Point of View: Brian
I didn't start to lose my nerve until I actually got to the neighborhood. I'd known from the address alone that it was a sketchy part of Los Angeles, but when even my rented Jeep Liberty felt like a luxury vehicle and I was being stared at as I drove through the narrow streets, I started getting a sinking feeling. "Oh Toto, I've a feeling we're not in Kansas anymore," I muttered to myself.
I was glad I'd opted for a tshirt and jeans, and I found myself reaching up to screw with my hair to make it look messier, and wondering how ridiculous it would be if I actually took the shirt off and rubbed it in the dirt on the street before venturing too far from the car so I'd blend in just a little bit more. I wondered if my wallet would be safer on my person where I could get mugged for it or in the car that could be broken into.
I wondered if I should call the police and let them get the evidence for me.
I'd been warned, though, that doing that was a bad idea.
I had to do this myself.
I parked the car in a parking garage - which seemed like it would be the safest choice around here. I opted to keep the wallet on me, and shoved it under the band in the back of my boxers instead of my pocket, figuring it would be harder for someone to pick it from there. Plus the shape of it was concealed more there compared to my jeans pocket.
I got out of the Jeep and clicked the button to lock the car and it beep-beeped and I felt like everyone in the entire neighborhood was staring at me as it echoed through the hollow, mostly empty cement vehicular dungeon. I walked down to the sidewalk and looked around.
There were homeless people sitting, leaning against buildings and trash. And it smelled. I tried to resist the urge to cover my mouth and gag, and started speed walking in the direction I needed to go to find the address I'd been given.
"You lost?" jeered a guy who was walking the other direction. He purposely bumped my shoulder with his and I stumbled.
I side stepped and glanced back as he continued walking, laughing.
My pace quickened, and I rounded a corner and passed a couple girls who were obviously hookers waiting to be picked up. I felt sick to my stomach. This was a mistake, Brian, you're so far out of your element it's ridiculous... I thought to myself. I could feel my heart pounding in my chest, and I started praying.
I approached the building at the address I'd been given. It was a run-down looking apartment building in the middle of no where. It reminded me of the one in that Joe Pesci movie The Super. It hadn't been renovated or taken care of probably at all in years.
I inched up the stoop. People were lounging around on it, laying on the stairs, on the granite rails. One guy was smoking what I was pretty certain was pot because of a lingering smell of pine trees. A cat sat by the door, mewing to be let inside. I opened the door and it shot quick as lightening past me and down the stairs into the dark hall below. I glanced at a the post it in my palm and headed up the stairs, assuming that apartment 3C would be on the third floor.
If the street had smelled, the apartments were certainly worse. I held my breath for long periods of time so I wouldn't breathe in the stench much more than I had to. My palms were sweating like never before. I wondered if I was going to get out of here, if I'd see my wife and son again.
I am completely stupid for attempting this, I thought bitterly. But it's too late, I'm here now.
I'd arrived on the third floor landing. I pulled the door to the corridor open. The hallway was really dark, only shallow orange lamps lit it. I felt like it was Halloween or something. I inched along, and heard a soft crunch and looked down to see that I'd stepped on an unusually large cockroach. I almost threw up.
The door marked 3C was on the left at the far end of the hallway. I stared at it, unsure if I was supposed to knock or what. I drew a deep breath and raised my fist, banging on the door. My hand was shaking when I withdrew it. A few moments passed, then the door opened as far as a chain lock would allow it. A worn out old woman peeked out. "Who the hell are you?" she barked.
"I- I'm- I'm Brian," I stammered.
She studied me. "Are you a friend of Leon's?" she asked.
Leon. The name flashed through my mind. That's why the voice had sounded familiar to me. It was Leon. But that didn't make sense. Why the hell would Leon be helping me to find evidence to fight Nick's case? I felt conflicted and confused.
"Yes," I answered the woman's question.
"He isn't here," she answered and she started to close the door.
"Ma'm," I said, desperately, "He told me to come get something for him."
She paused. "Did you just call me ma'm?" she asked.
I'd stepped out of character. "I - uh -"
"What's your name again?" she demanded.
"Brian," I answered.
She hesitated. "You aren't like his other friends."
"I don't really know him well," I explained, "I - he sent me to - to get something I need that he has."
"Drugs?"
I shook my head, "No."
"Money?"
"No."
"What then?"
I held out the post-it note. "I'm not sure what it is, exactly, but this is where he said I'd find it in the apartment."
The woman took the note and eyed me carefully after she'd scanned the note. The door closed and I heard the lock shift and she opened it a little wider. "Come in," she said.
I moved inside and she quickly slammed the door behind me and locked it all back up again. She turned and stared at me. She was a stout little woman, even shorter than my mother and my mother's pretty short. She had a mass of grey hair that hung to her shoulders in a crazy-thick bob. She wore a housedress with little flowers on it and slippers that were old and ragged and falling apart. A smoking cigarette sat in an ash tray on a table beside the door.
"Sit," she gestured toward a ragged old sofa. The thought I don't want to went through my head. It looked like it was probably infested with something of some sort. I inched towards it and reluctantly lowered myself onto it. "I'll go get your stuff." She turned and disappeared.
I looked around the apartment. The walls were off white, though I had a feeling that was more from time and design, and there were several spots where the drywall was cracked and you could see into the hollow space between walls. Laundry and trash covered every surface. A computer sat in the corner, turned on and glowing with a screen saver that featured a tipped over flower pot with a handful of kittens nested inside looking out all cute-like.
She returned a moment later. "I'm - I'm not sure what it is you're looking for..." her voice was apologetic, "But this is all that was the drawer." She laid a cell phone into the center of my palm. I recognized it instantly, and my heart beat faster than ever.
"Desi's phone," I whispered.
She also handed me a journal. "This was in there, too."
I took it and opened the cover. I didn't recognize the handwriting inside. "Is this Leon's?" I asked.
"I'm not sure," she replied.
I started flipping through the pages slowly, wondering whose it was. The handwriting itself was so nondescript, there was no telling if it was a guy with neat handwriting or a girl with messy handwriting. I wondered what good it would be.
"My son has very strange ways about him," the woman began, and I realized she was Leon's mother. "He's done some very, very bad things," she added, "But I love him." She stared at my eyes, a sad look in hers. "I love him just the same."
I imagined how I'd feel if Baylee turned out like Leon. Adjectives floated to my mind. Broken, hopeless, tested, pained, disappointed... like a failure.
"Sometimes love is all we can do," I muttered.
I made my way back to the Jeep, the cell phone tucked safely into my pocket. My mind was on Leon's mother the entire way, and it wasn't until I reached the car and was buckling up that I realized I hadn't asked what her name was.
