Nick made it back to the Bazaar with a good dollop of specimens bobbing around in his cart. He'd found a few more on the walk back from the park.
Now, he slid the cart along the dirt of the Bazaar, following hallways down and eventually coming up behind El Matarife's.
Nick pushed the buggy up against the empty end of the bar. The older man walked over and examined it's contents, deciding six of them were fresh enough. "Good run, mijo."
Nick smiled at him and nodded, before pulling the cart back and out of the bar. He pushed it through the corridor and out onto the concrete walkways of the arena surrounding the whole Bazaar.
Using the handi-cap ramps, Nick pushed the cart as far up as he could, even dragging the cart up a few step levels, until he reached the top of the stadium.
When he reached the top, he leaned upwards and perched himself looking over, out onto the expanse of the back parking lot. Then he began throwing heads.
He didn't want to leave them inside, let them continue to stink up the already smelly depths of the trade center. But, he didn't feel like going back out. One after another he tossed them over the edge. The last four, he tried to be more precise. Make them go splat in the same spot. He got two of them within a foot of each other. And that made him feel accomplished.
Nick clapped and rubbed his hands together before dragging the cart loudly down the steps of the stadium. Once he reached the bottom, he tucked the cart into a corner and headed towards the bathhouse.
He swung his arms back and forth as he walked. Something to do. His stomach growled audibly. 'You need to eat, Nicky,' he heard Troy's voice in his head. 'Put something on your stomach, Clark.' Nick laughed and turned into the bathhouse.
He crossed the wide space to a large, janitor's sink. He flipped the handles and it took a few moments before the pressure built up.
Nick peeled his bloody shirt off, it stuck dry on the skin in a few places. He tossed it in the basin, directly under the spray of water and watched as the water drained pink. After it was rinsed seventy-five percent of the way he rung it out some before dirtying it again, using it as a wash cloth.
He ran the wet shirt down his chest, rubbing the dried blood away. He shoved the shirt back under the flow of water, rinsing it again before using it to wipe down his face.
Finally, he stuck his head under the faucet and scrubbed at his scalp, washing the blood from his hair. He finished with a few handfuls of water thrown on himself; the water beading and rivering in lines down his bare chest. It pooled at the bottom of his stomach, against his basketball shorts and the top of his jeans, dampening them where they hung on his hips.
He re-rinsed his shirt for the umpteenth time, twisting it in his tan hands as he wrung the water out. When it was half-dry he slid it back over his head. It clung to him in places, as wet skin met damp shirt.
He shook his head, letting water fall from his hair before brushing it back and exiting the building.
Nick's stomach growled again and he turned towards the vendor stalls. He bought three raw chicken breasts, freshly cut from the hen, and he remembered Serena.
He had bought a few days in the kitchens so he made his way towards the blue awning in front of the concrete rectangle that made up her 'stall'.
She sat at the same desk as before, legs perched onto the corner. She had a pair of dark brown sunglasses on and she was leaned back, arms crossed over her chest.
Serena tilted her shades down as Nick approached. "Go ahead," she nodded at him, jerking her head towards the door as she noticed the plate of chicken he carried.
Nick smiled and nodded at her as he walked past. She slid her sunglasses back up.
Once inside, he found the necessary utensils and seared them in a pan, giving the outside a dark char so he would know they were fully cooked.
He finished and found a few Styrofoam plates under a counter. He slid two of the chicken breasts on one plate and the other on the second. After a few minutes, the chicken had cooled down enough and Nick picked one of the pieces from the first plate. He started to scarf it down, as fast as he could. He knew he needed to eat, he just didn't have the want to. It came and went. So, he finished the chicken breast quickly, not even bothering to taste it. At least now, he had eaten. He felt if Troy knew, he'd be proud. And it made Nick blush slightly as he exited the concrete rectangle.
Once outside, he plopped one of the plates down on the desk where Serena sat. She lifted her black boots from the corner of the table and leaned back into her seat, removing her sunglasses. "What's this for?" She asked, her southern drawl thick.
Nick only shrugged his shoulders.
"You've paid for use of the kitchen. I didn't pay you for this."
Nick half-smiled. "I just wanted to thank you. You were generous. You didn't have to give me that deal. Or even cut a deal with me at all."
"I said I liked the look of ya and I meant it," she returned, leaning her elbows onto the desk before her. "You got an old soul. Its rare."
Nick wasn't sure exactly what she meant but he nodded anyway.
"So how exactly do you know Victor?" She asked him. She then moved the plate to the other side of the desk and waved her hand, inviting him to sit there.
Nick obliged and sat the other plate next to hers before leaning onto the edge of the desk. "I met him in a lock-up of sorts. In the beginning. It had been, maybe a few weeks since it started. He had a boat. We spent some time on it, going down the coast of Cali."
She watched him with intrigued eyes.
He continued, "He took us through Baja. That's when we met Thomas, for a short while. But, after that I left. Made my own way for a bit. We all found each other again. Then split. Again. Now. We're on the together side of the fence. But, another split will happen eventually. It always does. Strand has taught me a lot, though, honestly. And I can that I wouldn't be where I am if not for him guiding me."
"Sounds like Victor. Maybe what he needed was a protege," she said back, "I just hope you haven't gained his ruthlessness. He's a sly one, Victor."
Nick nodded. He completely agreed. He was conniving, and slick and clever and mischevious but it was all for the sake of survival. "You're more than right," he conceded, leaning off of the desk. "But, whatever the problem, he finds a way through it, or around it. And that means something nowadays, you know?"
"It does," she replied. "You just have to watch it, or else you'll lose yourself. Some things you can't come back from. That's why I'm glad I'm here. I been in this spot, basically since this place came about. I'm not much one for fightin' and I'm glad I can sit here. In the middle of all these people. In this big concrete ring. Safe."
"I know what you mean," Nick replied easily, because it was true. "If I could stay in, avoid all this," he waved his hand dismissively behind him. "I would. I only go out when I know I can be invisible."
"Invisible?" She questioned, leaning up in her seat.
"Another tale for another day," Nick said, smiling. He retrieved the plate of chicken that was for Lucianna. It had gone cold, but he didn't care. "I'll come by again tomorrow."
She nodded at his exit and began poking at the chicken on her own plate.
Nick turned through the crowd and found his way to his room. When he reached the doorway, he toed it open with his well-worn boot.
Lucianna sat perched in the armchair closest to the cots. She had Strand's folder spread out on her legs, eyes flitting between the pages inside.
"What are you doing?" Nick asked as he entered, sliding the foam plate onto the little table in between.
"Just passing the time, Nick," she began, sitting up from her seat and returning the folder to the table next to the chicken. "I was seeing what would interest Strand so much about this place. What it contained. But, a lot of it is, uh, just blacked out. It's confusing."
"Blacked out?" He questioned, sliding into the chair across from her and lighting a cigarette. He picked the folder up himself and thumbed through it. Pages after pages, black bars tearing up bits of articles. Redacted. That's the word Lucianna was looking for. But, why would a farm have to cover up information? He sighed. "Doesn't matter," he answered himself. "It's for Strand to worry about." He motioned towards the plate of chicken. "That's for you."
Lucianna nodded towards him and retrieved the plate. "Gracias, Nick."
Nick only nodded, though she didn't see it. He took another drag from his cigarette, tapping ashes onto the dirt floor.
Lucianna had finished half of her plate when she spoke. "So, why did you stay here? With Troy. Keep him around, after the things your mother said he had done?"
Nick took a deep breath, she had unknowingly struck a nerve. She had no place. His mother had no place, even speaking of Troy after what she had done. "That's not any of your business. Don't act like you know anything," he spat and stood. He felt a small bit of guilt for blowing up on her when a crease formed in her brow and she sat back. But the weight of his animosity towards his mother, and Luci for even trying to delve into it when it was not her problem, outweighed the guilt.
He left the room and headed for the bar. When he reached the arched doorway he flicked his cigarette butt into the dirt at his feet before crossing the threshold.
Nick slid onto a barstool across from El Matarife. "Why did they have to show up here? Come back in and screw everything up?"
The older man studied the boy. "You're referring to your mother? And her people?"
"Yeah, like, could they not? We were fine! We had a good thing here, together. And then Madison Clark ascends from the darkness again. To fiddle and play and act like everythings a game and everyone else is a pawn."
"I understand you, mijo. You had things figured out. Then things spun back out of control. It's inevitable. But, you have to find a balance. How much you can withstand before it starts taking a toll on you," El Matarife advised, meeting Nick's eyes.
"None of it! I don't want to withstand any of it. She came back in and after a day, we're separated, she sends me back here for days with my ex and now I have her questioning why I'm around Troy. It's just too much. We were good here. Just us." Nick fidgeted with his fingers. "And how day she question him? Even through everything he did, everything I did. He didn't leave. He didn't lash out and run off. But she did. How does she have the right?"
El Matarife placed a calloused hand gently on Nick's shoulder. "I know, mijo. You just have to push past it. Forget about things from before, for they do not matter. What matters is what you do with what you have. And right now, you have a girl who knows you, or at least knew you. And she is confused. And it may not be her right to ask, her right to know. But, it is your place to tell her. You don't have to tell her everything, or anything for that matter. But, you can at least tell her. How you feel now."
Nick nodded, understanding bits and pieces. Luci had a right to know how he felt now. Who he felt for. "I'll talk to her," he conceded. "But, I need a little push. A tablet of courage," he laughed as he reached for the baggie in his pocket.
El Matarife leaned back from the bar and produced a shot glass, filling it to the brim with an amber liquid.
Nick popped a few pills into his mouth and hoisted the shot into the air in a 'cheers' gesture, spilling a little on his fingers. He downed the small glass and dropped it back down onto the counter. Nick licked the leftover liquor on his fingers.
El Matarife laughed and walked down the bar to a few noisy customers.
Nick leaned off of the barstool, crossing the room. He sat in a low, deep-back chair. Sunk in it. It was comfortable, it was worn. But, it was snug and relaxing.
He sat there long enough, until the pills started to seep warmth from his temples, and warm blank liquid flowing through his brain. He stood, wobbled a bit then took off to his room.
Nick burst through the door. Lucianna sat, nose buried in a book she must have gotten from one of the stalls. He had left her a ring of credits. Nick couldn't read the title, his vision was blurred from the drugs, the distance, and the fact it was in Spanish.
She looked up at his entrance, but he didn't give her a chance to speak.
"You asked about Troy? Don't. It's not your place and it's not your concern. But I will tell you about you. About the girl who ran."
Lucianna didn't answer, she just stood and slowly sat the book down, crossing her arms, letting him berate her. She knew he would explode, sometime, needed to. She was just waiting on when.
"The girl who whispered sweet nothings in the night. Fought with me against the dead during the day. Helped me lead our people away. The girl who stressed our co-dependance, yet up and run. You left me. And my heart went with you. It took me weeks, months to get over it. Get over you. You can't waltz in here and expect anything. You can't expect me to just care. To not care. You left!" Nick was tearing up now. The brain fog pushing tears out. His chest hurt. His heart ached. He searched for words. "How do you have the right? To come back in and make me question everything I know? How can you still have so much pull over me after everything you've done?"
Nick rubbed his face hard. He didn't know what else to say. He just wanted to go to sleep. Wake up back to a few days ago. Lock himself and Troy in this room and they wouldn't have even known Madison had arrived. Wouldn't have ran back into Lucianna. Wouldn't be sifting through all these different emotions he harbored towards her. Trying to find out why, just why he wanted to walk closer to her.
The tears were free-falling now. He couldn't understand his emotions. Didn't want to. "But I find myself still caring. Even after everything and damn you for that, Luce. Damn you. I moved on. I found my own way out of the black. And you swoop in and with every breath I take the air thickens and my throat constricts and I just can't figure it out. Why did you do this to me?"
Lucianna walked towards him, slowly, cautiously pulling a hand up to cup his face. She felt his tears and Nick's eyes closed, leaning into her hand.
When he opened them, it was only fire. And he didn't see her. And he didn't see the room they were in. He only felt. Felt her familiar skin on his, felt the ache of need in his core begging for release.
He jerked himself forward, no turning back now. He grabbed her face roughly and pushed her back a few feet, his lips colliding on hers, hard. Tears were still making their way down his cheeks but he didn't care. He kept his eyes closed. He only ached for release and nothing more.
Nick shoved her onto his cot, ripping his shirt over his head. He crawled on top of her, kissing his way down her jaw, eyes shut again. Not seeing, only feeling. And the brain fog helped there.
Then, he took her, in the heat of the night, in the darkness of his room. And he had no second thoughts. Because the mind is a powerful drug, so were the pills he swallowed, the alcohol he drank. And it all helped him get through it. Because in his mind, it was not Lucianna in his bed.