Page 5 of Sweet
Part of his pay at Misspent Youth was Ruby, his boss’s wife, doing cover work for some of the worst shit. He wasn’t enough of an idiot to tattoo himself, but he trusted Ruby.
He exercised for nearly an hour; then he took a shower and did not think about Daisy Rivera. Then he heated up a packet of plain oatmeal and didn’t think about the strawberry pie he’d seen at the café two days before.
I wish I was here to get a new read…
She’d said that in the bookshop the day before. She liked to read, which made sense because she was a smart girl. Yeah, that fit. Everyone talked about how well she did in school, how she’d be heading off to some fancy university soon.
Spider leaned against the small counter in the corner of the apartment and methodically finished off his oatmeal. He pictured Daisy in a pair of jeans like she’d been wearing the day before, a backpack on her shoulder, hanging with the smart people at a college somewhere. In his imagination, she was wearing glasses, which was stupid because she didn’t need them, but whatever. They looked cute on her.
Everything looked fucking cute on her.
He rinsed out his bowl, dried it, and set it back on the small shelf where he kept the few pieces of kitchen gear he owned. Most of them he’d gotten from Betsy or picked up at the swap meet, but they worked and if anyone stole them, he wouldn’t be mad.
After Spider cleaned the kitchen, he made his bed and tossed his clothes and his towel in the laundry basket in the corner. He had two more days before he needed to do laundry, so he made a mental note to get quarters at the bank when he deposited his paycheck.
He put on a clean pair of jeans, a crisp white T-shirt, and a clean blue-and-white-plaid flannel he’d ironed the night before. He might be a poor motherfucker with no useful education, but he wasn’t a slob. He brushed his teeth and straightened his collar in the small mirror over the sink.
Spider had a paycheck now, a real one. A social security card and something on file with the IRS. He had a license with the state board that said he was legally qualified to do the job he’d been doing since he was fourteen years old.
Those documents were all under his legal name—which no one in LA knew him by—but it was still stressing him out. He’d felt pretty anonymous when he’d been working under the table, but the last time he called south, Chino was still running his old neighborhood, and Chino had a long memory.
Legal documents. Public records. All that felt dangerous to a homeboy who’d been hiding for five years.
If he needed to pick up and leave Metlin, he could do it within an hour, and everything he valued would fit in the back of his dad’s 1970 El Camino, which was the one thing he’d brought from LA and the last piece of his father he owned. He’d sold his mom’s jewelry and his dad’s watch. He had his grandma’s gold medallion necklace with the Virgin on it, his dad’s car, and that was it.
Spider grabbed his keys and headed out the door, already thinking about seeing Daisy at Café Maya before he went to work. He wondered what she’d be wearing. Wondered if the red polka-dot shirt would make an appearance again.
Then he mentally kicked his own ass for wondering.
He had a job, his dad’s El Camino, and his grandmother’s medal. That was all he needed. All he could allow himself to need. Anything past that was way too dangerous.
“So glad Daisywas able to drop off the rent check on time.” Betsy was mixing a salad with two big forks, and Spider was watching what she put in it this time. The week before, she’d snuck some raisins in the salad, and that was not cool.
He registered what the old lady had said about Daisy. “She not turn the rent check in on time before?”
“Oh no. I don’t think any of the Riveras have been late on a bill in their lives.” She glanced up at Spider. “Which is admirable, but sometimes even the best of us get behind. It’s the hardware store this month.”
That didn’t surprise Spider. The hardware store was fucking dusty. Every time he walked into that place, he wanted to sneeze. No one went in the hardware store anymore except a few old guys who knew Mr. Vasquez, the owner. There was a dominoes game every Thursday morning out front; otherwise, he never saw traffic.
“It’s busy on Saturday, and sometimes on farmers’ market nights, but other than that…” Betsy shook her head. “Of course, I’m one to talk.”
“People come into the bookshop,” Spider said. “I see them all the time.”
“Oh, they come in, all right. I have lots of customers.” She smiled. “Lots of company. But they tend to buy the used books, and I can’t charge much for those.”
Spider couldn’t say anything, but he made a mental note to buy something from Betsy the next time he got paid. He owed his entire new life to the old lady.
“So they’re not paying the rent,” he said. “When are you gonna kick them out?”
“Spider!” Betsy looked shocked. “I’m not going to kick them out.”
“But the rent is what pays the bills, right?” He frowned. “If they’re not paying the rent—”
“They’ll catch up when they can.” Betsy patted his shoulder. “I’ve known Ernie for years. I can’t just kick him out. Main Street Hardware is an institution.”
Institutions didn’t always make money though.
Spider looked down at the pile of broccoli he’d chopped. “Is this enough?”
