on one of the beds staring at a blank TV screen.
Rich said, “Hey, Gabe, you want me to turn that thing on?”
“No, that’s fine, leave it. I want to thank you boys for another fabulous evening. I’ll be in touch.”
“Alright, then. Goodnight,” said Donny.
“Call us,” said Big Rich.
Gabriel stayed quiet. He was either distracted or falling asleep.
***
In the elevator, the two boys pondered the old man’s attitude.
Donny said, “You think he’s pissed off? You think he knows we filmed him?”
“Nah, he would have said something. I think he’s fucking old, that’s what I think. I think we just tuckered the old bastard out.” Big Rich was callous. “Hey, lemme have my phone back.”
“ Wait, let’s watch it when we get back to your place. Let’s get outta this hotel first.”
“It’s still m y fucking phone, Donny. If you wanna cop, I’m gonna need my phone, shithead.”
Donny smiled and pulled the phone from inside his jacket, saying, “Get a couple grams, at least. And let’s get some blow this time.”
***
Bear couldn’t sleep. It was unusual for him; he normally slept like a rock, without dreams or having to get up to piss. He tossed and turned for a while in the bed before deciding, fuck it. He sat up and reached for his pack of Camels, lit one in the dark and smoked. He’d give it another ten minutes.
After two cigarettes, Bear yawned, scratched his ample belly, and got up to get himself a beer. He stood in his kitchen in a T-shirt and underwear sipping his Bud. He glanced at the clock on the microwave, 4:30 am. Goddamn. He sat down at the computer and thought he’d check on used Harley parts. There was nothing new out there in the four hours since he’d been gone to bed. He sat back, wide awake now, wondering what to do with himself. He brought up the search engine and, again, typed in Derek Walczak. He scrolled down the page and chose an article, this time from the San Jose Mercury News . The same mug shot appeared at the top of the piece. Below it was another picture of Dustin doing the perp walk. Bear started to read. The article contained more details than the first. Dustin grew up in Stockton and had been jailed as a teen for reasons that were suppressed because he was a minor. He went back in at the age of twenty-two: armed robbery and grievous bodily harm. There was no mention of who his mouthpiece was that time. It was alleged that he did some dirt in prison for the Aryan Brotherhood, stabbing some poor bastard in the neck sixteen times, but was ultimately cleared. Nice. He did his full bit that time, five years, and came out at twenty-seven. He was back inside within a year, another robbery charge. When he was thirty-one, he was charged with attempted murder. This time, the article stated, he was represented by “famed San Francisco criminal defense attorney, Gabriel Thaxton.” Bear smiled. Fucker should have that embossed on his business cards. It said Thaxton got him acquitted of all charges and later tried to sue the San Mateo County Sherriff’s office for false arrest.
The article ’s editorial slant was that a dangerous criminal had been released and re-released into society only to go on to torture and kill innocent and upstanding citizens. Bear saw it different; he saw a pattern of greed. This kid was robbing people. He figured the reason why the killings were spaced apart was because Walczak was bleeding his victims dry, financially. It was probably the same thing he was doing now to Gabriel Thaxton. What he couldn’t figure was why anyone of these people would let this piece of shit into their lives in the first place.
Down at the bottom of the page there was a link to related articles. Bear raised his eyebrows when he saw the first one. Killer Walczak Released, Conviction Overturned.
Bear skimmed through the article and then went back to the search page. This time he typed in Gabriel Thaxton
Rich said, “Hey, Gabe, you want me to turn that thing on?”
“No, that’s fine, leave it. I want to thank you boys for another fabulous evening. I’ll be in touch.”
“Alright, then. Goodnight,” said Donny.
“Call us,” said Big Rich.
Gabriel stayed quiet. He was either distracted or falling asleep.
***
In the elevator, the two boys pondered the old man’s attitude.
Donny said, “You think he’s pissed off? You think he knows we filmed him?”
“Nah, he would have said something. I think he’s fucking old, that’s what I think. I think we just tuckered the old bastard out.” Big Rich was callous. “Hey, lemme have my phone back.”
“ Wait, let’s watch it when we get back to your place. Let’s get outta this hotel first.”
“It’s still m y fucking phone, Donny. If you wanna cop, I’m gonna need my phone, shithead.”
Donny smiled and pulled the phone from inside his jacket, saying, “Get a couple grams, at least. And let’s get some blow this time.”
***
Bear couldn’t sleep. It was unusual for him; he normally slept like a rock, without dreams or having to get up to piss. He tossed and turned for a while in the bed before deciding, fuck it. He sat up and reached for his pack of Camels, lit one in the dark and smoked. He’d give it another ten minutes.
After two cigarettes, Bear yawned, scratched his ample belly, and got up to get himself a beer. He stood in his kitchen in a T-shirt and underwear sipping his Bud. He glanced at the clock on the microwave, 4:30 am. Goddamn. He sat down at the computer and thought he’d check on used Harley parts. There was nothing new out there in the four hours since he’d been gone to bed. He sat back, wide awake now, wondering what to do with himself. He brought up the search engine and, again, typed in Derek Walczak. He scrolled down the page and chose an article, this time from the San Jose Mercury News . The same mug shot appeared at the top of the piece. Below it was another picture of Dustin doing the perp walk. Bear started to read. The article contained more details than the first. Dustin grew up in Stockton and had been jailed as a teen for reasons that were suppressed because he was a minor. He went back in at the age of twenty-two: armed robbery and grievous bodily harm. There was no mention of who his mouthpiece was that time. It was alleged that he did some dirt in prison for the Aryan Brotherhood, stabbing some poor bastard in the neck sixteen times, but was ultimately cleared. Nice. He did his full bit that time, five years, and came out at twenty-seven. He was back inside within a year, another robbery charge. When he was thirty-one, he was charged with attempted murder. This time, the article stated, he was represented by “famed San Francisco criminal defense attorney, Gabriel Thaxton.” Bear smiled. Fucker should have that embossed on his business cards. It said Thaxton got him acquitted of all charges and later tried to sue the San Mateo County Sherriff’s office for false arrest.
The article ’s editorial slant was that a dangerous criminal had been released and re-released into society only to go on to torture and kill innocent and upstanding citizens. Bear saw it different; he saw a pattern of greed. This kid was robbing people. He figured the reason why the killings were spaced apart was because Walczak was bleeding his victims dry, financially. It was probably the same thing he was doing now to Gabriel Thaxton. What he couldn’t figure was why anyone of these people would let this piece of shit into their lives in the first place.
Down at the bottom of the page there was a link to related articles. Bear raised his eyebrows when he saw the first one. Killer Walczak Released, Conviction Overturned.
Bear skimmed through the article and then went back to the search page. This time he typed in Gabriel Thaxton
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