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Lex shrugs, pulls a sucker from his jacket and hands it to him. Diablo takes it quickly and shoves it in his pocket. “He needs his phone screen fixed. And, plus, he’s a doctor. Could come in handy one day.”
Okay, this is seeming less and less kosher. Perhaps Diablo is some kind of mini-mob boss. Will I be performing unsanitary surgeries using kitchen utensils in my near future? Is this my life now?
The boy narrows his eyes even further and then waves us inside. “Fine. Come in. But hands to yourself. Especially you, Doc. I don’t know you.”
“Is this child labor?” I ask, following Lex into the basement apartment.
“Nope, Diablo is nineteen.”
“He looks like he’s twelve.”
Diablo huffs, “I heard that and take offense. I just happen to be small for my age. I haven’t quite hit my growth spurt.” He sits on a swivel chair and spins toward a slew of computer screens on a makeshift table. Is that tinfoil on the walls? Why does it smell like Cheetos?
I meet Diablo’s stare and say, “I’m sorry to tell you that you’ll most likely not grow any more. You’re destined to be short for the foreseeable future.”
“Fuck you,” Diablo mutters as Lex nudges me roughly.
“Excuse him,” Lex says. “He’s had his heart broken. He’s not thinking clearly.”
I eye him. “How do you know this?”
“Amanda likes to gossip,” he tells me, and I sigh heavily. Of course she told this stranger all about my sad life. I would probably do the same. It’s like some kind of dramatic comedy. What’s not to love about it?
Diablo meets my stare. “Fine. I’ll make an exception thisone time. Now, what can I do for you, Doctor? You said you need your screen fixed?”
I am seriously questioning my judgment, but I still hand over my phone. There’s no going back now. I asked for this by engaging with a shady hooligan in my waiting room. I wouldn’t be surprised if the FBI raids this place in the next ten minutes.
“Damn, how did you do this?” Diablo asks as he tilts my phone to one side and then to the other. He sets it down and grabs a set of tools from a drawer.
“By behaving like a child,” I mutter as Lex leans down, his hands pressed on the table.
“So, how long will this take, man?”
“Thirty minutes.”
“Make it twenty-five, and you know what I’ll do for you.”
Why does that sound dirty? I don’t want to imagine Lex and Diablo doing filthy things. It makes my stomach hurt.
I clear my throat. “And how much will this cost me?”
Diablo is fiddling with my phone and doesn’t even meet my stare. “Lex has it covered.”
I eyeball Lex, who is playing with his tongue ring.
“How are you covering this?” I ask him.
“Oh, you don’t want to know.”
He’s right. I don’t.
Diablo waves his hand in front of his face. “You can have a seat. Hovering over me won’t make me move any faster,” he quips.
I glance around and see a dirty orange couch in the corner. I don’t want to know where that thing has been. It looks like it’s seen some shit. Was it originally orange to begin with, or has it slowly morphed in color over time? Perhaps that’s where the Cheeto smell originates from.
“Come on. Chill, man,” Lex says, flopping down on the cushions. Dust particles shoot up into the air, and I cover my face with the collar of my jacket.
“I’m not sitting there. That’s probably toxic mold spores being released into the atmosphere.”
