Page 41 of Hunter's Hidden Camera
So I want him to know thatIam still here for him. “You deserve better, Oscar. And you’re gonna find better.”
Oscar nods, solemnly.
I ask, “What do you want to do?”
“You need to go see your brother,” says Oscar, “so let’s go see your brother.”
“Nah, man,” I say. “You’ve been through a lot today. I can’t drag you into this. There’s some real crazy shit going on. I’ll go on my own.”
“Bro, what you want me to do? Go home, lock myself in my room, and cry all day like a little bitch? I need to get my mind off my situation. Normally, I would say let’s pay someone to get us beer and let’s go get fucked up. But you said you need help, so I’m gonna help you.” Oscar bangs his palm against the glove compartment. “Let’s go.”
On the 210 freeway going east, I explain to Oscar what I saw in those video clips: Nash and Alessandra arguing, Nash strangling her, Nash removing the body, Nash cleaning his room. I tell him about the can of gasoline that Nash took from the garage and the shoelace he swiped to probably link me to the murder. (I leave out the part about me uploading jerk-off videos of my brother to a porn site. I’ll save that for another day . . . or never.)
For the entire thirty-minute car ride, I try to convince Oscar that all of this isnota joke. And even after we arrive and I park the car on a street near my brother’s college campus, Oscar still doesn’t totally believe me.
I mean, he actually says, “Okay, okay, I believe you,” but I know he doesn’t mean it, because if hedidthen he would be totally freaking out likeIam right now. It seems he needs to see what I saw to totally believe and understand it. But of course, he’ll never see what I saw because somehow all of my video files have disappeared.
Before we get out of the car, I press my hand against the front pocket of my blue jeans to see if the survival knife is still there. It is. Honestly, I don’t know why I brought it. It’s not like I’m going to use it.
I think about it a little . . . Well, seeing that it’s a survival knife, maybe grabbing it was pure survival instinct.
“The first two years of college, Nash lived in the dorms on what’s called South Campus,” I say. “He’s now on North Campus in a building called Walker Hall. I’m not sure what room he’s in exactly though.”
“Hold up, Hunter. What’s the plan? We’re just gonna knock on his door and say what?”
I put my hand on my throbbing forehead. “I don’t know. I mean, of course I thought about going to the police, but if heistrying to frame me then I’m screwed. I was thinking maybe I can convince him to turn himself in, but if he refuses I’m screwed again. Maybe to start, we just need more information.Find out what he’s planning to do with the body. Maybe follow him. Maybe build a case against him. Maybe get my shoelace back and whatever else he has of mine and then turn him in before he can get his hands on anything else that belongs to me.”
“That’s a lot of maybes, bro.”
“Keep your head down. Don’t look at anyone. We can’t have people seeing me. Because if something goes wrong, I don’t want anybody to be able to link me to being anywhere near Nash right now.”
I instruct Oscar to open Google Maps on his phone and navigate us to my brother’s residence hall. We get out of the car and start walking.
The streets of Claremont, California, where Pomona College is (and six other schools that are collectively known as the Claremont Colleges), are relatively quiet around campus. After all, this is a Saturday. So Oscar and I are able to zip down the sidewalk without really being clocked by anyone.
Oscar notices his surroundings. “It’s nice around here.”
The roads are clean, and trees line the entire street that we’re on.
But then I realize Oscar isn’t referring to his environment. He’s catching glances at the parade of hot college girls that walk past us, having animated conversations with one another, as we move closer and closer to my brother’s building.
“See?” I say. “There are tons of girls out in the world. Fuck Blanca.”
“You’re right, bro.”
A Latino girl, wearing a tight sweater and a small backpack over her shoulders, smiles at Oscar.
He says to her, “‘Sup,mami?”
She giggles, delighted, as she walks by.
I scold, “Oscar!”
“What?” he says. “I’m single now.”
“No. We’re keeping a low profile, remember?”
“Oh, yeah, right, sorry, bro.”
