Page 33 of Toxic
Melinda returns with a scowl on her face. “Damn kids are more trouble than they’re worth,” she gripes, slamming the cash register closed and pocketinghertip.
I clip the order up for the table I was just at and turn to her. “Some customer giving youtrouble?”
She snorts. “I wish. If that were the case, I could just tell them to fuck off, but no, they aremykids.”
The napkins I’m folding suddenly take all my attention. “Oh?” I pray my voice doesn’t sound as scratchy to her as it does tomyears.
“I hate to ask you this since you’re still getting on your feet, but can you take my afternoon shift?” Her pained expression darts to the phone, and I shrug. It isn’t like I have anything else bettertodo.
“Of course I can,” Itellher.
The work will keep my mind busy and put more money in my pocket, two things I desperately need. The measly amount I managed to scrape together didn’t last long, and I’m living paycheck to paycheck. I won’t be able to stay in LA forever. I need to keepmoving.
My plan is to work and save enough money to risk traveling south to Mexico. After that, who knows? Eventually, the under the table job here is going to fall through, so I’ll also need to save enough to purchase a new identity.The crappy one I landed when I got here won’t hold up under intense scrutiny, but it’s good enough for my hiring manager and good enough to lean on in theinterim.
“You’re a doll,” Melinda says and squeezes my arm. “I can’t thank you enough. As a matter of fact, I’ll leave the hot guy to you.” She turns away with a wink and a laugh, and I forget about the hot guy for the rest of myshift.
The city is quiet—orat least as quiet as it’ll ever be—when I wave goodbye to Jean-Paul, the line cook for the dinner shift. I’d been shocked when I first met him because I recognized him from several commercials and syndicated television shows. I learned quickly that most everyone in this city is an out of work actor. Maybe that’s why I feel like I fit in. We’re all playing aparthere.
It’s when I reach the bus stop that I feel the niggling between my shoulders that makes the hair on my arms stand on end. I grip my purse tighter to my body and school my face to show noreaction.
When I look up, I don’t immediately see anything out of the ordinary. There are two families, a mother and her children, and a gaggle of girls waiting at the stop with me. Still, I don’t brush off the sense of alarm and keep my guard up as I get on the bus. The stop and go trip across the country wasn't enough to lose Gracin, and I don't let myself forget the fact for asecond.
I haven’t received any more pictures, or even caught a glimpse of him, but I know he’s there, watching. I don’t know what he’s waiting for. I’m not sure that I care as long as he stays away from me. What I do know is that this feeling, this person who is watching me,isn’thim.
The sense of being watched doesn’t diminish throughout the long ride back to Van Nuys. I chew on a nail—a new habit I’ve taken up instead of something worse like drinking myself into oblivion. No one on the bus swivels in my direction. No one even tries to lure me into pointlesssmalltalk.
I have to just be paranoid, I decide. I must have finally snapped. I’m so lost in thought, I almost miss the call for my stop, and then I hustle past the crowd of people and practically throw myself off the bus. It’s dusk, but the streets are still steaming hot. The heat will likely cling overnight. I lift my face up to the sky, and even though the smog is particularly thick today, I soak in the last of the day’s rays. It took weeks for me to feel like I finally thawed from the bitter Michigan winter. Even now, when I get out of bed, it takes me a few minutes to realize I don’t need to brace myself for thechill.
My feet drag as I trek from the bus stop down the couple blocks it takes to get to my shabby little apartment. If it can be believed, it’s in even worse shape than the house I shared with Vic, but it’s mine, and it’s cheap—well, at least by California standards. I’ll never get over how less than one thousand square feet of living space can cost as much as a five-bedroom house inMichigan.
I unlock the door and push inside and find myself crashing toward the floor as a weight pushes into me. I curl up instinctively, using my hands to break my fall and cry out when they give under thestrain.
Idon’t givemy attacker a moment to plan their next action because I’ve been waiting for them. Spinning underneath them, I wiggle my feet free and plant them on their broad chest. I heave with all my might and manage to free myself from their hold. Their hands scrabble at my uniform and bruise my arms in an attempt to keep ahold of me, but I kick my attacker in the face and grin as they howlinpain.
It allows me enough time to scoot backward on the slick linoleum floor and dig through my purse for the can of mace I always haveonme.
I train the canister on their prone form with one hand, and just as they get to their feet, I shoot them—him, I realize as I note it is the guy from the diner—with a face full of mace. He chokes, his eyes and nose automaticallystreaming.
There’s only a split second for me to escape, and I use it to my full advantage. I grab one side of the pullout couch and shove it so it blocks his path. Without the use of his eyes, the guy stumbles over it and crashes headfirst into the wall, denting thedrywall.
I don’t stick around to see if he’s okay. I dart down the hallway that leads to the back door, leaving a smaller obstacle course in my wake to slow him down even more. Laundry baskets full of clothes, small shelving units I used as a makeshift pantry, and bookshelves scatter their contents all over thefloor.
The attacker is still howling and crashing around in the living room as I dive out the back door. I didn’t have money for a car for a quick escape, but I do text out an emergency Uber order for a coffee shop a couple of blocks down. I timed it out after I moved into the apartment. If I book it, it only takes just under five minutes, about the same time it’ll take for an Uber in the area toarrive.
I’m halfway down the alley when he charges out the back door. I can hear his thundering steps following after me, but I’m lighter on my feet, and his bulky form is no match for it. My heart is in my throat as if I know somewhere deep down in the primitive parts of me that if I don’t escape this man, I may as well slit my throat. It’s a pure kind of fear that drives me to keep going past the point ofexhaustion.
I turn a corner and see the coffee shop within the next block. The sight spurs me to pump my legs faster, despite the burn in my lungs. The sound of my pursuer begins to fade, and I slow to check my phone, finding the Uber alert that my car is waitingforme.
The sidewalks are full of people, and there’s no way he’ll do anything when there are witnesses everywhere. I try to slow down and look ordinary, but I’m shoving through tourists and hipsters as I speed-walk to the curb where the Uber iswaiting.
Without stopping for pleasantries, I dive in the car and say, “Lakeland and 5th, please. Andhurry.”
He grumbles and gives me a curious look, but he, thankfully, doesn’t argue. When he pulls away from the curb, I look behind me and scan the crowd, but the man from the diner is nowhere to be seen. I heave a tentative sign of relief, but the vice around my insides is still tightwithfear.
Traffic is still horrific as we merge with long, snaking lines of cars, but being surrounded by them on all sides makes me feel somewhat safe. Once we get to the storage locker I rented, I’ll be able to retrieve the go-bag I stored there for just this occasion. I didn’t know if I’d have to use it, but I didn’t want to be stuck without a means of escape again. I vowed I wouldn’t be helpless again the second I got to LA. I’d realized it would be possible for the most experienced criminal to track me if they had the means, motive, and money. I wasn’t altogether certain Gracin had the last, but I knew he had the first two inspades.
The storage locker has a couple of changes of clothes, most of my cash, more weapons, and the jewelry I hadn’t pawned yet. I take in the scenery in greedy gulps as we inch along the freeway. I’m going to miss this place. Maybe I’ll go to Florida, keeping to areas where sunshine is prevalent. I don’t think I’ll ever go back up north if I canhelpit.