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Tristan furiously turned away and crossed his arms. “That damned … It didn’t have to end like this.” He turned back to Leaf, bewildered. “And what did you do? You helped him, didn’t you? Got him a job.”

Leaf’s cigarette had burned down by now, and he stubbed it out in the ashtray. He stood there like a little boy, remorseful and a little scared. “I got him a job with Diego Garcia.”

“Diego? Who’s that?”

“After I came to L.A., I worked for him for a while. He’s into dealing drugs.” Although Leaf quickly said the last words, as if ripping off a bandage, they still hung ominously in the air.

“Drugs?” It was not even a whisper, more like a breath, as Tristan repeated the word.

“Milo wanted to make enough money to pay off his debts.”

Tristan felt dazed and numb. “But how could you be responsible for his death? That doesn’t make any sense at all.”

Leaf’s eyes wandered to the drugs on the living room table, and he frowned as though deep in thought. He moved in slow motion as he made his way back to the bedroom. Tristan followed him, and as he entered, Leaf was already dressed in black jeans and shoes, putting on a fresh shirt.

“Where are you going?” Tristan asked, although he guessed, because Leaf’s supply of opium had run out since this morning. “Are you going to see this Diego?”

“Believe me, I would never get my stuff from Diego.” Leaf’s voice sounded strained, and he seemed to be making a great effort to keep himself together.

“But … You can’t just …”

“I’m sorry. What I can’t do is continue to pretend that everything is okay. It just can’t.”

As Leaf walked past him, Tristan breathed in his wonderful scent one more time, the one he loved so much. Leaf took his wallet, car keys, and cigarettes and left the house. Tristan watched as the door closed behind him, inhaling shakily. He hadn’t even noticed he had been holding his breath. Then he heard Leaf start the car and drive away.

Everything had become so chaotic, especially him. During his time in the clinic, he had lost touch with himself. How could he then believe that he could restore it with Leaf with sex? He wasn’t even sure if he himself would ever be the same again. But what he knew for sure was that Leaf was not to blame for Milo’s death.

That just couldn’t be.

23

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Control

“What’s with you?” Leaf asked, concerned. “You can tell me. I just want to help.”

Milo stared at the cigarette between his fingers and pressed his lips into a thin line. Unlike Tristan, who had a real head of curls, Milo’s black hair was straight. He kept it short on the sides and longer on top. Normally, he valued a flawless appearance and combed them into a quiff, but now they were all messed up by the wind, and for the umpteenth time, Milo tucked a long strand behind his ear.

“Promise me you’ll keep Mingan out of this.”

Leaf hesitated and shifted in his chair. “That …” He was about to tell Milo that he couldn’t do that, but then he noticed Milo’s expression and how he was anxiously chewing on his lips.

“I … uh…” Milo’s voice was thin as air. “I owe Cisco seventy grand.”

Leaf’s jaw dropped. “Seventy …” He blinked in disbelief. “How … What? And who’s Cisco? Since when?”

As if he had bitten into a lemon, Milo grimaced. Leaning forward, he rested his elbows on his knees and rubbed his eyes. “I know, it’s … Shit! I thought …”

“No,” Leaf interrupted him. “You didn’t think anymore.”

Milo straightened his shoulders. “He’ll break my legs. Or my arms. Or maybe both. He threatened that I’d never play drums again.” His eyes glistened as he wiped his mouth. “Can you help me?”

“Of course,” Leaf replied immediately. “But I don’t have seventy grand.”

“I’m not asking you for money. I would never do that.”

“If I had it, I’d give it to you.”