Mark Hoffman
Angelina was silent on the car ride to her apartment. She stared out the window, sulking when he had told her she couldn't smoke in his car.
He was still trying to wrap his head around things.
When Rigg had told him that his sister was currently in custody, he had laughed at the joke. When he saw that Will had been the primary interrogator, he then thought this had to be a nightmare.
She didn't tell me first. Mark couldn't believe she hadn't told him before going in there.
Mark had made damn sure the charges were dropped. Ange was going through a tough time. And she said the drugs weren't hers. He believed his sister. He knew her. She wouldn't do something like that.
Will, on the other hand, had tried to stop him from protecting his sister.
"It's not the right way," she had preached but he simply tore her arrest warrant in her face.
Will, despite her wish to do good, sure had some fucked up priorities. There was no way in hell he would let his little sister go to jail. It wasn't right. He wasn't going to allow it.
"At least get the name of the dealer," Will had instructed.
Mark, rarely, felt such rage directed towards his girlfriend. But at that moment, he was furious with her. She was so fucking insensitive. This was Angie, not some street junkie. This was his sister.
"You don't have to walk me up," Angie practically jumped out of the car when he pulled up to the curb. He had to hurriedly put the car in park and kill the engine, fumbling with his seat belt as she already entered her apartment building.
"Ange, wait!" He called out. "We still need to talk."
She had been caught at the elevator, huffing as she finally lit a cigarette. He resisted the urge to take the stick out of her mouth. She was an adult, after all. But damn it, she knew better than to start that bad habit.
They stood in silence until the elevator arrived. The doors slid open and they awkwardly got in.
"What do you want to talk about?" Ange spoke first.
"Tell me what happened?"
"Ugh." She had exhaustion in her tone. "I've said it a million times already. I was out. Partying with some friends. One of them gave me the bag and told me to hold it. Then the cop nabbed me. End of story."
"I need his name."
She turned, eyes electric. "No, you don't."
"Who are you? What happened to my little sister? Did I do something wrong? Is this some midlife crisis?" He had never felt so exasperated before. He wondered if Angelina was trying to make up for lost teenaged angst. Her whole life, she had never been rebellious.
There was a glimmer of regret in her frown. "No. I mean, yeah. It's just -," she ran her fingers through her oily hair, "you just suffocate me sometimes, Mark. All you do is keep pushing me when all I want is some space."
This was new. Their whole lives, it was Angelina who had been the needy sibling and he, the loner. "I'm just worried."
"Yeah. I know. And I know today isn't helping." The elevator dinged and let them off on her floor. They made their way to her apartment door when the knob began to turn.
Hoffman went to his gun and took it out, pushing Angelina behind him as he waited for the intruder to come out.
"Holy fuck!" A man raised his hands, eyes wide, mouth open in surprise. "Shit, don't shoot!"
"Mark, put the gun down," her voice shrill, "He's a friend."
He lowered his gun, confused. "Friend?" He instantly knew this guy was trouble. He looked ungroomed. Shadows around his eyes, gaunt cheekbones, and the yellow on his fingertips made Mark instantly connect the dots. So this is the friend. Looks like the typical back alley junkie.
"Yes, my friend. We work together."
"Doesn't look like a chef."
"Uh, dishwasher. Busboy when it gets busy. Hey. Name's Seth. You, uh, must be the brother. The cop." The guy lowered his hands, looking as though he was trying to smile off the tension. He didn't hold out a hand to shake. He shoved his hands in his pockets, shrugging with the casualness of a punk.
"Mark Hoffman. How long have you two been close enough for him to have a key to your place?"
"Mark!"
"Uh, it's cool. She asks me to water the plants every so often. You know, check the mail and stuff when she's out."
"She doesn't travel often."
"Maybe she just doesn't tell you her goings all the time."
Fresh hot fury flowed up his neck and into his cheeks. He kept his face still and his hands at his side.
"Mark, it's fine. Seth's been keeping me company. He took me to the hospital when I was burned a while back. Remember when that happened? I told you about that."
He turned to Angelina, as if seeing her for the first time. She was unrecognizable to the woman he had raised. And it was dawning on him that she was in serious trouble. "Angie," he softly implored, knowing his tone communicated all it needed to.
There was guilt in her face. Pain in her grimace. But she swallowed and shook her head. "Go home. It's none of your business, Mark."
"Considering you almost were booked for a felony and I got you out of it, I think it is my business."
She was chewing her lip and turned to her 'friend'. "Seth. It's best if you go. I'll call you."
He wanted to interrupt and tell the punk this was the last time he'd ever see her. But he pressed his lips together to keep the peace. Pushing Angie wouldn't help. He needed to be gentle with her. To show that he was on her side in all this.
And most importantly, she needed to get as far away from this scumbag as possible.
"Sure, it's cool. Call me, Angel," he smiled at his sister before sauntering to the elevators.
"Well, come in, I guess." Angelina walked in. "Ignore the mess."
He could not.
The place was completely fucked.
He had never seen her apartment in a state of disorganization. But it wasn't just the clothes strewn about the floor, the couch shoved against a wall and a bare mattress sitting on the floor that was notable.
It was also the mirror on the coffee table where a syringe, a dusty mirror, and a bong rested along with the usual trash and grime that came with the drug dens he'd seen at the Crossroads.
"What the fuck, Angie?"
She looked away. He knew she had to feel something for this mess.
"It may have gotten a bit out of control."
"Out of control? Ange, what the fuck's going on? I've given you space because you asked for it. But this? This is not acceptable. This shit will kill you." He felt fear grip his chest. "Ange, you need to get to rehab."
"No, it's fine. I can quit anytime."
"Right now, then."
She laughed. "Funny. Why should I?" She flicked ash on the floor and took another drag of her cigarette. Despite her confidence, concern was pulling her eyebrows together.
"Is this about Peter?"
She blinked and became angry. "Peter's fucking dead. What does it matter?"
He put his hands on her shoulders, feeling how they trembled. They were so bony. "Because you loved him. Because losing someone you love is one of the worst things you can feel. Because I'm losing you. And I don't want to, Ange. I love you." He felt his eyes tear up and he blinked them, embarrassed by his emotion. "This is hurting you."
She sniffled and shook her head violently. "No. I'm fine."
"No, you're not." He pulled her close and hugged her, his chin on her head as she sobbed. He could smell the oil in her hair. She needed a shower. "But I'll fix it, okay? I promise. We'll get through this together."
(One Month Later)
Mark Hoffman waited, patiently in his Crown Victoria parked across the street to the Dillon bistro. Angelina was currently inside, working.
It was lightly raining. The sun had long set and it was a cool evening. Seth Baxter, dishwasher at the Dillon, was currently taking his third smoke break that shift. Mark had done the standard background check on the perp. Seth Maurice Baxter, aged thirty-two, was a high school dropout with nothing but bad news on his record. Convicted of possession two years prior. Drunken disorderly. Just got off parole. And picked up refreshments from his two favorite dealers, one at the Crossroads and the other at a seedy nightclub on Tuesday nights. He frequented the alley of the restaurant and Angelina's apartment.
Currently, Mark had decided it was time to give the guy a good scare. At first, he had planned on nabbing the guy and arresting him, for whatever charge he could think of at the time. But he knew that Angelina would get wind of that. And she would likely not see the big picture here.
Mark knew the best way to get Seth Baxter out of his sister's life was to tell it to the guy straight. To back off. To skip town. To put the fear of God into him so good, he would piss himself every time he heard his name.
It was his best talent.
Angelina's big brother was a big scary cop with equally scary friends. And life would get hard for the prick real quick if he didn't listen.
He never confided in Will what he was doing on his investigations these past few weeks. He had kept his distance, still disappointed in her, regardless of how many coffee runs and donuts she tried to bribe his forgiveness with.
Once Baxter was dealt with, he'd talk it out with Will. But he was still wondering how he could ever forgive her betrayal.
Baxter, at the moment, was getting off of work. It was ten in the evening. The restaurant was closing. Baxter took his hoodie and put it over his wiry frame, the hood blocking his ears from the rain. He was a walker, crossing the street and looking right at Hoffman's car, not registering that he was being watched.
Mark got out of the car and kept a good hundred feet away from the guy. He recognized they were walking towards the direction of Angie's apartment.
This made him pick up the pace, wanting to get to him several blocks before his destination.
The guy was oblivious. No concern of being followed, no turn of the head. The guy had shit instinct. This was good.
Not many people were out. A bum was shaking his change cup as Hoffman walked by. A woman with high alert of her surroundings was walking her yorkie and cast him a nervous glance, as if she could sense he was dangerous. Taxis drove by, their engines and tires the only sound on the pavement.
Hoffman was closing in, close enough that he could grab Baxter by the back of his neck and shove him behind the nearest alley.
As soon as an opening arrived, he grabbed the guy and threw him towards a pile of trash. Baxter's head hit the dumpster with a satisfying clang.
"Guh!" The guy looked dazed as he looked up as Hoffman grabbed the man by his collar and threw him against the brick wall.
He threw a heavy punch and felt the satisfying pain of his knuckle skin slicing from the prick's teeth. Baxter let out a wail of pain.
He shook him firmly, cooly waiting for him to recover from the head blow. "You listen good. My sister? You don't talk to her anymore. You stay the fuck away from her. You understand?"
"...f…fuck you." Warm spittle struck Hoffman's cheek. He wiped it, lifted the guy by the shirt, and threw him into the dumpster. A loud metallic boom filled the alley.
"Still going to meet up with her? Huh?" Hoffman took his gun out and pistol slammed the crown of his head. The guy slumped forward, forehead against the lip of the dumpster. He grabbed him by the hood of his hoodie, Baxter's head bobbing back and forth like a cheap novelty toy.
The gun felt warm in his hand. He pulled back the hammer with a satisfying click. He wanted to push the barrel into the fucker's mouth. He opted to have him stare right down the black tunnel, instead.
He felt Baxter begin to tremble. He heard the splatter of liquid on plastic rubbish and knew the man had pissed himself. Good.
"F - fine. We're done. I ain't seeing her no more."
Hoffman studied his face, searching for any twitch of resistance. "Tell her about this meeting, and I won't just kill you with a bullet. Too easy. Clear?"
"Yeah." When he felt the guy was thoroughly cowed, he slammed the butt of the gun hard over his head, knocking him unconscious.
The guy collapsed like a sack of potatoes, joining his fellow trash.
Hoffman looked around quickly before backing from the dumpster and left the alley.
This was for Angie. This was the right way to do things.
He knew she'd get over this, as soon as the cancer had been cut out.
And now, she could finally heal.
Angelina Acomb
She woke to the door knocking. She was so cold. She was sick. Seth had stood her up the night before and she was beginning to feel the worst pain of her life. Withdrawal. She knew that was what this feeling was.
She needed a fix. She needed him to come through and give her just a small dose.
She had sprinted to her door and threw it open, eager for reprieve.
And smiled in relief when it was Seth who stood in the doorway. "Babe, where have you been?"
He pushed through the door, devoid of warmth. She wondered what had gotten him in a bad mood. He looked bruised, his left eye black. She noticed that his one good eye was mostly a big black hole. He must have taken something before coming here, she thought enviously.
"Babe, what happened?"
He was pacing in her living room, wiping his nose and sniffling, his right hand in his pocket while his left was rubbing his nose."Yourfuckingbrotherhappened." He spoke so rapidly it had all come out as one word.
"What?" Realization dawned on her. Anger was hot under her skin. "Did he hurt you?"
He scoffed. "Come off it. He's your brother, bitch. What do you think?"
His words stung but her needs let her overlook it. She needed that fix. "Seth, baby, tell me about it. Let's just chill tonight, okay? Relax."
He was scratching and shaking his head as he muttered words under his breath. "Bitch" and "push me around" were all she could make out. She had ever seen Seth so out of control. He reminded her of a caged tiger she once saw in a zoo, who kept pacing and grunting. He was making her nervous but she was also trying to form sentences through the worst body aches and migraine of her life.
"Seth, sit down. You're making me nervous."
The knife appeared. The tip of the blade was inches from her nose.
"You don't get," Seth's teeth were bared, "to tell me what to do. You hear?!"
She raised her hands, fear seizing her thoughts and making her speechless.
"Your fucking brother thinks he can bully me. He doesn't fucking know who he's messing with." Seth lowered the knife and kicked an end table, knocking it over in a loud crash. She flinched but didn't move from her spot.
She wanted to get out of there, right now.
But Seth was standing at the archway of the living room, the closest exit to the front door. He continued to rub his head and grumble words under his breath.
"Seth," she softly asked, feeling tears fall down her cheeks. "What did you take before coming here?"
He twitched and fidgeted, looking at her with confusion before looking away. "Nothing. Something. To keep me alert. In case that fucker comes back. Fucking scared. He's fucking out to get me."
"I'll talk to Mark. Get him to back off."
Seth spun and pointed the knife back at her. "No. You don't tell him anything. He'll kill me. Your bro's a psycho."
She balked. "He's not a psycho. I think this is a misunderstanding."
Seth's face contorted, looking like a snarling animal. "YOU WEREN'T FUCKING THERE!"
She backed away, knowing a lamp was resting on a table against the wall. He took a step towards her, closing the distance. She needed to be quick.
He's going to kill me. I think he's going to kill me.
"Seth," she whispered, "let's talk this out."
"No talking. Just. Get. Over. Here-," he jumped back when she threw the lamp at him. The sound of shattering porcelain was at her back as she sprinted out of the living room and into her kitchen.
She reached for the knife and spun around, just in time to see Seth leap forward, slashing his blade towards her. She pulled open her spice drawer as a barrier between them, Seth crashing into it and ripping out the cabinet with a snarl.
She fled the kitchen, heart pounding in her ears as she tried to go down the hall to the front door.
But he was there, fast and rabid, breathing heavy.
"Seth. Please," she took steps backwards, holding the kitchen knife in her hands. She wasn't sure how she was going to defend herself. The gun was in her bedroom safe. But the bullets were under her bed in a locked box. She cursed herself for not keeping one loaded on the nightstand.
The fire escape.
She remembered how Will escaped Frank and decided that was the best option. She spun and sprinted to her bedroom, trying to close the door behind her.
She just needed to lock it, to buy herself a couple more minutes.
But as she tried to shove the door closed it wouldn't sit on the frame.
She panicked and tried to shove the door closed but realized why it wouldn't.
Seth was holding the door open.
And he was so strong.
He threw the door open, punching her in the chest.
She fell backward onto her bed.
Above her, the glint of steel glowed above her head.
She let out a scream.
And a jagged pain tore into her throat.
Hot and wet blood gushed out of her neck. Her fingers and feet felt cold. She tried to touch her throat. She couldn't sit up. She had no strength to stop the bleeding.
Her scream had faded into a rattle that sounded gurgled. I'm drowning. I can't breathe. She couldn't inhale to try again. She couldn't fucking breathe.
She was so scared.
Mark. Help me.
Above her, Seth looked down at her with wide eyes.
"No. NO! Angel! Stay with me. Please!"
The pain in her throat numbed. And her thoughts faded into the cold, cold black.
