11. Exodus “Yin” Tan
EXODUS “YIN” TAN
When I woke again, I could still smell Alisha around me.
My shower and time had washed away her scent, but it was imprinted on my brain, carved into my consciousness and I wished to God I’d tasted her.
But maybe that was a blessing in itself—I had the feeling if I had, my addiction would have been immediate—I’d want more.
I would have broken my promise.
I closed my eyes, set my mind to face the day and rolled out of bed.
When I made an appearance, it was still very early. The sun hadn’t made its way into the front yard yet.
The vehicles that remained were still covered in dew and a slight chill was on the air.
Sam and Yang were already gone to beat the traffic into the city. Yang had rounds at the hospital while Sam had to go to work.
In a different vehicle, I drove toward Toronto with Squirrel by my side. And all along the journey something felt different.
Something was off with him.
“Okay.” I finally said as we stopped at a coffee shop for break. “Talk to me.”
“Talk to you?” Squirrel asked. “About what?”
“You’ve been quiet, man. And I don’t know what that’s about.”
“Alisha was right, you know?” He lifted his coffee to his lips for a couple of sips then set it back on the table.
After tearing his muffin in half, he bit into it and chewed.
“About?” I stressed, watching him.
“You getting hurt.” Squirrel swallowed. “I could have gotten you killed. I’m no cop—hell, I don’t even—I was supposed to have you. That was the main reason I was there, wasn’t it? It’s my fault.”
I sighed and leaned back in the very uncomfortable wooden chair.
“Listen man.” I frowned. “Her and I already had a talk about that and I’m not blaming you. You know better than that. This kind of thing isn’t a normal, everyday situation. You’re not law enforcement.”
“Then what was my point?”
“To do the best you could. That was all we expected from you.”
“My best wasn’t good enough.” Squirrel pointed out. “You see that, right?”
“Wasn’t good enough for who?” I demanded a little harshly.
Catching myself, I glanced around before easing forward to lean closer to him.
“This friendship isn’t going to be perfect, Sawyer.
It never was and never will be. Right now, I know that even if shit goes sideways, I can always count on you to do your best and what’s right.
” I dragged a hand over my head, feeling I needed a hair cut.
“I know—my friends are humans and if I don’t hold it against you, why should you? ”
Squirrel said nothing.
“Look man, our friendship isn’t going to end because something went sideways.” I blinked, my heart racing at this point. “Unless?—”
“Unless what?”
“You want it to end.”
“Of course not.” Squirrel shook his head.
“Then cheer up, brother.” I picked up my donut and bit it. “Mama was right. We can dwell on what could’ve been and make our lives miserable. Or we can focus on what is. Besides, your wife scares me. She would kick my ass if anything happened to you.”
Squirrel laughed. “You’re right—she would.”
After toasting, I ordered another couple of donuts and a few bottles of water before we hit the road again.
“What about what happened after?” I asked as we pulled onto the highway.
“The merc’ing a man thing?” Squirrel asked.
“Yeah.”
“It takes a lot of pressure to snap a man’s neck.” He replied. “I think I could’ve gone my entire life without knowing that.”
“I’m sorry, brother. I never want that for you.”
“It’s okay. If I had to do it all over again, I would. No questions at all.” He paused then nodded, determination filling his eyes. “I definitely would.”
I took that and let it seep beneath my skin.
The rest of the ride, we talked about usual things—movies, sports, food.
It was around lunch when we pulled into the parking lot across the street from the Rastafari hangout. We paused for a moment then called Bambam.
“By day, it’s a diner.” She reported. “People who know the place give it a wide berth.”
“How do they make money?” I asked, staring at the almost empty parking lot.
The only vehicles there was a beaten-up, old Toyota and an old camper with more rust than paint.
“It’s a front.” She replied. “Wanna know the kicker? The place is listed as being owned by a Pastor. Upstanding—pays his taxes, not even a parking ticket.”
Squirrel laughed.
“I’m sorry—this is outrageous.” He held up a hand.
“To the outside world, it’s just a diner.” Bambam chuckled. “Keeps the cops off their backs. All the papers are up-to-date. They pass regulation checks.”
I sighed dramatically.
“Hungry?” Squirrel wanted to know.
“Wait—y’all can’t go in there!” Bambam sounded incredulous. “Yin, you have the face only a mother could love. On what planet do you think they don’t know who you are? You were just stabbed before, and Alisha lost her damn mind. What do you think she’d do if you go home dead?”
“How else are we going to find anything out?” I demanded. “Tha’lab’s a cop with the stink of OPP all over her. Sam wouldn’t know what to do with all of this. Squirrel is white—no offense.”
“None taken.”
“and Yang has my face on him. Give me a better option.”
Bambam hesitated and that was enough time for me to climb out of the truck with Squirrel chasing after me.
We entered the place, the door chiming and someone yelling for us to sit anywhere. While we followed instructions, I took in the space, moving toward a booth.
A picture caught my eyes and while I kept walking, I allowed my eyes to settle on it for as long as I could.
“That picture on the wall by the door.” I sat across from Squirrel. “It was taken at my last fight.”
“Oh yeah?” Squirrel picked up a menu that looked as if it had seen better days. “What about it?”
“It has Alisha’s father in it.” I reported just as a waitress hurried over with a pot of coffee.
We ordered coffee and while I settled for a BLT, Squirrel ordered some kind of fish burger.
I read the description.
It didn’t sound right.
“That means he’s probably not in trouble.” Squirrel busied himself with adding sugar to his coffee. “Maybe this is something else?”
I wasn’t so sure.
But we didn’t have time to eat. Trouble quickly found us in the form of two large men who didn’t appreciate our presence.
“Where’s the girl?” One asked.
I glanced over at Squirrel who set his mug back on the table but not out of his reach.
I said nothing.
Apparently, that was the wrong thing to have done.
A fight broke out when they attacked.
Squirrel dumped his coffee to the floor and took one man out with the empty mug. He slammed it into the side of the man’s head while I grabbed my attacker and brought his head down into the wood part of the booth.
The fight was quick and fast and while one man was squirming in pain, the other was out cold. The waitress rushed out, screaming about calling the cops and I had to fight against rolling my eyes.
She wanted us to believe she was going to call the police to a place the law forgot.
“Yeah.” I muttered. “Good luck with that.”
Even as I hauled one man out the door, Squirrel dumped some cash on the table and followed.
“Sorry about the mess!” Squirrel called before the door banged shut after us.
I dumped the unconscious man into the back of the truck, closed the lid and we both rushed into the vehicle before peeling from the lot.
We knew now, we couldn’t go back to that place—ever.
Whatever we were going to do, we had to do it and fast.
I called Bambam.
“Yo!” She answered.
“We have a maroon in my trunk.” I admitted out loud.
“This seems to be a thing for y’all, so I’m not even surprised.” Bambam sounded tired. “Bring him to Morgana’s.”
Glancing in the mirror, I pulled the truck through a three-point turn.
Morgana’s was an abandoned space on the edge of the city and an area where not even gang members wanted to go. It was the kind of space where no one would hear the screams and if someone wanted to get lost, it wasn’t hard.
People lived there because they had no choice and they didn’t call the cops even if they were bleeding to death.
It was quite literally a place where snitches got bullets, and no one would ever find the body.
It was a dark hole where souls went to die.
Our captive was bleeding from the nose by the time we dragged him inside and slammed the door behind us. Squirrel dropped the man to the dust covered floor, then eased out of the way to lean to the wall.
“Where is this man?” I shoved my phone into his face.
Nothing.
“I really hate repeating myself.” I growled and thrusted the phone at him again.
“Man, fuck you!”
I turned off the phone, shoved it into my back pocket and stomp a booted foot down, hard, into his ankle a few times before standing back.
“Is fuck you your final answer?” I barked. “That’s the hill you want to die on?”
Silence.
“Aight.” I jargoned. “Cool. So, fuck you is your final answer. Awesome I can work with that.”
When the man merely mewled in pain, I slammed my fist into his side then down against his thigh.
“Yin, you’ll kill him!” Squirrel grabbed me.
I shrugged from his arms.
“I think you underestimate the extent of a fuck I don’t give!” I shouted kicking my victim again. “Just so I’m not a complete asshole, let me explain what you did wrong.”
I paused for him to grasp the seriousness of the situation.
“You went after my girl.” I pointed out. “My. Girl. Do you understand now how bad of a decision that was on your part? The only reason you’re still breathing right now, is because of her. So, let me ask you again. Spinz! Where is he?”
The man merely curled himself into a ball, groaning in pain, bleeding from places I knew he shouldn’t be bleeding from.
That was probably from the head injury from his face connecting with my fist or the headshot from the diner.
“I don’t know, man.” He whimpered. “He comes and goes as he wants—disappears for days, weeks, even. Never in the same place twice.”
“What’s his real name?” Squirrel wanted to know.
Silence.
“Are we really going to keep doing this?” I wanted to know, bored with this game. “Because it isn’t painful—at least, not for me.”
“Moses!” The man screamed as I made for him again. “Moses Halston.”