Page 9 of Bazooka

“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. I cared, 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.

When I was done with the ankle, I inspected his legs, but he had no serious wounds there.

“Take off your T-shirt,” I said, and it made his jaw drop.

“Are you sure that’s a good idea?” he mumbled as a flush crept up to his cheeks.

“Yes, English patient,” I joked.

“I’m too ugly to look at, aren’t I?” he said sulkily, and I suppressed a smile.

I didn’t tell him that no amount of damage to his face could ever make him look ugly. It was a face that belonged in a museum, but I kept it to myself to avoid another flirty remark.

When he took off his T-shirt, I shifted closer to him so I could inspect his chest. His skin was marred with purple bruises, but it wasn’t as bad as yesterday.

“You’re healing,” I murmured, shifting my gaze to his flat belly. “Turn on your stomach.”

When he did what I said, I made a face, hating what I saw. His back took the worst punches, and it showed. He had a few nasty hematomas there that were too ugly to look at.

“Can you describe your assailants to me?” I said, applying the cream to his back.

He talked while I listened, memorizing it all in my head. It wasn’t difficult because my anger fueled me. I wanted to slam my fist into a wall, but instead I imagined what I would do to those assholes if they were here.

“I’ll arrange for the sketch artist to visit you tomorrow,” I said when Luz finished talking. “He will do a composite sketch that will help us identify them. I will also need to talk to your friends.”

“Mhm,” Luz murmured with his eyes closed. “Should I tell them to come here?”

“Yeah, that would be best,” I mused. “Tell them to come tomorrow. After you get better, you’ll come to the station to look at some mugshots. Maybe we will get lucky.”

“I’ll text them later,” Luz said sleepily, and I was relieved to see him fully relaxed. The stinky cream treatment obviously helped.

“You can turn on your back now,” I said, closing the jar. “We’re done.”

“I can’t,” he mumbled.

“Why not?”

“I have an erection.”

I rubbed my forehead, unable to believe he’d just said that.

“Jesus Christ, Luz,” I said with an exasperated sigh. “You can’t just drop a bomb like that on me.”

“Well, it’s the truth. And it’s not a bomb. It’s my dick. By the way, I have never been this hard in my life.”

I dragged my hand down my face, giving up.

“Are you hungry?” I asked him. “I bought us some food.”

“Mm-mm. Thank you, though. For everything.”

“I’m sorry your birthday was such a shitty one,” I said honestly. “And I’m sorry for what happened to you.”

He propped himself on his elbow and looked at me over his shoulder. His turquoise eyes were bloodshot and glassy. Filled with heat, too, which meant he wasn’t joking about the boner.

“Will you get me something for my birthday?” he said, blatantly checking me out. “Something that will make me feel better.”

“What would you like?” I said with a smirk, crossing my arms over my chest.

“A kiss.”

No surprise there.

“What kind of kiss?”

He snorted. “The French kind. Duh.”

“In the mouth?” I asked him.

“Yeah, that’s how it usually goes,” he mocked me.

“With a tongue?”

He gulped. “Yeah.”

I cocked my eyebrows. “Lots of tongue? A bit of teeth, maybe?”

For once, he was speechless.

“Here?” I asked him. “Now?”

He opened his mouth, but nothing came out. Then, his eyes narrowed.

“You’re fucking with me, aren’t you?”

I grinned. “There you are, my smart little Luz. For a moment, I thought you were gone.”

He flipped me off, glaring at me.

“I really wanted to kiss you for your birthday,” I said, trying hard not to laugh. “But your lips are too bruised for a proper kiss.”

He growled in anger and threw a cushion at me.

I dodged it, chuckled, and left the room. Then, I took a shower.

Of the colder variety.