Red watched as the young man went into the crackhouse across the street. He was carrying the parts that Brixl needed, having gotten them from the junkyard after Brixl called for them. Red decided to follow Carlos for the day to find out whatever took the kid so long.
Well, now he knew.
Carlos, when he came back from these jaunts, didn’t seem to look stoned or drugged out as far as he could tell. Then why was he going into the crackhouse?
It started to rain, and Red put his hood up against the rain. He dashed across the street to the crackhouse, ducking inside.
He heard people moaning, someone babbling to himself about whips and chains and walls bleeding. He stepped around the people in various states of stupor, looking in the gloom of the abandoned house for Carlos.
He stayed still, waiting for Carlos to come out. He heard a phone ring, the jaunty tune of “Gungham Style”, and then it stopped abruptly. He heard someone coming down the stairs and talking – he was walking down the stairs, not shuffling like one of these people would.
“Yeah, I’ll be there. No…yeah, so what? I’ll quit early. Pfft, he don’t care. He ain’t noticed yet. He ain’t said nothin – yeah. Maybe, ya might wanna.”
Carlos walked right by him, within arm’s length of him, but Red stood as still as a statue, almost becoming part of the wall. Carlos got to the loose piece of plywood that covered a window and pushed it aside, climbing through. Red waited a few minutes then followed.
Carlos was halfway down the street, hunched against the rain when Red caught up to him, grabbed him by the scruff of his neck, and yanked him into a dank alley. “Where the hell were you?”
“You followin’ me?” Carlos said incredulously.
“Damn right I’m following you, when you’ve got Brixl’s parts and money. Where the hell were you?”
“Fuck you, I don’ have to tell you shit.”
Red grinned, and punched the wall right next to Carlos’ head, sending bits of brick and dust onto Carlos’ head. Carlos ducked, too late, as Red grabbed his hair by the other hand and lifted his head. “You ain’ gonna tell me shit, boy,” Red growled. “You’re gonna tell me why you’re so late all the time.”
Carlos said, “You can’t hit me–”
Red punched him in the stomach, hard enough to knock the wind out of him, but not hard enough to do damage. Carlos doubled over, coughing. “You were saying?”
“I was checkin’ on my girlfriend, all right?”
“Do that shit on your own time,” Red snarled, then grabbed him again by the scruff of his jacket and threw him out of the alley. “Get back to Brixl, pronto.”
Carlos stumbled, regained his footing, and looked back at Red with fear at first, then a bit of hate. Good, Red thought. Carlos started back down the street, casting a glance back to see Red still standing there, hood up against the rain. He walked a little further and looked back to see Red gone.