Walter sat alone in his cell. His wrists chained to his waist and the chain from his waist dangled down to secure his ankles.
"You have a visitor, Reyes," a bulky guard announced from the other side of the bars.
"Any word on my son?"
"Which one?"
"I only have one son. Devon." Walter's gaze bitterly met the guard's.
"I see...well, Devon will be out of the ICU tomorrow. No word on how long his hospital stay will be, but we'll have a cell waiting for him across the county in Davis when he gets out."
The guard unlocked the cell and Walter Reyes stood, looking small in his prison jumpsuit, as he was escorted out, down the hall and through a door. The interrogation room was cold and dim. The metal table and chairs reflected the dim, flickering light. The guard held his hand out to usher Walter to a seat at the table.
"I already told you everything I know, idiota..." Walter grumbled as the guard shoved him down into a seat by his shoulders.
"That's not why you're here," a familiar voice spoke from the doorway.
Greco Lombardi made his way in. He was a handsome man for his age, his salt and pepper hair matching that of Walter's. He looked neat in his designer black suit and shoes. He smoothed out his navy blue tie as he took a seat across from Walter, his brown eyes blazing.
"Thank you, Wayne. I'll let you know when I am done in here," Greco dismissed the guard.
"I told them, I did not know she was your daughter," Walter said, not meeting Greco's eyes.
"And I told you, Walter, that everything that you have told them I do not believe," Greco responded, resting his elbows on the table.
"Must be nice having so much power, Greco. All these worker ants..." Walter smirked, still looking down.
"I tried to help you, years ago...after I lost my precious Anissa. I spent so much time in the game after her death. And what did you do to thank me? Turned El León and his gang against me! Then some years after that you kidnap my Ansley and torture and rape her!" Greco banged his fists on the table.
"I did not even know about Ansley until-"
"Shut your fucking mouth, Walter Reyes! Or I will have you killed right now! Right fucking now! Ansley told me about what you did to her and that other girl! You think I'd believe you over my daughter? On a cold day in hell!"
"You are a necio, Greco..." Walter whispered, finally looking in Greco Lombardi's eyes.
Greco Lombardi smiled, "Insult me all you want. I have some friends on the inside at Davis waiting on your little Devon to come. Just remember that. You'll pay for the pain you caused my family." He calmly rose from his seat, giving Walter one last smile before exiting the room.
"Joder!" Walter screamed, shaking the chains that bound him.
"Darling, I don't understand why you won't just come home with your father and I," Kelly pleaded with her daughter, exasperated. She paced the living room, always looking like one of the Real Housewives, her 4-inch heels clicking around on the hardwood floor.
"Mom, I just need to stay in Cali, okay?" Ansley said, pulling the cashmere throw to her face. It felt weird to be back in her apartment. To hear the ocean right outside her windows. Everything was clean and bright. Her closet full of expensive clothes. The Italian leather furniture in her living room. The stainless steel appliances in her kitchen. She felt like a stranger in her own home. "Dr. Tipton said I'll be fine as long as I stay on my meds. I haven't even experienced withdrawal from the heroine-"
"You went through so much," Kelly tensed her face, not wanting to cry, "you were raped...you were-"
"You don't have to tell me what I went through. I lived it." Ansley swallowed hard.
Kelly looked her daughter over, though she was 29...she was still so childlike. She looked tiny in her oversized gray Stanford sweatshirt, her hair in a messy, moppy bun. Kelly sighed again, knowing her daughter was in fact a grown adult and that maybe space was what she needed. "Okay, alright. But, I will be using my frequent flyer miles to come out here every weekend, do you understand?"
Ansley nodded while Kelly Lombardi flopped on the couch beside her only living child, cradling Ansley's head to her, "I'm so sorry, baby."
"Mom, I'm okay."
"And that fucking prick Harrison...I could rip his throat out-"
"Mom, I was gone for over a year-"
"Ansley! He had no right to just move on like that!" Kelly objected, not noticing how she hugged Ansley tighter to her. "He should have kept vigil, hope that you'd be found alive!"
Ansley lifted her head from her mother, her eyes confident, "I'm strangely comfortable with it, Mom. I don't think we were ever right for one another. There are things inside me...things he could never understand. Wants he could never fulfill."
Kelly nodded again, "Strange, you've always been strange...but I think maybe it's just been me not realizing how strong and unique you are." Kelly smoothed a stray string of hair behind Ansley's ear. "I'm just so glad you're alright."
I'll never be alright, Ansley blinked away tears thinking only of the steel blue eyes that haunted her dreams.
"Get out," he grumbled, throwing a wad of twenties in her direction as the bills landed on the empty spot on the mattress.
"You know, maybe you should get that checked," the skinny brunette mapped her shoulder with her fingers referring to his bandaged wound that was already seeping through the white gauze as she stood, searching the floor for her clothing.
"I'll live," he said, rolling on his side and snatching a baggie of joints from the nightstand.
The hooker skimmed the room with her eyes, countless bottles of whiskey and condom wrappers littered the floor. "This place is a pig-sty...next time you have company over, maybe you should tidy up a bit," she shrugged, pulling her red miniskirt up.
"That's what the fuck the maids are for," Mac spit, before lighting his blunt. "Now get the fuck out."
"You're a real charmer, Mac," the girl rolled her eyes as she yanked her shirt over her head, quickly grabbing up the cash and giving him the middle finger on her way out of the room.
Mac smoked his joint quietly in the empty motel room. He lay naked on the bed, the sheet pulled up across his stomach, his head propped against the headboard. He had brought back a different girl every night this week. All of them olive-skinned brunettes...but none of them her.
"Cupcake," he said aloud to the vacant space around him.
He took the last drag of his smoke and put it out on the nightstand. He pulled the one drawer open on the small table, reaching inside he pulled out a sliver of paper.
A check.
To Macerio Reyes. Amount $25,000. Signed Greco Lombardi.
Mac held his lighter to it, wanting so much to set it ablaze. But in some crazy way it was the last thing he had to remind him that she was real, what he felt was real, and that even if it was just her being crazy or being high...she had cared about him. His affliction was interrupted with a beep, beep, beep from his new cell phone.
A text read, Hey, it's Niko from the shop. Talked to a friend in Tijuana. The shop is yours if you want it.
Mac dispiritedly sighed. Was he really about to go back to trying to live a normal life? Make an honest living? So far Las Vegas had proven a decent place to start up another kitchen. He was bringing back a grand or more a night selling what was left over from the cave and Walter's stash.
Tijuana is closer to her, his mind hinted.
Mac sent his response: I'll be leaving here tonight then.