James steps forward. “Father Robert, I know this sounds crazy but—”
Bob booms, “If you know what’s good for you, boy, you’ll shut the f**k up. Right now.”
James stops talking.
Bob utters in warning. “I’m serious, Cat. This is done. Finished.”
The thought of losing James is enough to make me ill. I stand straighter and respond shakily, “No. I won’t.”
Bob stares at me for a few seconds before he mutters, “You think I’m not serious?” He steps closer to James. “How’s this for serious?”
Bob pulls out his .357 magnum from behind him, aims it a hair’s breadth away from James’s forehead and pulls the trigger.
The shot echoes throughout the distance. Something warm splatters my face.
I gasp in shock as James falls to the ground, motionless.
My mind blank, eyes tearing, body trembling, I whisper, “No.”
Bob stands there, looking down at James, huffing and puffing from adrenaline.
This is just a dream. I’ll wake up any moment and see this was all just a dream.
“No.” I look up at Bob and wail, “No! No, no, no, no.”
I drop to the ground and kneel by James. There’s a hole in his forehead and his eyes are open. He bites his tongue. His head lolls.
He’s very much dead.
Not able to stand it, I let out a keening cry so pained I think that God himself hears me. I cry in hurt and heartache. I cry til I’m numb.
I feel Bob behind me. His hand touches my shoulder but I shrug him off. “I hate you! I f**king hate you!”
Bob stands back, allowing me distance. He stays quiet a long time, listening to me cry, before he tells me something I didn’t know. “He wasn’t just a drug dealer, Cat. He was selling women. Not just women but teenagers, close to your age. You know what his position was?”
But I don’t answer. I don’t want to know. Still kneeling, head dipped, my body shakes in silent sobs.
“He would break them in.”
I don’t know what that means. Bob obviously knows this so he explains, “His job was to have sex with them, sweetie. He would rape them until they wouldn’t fight back, then they’d be sold. I’m sure you don’t want to hear it but I need you to know this. Whenever they fought back, he would beat the shit out of them. Beat them within an inch of their lives. Before you ask, I have evidence of this. A lot of photographic evidence.” I cry harder. Bob utters, “He deserved to die, Cat.”
The tears won’t stop. I find it hard to breathe.
Before I can register what’s happening, everything fades to black.
I blink away tears, look at Xavier and whisper, “He screwed with some dangerous people and got himself killed.”
Xavier nods. We sit in a comfortable silence. He takes a sweet pastry out of the basket and hands it to me.
I lift my head and smile softly.
As he takes a bite of a croissant, he smiles back.
I nibble on my tart and think:
Aren’t we a pair?
Maybe Xavier and I have more in common that I thought.
Chapter Eleven
Huff-puff-pant.
The long thin stick in my hands feels heavier by the second. I don’t know how much longer I can do this. For an old guy, Bob has the stamina of a twenty year old.
Just my luck.
Although he pants, he holds the stick in one hand, circling me. He smirks. My eyes narrow and I want to wipe that smirk off his face using as much force as necessary. So I do.
Lifting my hand, I swing the stick down over my head so fast that I hear the whoosh of the wind as it cuts through it. Bob moves fast, but not fast enough. The stick comes down on his shoulder and he winces. If it were anyone else, an unprepared person, that shot could have been a kill shot.
I smirk back and then stick out my tongue. His body shakes in silent chuckles. He kneels as though catching his breath but the long stick he holds spins out and catches the back of my calf.
Lifting my head, I howl in pain as I’m taken down to the floor with a thud.
Sneaky, sneaky.
Still kneeling, he watches me through smiling eyes. Only Bob could beat the shit out of me and make me want to hug him.
I lift my head a moment before I raise my hand and wave my invisible white flag.
He chuckles out loud and moves over to me. Holding out his hand, he utters, “Great job today. Soon you won’t even need sessions.”
I couldn’t tell you why, but as he says that, my chest pangs. Rather than show any emotion, I lie back on the ground, chest heaving and cover my eyes with a forearm. I don’t want my sessions to end. If my sessions end, what time will I have with Bob? Just me and Bob. I suppose I sound like a whiny little brat, but Bob is all I know. He is my protector. My guardian. My role model. Sure, he could have been a better role model, but I say he did good with what he had. That he does good, still.
“So, how are things with Xavier?”
Bob sits by me and remains silent for a while, thinking before answering, “Another week or so and he’ll be good to go on his way.”
My arm flops down by my side. “And he’ll be okay, you think? He’ll stay away from drugs?”
Bob stares into the wall, not answering.
I close my eyes tightly and mutter a tired, “He’s going to use again, isn’t he?”
Bob breathes deeply and replies on an exhale, “I don’t think he will for a long while, but I think it won’t take much to set him off. The guy already has anger issues, that much is clear, but dealing with someone like Tomas is not an easy thing.” He looks at me. “How long do you think you could go with someone ignoring you before you hit the wall?”
My heart aches.
I know Tomas doesn’t do this intentionally but, yes, he doesn’t listen. I like to think because he can’t. He communicates in the only way he knows how.
Bob is right. It won’t be easy.
If only they could stay…
As if knowing my thoughts, Bob rubs my arm before standing and leaving me to my thoughts.
***
“Tomas, you need to keep real still for Ari or she might cut you.”
Tomas keeps his head still but his arms flail under the smock. I know he can’t help it. He seems to need to be moving in some way all the time. So I do something I haven’t done since I was a little girl. I move to stand in front of Tomas, and take his contorted hands in mine. I smile and start softly, “Patty cake, patty cake, baker’s man, bake me a cake as fast as you can…”
Tomas smiles a crooked smile and it spurs me on. I sing louder, making the movements between our hands bolder and sillier.