Read Online The Front of the Freeway by Logan Noblin - Free Book Online Page A

glass bottle and hand it to Tony next to me on the ledge. He puts his beer down in the grass and takes the empty bottle, holding it between his knees while reaching for a red tin gasoline can beside him. He fills half the bottle back up with the thin yellow fluid like egg yolks and adds another quarter of water and dish soap from his kitchen.
    “Rag.”
    That’s my job, soaking torn white rags in a plastic bucket of lighter fluid. I pull the slick, dripping cloth out of the thin translucent sludge and pass it to the bartender. Tony jams it into the bottleneck, pushing the saturated strip halfway into the bottle with two pointed fingers, leaving the other half hanging out of the top like a wet flag. He sets it behind him in line with three more dripping brown cocktails and hands me the last full beer.
    “I got a job for you, Julian, if you want it.” For all his words, for all his talking, I’ve never had a conversation with Tony. I couldn’t tell you where he’s from, or where he wants to go, or anything except what he wants me to do or how he wants me to do it. He’s all loud jokes and quiet business, or some absurd place in between. But I guess that’s how he makes a living, and I always take the bait.
    “What, you mean you’re not coming?”
    “No, man, this one’s for you. Well, me—sort of.” Tony takes a short pull and swallows the last foamy breath from his bottle, then presses it between his knees and grabs the gas. “There’s a guy I want you to meet—Cesar. I’ve never met him, but from what I heard he’s got his fingers in every pocket from Redlands to TJ. He’s not a smalltime guy, you know?” Half yellow slime, quarter soapy water. The suds and glass remind me of Romeo’s kitchen, and my stomach winces. Last week I was scrubbing dishes; now I’m washing blood off my hands. With a nauseating shiver, the suddenness of the whole strange and sinister plunge washes over me, but now Tony has another mission, and there’s no slowing down, not now. “Anyway, I was talking to Martín last week, and I guess Cesar wants his fingers in L.A., too, and he wants someone to help him do it. Martín mentioned my name, and he wants to meet me, you get it?” So he heard about us. I wonder if this is what a promotion feels like, and for a second there’s this uncomfortable warmth in my chest. Maybe that’s something Tony taught me, too, having some pride in your work.
    “So, what, we’re buying from him now?”
    “No, you’re going to buy from him now. He’s never met me. He doesn’t know what I look like, and Martín didn’t tell him much more. For all he knows, you are me. So I want you to meet him, see what he’s got for you. This is your thing now.” Tony puts the little glass flag in line behind him, and wipes the lighter fluid off his hands in the grass. Maybe I should know better than to expect anything good from one of Tony’s surprises, but this is different. For the first time, this isn’t about Tony. This is about me.
    “What, don’t you want it?”
    “I don’t need it. I’ve got my business, JT, but you, you’re just getting started. This small time shit, selling sacks, it’s good and all, but if you really want to do this, at some point you’re going have to get out of the garden. Now come on, help me push this bitch.”
    Tony pushes himself out of the grass and walks to the open driver’s side door behind him. He pitches the empty red can into the back seat, and it clatters against four more full metal canisters. Five inside, five in the trunk, four under the hood. The last one’s behind me, the icing on the metal flambé. Out of the garden. This isn’t about me. This isn’t even about weed anymore.
    “You want me selling coke now.”
    “No, I want you making money now. This is where the real money is—this is your ticket out. The weed, that’s pennies, man. And Romeo’s, that’s not a job, it’s just the cover you need to sneak out the back door. You know how