Page 22 of Bazooka
I chuckled because his nose against my skin tickled me. “I doubt it. Not after a long day at work.”
“You do,” he insisted, nuzzling his nose against my neck. “Mmm… I could smell you forever.”
He drew another breath and let out a moan that made me realize he was enjoying it too much.
“Luz,” I warned him.
I knew he wasn’t the type to pass on the opportunity, but I had to set some boundaries.
“Sorry,” he said with a heavy sigh. “I think I’m high on the meds that John Smith gave me.”
When I drew breath, his scent filled my nostrils. He smelled like a shower and me, plus something citrusy that made me think of exotic, faraway places. It was one of those scents that you could breathe in forever—like tropical fruit or sun lotion or clean sheets. The freshly cut lawn, covered with early morning dew. The city streets after a spring rain. All the nice things.
I gently laid him on the bed, but he hissed in pain despite me being careful. It reminded me I should find him a place to stay where he could get proper care.
“Do you need a painkiller?” I asked him as he settled back against a pillow.
“No, the stuff that John Smith gave me is kicking in.”
“And what’s this?” I said, pointing my chin at the paper bag next to him.
“Some stuff that John Smith left. Meds and whatever.”
I looked inside the bag, only to see a few gauze rolls, two bottles of Advil, a bottle of Xanax, and a pain relief cream.
“That shit stinks,” Luz grumbled. “I’m not putting it on my body.”
I smirked and pulled the little jar out of the bag. “No, but I will.”
His eyes widened in excitement.
“Don’t get any ideas,” I added. “It’s for your benefit, not to make you get off.”
“Wow,” he said, sounding hoarse. “I can’t believe you just said that.”
I said it to get him out of his funk, and it worked. I almost forgot how flirty he was, and it was the one thing that could make him forget whatever bothered him.
“Are you ready to talk now?” I said, sitting on the bed beside him.
He let out a heavy sigh. “I suppose so. Before or after the stinky stuff treatment?”
“During,” I replied, opening the jar with cream. “Where do you hurt the most?”
“My ass.”
“Luz,” I warned him.
“Fiiine. My ankle.”
I brought the jar to my nose and frowned. “It really stinks.”
“Told you.”
“Now talk. Start with how you came to Pete’s and what happened after.”
I listened to his story, and I didn’t like it for several reasons. First, it was the sort of crime that mostly went unsolved. Our chances of finding those guys were slim without evidence, witnesses, or CCTV. Second, assaults of this type occurred so often that most cops didn’t care about them. It brought me to my third point.Icared, and if the guys who hurt Luz were in the room with me, I would beat them to a bloody pulp. There would be no trial, judge, or jail for them. They would get the Bazooka kind of justice, and it was the worst kind you could imagine because I was a big guy. I had big hands that could do a lot of damage.
As Luz talked, I applied the pain relief cream to his ankle as carefully as possible. He showed no sign of pain, which meant the meds that John Smith gave him probably kicked in. I interrupted him here and there if I had a question, but I mostly let him talk.
