Page 11 of Bazooka

“No fucking way!” I exclaimed, shaking with…

helplessness? Anger? Both? “I don’t need your fucking charity, I don’t want you to waste that favor on me, and I’m not letting a stranger into my home.

And in no way will I let him take care of me as if I were a ninety-year-old grandpa who can’t control his bowel movements. ”

Bazooka crossed his arms over his chest, watching me intently.

“What do you want, then?” He asked me the stupidest question in the world.

“You know what I want,” I replied, avoiding his eyes.

“That’s out of the question, Lucius. You know that.”

“Screw you, Levi.”

“You can’t stay here,” Baz said, sounding incredulous. “Get that out of your head.”

Get that out of my head? Get that out of my head? My God, I was livid.

“I wouldn’t stay here if you begged me to,” I bit out.

It was officially our first fight. And I officially hated it.

His eyes narrowed. “Why didn’t you want to go to the hospital?”

The sudden change of subject made me want to strangle him, because he did it on purpose. He wanted to ruffle me; make me talk.

“‘Cause I hate them,” I growled. “Just like I hate you.”

“I will find out sooner or later,” he said matter-of-factly when the doorbell rang.

“I’ll get it,” I said, sliding down the countertop with a groan of pain. “‘Cause I’m tempted to hit you.”

I stomped across the hall, fuming. Well, I limped more than stomped because my ankle throbbed.

I looked through the peephole only to see a long-legged, blonde, Barbie-lookalike standing outside the door.

She was checking herself in the handbag mirror, and it almost made me implode.

Who the fuck was that? Baz didn’t have a girlfriend, did he? I would know, wouldn’t I?

Cold sweat washed over me, and I considered not opening the door when the doorbell rang again.

I yanked the door open. “What?”

The blonde standing in the doorway flinched at the sight of me.

She gave me the once-over and made a face.

What did that stupid expression mean? Shock?

Sympathy? Pity? Disgust? All the above? Well, fuck her.

As if I didn’t know that I looked like an uglier version of the Hunchback of Notre Dame after a good thrashing.

“Hi,” she said in a soft voice. “Is Levi here?”

Levi? Fucking Levi?

“He doesn’t live here,” I said before my brain could stop me.

She glanced at her phone, seemingly confused. “The address seems correct.”

When she looked at me again, I could almost hear the wheels turning in her head. “Are you perhaps—?”

“His boyfriend?” I said, smiling sweetly. “What gave me away?”

“Oh,” she murmured, looking fucking disappointed .

I was about to slam the door in her face when a large hand caught it and stopped me.

“Actually, he’s more of a pest. Or a stray kitten,” Bazooka said from behind me. “Hey, Patricia.”

The blonde smiled too widely for my liking.

“Hey, Levi. I thought I had the wrong address.”

“No, the address is correct.”

She looked at me, biting her lip.

“This is your… erm…”

“That’s Luz,” Bazooka said as if it were self-explanatory. I could feel his body heat behind me, and it distracted me from saying anything. “What brings you here? Did something happen? Is the sketch artist with you by any chance?”

The blonde giggled. “Oh, I’m a sketch artist. The LD doesn’t have the budget for one, and I can draw quite well. I’m also a translator in case you have a text in Portuguese and…” She raised a box in her hands. “A delivery girl. Chief Bibb sends some documents he wants you to look at.”

Bazooka laughed and took the box from her hands.

“Got it. Please come in.”

He pulled me by the collar (with his third hand?) so I would let her pass because I just stood there.

“Are you by any chance a fan of hats?” I asked her, smiling sweetly as she passed by me. The hats were so… flammable.

“No. Erm…” She glanced at me before looking at Bazooka, seemingly puzzled. “I didn’t realize you two knew each other so well.”

“Intimately,” I said in a saccharine voice when Bazooka cut in.

“Shut up, Luz. Patricia, can I offer you something to drink? Coffee? Water? Soda?”

“No, thanks. Maybe later.”

After the blonde intruder sat on the sofa, Bazooka spoke.

“Okay, let’s start again. Patricia, this is Lucius Zablonsky, called Luz. He’s the victim of the attack I’m investigating. He helped us catch the infamous Butcher of Smitsville way back when, so the LD considers him a friend.”

A victim? A friend of the LD? Was he really introducing me like that ?

“Luz, this is Detective Patricia Vile. She’s new to the LD, so you don’t know her. She will do a composite sketch of your attackers. Please try to behave.”

Vile , I thought, grinning diabolically. Her name suits her.

Patricia Vile gave me an awkward smile before taking a sketchpad out of her bag.

I glanced at Bazooka, who was drinking coffee in the kitchen and reading the documents she’d brought.

And I kind of missed him, although he was just there .

I didn’t feel comfortable talking about what happened without him by my side, but I didn’t want to admit it to him.

A bunch of questions followed, which I struggled to answer, although they were fairly simple.

What was his skin color? Age, height, build?

Any distinctive marks like moles, tattoos, or scars?

What type of face did he have? What about his hair?

Style, color, length? Any facial hair? Eye color and shape?

What kind of forehead did he have? Eyebrow length and height? Length of the eyelashes?

As more questions followed, more memories came back.

The sneakers, hitting my face. My body, getting pummeled from all sides.

My muscles, screaming in pain. I tried to think, but it was getting more difficult to concentrate.

I tried to answer all those questions, but I couldn’t breathe.

My face felt hot, then ice cold, then sweaty.

I was here, but I was also there… in that parking lot, begging them to stop.

I closed my eyes, struggling to breathe, because all the oxygen in the room was gone .

“Drink this.” A soft voice said, and I felt something cool on my lips.

I knew that voice. It meant Bazooka was here, by my side. It meant I was here, too, and not there.

“Luz, drink this,” he repeated.

I parted my lips and took a sip of… water? It tasted good, so I kept drinking greedily. Only then did I open my eyes. Only then did the oxygen return to the room.

“C-can you please stay?” I stammered.

I hated myself for begging, but I couldn’t do this alone.

“I’m here, and I’m not going anywhere,” Bazooka said, sitting down beside me.

More questions ensued. The length of his nose? Shape of nostrils? What about the shape of his mouth? His jawline? His ears? His neck?

“You’re doing well,” Bazooka said at one point, and I nodded, grateful for the backup.

Was I doing well, though? I wasn’t sure about that. My memory was hazier than I thought. The stuff I couldn’t remember scared me more than I wanted to admit. The memories that resurfaced made me sick to my stomach, as if I weren’t hurting enough.

“What is it?” Bazooka asked me as if he could read it on my face.

“My ankle hurts,” I replied, shifting my foot with a groan of pain when he stopped me.

“Lean back,” he said, lifting both my legs and putting them in his lap. “Let’s keep your feet elevated for a while.”

I did what he said, trying to relax. His kind gesture almost made me cry, but I would never allow myself to cry, not in front of the blonde intruder. I glanced at her, only to see her watching me curiously.

“Better?” Bazooka said, and I nodded, sniffling.

When Patricia showed me the drawing, I bit my lip until I tasted blood.

“He was also missing a tooth,” I said, dropping my gaze to my lap. I could feel Bazooka’s eyes on me, but I wouldn’t look at him. Not now. I didn’t want him to see… to know how affected I was by all this. Showing weakness wasn’t something I allowed myself… ever.

After Patricia finished the drawing, Bazooka gently laid my feet on the sofa and stood up.

“Let’s take a break,” he said with a heavy sigh. “Patricia, are you in the mood for some coffee?”

“Yes, please.”

“Luz, do you need anything?”

I shook my head.

What I needed was a time machine that would undo what had happened to me.

Other than that, I didn’t need anything.

Soon, I changed my mind about that, because what I needed was for Patricia to leave.

Why? Because I could hear her and Bazooka laughing in the kitchen.

Chit-chatting. Joking around. She turned out to be a chatterbox, and apparently, she was funny too.

I couldn’t stand it. I couldn’t listen to them laugh while I sat there like a third fucking wheel.

And to think she was supposed to do three more sketches of the other attackers?

No way. I didn’t have the stomach for it.

Not to mention that she was his new colleague, which meant he would see her every day at work.

I swallowed what felt like dust in my mouth.

No, no, no, no, no. That was unacceptable.

I had to do something about it, but what?

I was so deep in my murderous fantasies that I flinched when Bazooka’s phone rang.

“Hey, Adam,” Baz answered. “What’s up?”

After that, there was a long silence, followed by, “I’m on my way”.

When Bazooka hung up, he seemed to be in a foul mood.

“Mendoza?” Patricia asked him, for once looking serious.

Bazooka nodded. “He was just spotted at the airport. Adam is on his way there, and I’m joining him.”

Who the hell was Mendoza? I thought. And why did that name sound familiar?

After Bazooka disappeared into the bathroom, I felt it was time for me to put my cards on the table. Clear the air. Stake my claim.

“He’s taken,” I said, glancing at Patricia before heading to the kitchen. I poured myself a glass of water from the tap and drank it. When she said nothing, I turned to look at her.

She just stood there, twirling her finger around a lock of her blonde hair.

“It doesn’t look that way to me,” she said finally, looking amused.

I blinked in disbelief.

Oh, it’s on. The motherfucking war is on.

Bazooka reappeared then, dressed in his usual attire, which meant cargo pants, a Henley shirt, Doc Martens, and sex appeal.

“Luz, call your friends and postpone our interview,” he said, tucking his gun into a holster. “There’s food in the fridge. Remember to take your meds and stay in bed.”

“W-what’s going on?” I asked him, feeling worried.

“Work,” he replied. “Patricia, let’s go.”

Then, he was gone.

And I spent all day and night alone because he didn’t come back.