Chapter 2: Badlands B

'Might be one person I can still trust in L.S. who could help me out.' CJ pulled out his cell and dialed an easily memorized number.

"Hola! Que pasa?"

"Cesar."

"CJ! Homes, where are you?" The burly black gangsta allowed a small smile to creep across his face at the enthusiastic greeting his best friend gave so freely. "I heard some serious shit went down under Mulholland Intersection. Como estas?"

He appreciated the Hispanic's genuine tone of concern but held back any expression of gratitude beyond the unseen smile. 'Who's to say Cesar ain't got something up his sleeves too?' "I'm alright. Is Kendl there with you?"

"Yeah. Hold on a minute."

The line went temporarily quiet, then Kendl's voice exploded into CJ's ear. "CARL LAMAR JOHNSON, JUNIOR, WHAT THE FUCK IS GOIN' ON?"

Despite the tense situation, CJ chuckled. Like their mother, Kendl only used any of her brothers' three names when she was mad in the way their moms got mad. When the boys had stayed out too late; when ambulance sirens were in the neighborhood and they weren't home; when they were out roaming with GSF for days at a time without checking in. "Glad to hear you too, sis."

"Carl, where have you been? Where are you? I don't know what's goin' on." Kendl sighed and her next words were choked by tears. "I haven't heard from you or Sweet since last night. Then Pitbull came by Cesar's house early this morning and said there was a shootout under Mulholland and GSF was dead…"

As difficult as it was, CJ tried to imagine himself in Kendl's shoes. 'First Moms, then Brian. If she lost two of us at once, God knows what she'd end up doing.' "Sis, I'm alright. I promise I'm alright."

Kendl plowed on, still crying. "No, Carl, I'm not! Pitbull took me and Cesar to your place in Glen Park and Moms' house and Sweet's house to get some things because we needed to clear out quick. We hadn't even got out of Moms' house before the Ballas came in, started taking over Grove Street and shooting anybody wearing green!"

"What? Fuck! Are you okay?"

"Yeah, bro." Kendl sniffled, and by her tone, Carl knew she was over the heaviest of her emotions. "Ryder was leading the Ballas around, taking out everyone wearing green. He's with them now."

"Nah, sis. Ryder might mess with C.R.A.S.H., but he don't rock the purple set." 'Even though I saw it for myself.' Carl thought bitterly. He shivered again but not just from the cold wind slicing through his tank top.

"Whatever you say, big brother. I know what I saw. And I saw Ryder shooting at me and Cesar and Pitbull like we were the f-ing enemy. We handled it though. Here's Cesar."

"Homes, what did you say to Kendl? She's crying!"

Carl ignored Cesar's tone of warning. His mind was connecting the dots; once the Ballas took over Grove Street, they would take over Grove Street's territories, de facto. That included El Corona. "Look, we can talk about that later. Right now, I need you to get Kendl somewhere safe."

"I don't know about that, homes. We kinda…We got some things to deal with right now."

"Put it on hold. Get my sister somewhere no Ballas, no GSF, no Smoke, Ryder, hell, not even Tenpenny can find her. Then you come meet me in-" The muscular black gangsta consulted the green highway sign, "—Angel Pine. Know where that is?"

"Yeah. I got a place out that way."

"Cool. And make sure Kendl's safe."

"Alright, homes. I'm on my way."

'Man, never thought I'd say this. But I miss Los Santos,' Carl thought to himself almost seven hours later.

It was shortly after midnight, and the husky black sat in a booth at an all-night Cluckin' Bell. He had sought refuge there shortly after talking to Cesar, as the rain had all but disintegrated his black tank around the contours of his chiseled upper body. The change of season from summer to fall was more apparent in Angel Pine, as the temperature had dipped drastically following a heavy rainfall and many of the trees had shed leaves red or yellow leaves in the high winds. Fog crept over the town following the rainstorm and Carl was thankful to have gone to the restaurant for more reasons than one. After hours of sitting there, one of the cashiers behind the counter had brought the gangsta, who had shivered uncontrollably in the corner booth furthest from the door, a cup of hot coffee. "On the house," the blond freckled man had said with a mild country twang and a sliver of a smile.

CJ had maintained vigil at the restaurant's picture window, but every so often, he sensed the blond cashier's gaze fixed upon him. 'Even though I been wasting my life down at the gym, he better stop looking at me.' The beefy gangsta never looked in the cashier's direction because he had no intent of giving a misunderstood signal of mutual interest. As the minute hand on his face watch approached one a.m., CJ wondered earnestly if Cesar was going to come to his aid, or if he would have to do something many a gangsta before had resented to extricate himself from a horrible situation.

"Excuse me, sir?" Carl turned his head in the direction of the gentle country twang, spotted the cashier with a nervous expression on his face, and resumed his lookout. "I was just ending my shift here, and noticed you've been sitting here for some time. Looks like you're waiting on somebody."

"Yeah, I am," the husky black responded coldly.

"Well, if your sweetheart doesn't show up any time soon, I'd be much obliged to take you wherever you need to go, sir." The blond was taller than him but with a lanky build under overalls and a red T-shirt that suggested he had never played sports in his life. He had full lips under a spread of freckles covering his long, narrow nose and sloping cheekbones. The blond's face practically shone with desire as his eyes greedily roamed over the sharp definition of the beefy black's arms, pectorals, and deltoids. CJ stretched in the booth to run his hands over his cornrows, and the blond's eyes bulged.

'Hell, if Cesar ain't coming, a player's gotta do something to get by.' "Well," CJ sighed, feigning surrender, "I guess I can't wait around for-"

CJ's phone rang again. "Where you at homes?"

He didn't have to fake his sigh of relief. "I'm at the Cluckin' Bell in the middle of town." Headlights illuminated the yellow chicken logo on the window as a cherry Savanna whipped into the parking lot. Carl shot a look at the blond cashier. "Hey man, that's my boy out there. Guess I'm covered for the night."

"Oh." The blond didn't mask his disappointment. "Well, if you're going to be in town for a while…" Carl generously allowed the blond to pull out a napkin and ink pen to write down his phone number and name. "I'm Jacob, sir." He proffered his hand.

The beefy gangsta took the napkin but ignored the extended hand. "CJ."

"Nice meeting you, Mr. CJ. Hope you'll give me a call sometime." 'When Tenpenny goes ice fishing in Hell, I'll call you.' The black stepped out the booth, around Jacob to avoid touching, and headed for the door. "He's a lucky man, sir!" Jacob called out before Carl stepped outside. The beefy black hesitated for a second and considered bashing the blond's teeth into his throat. Then he walked to Cesar's car and let the Cluckin' Bell door shut.

"'Sup, Ceese?" The two men tapped fists through the lowered driver's side window, and CJ climbed into the passenger's seat.

"CJ," Cesar breathed, "you're soaking wet!"

"Yeah, thought I would've dried out by now, but I guess not. C.R.A.S.H. left me in the middle of the woods with no raincoat or nothing. Fuckin' bastards." The beefy gangsta trembled involuntarily again and coughed throatily. "Man, I'm cold! Mind cranking on the heat?"

Cesar's hand, the color of toast, reached over and turned the knob on the Savanna's heating control. The husky black melted into the seat as the first blast of heat caressed his skin. "We're going to have to get you out those wet clothes when we get to my place."

Such a statement once sounded innocuous to CJ, but his guard was raised against everyone. He sat upright in his seat. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"Relax, ese," Cesar said and clapped a hand on one of Carl's meaty shoulders. "I'm just saying, you need some dry clothes." The husky gangsta coughed again. "And maybe some soup. I got some at my place."

"Hope it's got heating." Carl coughed again, this time pain slammed his ribs.

"Si, hermano. It's not much, but it's mine."

Cesar's POV:

"He's a lucky man, sir!"

Cesar heard someone hurl the comment from the restaurant at CJ's back and watched his muscular friend pause at the door. The black gangsta struck an imposing sight even obscured by fog, and Cesar greedily took as much as he could. His black tank top clung to his skin and revealed every detail of his chiseled torso with an extra peek of bare skin because of a small hole near his waist line. CJ's black track pants couldn't conceal a bulge between his legs so hypnotizing, the lean Hispanic had to force his eyes to tear away. 'Can't look at another man like that. Madre taught us better than that.'

"'Sup, Ceese?" Cesar inhaled a powerful musky scent mingled with the earthy stench of someone who'd been outdoors for a long time.

"CJ, you're soaking wet!" The lean Hispanic used it as another opportunity to rake his eyes over the muscular frame of his Black friend. From his full, thick lips to the enviable physique to the package between his legs (Cesar was ashamed to admit he noticed it wasn't a hard-on, just the flaccid weight of his friend's member), CJ was definitely an attractive man. 'Not that I care or notice. I'm with his sister. And we're two men. Not natural by any means.'

"Yeah, thought I would've dried out by now, but I guess not. C.R.A.S.H. left me in the middle of the woods with no raincoat or nothing. Fuckin' bastards." When CJ coughed throatily, Cesar winced at the thought of his brother being sick. "Man, I'm cold! Mind cranking on the heat?"

Cesar silently berated himself for neglecting to turn on the heat sooner and immediately corrected the situation by cranking on the heat "We're going to have to get you out those wet clothes when we get to my place."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Relax, ese," Cesar said and clapped a hand on one of Carl's meaty shoulders. Despite the innocent intent behind his words, the lean Hispanic was forgetting the ordeal his beefy black friend had experienced recently. 'If mi familia turned on me, I'd be aggressive too.' "I'm just saying, you need some dry clothes." The husky gangsta coughed again and Cesar had to restrain himself from touching him. "And maybe some soup. I got some at my place."

"Hope it's got heating." Carl coughed again.

"Si, hermano. It's not much, but it's mine." During the brief drive to Cesar's house, he thought Carl was uncomfortable. Intermittent coughing fits aside, the husky gangsta did not speak until they were parked in front of Cesar's prefab home in an Angel Pine trailer park. The Azteca King clenched his jaw throughout the ride at the thought of his best friend—practically family—being so distant from him. Growing up the youngest of five sons had taught him too much about what he and other men thought and felt, and it was a time when men preferred to be silent. Cesar just didn't like the silence.

To fill the absence of words, Cesar turned on the radio. "Warm it up, Kane, warm it up Kane, warm it up Kane, warm it up Kane," a chorus of men chanted through the speakers. A heavy drizzle began to fall and the steady hum of windshield wipers soon added their voices. The Hispanic smoothly steered the red convertible into a lot of trailer homes and prefab homes off the highway exit. He noticed CJ scoping out the area, and grinned internally at the wisdom that had prompted him to buy this home. The trailer park had only two entrances, one off the highway and one on a main thoroughfare, so traffic was naturally limited. Located midway between Los Santos and San Fierro with access to the beach, Angel Pine was perfect for negotiations with the Triads of San Fierro. In addition, the house itself was so nondescript that it had been ideal for years of weapons trafficking on behalf of the Varrios Los Aztecas.

He parked in front of the one story house covered with metal siding and turned to Carl. "What do you think?"

"This is the place we're going to?"

"Yeah." The toned gangsta felt slightly wounded by the bluntness of the husky gangsta's words, for reasons that were incomprehensible to him. He practically felt CJ's piercing gaze sweep over the repaired window screens and the brand new screen door.

"I think anyone who sees this rathole wouldn't believe we're here." Cesar's internal grin fully deflated. He had hoped to impress Carl. "In other words," Carl continued without looking in the brown gangsta's direction, "it's perfect."

Cesar smiled proudly. "I thought so homes. Wait until you get inside!" The brown-skinned gangsta sprang enthusiastically from the car in the downpour and unlocked the front door. He waited for the black to saunter from the car before turning on the lights. "What do you think homes?"

The black's face openly expressed his awe. Cesar's tiny living room had a large green threadbare rug cast over the cheap linoleum floor. Two plush armchairs and a loveseat were arranged around a polished wooden cabinet containing a 14" screen TV and a tower with a stereo, 8-track player, and record player stacked atop each other on shelves. To the right of the living room, a kitchenette sparkled with a recent cleaning and each pot and pan gleamed in a wire rack over the shining metal sink. To the left of the kitchenette, a narrow hallway led to three rooms whose contents were concealed by heavy brown curtains on taut ropes. Cesar's entire house smelled fragrantly of Pine-Sol and bleach. "Damn, Cesar, this spot looks better than Moms' crib! What did you do to get a spot like this? Push yay or something?"

Even though he knew it was only in jest, the mock insulted Cesar. "Fuck nah, ese," he said proudly. "Aztecas only deal in weapons. Only putos deal with white." In his prideful streak, the Hispanic gangsta almost confessed that he had come to Angel Pine immediately after talking to CJ. He had spent hours cleaning every square inch of the prefab, planting traps for roaches, and stocking the prefab with food and clean linen. In his mind, Cesar clung to the pretense of preparing a safehouse for himself while his hands and heart had prepared a room for CJ as well. "Come on. Let me show you to your room."

Cesar led the way down the narrow hall to the three rooms. Two were adjacent to each other while the third stood at the opposite end of the house from the kitchenette. "That's the bathroom," he gestured to the room immediately to his right, "and that's the bedroom I normally use," he gestured to the room next to it. "And that one, that's your room." The lean Latino indicated with a nod of his head.

"Thanks, Ceese. Let me go ahead and get out these clothes before I get sick." When CJ scooted by him, Cesar suddenly appreciated how massive the black had become since he had returned to Los Santos. Acres of engorged muscle and broad deltoids like mountains made it impossible for Carl to walk down the hallway without turning sideways. And he forced himself to squeeze between the Hispanic and the faux wood-paneled wall. In the tight space between the slim brown body and the massive black one, CJ was so pressed in that his buff body brushed headily against Cesar's.

"Oh. Sorry, homes." 'What's that he's got on? Cologne? Deodorant? Shit smells good…' Cesar sucked in his already ripped stomach and in the few seconds of contact, inhaled deeply the musky scent of Carl's body. He felt every inch of muscle rub against his own and the detected the heavy mass in the front of the black's track pants graze the front of his Chinos. And his lean body stiffened, even in the least desirable areas.

'What the fuck? Am I getting turned on by CJ? Mi hermano?' Cesar's breath hitched in anticipation of Carl's disgusted reaction and he glanced fearfully at the husky black. Carl had moved to the neatly made bed, the fresh rug, and the dusted furniture all arranged carefully in his room without noticing the Hispanic's apprehension.

"Damn, Cesar, you hooked it up for me!" A low, masculine groan drew Cesar's full attention and his hazel eyes studiously captured every movement as Carl peeled off his damp black tank. The husky black's swath of back muscles rippled as he peeled off the cotton fabric. Cesar's mouth gaped open in awe. "Ay, Ceese?"

"Si, homes?" Cesar's voice growled in a gruff whisper. He cleared his throat and repeated, "Sup, homes?"

"I'm kinda tired after the day I had. And I know you drove all the way out here, but…"

The Hispanic nodded dejectedly. "Yeah, I'm on my way out homes." 'Better leave anyway. I wouldn't want this to get any more awkward.'

"Nah, it's not like that." CJ ran his hand over his tight cornrows. "I'm not trying to kick you out. I thought you'd want to stay overnight."

He turned to face Cesar. Chiseled, slightly asymmetrical eight-pack abs; sculpted pectorals like two plateaus atop his chest; and arms so swollen that the gun on CJ's left arm looked ready to fire. 'Damn, I'm still with this negro's sister. What am I thinking about his fuckin' dick for?' "Nah, homes. I think I need to go," the Latino said and looked away.

"Come on, Ceese. It's a long drive back to LS." 'Not as long as you think.' "And it's raining again. Just crash here."

The Hispanic risked another look at the black. CJ's face was impassive but his voice had a hint of longing need in it. Cesar's brothers would never have insisted that another man spend the night. 'But CJ ain't exactly like them, or anyone else from the Varrio.' "Ok CJ! I'll stay the night."

The husky black grinned. "Cool." Before shutting the curtain, he added, "Ay, I gotta do something really early in the morning. Want me to wake you up?"

Cesar kicked off his black sneakers. "Si, hermano, but I'm an early riser anyway. I'll probably already be up."

"Alright, Ceese," CJ chuckled and closed the curtain. The Latino turned off the lights and shuffled to his room, grateful that CJ hadn't inspected it. Behind the curtain, there was room for a water heater, a medium-sized outdoor grill, a crate of household cleaners, and pile of blankets. Cesar unbuckled and dropped his pants, peeled off his white tank, and stretched out the blankets on the floor to lie on them in only his white boxers.

The Hispanic had slept in tighter spaces but never with so much on his mind. A thin sliver of light stretched into the hallway from Carl's bedroom. Cesar heard the husky black's sodden pants hit the threadbare carpet and the squeak of bedsprings under the black's weight as he rested on the bed. 'Wonder if CJ sleeps almost naked too...Shit! This ain't the way to think about mi hermano.' Cesar turned and faced the wall. 'Gotta get some sleep. Just listen to the rain like when I was a kid, I'll fall asleep.' The Hispanic closed his eyes and tuned in his ears.

He heard a freighter horn on the road outside and the click of the light in CJ's room.

He heard a hooting owl in a tree somewhere and heavy footsteps followed by the creak of bedsprings in the black's room.

He heard a Sanchez in need of oil on the road and slow, rhythmic creak of bedsprings.

Before sleep disconnected Cesar from the world, his ears detected rapidly falling rain, a husky mutter, the rapid creak of bedsprings, and a man's guttural moan.