Page 77 of Dirty

She looked at me funny. “Adam?”

I laughed. “Cholo.”

She stared at me, her face washed in disbelief. “His name’s Adam?”

I sighed. “Yeah.”

“I like that.”

“Me, too.”

We went to the Crab Shack together, talked about work, and had a beer. And then, another. Before I knew it, three hours had passed, and it was after 7:00.

“I’m going to text you,” I said. “See if you get it.”

She grabbed her phone. “Okay.”

I sent her a smiley face. As soon as I pressed send, her phone pinged.

“Got it.”

“Send me one back,” I said.

My phone beeped. Hoping it was Adam, and not Sandy, I glanced at the screen. A poop with eyes emoji stared back at me.

I looked at her and sighed. “Nice.”

“Is everything okay?”

“I’m sure it’s fine,” I said. “He’s got a big job in La Jolla, and it’s pretty important. I’m sure he’s just busy.”

“You want to get something to eat?”

“No. I’ll just wait for him. He’ll show up sooner or later.”

That night, I went to bed at 2:00 a.m. When I did, I still hadn’t heard from Adam.

Not one word.

He promised he wouldn’t hurt me. Ever.

But, as I tried to fall asleep, my heart didn’t agree with him.

TWENTY-THREE

Cholo

It was like a scene from an old-school B rate thriller, and I couldn’t help but wonder if they got their ideas from some shitty low-budget film I had yet to see. If it was a movie that fueled their sickening procedures, I wished I had seen it.

At least I’d have a little more advance warning on what torturous task was next.

I’d been burnt with cigarettes until there were none left in the pack. That took an hour or so, and produced results that were far from satisfactory in the eyes of my new amigo.

A butane torch followed, and although he’d burnt my thigh until the stench of my own smoldering flesh filled my nostrils, I couldn’t give him any information.

I told myself I’d let him kill me. But, no differently than anyone else who was amongst the living, dying wasn’t my preference.

Not in the shitty little storage building they’d taken me to, anyway.