Page 93 of Dirty

“The money they were looking for,” he said, still facing away from me. “We didn’t find it on the scene. Or, anywhere, for that matter.”

We hadn’t either, but we were far from done looking.

“Can’t trust those gangbangers, detective. Hell, they probably never had any.”

Without turning around, he responded, “You’re probably right.”

He held the door open, stepped into the hallway, and then turned to face the room.

“Gentlemen, keep up the good work,” he said.

And then, he walked away.

THIRTY-TWO

Lex

Adam’s absence wasn’t lengthy, but the effect our separation had on me was profound. During his abduction, I learned that he was much more than a person of interest to me. He was the man I was falling in love with.

I drove him home from the hospital, and as soon as the car came to a stop in the driveway, he hobbled toward the garage. As I gathered all his paperwork, prescriptions, and get well soon cards, he opened the door and got on his motorcycle.

I set everything aside, walked to the garage, and pressed my hands to my hips. “I really don’t think--”

“Look at that.” He nodded toward his foot. “It’s ugly, but it works.”

His foot, which was covered in a purple cast, rested on the right footrest of his motorcycle. It looked ridiculous, and I was sure he couldn’t ride with the obnoxious thing dangling off the side of his motorcycle.

I chuckled. “You can’t ride with that thing.”

“It’s my right foot. All I have to do is stomp the brake with it. If it was my left, I’d be fucked.” He looked at it, and then gave a prideful nod. “Shit, this’ll work just fine.”

His foot was the least of his worries. All things considered, it was the most presentable element of proof of his torture.

The left side of his head had a stitched gash that was four inches long, and his forehead and face were covered in nasty looking lacerations. Both eyes were surrounded by multicolored bruises, and his arms were covered in sores from cigarette burns.

The portions that were concealed were just as bad, if not worse. His thigh had two large spots on it that were going to need skin grafts after they healed, and he was missing five teeth. Dental implants weren’t scheduled for months, and although he didn’t have a difficult time talking, I was sure eating wasn’t pleasurable.

Complaining, however, wasn’t something he played a part in.

He was a biker through and through, there was no doubt about it.

“What do you really need to ride for, anyway? I think you should rest for a week or so. You’ve been through a lot.”

He lifted his cast over the seat, steadied himself on it, and looked at me like I was crazy. “I’ve got work to do. Can’t get a house bought without hard work.”

The dream of buying a home fueled his devotion, and I liked that about him. “How long have you been saving?” I asked.

“Seven years. I’m more than halfway there. If I get a few more homes in La Jolla, I could be there in two.” He limped past me and gazed across the street. “I’m ready to get the fuck out of this shitty neighborhood.”

In the confusion, I’d forgotten about his commitments to work, and about La Jolla. I felt bad for not reminding him to call them and explain his situation.

“Did you call him and tell him what happened?” I asked. “Your guy in La Jolla?”

He glanced over his shoulder and nodded. “Yeah. I need to go see him and check on the job, though.”

“You’re not going to slow down one bit, are you?”

“The clock keeps ticking whether I’m out there, or in some hospital bed. Can’t let life pass me up.”