“It’s not about money for you, but it is for me. It has to be.”
“Until your hands heal, you can be… my assistant.”
I nod, unsure what that means, but not wanting details right now. “You didn’t have to move the bench,” I add.
“I did.”
“It’s your house,” I counter.
“But it’s your space.” He pushes off the counter, announces he’s getting ready, and I watch his back flex and contract in the sunlight streaming from the skylights. Before I get ready, I pause in front of the window that overlooks Mountain Aire. I find my old window, small and dirty. It feels like a lifetime ago, and I know I’ll never go back. This is the launch, and I’m going to do whatever it takes to make my life better. And I do meanwhateverit takes.
***
Jesse has a truck. A nice truck. One that will be a target when we get to Dirt Downs for sure, but he appears to not have a care in the world as we barrel toward a place that makes my skin crawl. I wore a simple outfit, but it’s nice. Riley purchased the jeans and t-shirt for me yesterday, and I’m wearing the sneakers. The ones he said I needed. There’s a brief silence in between me commenting on his truck, and him asking me for an address.
“Where is the meeting with Riley?” It feels taboo bringing up his name in Jesse’s presence because of the strange dynamic between them. It’s love, but more. It’s reminiscent of the connection I remember between gang members.
“His apartment.”
“Oh, in the warehouse,” I say, hoping for a better explanation. “I didn’t know he had an apartment there until last night.”
“Drew, he owns the whole building.” Jesse passes me a sarcastic look. “He owns the whole city, and if we speak in broader terms, his father owns the whole state.”
“In what kind of terms?” I ask. Didn’t I suspect as much after the encounter with Matteo? His personality really just doesn’t fit. “When you say own.”
Jesse is mulling over how to reply, his head tilting back and forth. “I mean on the up and up and the underground—they own it. The Astors own this state. The fray gangs only have an illusion of control. The guy I took care of at the art show is Riley’s employee ten times removed, hell maybe fifteen, but you get the picture.” Jesse glances at me. “Before you start to worry about him, he’s untouchable.” Clearing his throat, he adds, “In all ways.”
Jesse talks about Riley easily. This is a comfortable subject for him which tangles the webs even more. The Astors own the gambling, the drugs, the large companies, the small ones, they hold hands with politicians, control elections, have influence over laws, and jails. The list of the Astor conquests seems never ending and widespread. “Don’t let that lead to you to believe Riley has a carefree life, money comes easy, yes, but everything else is a challenge. With great power comes great responsibility.” And yet, he chose to spend a full day with me. He heard me. I’ve always kept the gang stuff at arm’s length, so this is all news to me. Even if I listened to my exes from Dirt Downs spitting hood talk, they wouldn’t have mentioned Riley or his family directly because they’re at the top of all the food chains. My eyes are open for the first time.
“What about you? How did you become an Astor?” I knowwhyhe became an Astor, but not the how.
The openness in Jesse’s face vanishes. “That’s a story for a different day, but simplistically speaking, gambling.” That could mean a million different things.
The conversation distracted me completely as we drove and I didn’t notice we were already in Dirt Downs, more, I didn’t realize we were pulling into the apartment complex that is my grandma’s last known address. My stomach turns. I can smell the repugnant stench from inside the truck. The hot garbage because trash trucks don’t come here, and the rancid filth of buildings without temperature control. It smells like hell, death, and crime. Every hair on my body has stood at attention since the moment I sucked in a deep breath. A breath to steel my nerves. A breath I needed but regret. “I’ll be quick.” My voice shakes, and Jesse leans over to open the glove compartment.
He grabs a gun and closes it. “Okay, so we’ll be quick.”
“What are you doing with that?”
Jesse raises one brow. “Did you think I was going to let you go in there, to that gang infested rat hole by yourself?”
“No one will steal the money.”
“Jesus, Drew, for the millionth time, this isn’t about the fucking money. It’s never about money anymore.”
I exhale, pissed that I’ve irritated him. “What’s it about then? Why did you drive me here? Why do you care if walk in there and die if it’s not about the money I’ll be carrying?”
“I care aboutyou,” Jesse says, tone annoyed. “Don’t make me explain myself. I won’t.”
This is the first time anyone has spoken words to me that say I matter. I matter to him. I stay silent, staring at the gun in Jesse’s hand, wondering what I’ve gotten myself into, and kind of not caring because he cares. He cares about me. He comes around to open the door for me and grabs the duffel from the floorboard by my feet. His truck is by far the nicest vehicle in a twenty-mile radius. Even though drug dealing is rampant in Dirt Downs no one flaunts their money. It makes them a target. They hide it.
“I’m glad you care about me, but I really should do this by myself, Jesse.” I extend a hand for the bag, but I can tell with a look he’s not negotiating.
“Lead on.” Jesse gestures, bag in hand, toward the entrance of the complex. He pulls the cap he’s wearing down, low, covering face as much as a hat can. He grabs another cap from the dashboard and puts it on me in the same fashion.
A lump lodges in my throat as I see kids wearing dirty clothes with matted hair playing on a broken structure in the courtyard. It’s all dirt, no grass. It’s as if all forms of natural life are unable to exist here. Grandma’s bottom floor apartment is the first on the right. There are a few guys sitting on the stairs leading to the upstairs apartments watching us closely. I can’t worry about them though; my heart is racing at the prospect of seeing her. I knock on the door, feeling Jesse’s presence looming behind me, like a storm you don’t see coming.
A child opens the door. “Is Monica here?” I ask. No one calls this place home.