3. Chapter Three Cam
Chapter Three: Cam
Skeeter was a disgusting dried up cunt of a man, but I needed him to achieve what I wanted to do.
Make Lakey's birthday the best she's ever had and unfortunately, while I had some hacking skills, I wasn't as good as this tub of lard. I also didn’t have enough time to get it done before her big day by myself.
His beady little eyes and sweat-stained wife-beater hardly inspired confidence, but he was the best in the business.
Put in the clink for pissing in public and masturbating on some old lady in a cab, he was utterly repugnant, but I'd come to find out that he was rather adept at finding out information on the web.
So, here I was, sitting at the grimiest bar in the city, waiting for this cock sucker to find a certain John L. Almine and his wife Janine before we moved on down the list.
His fingers drummed an irregular beat on the table while he scanned the information. "Hey, uh, you mind grabbing me some food. I'm hungry."
Rolling my eyes, I motioned for the waiter. "Yeah, um, a muffin and a bottle of water."
Skeeter made a whining noise. "Really, man? First day out and not even a vodka?" He quieted before whispering, "A beer, then?"
I sighed, quickly grabbing the waiter before he left. "Fine. And a beer. Please."
"While I work on the Almines, who else did you want me to look for? What is this for man? I don't wanna get in shit with no more cops man, I'm out of that life. Gonna have a family, some kids, know what I'm sayin'? Start fresh?" His eyes darted around as if looking for cops.
"Shut the fuck up before I gut you." Honestly, I probably would after this anyway, fucking dude was annoying as fuck. "Find the Almines, and then move on to Carmen Jones, Edward Jones the Second and William Jones."
"Jones? Really man? Do you have any fucking idea how long that will take."
Leaning forward, I pressed the tip of my knife to the inside of his thigh. "Did you know all it takes is a knick to your inner thigh for you to bleed out within sixty seconds? Do you think anyone will try to save your life if I were to tell them you murdered children?"
His eyes were wide as saucers as he stared at me, his voice a rasp, "But I didn't murder children..."
"They don't know that." I smirked as his fingers trembled. "Now get working."
The grating sound of his nails dragging on the keyboard was the only sound in the bar as I waited for him to find my prey.
"Beer and a... muffin." The waiter said as he put down the order, sounding bored. "That's $7.50."
Giving him a ten, I waved him off and watched Skeeter. God, this was so boring.
"Cam? I got what you wanted." He finally said, breaking the silence. "The Almines are in Oakland, I've got their address here. They have a foster kid too, if you want her too..."
"Great. And the Jones'?" Oakland wasn't far. About 20 minutes if I broke the speed limit.
"I need more time." He was sweating. So profusely, in fact, it was rolling down his forehead in drips. "I... I... can forward it to you when I get a hit."
"Actually, why don't you come home with me, Skeeter. My girl made dinner." A grin tugged at the corner of my lips as I opened my buzzing phone and read the text from Lakey.
His chubby hand pawed at his face as he blinked, no doubt trying to clear the burning from his salty sweat falling into his eyes. "I, uh... I'd rather stay here, if it's all the same to you."
"Now, now, don't be rude. She went to great efforts to cook your dinner.
" It was true. Lakey couldn't cook worth shit.
The last time she cooked dinner, she made mac and cheese with boiled steak strips and onions, and it was basically soup.
For some reason she was averse to using measuring cups.
'It's all in the eye, Cam.' She'd said while pouring at least two cups of milk in and then stirring.
"Hooooookaaaayyyyy." He huffed, packing up his laptop and stepping down from the bar, not even touching his beer.
"You might wanna grab that muffin."
"Right, yes. Okay."
I stuffed down a laugh as his short, fat legs struggled to keep up with me as we walked out of the bar. "It's a short walk, don't worry, Skeets."
True to my word, we were at the apartment in less than five minutes, but in Skeeter time, it was probably five hours the way he was puffing.
"You good, buddy? Not gonna have a heart attack, are ya?" I clapped him on the back and opened the lobby door before helping him to the elevator. Lakey could kill him later, but I did need him alive long enough for the rest of the addresses. Everything else that came after didn't matter.
"Why'd you have to bring me here, man? We coulda just stayed at the bar."
He'd never even met Lakey, and he was afraid of her. Interesting.
"Good question, Skeeter. I'm so glad you asked me that.
" The elevator dinged and I stepped forward as he shrunk backward.
Using force to push him out, he stumbled, but I gripped his shirt to stop him from falling.
"Lakey is... well she's particular. We grew up together.
So, a long, long, LONG time ago, we made a pact that we wouldn't hide our... acquaintances from each other."
"Ya'll don't have secrets?" He looked astonished.
I smiled and motioned to our apartment. "Not even one. Well, except this one. This work that you're doing for me will be a secret until her birthday, because some secrets are actually surprises. But no, Skeeter, we don't hide things from each other."
He looked sideways at me and shook his head, stepping into the apartment when I opened the door, trying to shrink into the smallest possible shape as I moved past him. Hard to do when you're the size of a small rhino, so I was impressed. "Ya'll are fucking weird."
"Hellooooooo!"
"Hi, baby!" Locking the door, I pushed our guest into the living room before grabbing Lakey and kissing her. "This is Skeeter, our guest. He is doing some computer work for me, so we will be on the balcony. Dinner smells divine, what are you making?"
She grinned. "Oh, that's just onion and garlic.
I haven't even started cooking yet. I pulled up a Gordon Ramsay recipe.
Beef Wellington. Says that it is his best." Waving a knife towards where a butchered piece of beef sat, she continued, "I just need to roll these in that pastry and cook it in the oven and then we can eat. "
Narrowing my eyes at the thick cuts, I ventured a question. "Did the recipe say how long it takes to cook?"
"Ummmm..." She pulled up her phone. "Oh fuck."
"What?"
"Well from scratch it takes three hours." She looked around in a panic. "I fucked up, didn't I? Oh, Cam. I'm sorry. Damnit."
I grabbed her and pulled her in for a hug. "Hey, no sweat. Skeets, how long on that info I needed?"
"Uh, a while. So uh, yeah, three hours sounds good." He was sweating again, eyeing Lakey up and down.
Moving to block his view of her just as she zeroed in on him and that maniacal look started to cloud her vision, I tugged on her long hair. "See? Don't sweat it. Have a beer and put on your favorite songs. We will just be over on the balcony, doing some shit. Love you, lil psycho."
She huffed. "Love you, too."
And with that, I dragged a reluctant Skeeter onto the balcony of our high-rise apartment, closing the balcony door behind us.
"Welcome to the office. Now. You better get to work, fuckhead. Don't look at my girl like that. I won't even need to carve your eyes out of your head because she will do it for me, then she'll scoop your nuts out of your sack and put them in your eye sockets."
"What the fuck is wrong with you people?"
"Many things." Grabbing him by the back of the neck, I shoved his nose onto his keyboard. "Work. Now."
As he worked, I rummaged around in the beer fridge we kept on the deck.
Handing one to Skeeter, I cracked mine and leaned over the railing, watching the addicts do their dance on the street below looking for their next fix.
That was one thing I always prided myself on.
Never stooping so low. I'd always kept my nose clean and my blood cleaner.
I had to. Lakey's life depended on me keeping my head clear.
This balcony was where I did my thinking.
Fourteen stories up, facing east, the kind of view you get when you live in a building that's one code violation away from condemnation.
Spider had covered the first month's rent when I got out of juvie.
Nine years in this apartment and it was still ours.
The kitchen was where Lakey destroyed food.
The bedroom was where we put each other back together.
The bathroom had a stacked washer and dryer that rattled so hard during the spin cycle that the mirror fell off the wall twice before I bolted it in.
At least the landlord had fixed the shower that never got hot and screamed when you turned it on.
The hallway had a dent in the drywall from a fight in year two that neither of us had bothered to patch because we both liked looking at it.
It was proof that we could break each other and still stay.
After a lifetime of houses that belonged to people who hurt us, this shitty apartment with its rattling pipes and its view of junkies was the first place that was ours. I'd die in this apartment if the world let me. I'd die in it with her.
We had a good thing going, Lakes and me.
We fucked, we loved, we did whatever the fuck we wanted.
I took on odd jobs for old friends now and then, brought in some money when we needed it.
She danced at the club around the corner when she wanted an outlet for her frustration.
Men knew not to touch her after a few ended up with more than a broken jaw and the inability to walk for a month. But overall we loved our life.