chapter twenty three

word count: 535

vic had made his way down river and was under the bridge where 47th ave crossed lewis,, he had paused only long enough to call jorge martinez,, and tell him to get his ass to the chevron he could see at the top of the embankment.. "yesterday..." that was 20 minutes ago... for the first time in a long time... vic felt very much not in control.. and he didn't like it...

he was at home here, riding high above the street, behind the wheel of this navigator, service revolver under the seat,,, proof he was in charge,, just a safety click away.. but standing here now,, cowering in the shadows of this piss soaked river bed,, even he knew he was painfully out of his element...

he walked far enough up the embankment to where he could see the chevron,, but was pretty sure no one could see him.. he stood there for what seemed like an eternity... finally he saw the battered old truck slip into the parking lot and come to an abrupt stop just short of the cage that surrounded the propane tank..

"martinez,, you are fucking god!!!!" vic boomed as he slammed the door and breathed for what seemed like the first time since he had stumbled upon rubens untimely demise... "wadda ya say we get a couple a beers?"

"usted es el jefe,, you're the boss man" jorge said... half thrilled at the prospect,, but hoping it didn't cut into his "cab fare" at the same time... after all time was money...

vic handed jorge a twenty, and watched him walk into the quick mart.. thank god he was scheduled off tomorrow,, he had time.. time in which he had no one to be accountable too.. time to think this thing thru... and most importantly time to let "ren" work his magic,, and make stan and that "ho" disappear..

jorge got him a room at one of the nondescript curry soaked motels along merideth,, and then took off with a crisp $50.00 in search of a suitable female companion,, someone vic could "unload" on....

vic kind of liked the idea of having a "runner". under different circumstances he could almost get used to this.... he laid back on the bed,, took the remote in one hand,, an ice cold corona in the other,, and began to imagine the paces he would have to put this little bitch thru to even come close to relieving the tension that had been building inside him all day....

jorge circled the block.. why is it there was never a decent looking "puta" when you needed one?? as he pulled into the alley to take a piss he saw something that didn't look too bad,, but she was making no attempt at eye contact,, so he couldn't be sure she was working.. thats how you tell them apart,, the "good girls" look straight a head or at the street,, the "bad" ones look at you...

"oye, mamacita, " he called over the dumpster as he relived himself against the already stained red brick wall...

as she turned to glare at him, he noticed something that made him sure this was his girl... she was handcuffed...