"Girlie."

     It was a voice I knew well. I couldn't place the face, but it was familiar and safe so I resisted the pull of consciousness and rocked back into the cradle of sleep. I allowed myself to wallow for a moment, deep in the first true slumber I'd had in weeks.

     "Wake up," he said. I didn't want to leave the warmth but I could feel lucidity tugging so I gave in and opened my eyes. Soft light washed through the window and drenched my bedroom in a semi-dark taupe. "Get up, girlie."

     My body snapped upright. "Johnny?" In the dark I could just make out his form, illuminated by the glow of the streetlight outside the window.

     I pulled the covers down to my waist and reached for the lamp that sat in a light sheen of dust on top of the nightstand. Light flooded the room and from behind tired eyes I could see him sitting in the armchair next to the window. "Did you break into my house?"

     "It's a skill I have. You should remember."

     "The fuck?" I glanced over at the alarm clock. "It's four-thirty in the morning."

     He could barely hide the force in his voice. "We have to go to Delgatto's house today, remember?"

     "I know but that isn't 'til eleven."

     "Unless you want me to paint him with the power of my imagination we need to get to the craft store and pick up supplies. You know brushes, canvas, easel, paint. Come on, craft store opens at six."

     "Can't we pick it up on the way?" I groaned as I fell back onto my pillow.

     "Nope. I need to prepare the canvas."

     "Why didn't you tell me before now? We could have done this yesterday."

     "I don't know. Maybe I'm punishing you."

     I sprung back up, "Fine. Just let me hop in the shower."

     He nodded and I carefully maneuvered myself from under my covers lest I give him an early morning peek at my goodies. My usual sleepwear was little more than an over-sized cotton tee-shirt that reached just to the upper part of my thighs. Under that...nothing.

     As I stretched to my full height in front of him I tried to low-key tug the hem of my shirt down a bit to preserve my modesty, but he was barely conscious of my movements instead choosing to stare at the wall. I thought for a moment he was being a gentleman, but no, he was in one of those attitudes of his where his body was present but his attention was gripped by whatever bad memory he kept locked away in the labyrinth of his mind.

     So instead I walked over to my computer desk, still aware enough to make sure my shirt didn't rise as I moved, and grabbed the robe from off of the office chair where I'd left it whenever I'd worn it last. By the time I'd shrugged into it and turned around he was staring at me.

     "I--uh...Just let me get that shower and we can go."

     He shrugged. "You said that already. Hurry up, I don't have all day."

     He was playing the asshole today since I'd essentially forced him to paint the family of the local Kingpin, but it was a little too early for me to care about his delicate little feelings so I marched my ass out of my bedroom like I didn't give a damn. I was still a little self-conscious about how little clothes I was wearing--you know what--fuck that. Nobody told him to break in here like he owned the place, and I'm not ashamed of the way I look inside the privacy of my own home. I'll sleep nude if I want! This is my house!

     As I was lamenting not blowing my heinous morning breath into that dour face of his (out of nothing but spite, mind you), I flicked the lights on in the bathroom and got a look at myself in the mirror over the sink.

     My God! Never mind the morning breath, he don' seen me in my Aunt Jemima head-wrap too! Not that I was trying to look good for him or anything--Lord knows he isn't trying to impress me either.

     I sucked it up and had my shower, dragging my feet because I knew it would irritate him. After brushing my teeth and running comb and product through my hair I'd blown forty-five minutes. When I strolled back into the living room I'd expected to see him stewing on my couch but instead he was going through cabinets in the kitchen, oblivious to me.

     "What are you looking for?" As said as I watched.

     "Thought you might need coffee."

     "I don't keep coffee here."

     "Oh that's right. The coffee lady who doesn't drink coffee," he closed the cabinets and turned back to look at me. "You're naked."

     "I'm wearing a robe."

     "No, I mean you aren't dressed yet. Hurry up."

     I threw up my hands and obliged, dressing in my room and grabbing my purse before we locked up and walked out into the still dark morning.

**********************************************************

     We'd been first in line when a half-asleep employee at the craft store had opened the doors at six AM sharp. Johnny grabbed a basket and we powered down the painting ailes in silence. Though we didn't speak I observed while he casually chose paint supplies to fill up the basket.

     I was naive before this trip, I admit. I assumed the only thing he needed was paint, brushes, and canvas. But as I watched him it became apparent that I knew nothing about painting. He started with paint, browsing through the large selection until he found a set he liked. From there we picked up a variety of sponges and knives before he even looked at the brushes.

     From there he picked out a palette, a floor easel, a damn ruler, a drop cloth, something called Gesso, and a plastic carry bin we could have got at Walmart for five bucks. By the time he was looking at canvas I put my foot down.

     "Johnny, I'm not paying that much for rolled canvas when you could get this shit cheaper over here." I pointed toward canvas that was already pre-fixed onto that blocky part of the easel.

     "I don't like pre-stretched canvas," he said. "I like to prep the canvas with my own two hands."

     "What difference does it make? You're not trying to get this painting hung up at the Louvre. You're painting a nouveau riche asshole and his family. It's going to be sitting over their mantle until the wife is bored with it in another three years."

          "The rolled canvas doesn't cost that much."

          "It does when you factor in that little wooden part you're going to put it on."

          "It's called a frame."

          I exhaled all the frustration in my body. "Man, it's six in the morning--I do not care."

          "Fine! Why don't I just duct tape some old rawhide on the wall and draw the shit with Magic Markers and finger paint?"

     "Depends, how much would it cost?" When he didn't look at me let alone respond I lost it. "You're being an asshole today! If you got something to say to me, cut the passive-aggressive bullshit and say it!"

     "Okay. This whole situation is bullshit. I'm pissed that you've dragged me into your insanity--again! And you're the asshole not me!"

     "I said I was sorry! You could have said no."

     "Like I could say no to a violent gang-banger and still keep my balls."

     That did it. I didn't want to but I cracked right there in aisle seven...I started laughing.

     "That's not funny," he said. "This is serious."

     "I know I've just never seen you get this passionate about anything."

     "This isn't working at a factory, a plant, or anything else I do just for the money. This," he said gesturing to the paint, canvas, and brush filled aisle we stood in. "Is me."

     It occurred to me then that before he'd been the raggedy man, or a hired handyman, or that-hobo-over-there, the sum total of his being had been his art. He took more pride in painting one portrait he didn't even want to paint than he did all the dozens if not hundreds of odd jobs he'd ever had.

     "Maybe I can compromise," he said with a sigh. "Get the stretched canvas."

     We found one in the right sized and I helped him put it in the basket. At the register my bank account starting weeping just watching the price rise with every item the cashier scanned. When the last item was scanned the cashier looked at us expectantly. "One hundred and ninety dollars and eighty cents."

     I reached for my purse but before I could fish out any cash Johnny pulled out his wallet and paid without a word.

     The rest of the morning was uneventful. We drove to Taste Teas and Johnny took the canvas to the second floor to prime it. Only a couple of complaints came from the LARPing plot committee that had booked the space upstairs and took none too kindly to having to share it with a stranger--even though it only took him a few minutes.

     I soothed their outrage with a free batch of Jackson's day old cookies and their threats of a refund were squashed. While we waited for the primer to dry on the canvas I decided I might as well work. Johnny disappeared for a while, re-appearing around ten-thirty to load up my car so we could drive into the lion's den.

     We parked on the street in front of Delgatto's mansion and wordlessly started unloading the supplies. When we had everything piled on the porch I rung the doorbell and we waited. The door was opened by a tuxedo-ed teenager who had a mean-mug that could kill.

     "Yeah?" he said.

     "Hi, we're here to paint a portrait," I said. He stared at us for what felt like an uncomfortable amount of minutes making no move to respond. Maybe the boy wasn't right in the head. "Is...your mother home?"

     "Mama!" His voice bellowed so loudly it echoed off the patio and carried all through the house. Note to self: get hearing checked later.

     "What?" Mrs. Delgatto shouted back, her voice on edge.

     "Some people at the door!"

     He left the two of us on the porch without looking back, leaving the door slightly cracked. I was tempted, as is my nosy nature, to push open the door and walk inside but Johnny must have anticipated my thoughts because he looked over at me like a stern father about to go for his belt. I'll behave for now I guess.

     After a few more uncomfortable moments Mrs. Delgatto opened the door in a rich plum evening gown and a smile on her face. "You're here! Perfect. We got the room all set up."

     I grabbed the plastic bin with the art supplies locked inside and Johnny somehow managed to balance both the easel and the canvas in his arms. Mrs. Delgatto led us through the opulent first floor--the shining marble kitchen, large open dining room, and finally the second ugliest sitting room I'd ever seen.

     In the center they'd placed a cream-colored settee. "I was thinking," she said. "That you could paint us here. I got everyone ready and dressed up and everything. Couldn't decide on the pose. I don't know maybe me and my husband sitting and the kids standing behind..."

     "We can try multiple poses I brought a camera," Johnny said.

     "Why didn't I think of that?" she smiled at him before turning to me. "I didn't know you we're going to be here."

     I was spared from having to think up an answer when Johnny cut in, "She's my assistant. Lots of supplies to carry." And people think I'm a good liar.

      "So," she said. "How long will it take?"

     Johnny looked at me from the corner of his eye. "I'd say...three hours with a few breaks thrown in."

      "Ok, cool. Let me go get everyone."

      "Do you happen to have a small table I can use? I need something to put the paint on."

     "Yeah. I'll get my son to get it."

     Once she was out of earshot I said, "Okay you'll paint them and on break I'll see if I can find out more."

     "I got it, girlie. Just let me do what I do best."

     Eventually the whole family flooded the room, all seven of them. Delgatto walked in last, irritable but silent. Mrs. Delgatto had amusingly dressed them all six of them to match her. 

      The older two boys dragged in an end table and sat it next to Johnny. He unfolded the drop cloth and spread it out before cutting off a piece on the end to drape over the table. Then I helped him set up the area. We placed the easel and canvas over the drop cloth and the paint, cups of water, and charcoal on the table. I pretended to be busy while Johnny moved everyone into potential positions.

     Last time I was here I'd overheard about a delayed shipment of cocaine. The delay was likely caused by the police crackdown since Kodi Nash had overdosed. I was almost certain the cocaine that had put her in a coma came from the Brotherhood, but how that connected to Abbey was dubious at best.

     But whether Abbey was involved or not didn't matter. If she knew about it--if she was there that night then she would have been a witness. Maybe that's why she ran. Maybe that's why she was dead...

      When everything was ready the family got into their positions and Johnny finally stepped in front of the canvas. I thought he would reach for the paint but he bypassed it and instead started lightly sketching with the charcoal. It took him a flash to sketch out the scene. When he was satisfied he finally picked up one of the paint brushes and the pallet.

     I watched carefully as he moved the brush toward the canvas. However, his hand paused just before paint met canvas. His brow knit together and he pressed his mouth into a hard frown. His eyes moved over the canvas, searching it while his hand hovered there in introspection. With a hard swallow he touched the brush to the canvas timidly and began painting.

     After forty-five minutes of a commotion started at the front of the home and the family broke pose to run toward it. "Some friends went on a McDonald's run," Mrs. Delgatto said. "You two can have some if you're hungry."

     Johnny shook his head but grandma Sophie always says not to turn down free food so I followed her into their spectacular kitchen. A pile of food was left on one of the spotless counters but otherwise the kitchen was abandoned.

     "Get whatever you want," she said as she walked to the fridge.

     I picked through the pile like I cared, waiting for her to take her food and run like the rest of the family. Maybe, when she leaves me alone I'll have time to do a little snooping. I'ma still eat this quarter pounder, though. Waste not, want not.

     But when I turned around Mrs. Delgatto had taken a seat at one of the low-backed counter stools. She stared at me. "Find something?"

     "Uh, yeah." I said as I sat next to her. "Aren't you hungry?"

     She gave a little shake to the bottle in her hand. "Protein shake." She watched me unwrapped my burger. "I didn't know you were coming."

     "Yeah. Assistant so, you know." Great, it looks like she wants to talk.

     She nodded her head before taking a sip of her shake. "So do you often accompany your boyfriend on jobs?"

     "He's not my boyfriend. We're...business associates."

     "Mmm. Like Angelo and Chance--have you met my brother by the way? Probably not he's always moving up and down Florida for business."

     "What sort of business is your husband into?" Might as well play innocent and see where that gets me.

     "They're in distribution. Alcohol, beverages, stuff like that." In other words drugs. "They own a few clubs too."

     "Cool. I've always wanted to own a business."

     She almost smiled but didn't. "You're really easy to talk to."

     I looked at her as I ate my burger and realized with astonishment that she was lonely. Tia had told me that Mrs. Delgatto had won the title simply as a means to an end. Her brother had effectively sold her to his best friend to ease the tide of any future war that could brew between the Black and Puerto Rican gangs that shared the same neighborhood.

     In exchange she got to live here in this mansion so long as she closed her eyes to her husband's infidelity with women at the club and from their old neighborhood. I'm not sure if any amount of luxury cars and designer labels could make up for being a bargaining chip, but damn if she wasn't trying.

     We heard Delgatto walk by, his voice hushed and strained. I tried to hear, assuming it was something related to the Brotherhood but Mrs. Delgatto said, "Ignore him. It's just one of his baby-mamas. The one I hate the most too, I can tell from his tone."

     I inhaled the rest of my burger, anxious to get away from the uncomfortable feelings of guilt and we went back to painting.

     Johnny had started to add little touches of texture to the portrait when Delgatto's phone rang. He left to the annoyance of his family and disappeared down the hallway. I excused myself to the bathroom.

     Past the bathroom and at the end of the hall light shone from behind a door. The door was just barely ajar, but I could see Delgatto inside standing near a grand desk that sat in front of rows of books. Looked like an office. There were two other people in there. A man dressed casually in jeans, an overly large tee-shirt, and a baseball cap and a woman in a tight mini dress that covered less than my sleepwear had this morning.

     The woman held a block of what I assumed to be cocaine and Delgatto took it. After fidgeting a bit he produced a pocket knife and gently cut into the top of the smooth plastic until he was able to fit one finger inside. He brought that finger to his lips while his cohorts watched in silence.

     He spit, then looked up and slapped the woman hard across the face. I gasped as I watched the blood drip down her nose. "What is this shit?" he said.

     "It's not her fault," the man said. "We can't get the usual shit because our supplier is having a hard time getting it here since the crackdown. It's second rate, yeah, but it's all we got for now. Chance is real good at making that shit work but even he's having trouble negotiating with the south."

     "I don't care about excuses."

     "You should. It was your girl who messed up." Delgatto got quiet. "When that rich bitch passed out we were going to throw her ass in a field somewhere and bounce but she was the one who insisted we go to the hospital."

     "She's dead now. It doesn't matter."

     "It matters that ours boys can't deal on the corners no more. They got families to feed too. Can't do that with cops sitting on every corner trying to find the dealer that sold to Kodi Nash."

     "And the club?"

     "Still going but they're running out of product."

     I'd heard enough to confirm my suspicions. The United Brotherhood was involved in the overdose of Kodi Nash. More than that it was looking like Abbey was involved too. That must be why she ran.

     As I turned around to sneak my way out of there I ran face first into another man's chest. His hands were quick as he grabbed me and clamped a rough hand over my mouth. "Hey, I remember you." He whispered as his hand moved away from my me.

     I recognized his deep hazel-green eyes when at looked at him. He had been here last time. "I got lost on my way to the bathroom."

     He stifled a laugh so the others couldn't hear. "You pulled that same shit then too. You're a nosy little girl aren't you?"

     "I--uh--"

     "I'm not gonna tell, if that's what you're getting at." His dimples deepened. "If you do me a favor."

     "What favor..."

     "I haven't thought of it yet. But I will." His grip wasn't that forceful so I stepped out of it.

     "I can't..."

     "You can't?" He looked me up and down, still with that amused grin playing at his lips. "Little girl, I don't think you have too many options right now."

     He was right. I swallowed hard as I said, "Okay. What's the favor?"

     "Like I said, haven't thought of it yet but I'll let you know." He walked around me and toward the office door. "You should go home. You could get in some real trouble one of these days."

     Yeah, no kidding.