nine twenty five

They’re parked on a road they shouldn’t be on. Sitting out a burglary and a multiple homicide in a neighborhood nobody will pay money to see on TV, responding to a report of a vicious animal that’s nowhere to be found despite scaring the shit out of Rick over nothing — but the good shit’s run out for tonight after the first big burst, and Lou’s no longer pleased but agitated. Nina canceled on some dinner plans and he’s all fucked off over that. Rick’s dinner plans are nonexistent. Nobody is expecting him anywhere. Nobody in particular knows where he is right now.

It’s one thing for Lou to hang around rich people’s neighborhoods after dark. It’s another thing for anybody else. People are edgy. People are buying dogs and guns and security systems Rick hasn’t even heard of. This isn’t the place Rick wants to be.

“You like working with me, don’t you, Richard?”

Rick doesn’t say no. His head turns a little, scanning for traffic, and Lou must take it as a hesitation. He’s got the hazard lights on. Somebody’s going to come in hot and plow into them anyway and they’re going to be the next two corpses on somebody else’s footage, twisted corpses fused.

He doesn’t say, I like working or I like having work. His eyes keep darting sideways, back to the oncoming lane. “Are we safe to go? Are we good?”

“I don’t see anyone coming.” Lou doesn’t look up or check his mirrors. He’s watching his face, one of those things he studies online — the same way he learns the codes on the radio, he’s interpreting Rick’s face, watching him. “This would be pretty touchy in a corporate setting, but under California law you are technically classed as an independent contractor, and so am I. We exist in a legal gray area. So we can do a lot of things that would be out of place in a corporate setting. It’s not technically misconduct. It’s just called being friendly.”

Rick’s throat is dry, cracking. “I don’t know—”

“You can look it up on your computer.”

“I don’t think that’s true.” Lots of people do stuff they’re not proud of for work. Lots of people do stuff that’s shady, less than legal. Lots of people.

“Listen, we can turn around right now. The passenger side door is unlocked. I’ll drop you off. Did you know that Los Angeles County has a higher percentage of people operating as freelance workers than anywhere else in the country? I read that the other day.”

He doesn’t sound mad any more, he just sounds reasonable. Nobody talks like this. Nobody just says this shit.

Lou’s hand is resting on the inside of his knee, against his leg. The video camera rests on the dash. Somebody else’s headlights spill around the corner on the pavement outside, and then skitter away. Rick tries to look anywhere but his boss’ face.

The words scraping against his brain like the snag on a soda can tab — lots of straight guys trick. Lots. Maybe Lou does, or did — he could be good-looking if he didn’t talk like a resume builder site or if the skin wasn’t stretched so tight on his face, like a skull. If he wasn’t smiling all the time, showing all of his long square teeth, like a dog. Maybe he’s on meth. Maybe he has a meth problem. Not for the first time, Rick wonders: what if somebody sees them?

The hazard lights switch off. Lou’s grip on his leg is tighter now, jamming him up against the gearshift hard enough to make a crease in his jeans — it hurts a little. Fifty dollars is fifty dollars. It’s halfway to a hundred dollars. Thirty for tonight and fifty for a blowjob on a back road makes eighty dollars and eighty puts him closer to his own place, slowly but steadily. Lou’s not paying him for sex, he’s paying him a bonus and also having sex with him. Well, a blowjob. It isn’t the same as sex. What Lou asks for sounds like something else entirely, something worse.

Rick shifts, and the seats creak. Lou is smiling, smiling, smiling, and he’s unzipping his pants. “Okay.”

His square white hand moves toward Rick’s face, and Rick flinches — expecting something, he doesn’t know what, that Lou is going to try and kiss him or that Lou is going to jam his fingers in his eyes. Both seem equally unpleasant.

Lou makes a fist in the hair at the back of Rick’s head — twisting hard with that grin on his face. “Now you should always, and I mean always put a premium on feedback. I’m going to tell you what I want you to do.”