Chapter Text
It was hot. It was really fucking hot.
The sweat on Dom’s forehead was too hot to move. The ink of the newspaper was filmy and melted onto his fingers. He rolled his head back on his shoulders, unconsciously seeking a tiny breath of air. The air didn’t feel like a blast from an oven. Forget oven, think kiln.
Down here for a few days a year, the wind turned itself around. It stopped sweeping cool breezes off the face of the Pacific and turned to whip hot desert wind off the high plain. The Santa Anas. This year, those days had stretched to a month, as if the wind decided it likes the enforced peace of the heat wave.
Letty stood at the sink, letting the well water slide over her wrists. Up her forearms. Her hair was bound up and tendrils had come loose. The flush high on her cheekbones, the shadow of exhaustion that curved around her eyes made her look even more beautiful.
It occurred to him that he should feel something now. Seeing her like this, her body weighted down with languor, full, ripe and graceful. Sultry. He should be aroused. He should desire her. He should combine their heat, stoke it until it becomes a waterfall of sweat, until their release cools by contrast. He watched her, wondering what held him back.
It occurred to him that they’ve been doing this to each other a lot lately. They didn’t meet each other’s eyes unless a challenge was being thrown down. But they watched each other peripherally, catching the odd, unprotected moment. But he lingered too long.
“What?” Letty lashed the word at him like a whip. Her eyes narrowed with impatience and he felt oddly guilty.
He couldn’t say the words, couldn’t actually push them through his mouth. We never talk anymore. It was too…girly. They never talked much in the first place.
“Nothing,” he grunted and it sounded harsh in his own ears. She arched one eyebrow and stomped off to the garage.
The day passed, but only because it must. He wondered how long he could keep this up. How much longer they could keep it up. Pretending.
It was impossible to sleep in this heat but they tried because they couldn’t think of an alternative. They went to bed early so that they could get up and function in the bearable temperature of dawn. They lay as far apart as possible to keep the sweat at bay. Dom lay face up, listening to her breath even out like the whirr of a cooling engine. He couldn’t sleep but he sank further into the silence.
This silence between them, that passed for peace.
****
In Miami, there was always a pause while the gears shifted between daytime and nightlife. The whole city waited like shocked partygoers, while the sun slunk away like an uninvited guest. The lights came up doubled, reflected in the waters of the bay. The music changed tempo.
They’d had a leisurely late dinner first, talking comfortably. They gave Pearl a wide berth, not wanting to stir up any unpleasant memories. They spent half an hour in the milling sweat of Crobar before privately admitting that neither of them felt cool enough to be sipping mojitos with the wasted youth. They ended up at a bar that Monica claimed had been hot a generation ago. Now it was cool with silent waiters and low lights. They stood out on the back portico overlooking the sparkly bay, letting the breeze tickle the ice cubes in their drinks.
“Enjoying the view?” Monica’s eyes were shadowed in the twinkling light.
“It’s gorgeous.” Brian shifted to make more room for her at the rail. “An almost perfect evening.”
“Almost?” Her voice was quiet and confessorial. “What’s keeping it from being perfect, Brian?”
He paused and cursed himself, he’d done it again, gotten too relaxed and let shit slip. He knew what he should say now, he should fall back on his charm, tell her it would be perfect if they were alone. But he’d let the silence spread and Monica could see through bullshit at fifty paces. They were too alike that way.
“Do you have any old friends that you’ve lost touch with?” He could give her undercover truth.
She arched her neck and looked at him steadily. Of course she has, dumbass. She’d been someone else for what probably felt like forever.
“Do you find yourself thinking that things would only be…perfect, if…you knew they were okay?”
“Mmmmmmmm.” She looked up, maybe she was hunting for stars. “You worry about things like that, you’ll end up worrying too much. I mean, people get stung by bees, slip in the shower, die in all kinds of dumb, pointless ways. You can’t change that by worrying.”
He couldn’t help but grin. Every time she opened her mouth, he liked her more.
“Is that why you became a cop? So if you died, at least it wasn’t meaningless?”
“I don’t know,” Monica looked down at her glass. “When I thought that Carter was…well, you know…it felt pretty pointless to me. I wasn’t afraid, really. I was just…I kept thinking about all the things I’d meant to do. All the things I hadn’t said my family.”
Brian wrapped his arms around her. The blazing heat of her skin surprised him; it was as if all the emotions she didn’t allow on her face came surging out through her skin. That much heat felt dangerous. He resisted the urge to put his hand to her forehead to check her for fever. Didn’t they start out talking about the weather or something?
“Brian, I’m going to be thanking you for the rest of my life for what you did.” She squeezed him tighter to choke off the protests that he opened his mouth to make. “Shut up. Really. It was the stupidest, most insane thing anyone’s ever done for me and that’s saying a lot.”
He laughed and inhaled the scent of her hair. “I’m a big showoff.”
“I prefer to say you ‘think outside the box’.” A moment passed while that sank in and then their laughter mingled in the silky warm air. They paused for a moment and then Monica leaned back against him like it was where she belonged.
“You know what’s weird?” She said softly into his shoulder.
He stepped back and put on his kindest face for her. “What?”
“A couple of times, I’ve found myself worrying about him.” She smiled her halfway smile. “About Carter. Strange, no?”
Brian tried to say something and discovered that he couldn’t. Her eyes were so clear, he was afraid to look at her.
She continued softly, “My fate was in his hands for so long. And for a little while, his fate was in my hands. That sort of…created a bond between us. Does that…sound weird to you?”
Brian took a quick sip of his drink and nearly choked as the rum seared his dry throat. He almost stuttered. “No, it…doesn’t sound weird at all.”
****
Letty’s permanent expression was one of dissatisfaction. She was always sneering like some spoiled princess; her face said that nothing would ever be up to her standards. It lingered in her eyes even when she smiled. Dom used to find it irresistible because the only time she lost the look was when he was fucking her.
Letty straddled him, sitting back on her heels. Her heat hovering over him was sweetly unbearable, like an itch that his fingernails could almost reach. Just by arching his back, he could thrust hard enough to make her wince. But he didn’t like to hurt her even if that’s what she wanted, what she demanded. He didn’t even touch her, just traced a drop of sweat over her sternum, between her breasts. He closed his eyes and deepened his breath so he could lie still and let her take her pleasure from him.
Dom could do this because he was patient. He was patient but she was not. The sudden insight made him open his eyes and squeeze her hips reflexively.
When she threw back her head and dragged them both to completion, he kissed her shoulder blade as she pressed herself into the almost-cool sheets. He lay beside her, stroking her with his fingertips while she drifted away and then slid silently to his feet. He padded to the kitchen, grabbed a beer and stepped out onto the patio. There wasn’t a hint of a breeze and the moon looked like it was congealing from the heat.
Naked, he walked out to the crest of the hill and scanned the horizon. The moon was silver on the line of surf far below. The stark beauty of the landscape gave up no clue as to why Letty was so unhappy here.
It had been fine between them for the first few weeks. There was so much other to focus on. Mourning for Jesse, for Vince. Arrangements to be made. Coordinating with Mia and Leon, so that life could go on in some vaguely familiar way. Their feelings of doubt were pushed down under the concern that they both shared for each other. And then….and then what?
She had healed from her injuries. On the outside she was whole. He knew intimately that the bones knit, the skin seamed but the pain grew underneath. She wouldn’t acknowledge that there might be pain left over and she got enraged if he tried to acknowledge it.
She’d gotten bored. Bored with the enforced isolation, bored with the relentless natural beauty. Bored with him. He sometimes forgot how young she was; that she had never had to deal with the kind of chaos that would make her crave tranquility. He forgot that she was never patient. But more and more often he saw the sideways look in her eyes. Like a wild animal caught in a trap.
Letty craved conflict, struggle. In times of peace, she attacked herself.
Dom pressed the heels of his palms into his eye sockets as if he could rub away the memory of Letty’s hunted looks, her impatient sneer. In the iridescent green and purple behind his eyelids, Letty’s dark, simmering eyes metamorphosed into eyes of clear, glacial blue. Dom let his chin fall to his chest.
This was my dream. Not hers.
He remembered the long years ago when her voice baiting him made him clench his jaw and win. When her unspoken dares and derision made him try harder than humanly possible. And he did the same to her, condemning her best efforts with ‘nice, for a chick’. Stoking the fire of excellence in her by not giving an inch. Their relationship was always a marriage of equals: no quarter given or taken.
She needed to be with someone who loved her better. Or loved her differently. Who loved her in a way that she needed to be loved. There was too much intensity between them, too much will. The way they had trained each other to be strong ensured that neither of them could ever be gentle.
****
They went to dinner again after Carter Verone’s arraignment. Monica didn’t want to go alone and after the whole ordeal, Brian couldn’t blame her. Carter smirked at both of them as if he were already measuring them for caskets. Just to infuriate him, Brian kept his hand on Monica’s shoulder throughout the entire proceeding.
Monica let him get away with the macho posturing, but she shot uneasy glances at Markham. Obviously, her boss still considered Brian something of a bad element. Luckily, Agent Markham was too caught up in the pleasure of nailing Verone’s metaphorical nuts to the wall to notice the fraternization.
Monica took him to a pasta place afterward and rolled spaghetti on her fork expertly. They skirted all talk of Carter and talked about her next assignment, which promised to be soon. The brass were always kind to whomever danced closest to death. Markham was talking her up for a promotion.
“But I’m not sure if that’s for me.” Monica toyed with her bread. “I’m not that good at the whole administration thing.”
“I feel you,” Brian answered. “You get kinda hooked on the rush. Can’t exactly see you behind a desk. You’d be wasted.”
“Exactly,” She smiled without showing teeth. “Is that why you got out of the life? Someone threatened to bench you?”
Brian sometimes wondered if he was going to live undercover for the rest of his life. Dinner with a cool, smart woman, it should be easy. Fun. But it still felt like there were casual questions that he couldn’t answer and trails of lies that he had to track. This is ridiculous. He reminded himself that she wasn’t trying to trick him.
“Something like that,” Brian wondered what Markham had told her. “There were a lot of reasons.”
There was a comfortable lull while they both chewed.
“So what’s Mr. Pearce doing with himself, lately?” Monica asked innocently.
Brian chewed for a while and then spoke. “Besides causing trouble? He got a job, repossessing cars and boats. He’s already the number one repo man in Dade county.”
Monica laughed, “That sounds like the perfect job for him. You guys still going to do the garage thing?”
Brian hedged. “It’s coming together…slowly. You know what they say about working with friends? On the one hand, it’s great because you have all the shared history…on the other hand…”
“You have all the shared history,” they finished in unison and Monica chuckled.
“Neither one of us is really the ‘administrative type’ either,” Brian finished wryly.
“You guys grew up together in Barstow?”
“Yeah.”
“Hot out there,” Monica said, very casually. Maybe too casually.
Again that weird disconnect. She just made a casual, offhand statement. It doesn’t mean anything. But in Brian’s mind, she had just looked through his memories and dragged one particular dusty-hot day to the surface. The first day that Roman had reached for him after practice and whispered, “You ever done this, Brian?”
Snap out of it, Brian. Walk it off.
“Yeah, it was almost unbearable. Unbearably boring, too.”
“I grew up here,” She looked around the restaurant and Brian relaxed a tiny bit. “Did you know that this is the most heavily armed city in the U.S.? Supposedly three out of five people here walk around armed.”
Brian glanced around the restaurant. “Damn and this seemed like such a classy joint…”
Monica tossed her head with a laugh and flicked him with her napkin. “Smartass.”
Then she grew serious. “That’s why I became a cop, you know. The neighborhood where I grew up, where my parents still live, was all but destroyed by drugs. It’s strange, the outward changes are…small, until one day they’re pouring bleach on the sidewalk to wash away the blood.”
“So you decided to do something about it.” Brian wanted to take her hand and decided there was no reason why he shouldn’t.
She squeezed him gently and continued. “At the end of my second year on the street, I was still just some dumb uniform. I was called in on a raid of some warehouse. It was a huge operation, otherwise I don’t think they’d have asked me. Anyway, I was just walking through a room they’d thought had been cleared when one of the dealers popped out of a closet. I don’t think he knew I was there until I told him to freeze, get down on the ground, whatever. He was raising his weapon and I forgot all I’d learned about warning shots, about the law, I forgot everything except how to pull it. I shot him once in the neck and twice in the chest.”
Brian stroked the back of her hand with his thumb, “You were doing the job.”
Monica looked at him like he’d missed the point. “Yeah, I was doing the job. I just…I didn’t expect it to…feel so good. I felt like a tiger. Strong. Like finally I was doing the right thing and scoring on the bad guys. I got promoted the next year and asked for a transfer to Customs.”
Brian was still casting about for something to say when Monica raised the bets. “Did you ever shoot anyone? Take ‘em out?”
“Once.” He could feel himself stiffening and tried to head it off.
“Was it self-defense?”
He shrugged, “Kind of.”
“How’d you feel after?”
He raised his face, caught her eyes in both of his, “I felt sick to my stomach. Nauseated. But I didn’t have time to think about it much ‘til later.”
“I’m sorry.” And she really was, too. Her eyes were heavy with it.
“That’s one of the reasons I’m not a cop anymore.” He left her hand gently on the tablecloth and signaled for the check. “I don’t have the…stomach for it.”
****
One or the other of them had to drive down to Ensenada every so often for supplies. They did it together sometimes. The last time, Letty had needled him until they were both shouting. She would use anything as an excuse. Even jealousy. Though jealousy would indicate desire and he was pretty sure that she no longer desired him. Not really.
He knew that she was just trying to get him to feel something, to do something. She was getting desperate.
So today, he went to town alone.
He parked down by the waterfront and detoured through the municipal garden at the museum. Among the colorful plants and tilework, he sat for a moment trying to collect his thoughts and shake off his exhaustion. Dreams had sucked all the juice from his sleep. The sun’s rays seemed to crackle like fire.
His old nightmare was back after all the long years. In his dream, he walked through the never-ending corridors in Lompoc. The limp fluorescent light. Sounds of distant yelling or sometimes screaming. Low voices closer, spitting threats. Each plodding footstep seemed to say, you’re never, ever going to get out of here.
It was slightly different lately. Last night, the dream had taken him through the maze back to his tiny cage. And it wasn’t empty. Weak light filtered in through the bars and caught a hint of light from a bowed head. Dom had to stop and strain his eyes to see his cellmate. Then the blond head turned up and shafts of ice pierced Dom’s heart.
Letty had to shake him awake and she looked at him in a way that made him wonder if he’d cried out.
I can’t do this anymore. God, what a fool he had been. He had thought that the forces that would drive them apart would come from the outside. The cops, the Feds, the Trans, the whole fucking world would try to take a piece out of his team, his family. They had done their worst, yes, but in the end, he’d been the weak link. He’d broken the family. He’d let it happen. He was letting it happen.
Brian wasn’t the traitor here. Dom was. Shit. Dom leaned his head against the paltry cool of the tile. Just thinking the name sent a twinge through his chest.
He stood up abruptly, needing movement, motion, change. He trotted back toward the car, screwing his courage up with each step. He had to do something.
He almost swung into his driver’s seat before a shiny object caught his eye. A car.
Wow. The ’70 Moulin Rouge Plymouth Roadrunner. Less than 100 ever made. Looked like original paint, still glossed to perfection. Dual Flowmaster series 50 exhaust system. Air-grabber hood option. Dom noted the factory instrumentation. Black interior. Hurst competition plus pistol grip shifter. Don’t see one of those every day. Dom whistled softly.
He knew better than to touch, but anyone who routinely drove a car like this around would be accustomed to having it admired. It was beautiful. An amazing machine, floated through his head. His discerning eye caressed the chrome and perfect lines until he detected an imperfection. There. Above the driver’s side front wheel, a tiny nick in the finish. Could be measured in millimeters. But it had already rusted and if the owner wasn’t careful…
He imagined the gleaming perfection corroding from the inside. Weakening until it was a crackling shell, no protection at all. No hint would show on the exterior until the inside was almost unsalvageable. Like me.
“You got a problem?” Came a rough voice from his blind side.
Dom almost said yes before he jerked himself back to the here-and-now. The man who stood beside him, dangling keys, had a rough, craggy face like life had filed him down to his hardest elements. He faced Dom warily, his eyes cold and body taut as if prepped for anything. Dom opened his mouth to speak and noticed the faded tattoo that spread across the man’s upper arm like a web.
“You looking for someone?” the rough man hazarded, while Dom stayed stupidly silent.
Dom had seen similar tats on some of his customers. The barrios of Mexicali and elsewhere had evolved their own mythos and symbolism to give the residents strength in the face of bone-grinding poverty and crime. Some wore a devil’s head with a halo. Others had pachuco crosses, praying hands or slogans full of gallows humor. This man proudly wore inked tombstones, spider webs and a thousand symbolic variations indicating Mexican Mafia but Dom’s eyes were drawn to a ghostly figure blindfolded with its hands extended.
Ciudad los Personas Perdidas. The city of lost souls.
For a long moment Dom stared at the faded ink, oblivious to his own rudeness. He felt as if the brand was spreading across his own skin. Across his chest. Hell, across his face. He shook his head as if he could shake away the sense of loss. The cholo looked like he was two seconds away from throwing a punch.
“Beautiful ride you got here,” Dom pointed down at the nick in the finish. “But you ought to see about getting this filed and sealed. It’s only gonna get worse.”
The gangster looked down at the mite of rust and then up at Dom, bemused, “Thanks, man.” He seemed unconvinced that Dom wasn’t some rival gang’s enforcer. Dom nodded at him and turned away. The cholo called after him softly, “You sure you’re not looking for someone?”
Dom shook his head again and thought I am, but at least now I know who.
********************
As he pulled up in front of the cottage, he could tell at once that something had changed. Her car was out, its decals gleaming in the afternoon light. He’d come home early. He’d surprised her.
There was no mistaking what she was doing. Most of her things had already vanished into the duffle bag. She was so engaged in her packing that she started when she noticed him in the doorway. A strange look passed over her face. She straightened and her eyes dared him for one last time.
“Dom, I can’t...” She stopped and looked down for a second. “I can’t do this anymore.”
When he stayed silent, her resolve seemed to harden. Her eyes hardened. “You don’t…we don’t …work anymore.”
A crystalline memory shimmered in the air before him like a mirage. He remembered the day he had strode out of the state’s living nightmare and she and Mia had been waiting on the far side of the chain link fence. He couldn’t hug the tense, scared look out of their eyes; no matter how much they smiled or even laughed with him. Their brave faces had never wavered but their eyes gave the game away.
He remembered the weight that had rolled away as the hills of Lompoc had opened up around him. The delicious freedom that had lasted until Mia pulled up to the house. When Vince and the boys had surged up from their sprawl on the porch, hooting with excitement. It was at that moment that he realized that his father was really and truly gone. He realized that all of these faces would now turn to him for questions answered, plans approved. He felt the weight again, on the back of his neck.
Quickly he looked back up into Letty’s face, wanting to say something, to absolve her somehow. He felt a quick upwelling of pain that he tried to bury quickly. This was the first time in years that one of his team had decided something without him. Wasn’t that what he’d wanted all along? And, ironically, bitterly, appropriately, what she’d decided to do was leave.
“I’m tired, Dom. Tired of living with his…with their ghosts and your shadow.”
So this was it. This was how it ended.
“You don’t have to go.” Dom grated out. “I will.”
****
Brian took Monica home and stayed with her late. Her new apartment was air-conditioned and sex with her was easy. She was giving and inventive and never got shy or awkward. He would have stayed but she hinted that she liked to sleep alone. And he wasn’t going to push. He liked her a lot. He wondered idly if he could grow to love her. It would be so much easier.
Brian took the long way home because the warm, moist air whipping through the car felt so good. Felt like fingers caressing his face.
Walking up to the boat, he noticed that his bedroom window was glowing a flickery blue. While normally this might have alarmed him, he was now unsurprised to find Roman inside, playing Grand Theft Auto. Roman acknowledged Brian’s presence by lifting his chin a half-inch.
Which meant one of two things. Option A: Roman was bored and insomnia was a bitch. Option B: Roman was pissed off about some imagined slight and wanted to ‘discuss it’ with Brian. Brian’s senses went on full alert. A bored or pissed-off Roman Pearce wasn’t someone to turn your back on.
“Rough day?” Brian asked, trying to keep it cool.
Roman’s game-avatar flipped his car and the game-cops riddled him with bullets. Roman sat up and tossed the controller to the floor disgustedly.
Rome sneered at the screen that flashed ‘Mission Failed’ in pink. “Mission failed, that about covers it. Didn’t get that jackoff’s Lotus. Almost got my ass shot off for my trouble.”
Brian made sympathetic noises. Inwardly, he began preparing for the fight. Roman’s idea of anger management was typically to simmer until a worthy opponent came along. Which was Brian, more often than not.
“You banging the cop lady?”
“Yeah,” Brian sighed and snapped open a beer. “Not like it’s any of your fucking business, but yeah.”
Roman flared his nostrils. “I can smell her on you.”
“Nice talk, Rome. You used to have some class, or was that just my imagination?”
Roman grinned and his teeth looked dangerous in the low light. “Used to be you wouldn’t pull over to the side for Carter Verone’s leftovers.”
This was Brian’s cue. Roman wasn’t really interested in talking, his blood was up and he wanted to punish someone. And Brian was here and he knew the steps in this dance. Brian set his beer down, very deliberately and pushed himself off the counter. “Shut up, Rome.”
Roman rocked his head and looked out at Brian almost…seductively. “Don’t tell me to shut up, Bri-an.”
Brian swung at him without hesitation. In the last second before Brian would have knocked the smirk off his face, Roman ducked his head an inch sideways. Brian’s jab slid off his jaw and Brian’s knuckles grazed Roman’s ear in a way that couldn’t have felt good. Roman ducked under the punch and hooked Brian a sharp one in the gut. Rome didn’t wait for Brian’s countermove. He closed immediately.
Brian knew it wasn’t to his advantage to let Rome behind his guard. The only lead Brian had when they fought was his height and his longer reach. But he knew that this wasn’t real, well, maybe the anger was real. Roman didn’t really want to fight him, the fighting was a smokescreen. Roman just wanted to get…close. He wrapped an arm loosely around Rome’s neck, trying to push him down without hurting him.
Roman struck the back of Brian’s knee with the edge of his palm like a karate chop. Brian went down in an awkward lopsided heap in the few feet between the closet and the bed. Roman was on his back in an instant, dragging Brian up and forward in a half-nelson. Brian found himself face to face with his reflection on the mirrored closet door. Roman jerked him up to a kneeling position and breathed triumphantly in his ear.
“I still fight like shit?”
“You could do better,” Brian huffed through the tight band of flesh at his neck.
Roman’s teeth flashed, “Like this?”
Roman reached down with his free hand and dragged the backs of his fingernails outward over Brian’s half-erect cock. He thumbed down Brian’s zipper and jerked Brian’s loose pants to the floor. Brian could feel the pressure of Rome’s cock, jutting against him. Roman was hard everywhere, dense with muscle. Brian wanted to close his eyes but the sight in the mirror: Roman’s chin hooked over his shoulder, his dark fingers taut around Brian’s cock was overwhelming. Brian’s lips were an inch from the mirror and the steam hazed Roman’s reflection.
Roman seemed to think that he had gained the…upper hand as it were, so he let Brian slide out of the choke hold. Brian leaned his impossibly hot face against the mirror and tried to regain his balance. This left Roman free to maul him with both hands. Roman was almost always so rough that it was almost cruel but at this moment too rough felt just fine.
Roman spread his left hand under Brian’s t-shirt and his nails flicked at the roses of Brian’s nipples before pinching them. Roman curled his fingers over the base of Brian’s cock and pressed down hard. He could feel Roman’s cock tracing the curve of his ass, between his legs. Roman slid his hand over Brian’s hips and nudged his legs together around his hard length. Brian grinned inwardly. Roman must’ve been cooped up here, waiting, for almost all the time Brian had been out with Monica. Now Roman was too impatient to fuck him properly.
Roman’s cock thrummed against Brian’s balls rhythmically as he thrust. He grinned as he slammed Brian forward so hard, Brian almost cracked his head on the mirror. Brian put up one hand to brace himself.
“Is that how things are, Bri?” Roman whispered. Brian could only see the whites of his eyes. “Are you solo para mujeres?”
The soft Spanish in his ear made Brian’s cock pulse and his blood boil with arousal. That was one subject Roman had always had it over him in school. Of course, Rome did lots of extra ‘homework’ with Rosa and Blanca and Estella…Fine. Roman wanted to play this way that was his choice.
Brian reached backward with both hands, wrapped his arms around Roman’s waist and grabbed his left wrist with his right hand. He tightened his grip and was meanly pleased to see Roman’s reflected eyes widen. Brian tightened the long muscles in his thighs and locked their bodies together. Roman’s jerking hand on Brian’s cock stilled but he didn’t let go. Roman tried to pull back but Brian had him, had them locked together. Roman struggled for another minute, then gave up. Their eyes met in the mirror. Roman reached up with his left hand and brushed at the sweat on Brian’s cheekbone.
Brian came when Roman’s come spurted on his balls. Roman’s orgasm was like anything else he did. Fast, fierce and unrelenting. Roman leaned against him for the space of three breaths and then pulled away; leaving Brian to pull up his pants and totter over to his bed, damp and sticky. Brian found a towel amid the tousled sheets and gave himself a halfhearted swipe as the outer door slammed.
Brian sighed as he settled himself, throwing an arm over his eyes. When had they settled into these roles? When had Brian become the ‘responsible’ one, making sure all their debts were paid? Being the fucking diplomat, while Roman courted trouble at practically every opportunity? Roman was more fun than anyone had a right to be but being with him was exhausting. Roman thought nothing of waking Brian up at all hours, borrowing money to race or gamble and cleaning out the refrigerator to feed his ‘metabolism’.
And what did Roman ever do in return?
Oh yeah, thought Brian, make me come so hard that it feels like my teeth are going to fall out.
****
When you don’t know where you’re going or just what in the hell you’re doing, inevitably, you head to where you think home is. Which was why he’d ended up between the high concrete medians that funneled the impatient fleet of cars into the WELCOME TO THE UNITED STATES part of Tijuana.
Dom waited in the morass of cars trying to cross the border in a noontime crush. After brief consideration, he’d decided to cross on the strength of his fake ID, warrants be damned. If he got pulled in, it was God’s judgment on his mission. What the hell was wrong with your life when the only people who wanted you for certain were the police?
He got waved through after some official had taken a distracted look in his trunk. Obviously, they had bigger fish to fry. Dom gunned the engine, exhilarated. It lasted all the way up to Long Beach.
Shifting from the 5 to the 101, Dom was struck by how crowded and ugly everything looked. His little Mexican hideaway had spoiled him. So many people around, so many cars. The tunes of a hundred languages, the scent of exhaust, sweat, eucalyptus and fried food filled his head. It felt claustrophobic and exciting at the same time.
Mia’s new apartment, paid for out of their racing/stealing slush fund, was in a nice green neighborhood south of the university. She’d sent him pictures of it, asking his advice, though obviously she didn’t need it. She had thrived having a place of her own, new friends, a citizen’s job. A life of her own. Not having to clean up after anybody but herself.
Dom made his way up the steps weighted down with all the shit he couldn’t figure out how to say. Mia smiled at him sweetly from her front stoop. She hugged him and he noticed that she was thinner but it seemed to suit her. Her nails were polished. That was new.
“You were expecting me.”
“She called.”
Without another word, she led him inside and started making dinner. He sat at the table in her breakfast nook and let himself be soothed, watching her effortless grace as she put a meal together. Dom remembered the smile on his father’s face as he had done the exact same thing fifteen years ago. His mother had made food appear like magic with the same ease and grace. Suddenly, he had to rip a dishtowel almost in half to keep his eyes from tearing.
Mia put some salad in bowls and noticed his face when she brought them to the table. She knelt beside him and took both his hands in hers. Her fingers stroked his palms like bird’s feathers. “Hey,” she said softly. “It’s okay. It’ll be okay. It hurts now, but it won’t always.”
Dom shook his head. His mouth felt like it was full of hardening concrete. She patted him and served up the rest of the meal. They ate in silence and then he helped her clear away. He didn’t know what to say, so he told her a joke and relaxed a little when she laughed. It got easier, slowly.
They spoke differently to one another now, like cousins instead of siblings. Like grown-ups. It was easier. Now that their conversation didn’t have to work its way out from under the weight of his ambition. He sat on her couch and she stood by the window looking out at the rosy light of sunset.
Mia asked, “You love her?”
“You know I do.” Dom rubbed his head. “I just…I thought that loving someone meant that you would be happy together.”
“I don’t think it’s that simple, Dom. You know it’s not. I think loving someone means that you want what’s best for them…whether or not it’s you.”
And that was it, of course. Looking around at the pleasant, stylish apartment, he got the sinking feeling that Mia was another woman who didn’t profit from his attentions. He was happy that she seemed so well. It seemed petty to be annoyed that he wasn’t somehow involved in her happy life.
Mia continued, “I love you both…but truth be told I never thought that you were particularly good for each other.”
“Why?”
Mia sighed. “I’m assuming that when you risk coming up here, you don’t come to hear bullshit from me. So I’m going to tell you some things that might hurt now, okay?”
Dom nodded and braced himself. He could feel how much Mia loved him, how much she’d thought about this, he’d been a fool, a complete idiot, not to have asked her advice before.
“Dom, you’ve had it too tough for too long. After Dad…” She looked at him for a long moment as if the words would raise welts in his skin. “You were always so worried, so protective of us. You made your happiness secondary to the team; you made yourself the last priority. You did what a leader is supposed to do. But your fear clouded your judgment. You wanted us to be successful and prosperous and, of course, we wanted that too. But we also wanted you to be happy. You never seemed to understand that and so, maybe, we took you for granted. Letty wanted to be what you needed, but she’s too strong to lose herself. She tried, but it was like trying to shove a square peg in a round hole.”
“Were you always this smart?” He tried to kid but his voice came out hoarse. “Or was I just too stupid to notice?”
She looked away for a moment, out into the growing darkness. “You’re not stupid, D. You just never listened to me and I hated you for that. You need to listen to me now.”
“Yes, ma’am.” He toed at the carpet in a way she’d have to remember from when he took the fall for her when they were kids. She recognized it at once and gave him a quick hug.
“Dom, you need to stop thinking about what’s best for us.” Mia smiled wryly. “There is no ‘us’ anymore.” She stroked the back of his neck to take the sting from her words. “And that’s okay. Maybe we needed to…grow up. Start being ourselves. We couldn’t do that when we were a team first and individuals later. And you need to stop thinking about what’s best for the team and start thinking about what’s best for Dominic Toretto. I don’t think you’ve ever bothered to figure that out.”
Mia had just opened up and said things that he hardly let himself imagine. He tried to imagine telling her now, saying it all out loud. In the last few months, he’d learned that you couldn’t actually die of loss. Maybe you couldn’t die of shame, either.
“Mia, I think I know.” Dom said this low. He felt like a chasm was opening between them. Mia smiled at him, she didn’t see it yet. “I think I’ve figured it out.”
“Lay it on me then, big brother. What’s it going to take to make you happy?”
He leaned in, it was very important that he held her eyes right now. She needed to know that he was dead serious.
“Mia…” God, this was agonizing. “He made me happy.”
There was a moment where he thought he might have to explain himself and dread weighed on him. But then comprehension dawned. She shook her head slowly. Color drained from her face until her skin turned to milk. She walked out onto her tiny balcony and some instinct told him not to follow her.
He sat for what felt like an hour. It felt like someone had bombed the house and he had to be very still or it might collapse on him.
When she returned, her eyes still looked like holes in her head. But when she spoke, her voice was remarkably steady.
“Always?”
He could no longer speak, but he nodded.
“Why didn’t you say anything?” It was almost a gasp.
Dom looked down at his hands, where he’s twisted the dishtowel into an unhappy rag. He grunted, “I thought I was crazy. Plus, he was yours.”
Mia made an impatient gesture and her voice was stronger but tinged with bitterness. “He wasn’t mine. He was never mine.”
Dom was silent. When he dared a look at his sister, he was struck by how calm and…almost appraising she looked.
“You don’t seem….”
“Shocked?” Mia raised her eyebrows. “Appalled? Horrified?”
“…yeah,” He breathed.
She grinned a tiny, wry grin. “I asked for it, didn’t I? I asked you to look into your soul and decide who you were…I can’t really complain or argue with what you discover, right?”
She leaned back and picked nervously at her nails. She looked down at her hands as she spoke. As if she was talking to herself.
“I had…well, at the time, I was just happy that you guys seemed to be becoming friends. You needed new friends, Dom. He was so…new. I think that we both needed people to look at us with fresh eyes.”
Mia continued in a lower voice, “He was sweet to me. He was kind to me. But I could tell from the beginning that he didn’t love me. I thought that maybe that would change…how many people really fall in love at first sight?”
“At least one,” Dom muttered as he stared at his feet. The sudden silence made him look up and realize that he’d said it aloud…jeez, he’d gone from barely acknowledging his feelings to blathering about them fast enough to make his own head spin.
He looked sheepishly up at Mia, whose lip twisted, but her eyes were kind.
“So now you know what you want,” She tented her fingers together. “Do you have any idea how to get it?”
****
Brian raised his head from the pillow and groaned. A speedboat had just roared up the channel and his home rocked with the illegal wake. Hangover. Swaying bed. Cottonmouth. Not good.
When the waves had rippled themselves away, he pulled himself upright and stumbled into the narrow head. He managed not peeing on the floor by very tight margins. He splashed some water on his face and walked almost normally into the galley kitchen. Roman was there, bent over the tiny microwave, watching his Pop-Tart like a cat watches a goldfish.
Brian swayed into a chair. Rome turned his eyes left and palmed a box of cereal toward Brian’s chest. Brian didn’t feel up to milk so he just chewed handfuls of Chex, right out of the box.
“She slapped me,” Brian broke out suddenly.
Roman quirked his eyebrow, “I saw.”
“Who the fuck does that since 1986?” Brian continued incredulously.
Roman bobbed his head and leaned forward to examine the pinker side of Brian’s face. “She’s old-fashioned.” He turned Brian’s head to catch the light. “Most modern gals favor the right cross.”
“Was I really that much of an asshole?” Brian raised his eyebrows at Rome, giving him the innocent look, as if Roman would be taken in for a nanosecond.
“I’da been her, you wouldn’t be walking now.” Rome said, matter-of-factly.
Brian looked at him steadily. Rome shifted as if Brian’s shadowed, bloodshot eyes made his own head hurt. Brian started, “Well, it’s a good thing…”
And they both finished, “that you’re not her.”
OK. Laughing hungover was a dumb thing to do. Brian rubbed his temples and under his ears as if he could loosen the tight straps that appeared to be holding his head on his shoulders.
“Bound to happen sooner or later,” Roman mumbled this around his Pop-Tart.
“Just what the fuck is that supposed to mean?” Brian tried to put some juice in it but the challenge fell flat.
Roman regarded him for a long second and then appeared to decide on a different approach. “How did it start?”
Brian hunched down over his Chex. He looked at the refrigerator and mumbled. “She doesn’t get the race thing.”
“Huh,” Roman leaned back and pursed his lips at the ceiling. His muscles did a liquid roll as he stretched his arms back behind his head. “I’m thinking you’re not referring to fact that your white ass is kinda fucking up any ‘Brown Pride’ thing she’s got going.”
Brian threw a handful of Chex at him. “The RACE thing, bozo! The car thing!”
Roman raised one patrician eyebrow, “Just so we’re clear.”
Brian snorted. Roman was nothing if not equal opportunity on the female front. Last night he’d been chasing Lithuanian tail. And been quite successful, testified the faint bite marks on his neck.
“Not a lot of ladies ‘get’ the race thing,” Roman continued. “It’s a damn shame.” He nodded sagely. Brian nodded along with him and suddenly thought of Mia. And blushed.
“Suki,” Brian offered sullenly.
“Yeah, well. Tej is one lucky bastard, but we knew that, right?” Roman sighed. Brian helped himself to some orange juice.
“’Course, that’s just your excuse, you realize?” Roman was suddenly looking at Brian like he was something under the microscope.
Brian turned his face away as if he could somehow break Roman’s gaze, he could somehow block his thoughts, hold that razor-sharp tongue at arm’s length.
Roman jingled his keys in his pocket and stood abruptly. “I gotta get to work, c’mon.”
“What do I have to ‘c’mon’ for?” Brian took a slug of the juice and felt a little better.
“’Cause my ride’s at the club, fool!” Roman did an exasperated little dance move.
“So how…” Brian started and Roman filled in impatiently: “We went to her condo and then she drove me over here...alright, genius? Want me to draw you a picture?”
Brian loped off to get his keys still shaking his head. Rome could smooth-talk his way into a woman’s bed and then get her to drive him all over creation while normal people were sleeping.
Brian grinned as he put on his shoes. He hollered, “So you missed the breakfast sex just to come see if I was doing okay?”
Rome was in the bathroom, examining his love bites in the mirror. He grimaced at his reflection and flicked Brian the bird.
“That’s really sweet, Rome,” said Brian in his sincerest tone. He batted his eyelashes.
“Blow me,” Rome returned in his sincerest tone. “C’mon, I’ve got shit to do.”
They loaded up into the newly restored Skyline and headed back to the scene of the crime. Brian tried to remember just exactly what he’d said that enraged Monica so thoroughly. For some reason, Roman was digging through the glove box like he was prospecting for gold. He brandished the object of his search at Brian. A lollipop. Figured.
“She’s too smart for you,” Rome said this around his Chupa Chup but Brian had no problem understanding him. He had willed Roman to just stay quiet, but, of course, it was hopeless. Roman would just keep talking, putting all of Brian’s most secret thoughts into ugly, short words. Roman was what they called painfully honest.
“I really like her,” Brian tried to defend himself.
“Yeah, yeah,” Roman bobbed his head. “You always like them.”
Brian just stared at the road ahead.
“She’s gonna catch on, if she hasn’t already,” Rome continued. He opened his mouth and then stopped.
Brian wondered if this was the hangover, shit, he sure hoped it was. The nausea was like a fist through his guts. Why, just why oh why could it never be easy? Here was Roman here beside him, couldn’t hold onto a woman for a month running either…but if he reached for Roman right now, in the open, in sunlight, Rome would probably punch him so hard that Brian would throw up. Or maybe he wouldn’t. But he wouldn’t look at Brian the way that Dom had that last time…
Roman could be mean sometimes, but never cruel, not really. He gave Brian a searching look and the muscles in his cheeks tensed as he looked up at the cloudless sky. “Keep looking, bro.”
Brian saw the lot and turned toward it, numbly. He said almost under his breath, “I can’t.”
Roman searched Brian’s face and then frowned. He seemed to come to a decision and he tapped his hands on the dashboard in a quick drum solo. He grinned at Brian and something inside Brian eased up a little.
“You want me to call her and try to smooth things over?” Roman offered as if it was a sure bet for success He waggled his eyebrows suggestively.
“Shit, no!” Brian couldn’t imagine a better recipe for complete disaster. “But… if she calls…can you maybe, like…not be a dick to her?” He looked hopefully at Roman’s back as Rome slung himself out towards the lone car in the lot.
Rome turned to look back at him and raised an eyebrow. He popped the lollipop from his mouth and said, “Who loves you, baby? You’re beautiful!”
Brian couldn’t help grinning like an idiot as he drove off. No one did Kojak like Roman Pearce.
****
Dom stared at Mia’s ceiling, stretched and did a little math.
Brian O’ Connor was one person.
This city that he was currently waking up in laid claim to about four million people just within its city limits. Count the suburbs that stretched for fifty miles in every direction and the less-than-legal residents and the population soared to 12 million souls. Shit.
Dom then considered the country that surrounded this city. The United States covered a bit over five and a half million square miles. With 290 million people within its borders. Then, of course, there was the friendly convenience of their southern neighbor: Mexico, another hundred million people but only a little over a million square miles. And Canada, which only added a paltry 32 million people but contributed another whopping five and a half million square miles. Goddamn, motherfucking shit.
And all this assuming that Brian hadn’t just decided to fly the friendly skies off to some wild blue yonder. Dom snatched one of the pillows that Mia had left him and jerked it over his face.
Yesterday, it sounded impossibly simple. Today, simply impossible.
Dom knocked the pillow to the floor and stood up. Brian might be one person…but it took two people to race.
****
Fifteen seconds after he walked into the Gato Negro, a familiar voice had called out to him.
“Dominic Toretto! Mira lei!” Hector punched him on the shoulder and his friendly face was wreathed in an unguarded smile. Dom grinned back, God, he’d never realized how much he’d taken his respected competitor for granted before. Warmth flooded through him as Hector called a flood of Spanish over his shoulder, conjuring up a Corona and some delicious empanadas.
“So the two-time pro-mod NHRAss champ isn’t too cool to be seen with me?” Dom teased.
“Hell, nobody who see’d it could ever believe it, ese” Hector chortled. “Your little vanishing act turned you into a legend overnight. You’re more myth than man now.”
“All the better,” Dom said quickly. “I’m not in here to race.”
“Good, ‘cause I’d beat ya.” Hector winked. Then he turned serious. “You sure that it’s safe for you to be here?”
Dom shrugged. Compared to his other problems, the prospect of arrest seemed pretty tame. He sketched the story briefly for Hector, leaving out most of the details and playing up the betrayal/revenge aspects. No need to go making things more complicated than they already were.
“Whoa, whoa, D.” Hector waved him down. “What are you talking about? Brian? The snowman was no cop.”
Hector sounded so sure that Dom spent a moment wondering if it was possible that he’d just dreamed Brian’s little revelation out on Highway 86 outside Coachella. He shook his head to clear it.
“Why would you say that?”
Hector slouched back into the booth and looked thoughtful. He traced his goatee with a fingertip. “He came to see me that day.”
Dom had no trouble figuring out which ‘day’ Hector was referring to. Hector leaned forward and said urgently. “Dom, I’m really sorry about Jesse, man. He was such a smart kid, the smartest. I sometimes thought he was a little loco, but you kept him in line. You were good for him. Remember that.”
Dom clenched his fist and rapped it on the table tensely. It was still too close for chitchat. Hector veiled the sympathy in his eyes. “Brian just showed up at my place.” Hector nodded at the garage across the way. “He looked…kinda intense but trying to stay cool like the snowman always looked. Like everything was happening to him for the first time. He said there’d been some trouble, that I should be on the lookout for you.”
Dom took a sip of his beer to rinse out his dry mouth. Hearing Hector tell it, it felt like it had just happened five minutes ago.
“I asked him what the hell happened and he told me it would be better if I didn’t know. He said the cops might be sniffing around and to be careful.” Hector grinned; obviously the thought of Brian telling him to be careful still amused him.
“So that’s why you think he wasn’t a cop?”
Hector snorted. “I think he wasn’t a cop ‘cause of how he bought Luis’ Mitsubishi off of him for 20 Gs and got the fuck out of town. Cops don’t have bills like that, for starters.”
“He say where he was headed?” Dom asked eagerly.
Hector caught one of his carnales’ eyes and beckoned him over. Luis nodded at Dom and sat down, his dark eyes drinking everything in.
Hector slanted a look sideways at Dom. “You don’t really want to find him to fuck him up, verdad?”
Dom shook his head slowly. “But you don’t have any idea how I could find him, do you?”
“No, but I know someone who could help.” Hector grinned at Dom and twirled his keychain like he could’ve been wearing a zoot suit.
******************
Pulling up in front of the Racer’s Edge made Dom dizzy with déjà vu. He could almost hear Jesse beside him, trying to decipher his own handwriting from his scrawled, crumpled list. He caught Hector’s eye as the Honda pulled up beside him. Hector silently twirled his finger and he and Luis disappeared into the alleyway.
Dom lowered his sunglasses and jerked open the glass door, knowing that the brilliant sun outside would render him momentarily a silhouette. And it worked. Harry had started toward him, smiling for a fresh customer, before he realized who it was.
Dom grinned his meanest grin as Harry’s eyes widened and his smile froze. This part was easy. Intimidation, Dominic Toretto’s main stock in trade.
“Uh, Dom,” Harry started, still trying to keep up the pretense of a smile. “Haven’t seen you around for a while…how’ve you been?”
“Cut the bullshit,” Dom snarled. Harry flicked a quick look at his back door and seemed to wilt as he caught sight of Hector and Luis rolling across the showroom with cheerful faces and eyes hard as steel. It was lunchtime and they had the shop to themselves. “Former employee of yours, Brian O’Conner, ring a bell?”
“Dom, I…” Harry held up a protective hand that Dom swept right past. Dom leaned in and spoke quickly, “Look, you fuck up once, the law gets a little leverage and they start to squeeze. You don’t want to go upstate at your age, that’d be pretty hard time. It’s a serious threat, I understand.”
Dom was inches away from Harry’s quivering jowls. “We’ve known each other for a lot of years, Harry, but if you don’t want to lose all the inventory in the shop right now and most of your teeth, you’re gonna tell me what I need to know and hold nothing back.”
Harry blinked his eyes closed for a long second and then nodded his head vigorously at Dom, Hector and Luis. “Sure, Dominic, sure. You know I…Let’s go into my office.”
****
Brian went to the men’s room to pace with the cell phone. He couldn’t afford to look nervous at this stage in the game. After what felt like an hour, Roman picked up.
“Hey, yo.”
“Where the fuck are you?” Brian enunciated.
“Work,” Roman sounded like he was chewing something. “What’d you want?”
Brian gripped the phone to keep from slamming it into the cinderblock. “Your name on the lease, dumbass. Did you forget that, today of all days? You, me…a garage near the beach, being our own boss, Jesus, am I just talking to myself here?”
“You got the papers ready? They all set to give it to you?” Rome sounded bored.
“Yeah, the only thing missing is my fucking partner.”
“Do it without me.”
Brian opened his mouth and then shut it, not trusting himself not to just howl with frustration.
Rome continued, “Look, I know you’ve got them wrapped around your fingers in there. The black dude with the prison tats shows up, they’re gonna look all wide-eyed and innocent and shit. And before you know it, there’ll be some extra paperwork they have to get approved and it’ll just get…hard.”
“You’re my partner.” Brian whispered into the phone. He leaned into the cool metal of the stalls.
“I know. You know. So who else needs to know?” Rome’s voice teased. It sounded like his thoughts were miles away from what was coming out of his mouth. “Just do this part for me, Bri. I’ll remember it when you need me.”
The line went dead suddenly. Brian snapped the phone closed. He leaned over the sink to splash water on his hot face. He looked at himself as he snapped towels from the dispenser. His reflection flickered for a second and Dom’s voice echoed on the tile, Do you know what you’re doing?
“I sure hope so,” Brian muttered and went out to sign the lease.
****
“And that’s all you know?” Dom repeated.
Harry nodded exhaustedly. They’d come to the limits of his knowledge pretty quickly but he was white and sweating like they’d been interrogating him for days. Dom was just about to punch him on general principles. Hector caught Dom’s eye and shook his head once.
“You’re still the main distributor for Musi parts right?” Hector asked. He had leaned his chair back on its back legs and was looking at the ceiling thoughtfully.
Harry nodded hesitantly. It was obvious that he’d have agreed that the moon was made of green cheese with Dom Toretto glaring at him. “I’ve got the exclusive contract for the US.”
“You keep a database of who you sell that shit to?”
“Well, yeah,” Harry looked from one to the other to see where this was leading. “Those are pretty high-end items.”
“Sell a lot?” Hector asked like he was just making conversation.
Harry shook his head regretfully. “Not a lotta folks have the money for that stuff. Plus you have to really know your shit to install it.”
Dom felt a small glimmer of possibility thrum through him. He looked at Hector with wonder. Hector was a genius, how had he missed that?
Hector leaned in for the kill. “Print us out a list of everyone who’s ordered the following items from you: an EFI engine tuner, an MSD-44 amp magneto, an annular flow plate, a Digital-7 ignition…
****
One of the hardest things to master about being undercover was controlling your face. Looking bored when your heart was racing. Not letting your voice quiver. Brian had found it particularly hard to keep his fair skin from giving him away with a flush.
Monica’s face had the slightest tinge of a flush as she broke up with him. Brian felt like he should be flattered. Monica had managed to look relatively unmoved when Verone’s shotgun was hovering four inches from her lips.
“This doesn’t seem like a case of arrested development to you?”
Brian shivered a little at the breeze off the bay. They were on the pier. All the big discussions seemed to happen on the pier.
“That’s kinda harsh,” He couldn’t help just wanting this to be over.
She shook her head at him, her disappointment plain. “You’re smarter than this kid stuff. Race every weekend, just what are the odds that you won’t kill yourself or someone else?”
“Better than you think.”
She looked at him skeptically, “Remember that conversation we had about being a cop? At least if I die, it’ll mean something.”
“Well, aren’t you lucky.” He took refuge in bitchiness. “What’s this really about, Monica?”
She looked at him for a long moment. God, she was so beautiful. The fullness of her lips and the firmness of her jaw seemed to mock him with a dream of a normal life. He dropped his eyes.
”You don’t love me.”
He snapped his head up at this; it was the last thing he’d expected her to say. He looked her full in the face, shocked. Rome had been right, she couldn’t be deceived.
Monica sighed. She watched a speedboat flicker through the bay and started speaking without looking at him. “I try to make you jealous, you don’t even notice. I pick a fight, you don’t get mad. I ignore you sometimes, treat you bad, you never say ‘Stop. Don’t.’ Because you truly don’t care.” She looked up at his face, almost pleading. “You’re perfect, Brian, but you don’t love me.”
“I’m not perfect.” His voice cracked. Weak. Really weak, O’Conner. “I do care.”
Monica made a whatever gesture. “We started wrong, Brian. Saving me from Verone didn’t prove you loved me...”
“What did it prove then?” Brian interrupted bitterly.
“It proved that you loved saving people. You love danger.” She dropped her head on her neck like it was heavy and continued. “Brian, is this really the life you want?”
The life I want, I can’t have. But all he said was, “Not yet.”
She kept her face turned away while she nodded. “I’m going back under. Import/export firm in North Beach this time. Should be strictly white collar.” She turned to face him. “Six months tops is what they tell me…but you know how that goes.”
“So me hanging around queers the deal?” He tried to smile but it was rough going.
“I just don’t need…distractions.” She still looked kind, despite her cold words. And that seemed to be all that needed to be said. Nothing to see here folks, move along.
“I’ll be around.” He called after her as she walked away.
She turned around at that, smiled faintly and waved. When she turned back to walk, her shoulders slumped slightly, her steps seemed heavier.
He turned away. Took one step and then another. Walked back to the car, wondering how long before Roman’s sympathy turned into a sympathy fuck.
*****
“So, you talked with Hector? He must’ve had some ideas.”
Mia sat at the table watching while Dom cooked. Her kitchen was a replica in miniature of their kitchen in Echo Park so it was easy to navigate. “Yeah, how’d you know?”
She waved that off, “What’d he come up with?”
“He sold Brian a Mitsubishi for a getaway car…I also got some in-teresting information from Harry…”
Mia cut in, “Did Hector get you the plate number or the VIN for the Mitsubishi?”
Dom put the spoon down and dug around in his pockets. “Somewhere here,” he muttered. He found the scrap of paper and handed it over. “Why’d you want that? Doesn’t do us much good that I can see?”
Mia shrugged. “I’ll ask Rick to run the VIN through the DMV database, just on the off chance that it’s been abandoned or re-registered somewhere.”
Dom picked up the spoon and put it down again. There was something important behind that sentence.
“Rick?” He asked gently.
“This guy I’ve been seeing. It’s getting pretty serious actually. I met him when they came to get Jesse.” Mia’s gaze never wavered for a second. She seemed to be waiting for him to make the connection.
“And this Rick can trace a car by the VIN?” He kept his voice even.
Mia nodded and reached into her purse. “And he got this for me.” Dom unfolded the paper to find a black and white image of Brian O’Conner staring up at him. It gave him a little jolt of adrenaline. Mia continued, “And he’s been doing a pretty good job of keeping Leon out of jail.”
“Rick is a cop.”
Mia cocked her finger at him like a pistol. “Bingo.”
Dom heard his voice before he could think, “You’re in love with a cop?”
Mia smiled sweetly, “Seems to run in the family, doesn’t it?”
****
“Your turn,” Brian said, peeling the label off his beer bottle.
“Ford. Esc…no…fucking Ford Taurus. Fucking piece-of-shit Ford Taurus.”
Brian took a long swallow and said, “Don’t sugar-coat it, dude. Tell me how you really feel.”
Roman grinned sideways, hooked his chair over to the side of the deck and grabbed his crotch at the retreating Taurus. “Driving that is its own punishment.”
“That was too easy,” Brian scoffed.
Roman shook his head and his index finger. “No bitching zone. Your turn, bro.”
Brian listened until he was sure. “Mercury Cougar…80’s vintage”
Roman glanced over his shoulder. “Yaasssss, you are correct, 1984.” He took a pull of his beer.
The next car whooshed by on the 3AM street. They chorused in unison, “BMW.” Toasted each other and drank. Beamers didn’t count. The exhaust system gave the engine hum a distinctive low murmur.
Roman wadded up the shreds of beer labels and arced a perfect shot at the waste bucket. “Mazda Miata.” He said before Brian could remind him of his turn. “C’mon, mopey. It’s your turn.”
Brian tried to let the engine sound fill his mind. Roman nudged him impatiently.
“Acura Legend.” Brian said, absently. Roman looked at Brian in that intent way that didn’t give a hint to what he was thinking. But they’d been friends since first grade and Brian could feel Rome’s worry.
“She got wise to your dumb ass?”
Brian bristled and then hated himself for being so easily manipulated. Rome would always rather have him mad than sad. So he was honor-bound to be as obnoxious as possible. Brian breathed deep and shrugged.
“I guess she just didn’t like my...bad habits.”
Roman’s head snapped around. He looked closely at Brian as if to make sure that wasn’t some veiled reference to…that thing they didn’t talk about. That thing they didn’t even really think about.
“What’d she say? Didn’t like coming out to watch us act stupid?”
Brian shook his head slowly, “I think the racing thing was just convenient. She never had a problem before, remember?”
Roman grunted affirmatively. “She’s saying you got a death wish, she should look to her own ass first, yeah.”
Brian shrugged in a so-there-you-go way.
Roman paused for a long moment and then seemed to make up his mind, “But you have been acting weird for a while. Weirder since you came east.”
“What the fuck would you know about it, Rome? That’s bullshit.”
“The hell it is, Brian!” Rome suddenly seemed really aggravated, “Back in Barstow, I mean, we were always crazy-stupid but that was some little league shit. You became a cop, I thought you were pussying out on our kind of crazy. But you’ve done gotten worse.”
“You ain’t been around enough to know.” Brian knew that this was unfair. Shit, life wasn’t fair. Roman couldn’t love him the right way, just like Brian couldn’t love Monica. It was nobody’s fault.
“But lately, man? Seriously! You wouldn’t’ve gone head to head with Verone like that, jumping your car all Dukes of Hazzard n’ shit. I watched you play chicken with that asshole in the Yenko. And Tej was telling me about you jumping the bridge going 120 before I got here. That is some seriously stupid shit, Brian. You weren’t so reckless when you were sixteen.”
“So?”
“So?” For a second Brian thought that Roman was gonna haul off and slug him. “So, what gives? What the fuck is wrong with you?”
Another relic of his undercover life, he could sigh when he wanted to shout, shake his head when he wanted to punch Roman as hard as he could. His fury was irrational. Rome was usually so adept at cutting through the bullshit, why was he suddenly so blind? Why can’t you understand this? What do I have to be afraid of anymore? “I dunno, Rome. I dunno.”
Roman made a sour face as if he’d smelled something especially funky. “Figure it out, brah.”
Brian stood up quickly, the deck chair scraped the fiberglass of the bow. He had to get away. Suddenly, he didn’t want fucking insight from Roman. He didn’t want Roman to try to understand. He just wanted Roman to do what he did best…distract him from his lonely thoughts. Or leave him alone, whatever.
In the bedroom, Brian peeled off his shirt and toed off his Chucks. He could feel Roman pacing on the forward deck. He could feel Roman wanting to leave. He envied Roman his ability to just accept what he wanted to accept and ignore everything else.
Roman wasn’t tomorrow or yesterday, Roman was all about right now.
And right now, Roman was right there, leaning on the doorway, looking at Brian with annoyance nearly drowning out his affection. “This ain’t no way to live, Bri.”
Fuck you, don’t you think I know that? Brian slumped back on the bed. “I don’t wanna talk about this anymore.”
Brian tried to feign sleep but he could feel it when Roman pursed his lips and cocked his head to one side. Rome flicked his gaze out to the sparkly water outside and seemed to come to some decision. Brian’s skin prickled as Rome’s weight made the bed dip.
Roman’s hand was hot on Brian’s thigh and he purred, “So, who’s talking?”
****
Mia tucked a cooler behind the passenger seat, straightened up and wiped the sweat off her face. Los Angeles was still a burning oven of stale air, tinged with the acrid scent of car exhaust. The heat and poison made the air shimmer. He was glad to be leaving. Glad to have somewhere to go.
She hugged him for a long moment and he squeezed her, stopping only when he felt her take one labored breath. He stepped back and they looked at each other for a while. He thought of how beautiful she was and just how much he hated the idea of leaving her alone in this hungry city. She smiled at him and leaned up to brush a kiss on his jaw.
They’d had a long discussion in the relative cool of the previous evening. With the map spread between them on the table, the kitchen light burning, the rest of the apartment dark to give the illusion of cool. You didn’t get air conditioning this close to the Pacific and Mia’s huge box fan was working overtime. Dom leaned on his elbows and Mia stood behind him tracing the route with her finger.
“The Mitsubishi was found abandoned right…here,” She’d tapped a fingernail over the tiny dot. “Junction, Texas.”
“Population 2?” Dom joked.
“Yeah, once a month they play bridge and it balloons to eight.” Mia said seriously. Her face was so impassive that he almost asked, “For real?” Then he caught the twinkle in her eye and checked himself.
“So he took the 10 out of town. Texas. So we can rule out the West Coast.”
“Unless he doubled back,” Mia looked thoughtful.
Dom closed his eyes to block the map from his sight. This was impossible. Why the hell he thought that he could ever do something like this…
“But I doubt that he would.” Mia continued. “I bet you get on a road like that…particularly considering….I bet you’d just want to go and go and not stop.”
Dom mulled that ‘particularly considering’. Particularly considering that he’d just watched someone die. Someone else almost die. Particularly considering that he’d just killed someone. Particularly considering that he’d just flushed his career down the toilet. Particularly considering that he was leaving the person who…okay, that was just stupid. Dom had left first. Let’s not forget that.
“But the road ends,” he grunted.
“Yup,” Mia traced the blue line again. “In Jacksonville. Florida. But then you have the 95. So you don’t really have to stop until you get to Key West or Bangor, Maine.”
“So you think he abandoned his car for whatever reason…”
Mia rolled her eyes. “Didn’t you read those clippings I got you? Someone saw him and it got all ‘America’s Most Wanted’. He had to leave it. Probably hitched into San Antonio or Houston or something, got himself another car.”
Dom tried to imagine the woman or girl who found herself carting Brian O’Conner around. If she’d known that the golden boy was a wanted criminal. Practically fucking Robin Hood. He found himself wondering if Brian had slept with this nameless girl that Dom’s imagination had effortlessly conjured up. Christ, what a loser.
“Did you plot those names that Harry gave you?” Mia was asking.
“Yeah,” He tapped briefly at each of the pencil marks he had made. “There are just a couple in the rural areas, clusters in the big cities…”
“How many, say, per city?” Mia interrupted from the kitchen. She came back with two Cokes.
Dom shrugged. “Never more than five.”
“Well, that should make it easy.”
Dom rolled his head on his neck and started, “Well, I don’t know about easy…”
Mia waved it off impatiently. “Forget it, D. Bad choice of words. Nothing good’s ever easy.”
“Do you think that this is a big mistake?”
She flopped down in the chair opposite and regarded him for a full minute. He could see her choosing her words carefully again. “Dom, do you remember when you were first showing me how to race?”
He grinned in response. He could still see her looking up at him, her elegant eyebrows knitted in concentration. Her slender hand on the wheel.
“You told me that all the mods in the world wouldn’t make a difference in the end. That you could have the most Nos, perfect torque, 1,000 horsepower…and it wouldn’t mean a thing if you didn’t believe you could win. If you didn’t commit to winning in your head. That was the word you used ‘commit’. You said if you couldn’t believe in victory, you might as well go home. That you should hit it or quit it.”
He remembered saying that. The blaze of nostalgia almost hurt. Mia had never done much racing but when she did, she’d always managed to surprise the team. Except for Jesse. Jesse had always believed in Mia.
“So that’s what you gotta do,” Mia continued. “Don’t doubt yourself; just do it.”
He couldn’t trust himself with words then. He hugged her and rolled his head on her neck. Her warmth, her strength under his arms made him feel like anything was possible.
It sustained him as he packed his portable life into the trunk of the Plymouth. As Mia’s figure faded in the rearview, as he left the city’s haze behind. When Los Angeles was about to become a cloud of yellow dust in his memory, he murmured to himself, hit it or quit it.