He told me where his hotel was, and we scurried across the intersection, hustling past a hamburger joint and a dry cleaner. I kept looking over my shoulder, and so far, it looked like Alejandro’s man hadn’t spotted us. All the couples out strolling on this warm night had provided cover.
As we passed the high-end boutiques, I did my best to act as if we were drunk lovers window-shopping. I pretended I was hugging him, when I was really just trying to bear the big lug’s weight. By the time we’d reached Melrose Avenue, fear of dying in a hail of bullets had gripped me in near paralysis, yet I pressed on. I had no choice. If our reduced speed didn’t allow Alejandro’s man to catch up, the trail of blood drops running down Martino’s leg might.
My brothers and sisters were better at this sort of thing. Me? I just went haphazardly along tonight, trying to outthink a professional killer while not giving in to the panic ripping my gut apart. As we crossed Melrose, I decided to take a wild right on Rangely Avenue. We used the tree-lined residential street to give us some cover, hoping every car, tree, bush, and shrub would afford us some protection if he was still following.
When I saw the hotel, I could still hear the police sirens back around The Pink Lion as they fanned out over the area. I considered getting us arrested, as it would get Martino the medical attention he needed and would get me out of Alejandro’s reach for a minute. But I quickly dismissed that idea, because I was sure Alejandro would have someone on payroll on the police force, and then I’d be without whatever information Martino possessed. And I did believe he possessed some.
I led Martino into the hotel and up to his room; then I quickly got us behind closed doors. Inside the room, I removed his shirt and had him lie on the bed while I wet a towel to wipe the bloody wound. I didn’t really know what the fuck to do, but I talked a good game to keep him from panicking.
After double-checking the locks on the door and peeking out the curtain, I struck up a conversation with a semi-delirious Martino as I went about trying to tend to his wound.
“Why you out here, baby? Least you can do is tell Rio why that man’s trying to kill us.”
“He ... he works for Alejandro Zuniga,” he said through teeth gritted in pain. “I—I gotta call in. Let ’em know I’m safe ... thanks to you. Give ... give me my phone.”
“I’ll get your phone in a minute, but you need to lay still, okay? I used to be a nurse. Let me take care of this,” I urged. Of course, I’d never been a nurse a day in my life, but it sounded good. “Your boss let you come out here with these crazy mofos?” I asked as I tended to the blood steadily trickling from the hole in his back. We had only so many clean towels, and the comforter was already ruined.
“Yeah, I got somebody inside their organization. Paying him for info. Found out the beaner’s shippin’ crazy shit to these niggers back in New York,” he said.
Humph. Guess his delirious ass didn’t know that just because I was gay didn’t mean I suddenly wasn’t black. My previous crush on this fool was now officially over. Not only was he on the down low, but he was also a racist who liked to fuck black men. What kind of self-hating faggot was he? I made a mental note that if this racist faggot survived, I would make sure to literally bite his dick off.
“Hold still. I think I can get it out.” I dug a finger into Martino’s wound, acting like I was searching for the bullet. Really I was just punishing his racist ass. He let out a loud grunt, which brought a smile to my face. “Sorry,” I said, containing a giggle. “Shippin’ shit? Like stolen car parts?”
“Nooooo. Drugs. Coke. Heroin. Heavy shit, Rio. But get this. Niggers didn’t get their shit,” he said, laughing even through his pain. “My boss used the info I got out of the beaner over here, and he jacked the shipment once it got back east.”