Page 99 of Diesel's Perseverance
Oh, Diesel.She wanted to take his hand, hold it close to her heart, and tell him how sorry she was for his pain and that Freddy’s death wasn’t his fault. But she didn’t. He needed time to come to terms with the fact that he couldn’t save his brother no matter how badly he wanted to.
“Do you recognize anyone?” he asked gruffly.
Staring at the group of people who stood behind the police line, she shook her head. “I don’t.”
For a long while, he kept his eyes glued to the scene unfolding in front of the hotel, not uttering a word, although Myla was pretty sure there was plenty of conversation going on inside his head. She watched for Cano or any familiar face but didn’t recognize anyone. Freddy had kept his business associates away from her. The only people she’d ever met besides the pain clinic staff and Dr. Stauber were Peter Cano a couple of times, and she’d seen his brother one time only. However, Freddy hadn’t introduced her. Meeting Peter Cano had been unplanned, and Freddy hadn’t been too happy about it. She’d come to one of the clinics one night to see if he wanted to go out to dinner. She’d been in the neighborhood and hadn’t thought it was a big deal.
When she entered the back office, she was startled to see someone with him. Peter Cano sat in Freddy’s chair behindhisdesk. The guy’s hair was greased back, he wore an expensive silk shirt and crisp, tailored pants, and he adorned more jewelry than she ever had in her life. The thick gold bracelet and two gold chains around his neck looked tacky, and the rings on several of his fingers, gleaming with diamonds and sapphires, made him look like the stereotypical two-bit pimp. He smiled widely at her and tried to be friendly but seemed smarmy and insincere. Freddy sat in a chair in front of the desk, wearing an expression of worry tinged with fear. Later, Freddy yelled at her for dropping by unannounced, making a big scene over nothing, or at least that was what she’d thought at the time. She never dropped by any of the clinics again.
The sound of the engine pulled Myla out of her thoughts. She looked at Diesel from the corner of her eye, wondering if she should say something to break the silent veil hovering over them.
Swallowing, she wiped her damp palms on her jean-clad thighs. “I’m sorry I couldn’t recognize anyone.”
“Don’t be. The asswipe comes off as a dumbass, so I thought maybe he’d want to see what he’d done. Some people get a charge doing that.” He reached over and took her hand and squeezed it. “Don’t sweat it.”
Relief flooded through her.He’s back.“I’ve read that arsonists usually show up at the scene while firefighters battle the flames they caused. It’s strange.”
“Not really. Some people like seeing what they did, knowing they had the power and control and that no one knows it was them. They get a high from it. It’s not a detached act that needs to be done to complete an objective.”
Like it is for you and your club.“Right. So what’s next on the agenda?” she asked, wanting to change the subject. The less she knew aboutthataspect of Diesel’s world, the better it would be.
“Just one stop, then we can get some chow. You must be hungry.”
“Kind of. This whole thing is upsetting at best.”
“I hear ya.”
“Where are we going?”
“Not too far from here,” he said.
Stately houses with manicured lawns and blooming bougainvillea trees took the place of high-rise hotels and office buildings. Soon the higher-end neighborhoods gave way to sketchier ones. Weed-infested yards replaced the well-maintained, and several storefronts were empty with For Lease signs plastered to their windows, and stucco walls decorated by graffiti in many colors and symbols. A half-lit neon sign proclaiming Dive Bar was sandwiched between a small market and a pawn shop. Several people milled outside a methadone clinic smoking cigarettes while a few others shuffled by pushing grocery carts filled with dingy blankets, bulging plastic bags, and other items Myla couldn’t make out. A cross adorned the peak of a shelter’s roof, and across the street, a young man stood on the corner, holding up a handwritten cardboard sign explaining why he needed a helping hand.
Parked at the light, Diesel pulled out his wallet, motioned the guy over, and handed him a ten-dollar bill. The youth’s pale blue eyes widened, and mumbling his appreciation, he shuffled away.
“That was nice of you,” Myla said.
Diesel shrugged. “Life’s tough for a lot of people.”
“This neighborhood sure is seedier than the one we drove through with the gorgeous houses overlooking the bay. It’s sad that there’s such a dichotomy between people’s lives.”
“Yeah, it sucks.”
He turned into an alley where overgrown weeds grew from cracks in the cement and dumpsters overflowed with trash. The truck maneuvered around a large pile of garbage spilling out into the alley from a driveway behind a dilapidated house. She noticed two sloppily dressed teens dart behind a weathered garage. Suddenly, Diesel slammed on the brakes and killed the engine.
“Lock the doors. I’ll be right back.”
She watched him dash off and then turn in the direction of where the teens had gone. Not knowing what was going on, she felt like a sitting duck in the vehicle. She yanked the keys out of the ignition, closed the door softly, and locked the truck. Glancing around, she made her way toward where Diesel and the teens had gone.
Peeking around the corner of the garage, she saw the two teens, a trembling middle-aged woman against a chain-link fence, and Diesel standing behind a large oak tree.
“This all you got, bitch?” one of the boys spat while throwing the woman’s purse on the dirt.
The other kicked the handbag and then backhanded the woman, knocking her to the ground. Myla clasped a hand over her mouth to suppress a gasp. She glanced at Diesel, who slipped out from behind the tree and slowly approached the teens like a mountain lion would its prey. Without saying a word, he grabbed one of the muggers by the neck and slammed him to the ground. The boy’s partner sprang into action and rushed behind, punching Diesel’s lower back. Without hesitating, Diesel threw a leg back and up, striking the attacker in the chest, flinging him to the ground. He whirled around and kicked the downed teen in the ribs. The thug groaned and curled into a fetal position.
The other youth pushed up from the ground and pulled his arm back, his hand in a fist. Diesel reached up and caught the approaching punch in the air. The teen stumbled, the move throwing him off balance. Before he could recover, Diesel had him pinned against the fence with his right hand clamped over the kid’s throat.
“Only fuckin’ pussies pick on a defenseless woman. I don’t like pussies,” he said, squeezing tighter.
