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“No, Leo is harmless. And, Ben, you paid last time.” I look at him, trying to get him to give up the check.
“Too late,” he sasses. Grabbing the bill from under my hand, he pushes past me heading to the register.
15
C
Getting out of the truck at Leo's house, I knock on the door. He answers wearing a white button-down shirt and khaki slacks. “Hi, C,” he says, looking shocked to see me. Leo is a Latino man in his late fifties, tall with a thin frame, and salt-and-pepper hair. He has faint wrinkles, just starting to show, around his dark eyes that twinkle when light hits them just right. Arthritis in his legs causes him to walk with a limp now, but something tells me he was quite the ladies’ man back in his day. He is very sweet and checks in on his sister, Sadie, at least once a week.
“Hi, Leo, you look nice, are you going somewhere?” I make light conversation.
“No, I just got back,” he responds, opening the door wider for me to come in.
I follow him into the kitchen, taking a seat at the table. “Would you like something to drink?” he asks.
“No, Leo, thank you, I’m fine. I don't want to take up too much of your time. I just came by to ask how Sadie was doing.”
He shakes his head from side to side and says, “That is where I just came from. She is not doing well, C.”
“What’s going on?” I ask, really concerned now.
“I found out our nephew, our sister Lucy's son, has been taking the marijuana you been leaving her. He threatened her, so that’s why she never told me, but this morning she broke down and confessed. He is not a good boy, C. Sadie is very scared of him, and to be truthful, so am I.”
Captain Hook, damn it, I have only had this happen a couple times since I started this.
“I have had this happen before, Leo. So why don't you tell me his name and where he lives, and I will go talk to him and see if he and I can work something out.”
“Oh, C, again, he is not a nice boy. I would be scared for you to go over there.”
“Don't worry, Leo. I’ll be careful, and like I said, this is not the first time this has happened. I can deal with it.”
Shaking his head he goes to a drawer, getting out a pen and paper and writes down the information I requested. Taking the paper from him, he explains, “His name is Diego, but everyone calls him Dingo.”
“Dingo, got it,” I repeat. “Don't worry, Leo. I’m sure this will be handled,” I try to reassure him, but truthfully, I'm scared as shit. Confronting someone who has a bad rep isn’t my expertise, but then again it seems to be all I’m doing recently.
“Please be careful, C,” he pleads as I head to the door.
* * *
Pulling up to the address Leo gave me, I sit in my truck for a minute looking over the place. Next to me in the driveway is a broken-down Oldsmobile with the hood up. The passenger front wheel is missing and is being held up with a concrete block. The yard is mostly just dirt with a few patches of grass here and there, old scrap metal is strewn all over the place. The sidewalk leading up to the run-down, tan-and-white single wide trailer is broken in several places. Taking a few deep breaths, I get out of the truck and go to the door. Walking past the dogs, I notice they are really thin. I can see their ribs protruding through their skin and they’re not barking at me, which I find weird since I’m a stranger. Trash litters the porch from a trash bag that was not tied and has tipped over. Knocking on the door, a tall, stocky Latino guy, wearing a black T-shirt and jeans, who looks to be in his early twenties, answers. “Yeah?” he sneers, looking me up and down. “Uh, hi, I'm looking for Dingo.” I put on a smile to show I’m friendly. But I’m not, I can’t stand people who fuck over those who have cancer. Like their life isn’t hard enough already. The guy turns away, walking back into the trailer, and yells, “Hey, Dingo, some chick is out here looking for you.” A second later the door swings wide and another Latino guy, who’s as tall as the first one but much thinner, comes out on the porch. He has short dark hair, a hoop ring in his lip, and is covered in tattoos. There’s one that kind of looks like a dragon on his right bicep, it looks new. It has a clear bandage covering it and the skin around is red and inflamed, making it hard to really see it clearly. He is wearing a white, wifebeater tank top under a red flannel shirt someone has cut the sleeves off of. His jeans hang down past his butt, showing his black boxers, which makes no sense ’cause he is wearing a belt.
“Who are you?” he asks, looking me up and down. His eyes landing on my breasts.
“Hi, I'm, C. I'm the one who is taking care of your aunt, Sadie,” I answer nervously, crossing my arms over my chest.
“What do you want?” he says, licking his lips as he leans against the doorjamb crossing his legs, his voice trying to sound seductive.Geessh, this guy is creepy.
“Well, I want to know why you’re taking her marijuana,” I blurt out, not interested in trying to ease into the issue anymore, I just want him to stop looking at my chest.
“You need to mind your own fucking business,” he yells. His eyes, now filled with anger, dart from my breasts to my eyes as he stands up straight with his fists clutched at his sides.
“You know she is sick and needs that, right?” I yell right back at him.
“Fuck you, bitch, I remember you. You’re that smart girl I went to school with who was always getting moved ahead, everyone always kissing your ass.”
“Um... well, I don't really know what to say to that. I just came here to talk to you about your aunt.”
“Fuck you, bitch, get outta here.”What the fuck is wrong with this guy? God, he is pissing me off.
