his head. The shit they were smoking was too damn good, and driving anywhere was going to be rough unless his mind cleared. The thing about smoke like that is that it flips a few of the other switches in his head that can make the rest of his day hard too. As he opened his eyes and looked around the shower, he saw the can of shaving cream, and remembered the conversation they just had in the garage. Sure as shit, that once innocent picture of Alejandra in his mind now turned into a very grown up woman; and a very hygienic woman. He kicked down the temp on the shower a few more notches, and stuck his head under the water to help his focus.

……

“You are such an asshole.”

Vik stood in his sister’s doorway not at all stunned by the shitty welcome. “I’m here, aren’t I, Soffia?”

She leaned in closer to Vik and made an animated effort to show that she was smelling. Her sour look on her face told him she either found what she was smelling for, or just made an educated guess.

Vik rolled his eyes and looked away, feeling his face turn red in the process.

“Nice, really fucking nice Vik. Bad enough you show up late, but then show up shit headed.” She turned to go inside the house, a very nice and spacious place. Especially for a single mom without only one kid. But Soffia was one that never minded showing off whatever money she though she wanted people to think she has. “I don’t ask much from you, and this is how you repay me.”

“You ask me for shit all the time,” he spat back following her through the hallway.

She stopped and spun to face him. “You are a god damn cop, Vik. Is that what you want your nephew to think about when he thinks of cops? That you are all a bunch of pot heads?”

“Everyone thinks we are robbers, killers, and rapists already. Like they think we can do whatever we want. So why not him.”

She stomped her foot on the ground, the tall woman practically staring the broad shoulder sibling down. “I expect you to be the good example to him. Do you get it?”

Vik’s ability to be tough under pressure was part of the reason he made the quick rise up in the force. Which always made it ironic that he couldn’t stand up to his big sister. “Sorry.” He replied. Then after a breath to gain some more strength, he continued. “Sorry, okay. Is that make you feel better that I apologized, or are you going to throw more of a fit.”

“I should tell you to go fucking home,” she responded between grit teeth.

He smirked, that’s what he hoped she would say. “Fine with me. My only day off in two weeks, and I wouldn’t mind spending it with people who don’t shit on me. And you can take care of him.”

She locked her jaw and nearly seemed to light on fire. That’s right, he had him. If she wanted to do what she wanted, she needed him to take the kid. She took a few long slow breaths, ready to burst thought, then just shouted. “Cody, you ready? You’re uncle is waiting.”

….

Cody Sylvester was a douchebag in waiting; but it wasn’t his fault. Eleven years ago, his mother coaxed her husband into giving it a go after one of their hundreds of fights, and this time it worked. The product of an attempt to save a loveless marriage, the kid quickly grew up in an environment without a constant male role model whose love was earned through the constant investment of in whatever toy or game he wanted at the moment. His dad lived up in Scottsdale with wife number three. Vik liked his brother-in-law for the most part, the guy just tended to like his women less bitchy (and the ones where you paid for them upfront rather than after the divorce). Now that the kid was getting old enough, Vik offered to be a bit more of a character developer to the kid. But since his sister lives in the neighborhoods he could never afford, getting over there was a pain in the ass. Plus Gomez was way cooler to hang with. So Cody is going to keep growing up spoiled, being an ass to anyone who doesn’t feed his own needs, and will continued to bitch until he gets his way. Douchebag In Waiting.

The ride to the game was mostly in silence. Vik would try to start a conversation, and Cody just kept banging away on a game on his phone. Vik would turn on the radio, and Cody would bitch that he didn’t want to listen to the music Vik liked. Vik would offer to stop to get something for Cody’s game, and he bitched that they were already late. So after the first couple of minutes, Vik just shut the hell up and drove.

Then that just lead to the game. The thing about suburban teams like Cody’s is that they all look like they were taught by world class coaches, but didn’t have the talent to really ball. Lots of dribblings. Lots of passing. Lots of designed plays. A little pressure and they give it all up. And those city kids really did press. Upstate kids playing boring basketball, and getting beat while doing it just leads to boring upon borin.

Of course Vik knew no one there. Cody wasn’t his kid of course, and the parents of Cody’s teammates weren’t his people. So he just sat back at court level and watch the time roll on. Now well sober, and beginning to ache from the workout that morning this day just got more and more uncomfortable.

That’s when it started.

In an instant, whistles were blaring and people were screaming. On the ground was Cody, and he was getting whaled on by one of the city kids.

Vik didn’t think, he just acted. Rushing the court, grabbing the boys, and separating them. He grabbed Cody under the arms, the kid swinging his fists madly about as if trying to respond. The coaches were trying to work over the rest of the kids, making sure that this was going to end quickly; which gave Vik the chance to confront his nephew.

Spinning the kid around to face him, he quickly spat, “what did you say!”

Cody looked back in shock, “You see him? He started it.”

“What did you Say,” Vik repeated.

Cody was pointing at the other kid, his lip quivering. “I didn’t do nothing, he was the one beating on me …”

Someone was hovering nearby, one of the other parents, Vik could hear them suggesting that the other kid was some brute, painting Cody as the victim. Vik, was smarter than that and just stared at his nephew.

Cody nearly cried, “He’s an asshole, he cheap shotted me.”

“Who are you talking to, Cody,” Vik spoke during gritted teeth. “Who do you think can tell when you are lying. He wouldn’t have done shit unless you said something. So what did you say?”

Cody looked back at the other kid, then at Vik, then back again. Vik could see that the kid was starting to break.

Then Vik brought out the big guns. “Want me to call your mom?”

Cody sharply looked back at his uncle, the fear of God in his eyes. He looked down at the ground and took a deep breath. “I said he was poor.”

“Really!”

“Well,” he whined, “it’s true. Look at his shoes!”

Vik gritted his teeth and crossed his arms. “So you think you are better than him, because of his shoes.”

“Well ..”

“Have you seen the scoreboard, Cody?”

“But that doesn’t …”

“So you would rather go about the game and think, it’s okay if they win the game, they are poor and I am not and that still makes me better. Well, I have to say, that smells bullshit all day and all night.”

Cody squinted, “you said bull ..”

Vik interrupted, “and me … you think you’re better than me too?”

He looked confused, “no.”

“Well, you must, because you are richer than me.”

“I didn’t mean it like that.”

“It’s about respect, Cody. If you do not respect someone, then you will never be better than them.”

He looked down at the ground and didn’t respond. “I didn’t mean it.”

Vik put a finger in his nephew’s chest. “Well, then, you have a choice. You can either recognize that the kid you pissed off deserves better than the respect you are giving him & go over and apologize & shake his hand … or you can just look me in the face and say ‘I am better than you, Uncle Vik’. Which is it?”

…


As it turns out, when youth basketball doesn’t have fights breaking out it is even more boring. Cody apologized to the kid. The coaches let them play out the game. And the city kids won in a blow out. Finally it was over, and Vik got up to wait for the kids to finish up before packing up.

Cody was still pissed at Vik. Pissed that Vik called him out on being a douchebag. At least, that’s what Vik guessed because Cody couldn’t tell him fast enough that he was catching a ride home from one of his other douchey teammates. They can ride home together and bash the poor kids all they want, and when he gets home he can tell his mom how much of an asshole his uncle is, just to affirm what she already knew about him.

Vik didn’t care, he was just off the hook now. In his mind, he was going over what he could do to kill off the rest of his day off. That’s when the woman came up to speak to him.

"Hey, 'scuse me. About earlier- not sure who was at fault, but I'm sorry about, Justin. Think he needs to learn to channel his emotions a bit. They seem to be getting on ok now though."

She was cute. Slim and sleek. If Vik had a type, she would be it … and not just because it’s been so long since he had a girlfriend that every woman who talks to him is his type.

“Not a problem, really,” he smiled matching her greeting. He took the leap of assuming she was his mother, even if she would have to been about 12 when she had him. “If it’s any relief to you, I am pretty sure Cody started it. His mother lets him get away with being an asshole; so I wouldn’t let him back out there unless he apologized to yours.” Vik then blurted out something almost as if covering himself, “he’s my nephew that is. His mother is my sister. He’s already on his way back there to bitch about me to his mom probably.”

Maybe it was the desperation of loneliness, or the excitement of talking to a cute girl for the first time in a while, but running a hand through his hair he just threw out there a pick-up line. “So to apologize, can I offer to buy you a drink or something? That is, if you don’t have to take your son somewhere.”

 

[Tanned_babe]

"I'm not judging, promise." She smiled unable to help noting that the kid wasn't his. The guy was young, in great shape and had a very handsome face. What's more, he didn't seem too judgemental towards Justin kicking his nephew's ass. "Just hope his mom is as understanding as you are."

"My son?!" She laughed, causing her eyes to light up and her high cheek bones to raise further. "Justin-" she gestured at the youth, who was displaying his insatiable energy by continuing solo on the court, "He's my brother, well half brother. Not that we split hairs about it." She shrugged.

Not that the request of a drink was unwarranted, but nonetheless, Tash hesitated. She should be spending the rest of the day with her family and then she needed to- to what? To work? To work at 11pm tonight. However, the young woman rarely received an invite from someone like-.

"What's your name?" She enquired, almost as if this would help make her decision.

"Vik." She nodded. "I'm Tash." Accepting his firm handshake; her own ink clad muscles flexing as she did so. "Let me just check with the boss and I'll be back in five."

The leggy brunette turned on her heel and jogged back towards the bleachers where her grandmother was happily chatting to some other mothers. "Gran. See that guy I was talking to?"

"He's asked you out?" The older woman smirked.

"He's asked if I'll- yes! How did you know?!" Tash said incredulously.

"Call it female intuition. That and the fact he's not taken his eyes off you since you walked over here."

"Gran!" Tash gave the woman a hug and told her she'd see her next weekend before heading over the the basketball court, catching the ball that was passed to her. The two played for a few minutes, their skin glistening with the small exertion in this heat. "So, you're going on a date with the guy who's kid called me poor?"

"Pretty much." She shrugged, shooting a three pointer and missing. "See you next week." She smiled, ruffling his hair.

"Use protection!" He shouted, loud enough for both, Tash and Vik to hear.

"Let's go." She smirked, rolling her dark eyes at the retort.

The area of town, although not salubrious had several options within walking distance that one could frequent without being set upon. Exchanging small talk until they reached a suitable bar, Tash went to find a table whilst Vik retrieved some drinks. "Just whatever you're having, I'm not fussy." She shrugged, taking a seat on a high bar stool, her long tanned legs flexing as she crossed them.

Thanking her companion as he sat a chilled bottle of Boston Lager in front of her, she chewed her lip momentary. "So, do you make a habit of asking teen mums out for beers?"

 

[ArcticAvenue]

Easy drinking beers, that was the right route to start the … whatever this is. Not ‘light’ beers, because that would just suggest she is fat … and she clearly wasn’t. Not something heavy and dark, because not everyone likes those. Not some craft beer either because … well .. he wasn’t a douche. So a couple of easy drinking beers.

It was probably the most Vik thought about a beer selection in a few months. Was he just this lonely? Or was he just horny?

In the short walk to the dive bar, he only got pieces together. Her name, Tash, her brother, Jordan, and her Gran … something. The kid thought he was a great basketball player, and probably was, but how would Vik know. But then again, Cody thought he was a basketball player too.

As they walked, he tried to fill her in on the story on Cody, tried to point out it was his sister that was rich in the suburbs and not him. But did what he could to make sure the conversation didn’t turn to ‘what he did for a living’. Telling the girl he was a cop on a first date wasn’t high on his list of pick-up lines.:

The tavern was dimly lit and the only customers in there were old guys drinking beer and watching a baseball game with the sound turned down. Somewhere, a jukebox was playing slow tunes that if you listened to long enough would leave you sad and pathetic. There was an unused dart board, an empty pool table, and more beer ads on the walls than necessary.

Returning to the table, he gave her one of the well planned ‘easy drinking beer’ and settled down next to her.

"So, do you make a habit of asking teen mums out for beers?"

He smirked and returned serve. “Do you make a habit of chatting up guys whose nephews try to beat up your brother?”

He swirled the beer slightly, “sorry about that again. Beers are the least I could do. The first beer at least.” With a smile, he added, “After that, then I think I am bound to officially call this a date.”