Page 10 of Nightcrawler
“Your friend’s a doctor?” he asked, wincing as we walked unsteadily toward the door. Getting him up two flights of stairs was going to be tricky since he was shaking badly and weak in the knees.
“My friend’s a medic and he has everything we need to get this taken care of. Come on now. I need you to be strong. We have two flights of stairs here.”
“Okay, Trigg. I’m good.”
I propped open the dirty, metal door, helping him enter the dark stairwell, suddenly conscious of the fact that it stunk to high heaven from refuse my neighbors left around. I could never understand why people didn’t take more pride in their environment, regardless of how humble it may be. I’d seen cleaner hovels in Brazilian Favelas and Afghan mud huts. The building itself was old, one of the original two-story apartment buildings built in the 1930s as housing for folks employed in a myriad of businesses surrounding the rapidly growing Hollywood movie industry. Its proximity to the studios made it a nice place to live back then. Years of neglect as the neighborhood got seedier, made it smell like mold and mildew as well as human filth.
Mathis grunted periodically as we climbed the two flights of stairs to my floor, and then leaned heavily against me as I pushed the door to the hallway open. We made our way down the enclosed hallway to my apartment as I pulled out my keys. By the time we got there, Mathis was soaked with sweat, and I was pretty sure he’d bled all the way to my front door. I suppose I had to be grateful that we’d made it this far without running into one of my neighbors.
Thankfully, most of them worked odd hours, many employed in lower-wage food service or gig occupations. Several were rideshare workers, driving Ubers and Lyfts as side jobs. I liked most of them, but I wasn’t ready to explain a trail of blood to the front door. Once Vonne got here, I’d have to go see what kind of trail we’d left. The last thing either of us needed was a nosy cop turning up to follow drops of blood to my door. I knew I’d have to get Cassidy and Mike to help clean up that scenario, and it was the last thing I wanted. I pushed into the apartment and was immediately greeted by Stanley—my four-month-old kitten—who came meowing up to me as he charged across the room. He stopped about six feet from us and hissed as he caught a whiff of the copper scent of blood coating Mathis.
“Oh,” Mathis said, sounding exhausted but happy, “you have a kitten.” He wiggled out from under my arm which loosely held him up and bent to hold out his hand, going to his knees before I could catch him. Stanley took off running, darting under my hide-a-bed, the only furniture in the room other than a couple of rickety pieces I’d picked up from yard sales. My single room apartment was not only small but poor and dreary. Stanley’s white butt disappeared under the bed I hadn’t stopped to make up before leaving this morning.
“Christ, Mathis, you wanna hit your head?” I growled, squatting and sliding both arms around his midsection frombehind, before straightening with him. His body was solid and alive as I got him back on his feet and helped him to my bed where I sat him down. He grunted in pain as he flopped back onto it, and I instantly regretted not stripping off his bloody clothes beforehand. He began bleeding all over my single set of cheap sheets almost immediately. The blood loss had slowed as we drove, but the pads were saturated and getting him from his truck to the apartment surely had opened up his wounds again. My sheets and probably the mattress were going to be soaked before all was said and done.
“Don’t move, Mathis. I’m gonna go wipe up the trail of blood you left and then get something to clean you up,” I said, getting only a grunt in reply as I headed to the closet where I had clean towels. I made him new pads and hastily wrapped saran wrap around his body to hold them taut and put some pressure on.
I grabbed some cleaning supplies and gasped when I saw myself in the mirror. No shirt and I was covered in blood too. After a careful poke around, I realized it was all Mathis’s. Thank God. I yanked a black T-shirt over my head.
“Be right back.” I didn’t want to leave him, but I didn’t want anyone reporting the bloody trail either. I grabbed my keys and locked him in as I went in search of the trail we’d left. I was very glad I did because he’d bled all the way from the truck to my door. It took five minutes to wipe up all the droplets I could find before returning to the apartment. He was lying right where I’d left him. I grabbed more clean towels and went to the kitchen. After soaking them in a large bowl filled with hot water and grabbing a bar of strong soap, I headed back to the bed. He looked like he’d passed out again. “Mathis?” I asked quietly.
“It’s Raven,” he said, opening his eyes. I noted how blue they were, kind of a cobalt color I’d never seen on a man before. For a second, I wondered whether he wore colored contact lenses. Iwouldn’t put it past him. He certainly had the money for it. They were a strange color, but oddly, seemed to fit with hair so black it had an almost blue tinge to it. He had a long, straight, prominent nose and high cheekbones both of which were peppered with splinters which would have to be dug out. Truthfully, I hadn’t even noticed his bloodied face or realized just how close the bullet shot into the kitchen door jamb had come to hitting him in the face. He was luckier than any guy I’d ever met. Had he been anyone other than a rival, I might have admired his good looks because the man was simply stunning…and probably straight. “This is your place,huh?” he asked.
I frowned as I stood over him holding the bowl. “Yeah. I can’t take you to the hospital as I said, but I have a buddy coming over to stitch you up and poke around to make sure the bullet didn’t fragment inside you.”
“That sounds…painful,” he said, attempting to sit up and clutching at his side, crying out a little.
“I’m guessing it’s no more painful than being shot,” I growled, stepping forward and setting down the water bowl. “My buddy, Vonne, should have something to help with the pain. Here,” I said, holding out a hand. “I need to get that shirt off so I can clean the wound. Let me help you sit up.” He took the hand I held out without comment, letting me pull him to a seated position. Once he was balanced, I bent and reached for the hem of his shirt.
“I can do it.”
“No, you can’t. Just sitting is using up more energy than you have to spare at the moment, so just sit there and let me do the work, Mathis.”
“Raven.”
I ignored him and helped him out of his shirt, getting my first look at the tiny silver bars which pierced both nipples on a hairless chest. A lot of native men have no chest hair and little body hair elsewhere, but he didn’t look like he shaved. Grooming aside, for the first time, it made me wonder about Mathis’ sexual orientation. I’d seen a lot of naked guys in my life, but I’d sure as hell never met a straight one with pierced nipples. Shoving all thoughts about that aside for the moment, I let my gaze slide over his body. Raven Mathis was well-built, not overly muscled, but he clearly worked out. Then again, he appeared younger than me by several years. His skin was tawny, if not currently a bit pale, and at the moment, still bleeding.
I examined his wound. Based on the size of the entrance and exit wounds, I guessed Passantino’s gun had been shooting small caliber bullets, probably a .22. I hadn’t stopped to look at the gun or notice the make and model of it, but I sure as hell was going to read Jamie the riot act for leaving out the fact that the man had a personal firearm on the premises. I cleaned up both wounds and put pressure on them with fresh pads to staunch the blood flow which had started up in earnest as I’d worked. I checked my watch and the moment I did, heard a key in the door. Raven’s head, which had been lolling back, instantly shot up as he looked at the door.
“Relax. It’s just my friend, Vonne,” I said, patting his thigh as I saran wrapped him again and stood up. Seconds later, Trevon Jackson stepped into the apartment carrying a beat-up blue backpack I was all too familiar with. Everyone in my unit had been the recipient of Vonne’s ministrations at one time or another and I was grateful he was my friend.
“Jesus, Mary, and Joseph, Trigg,” the man said the moment he spotted us surrounded by bloody clothes, towels, and sheets, “what in the ever-loving fuck have you gone and done this time?”
Chapter Five
RAVEN
The sight of a short, black man with kind eyes and a backpack striding into Trigg’s apartment, filled me with apprehension. I knew he had to be Vonne the Marine had been talking about, but the very idea of more pain than what I was feeling at the moment, wasn’t welcome.
“Come and have a look at him. He’s over here,” Trigg said in that growly, low voice which under any other circumstances would have gotten me horny as hell. I loved big, domineering guys in the bedroom, and the irony of sitting in a bed with one standing over me while feeling helpless and unable to do anything but submit to him, was mighty strong.
“I can see that,” the man replied, walking up to the bed and smiling down at me. He wasn’t particularly nice-looking, but his smile was warm, and I returned it, taking the hand he offered. “Trevon Jackson. Call me Vonne.”
“Nice to meet you, Vonne. I’m Raven.”
“Nice to meet you, Raven. Let’s see what’s going on here.” He set the backpack on the floor beside the bed and squatted in front of me, frowning as he looked at the bandages which were soaking through already. He asked me to lean forward, and he examined my back for a few seconds before glancing at Trigg. “I’m gonna need lots of clean, dry towels and for you to stop clucking.”
I bit my lip to hold in a smile as Trigg simply grunted and pointed to a stack of washcloths and hand towels sitting on the bedside table.