The lunch rush at Bueno's Market was always insane, but the Cuban sandwich was worth the craziness.

About a dozen customers awaited their food, most flicking through their phone screens in an effort to appear indifferent. Zeke wasn't above pretense, but he was willing to bet his phone stuff was more important than everyone else's. He scanned through the available going's on, and rolled his eyes.

Silver alert.

Possible assault at a WaWa gas station.

Car crash on US 19.

There was nothing...exciting. Well, maybe the Silver Alert warranted a follow up, but let's face it, an elderly person went missing in Florida like white stuck to rice. Nothing sexy enough to rush him to eat at McDonald's. No, the dayshift was entirely different than the night shift. He found himself missing the dark streets, waiting in the car, listening to the scanner. Dayshift was too damn hot. Not at all like he remembered. It was also lonely.

Zeke had begrudgingly admitted to his therapist, and to her alone, that part of the allure of the night shift was the medicinal vacations. Or, not doing what he was supposed to. The therapist had encouraged the realization that his desire to skip his meds stemmed from immaturity, and a need to rebuke his parents. Deep shit like that. Once he'd forgiven them, or as the therapist had suggested, allowed the ghosts of the past to stop controlling him, his immature needs slowly slipped away. Now, he swallowed a pill every morning, no drama involved.

Bueno, the owner, bellowed from behind the Formica counter, "Order 22, up!"

Zeke checked his ticket for the dozenth time and scoffed. Number 33.

"22!" Bueno called again, looking about impatiently.

A svelte woman cut through the milling crowd of customers. Zeke noticed most women, but he could swear this one was familiar. Dark, curly hair, great skin. Mostly, it was her butt. Her bubble-shaped butt.

"Bubble Butt!" burst from his lips before he could stop himself.

Those nearest Zeke appeared startled. The only person that didn't notice his outburst was Bubble Butt herself. She grabbed the sandwich, head ducked down, and slid out the door.

Cuban be damned, Zeke followed her. Bueno would make him another sandwich if he asked, anyway.

Outside, the humid Florida air blasted him in the face, sun bearing down as always. It was 80 degrees and climbing. In January.

As his eyes adjusted to the harsh light, he didn't spy the infamous butt anywhere nearby. Just a woman in a suit sashaying by, and a man elbowing his way past Zeke to step into Buenos.

Missed her again, he thought, shaking his head.

She seemed important, as though tied to something he needed, besides the obvious needs she could relieve...

From the Rainbow Mart next door, a short and shapely woman emerged, face obscured by a curtain of hair. She wasn't looking behind her, and was only a few feet away. Like the customers inside Bueno's, she was busy scrolling through her phone.

In two strides, Zeke caught up to her.

"Hello."

She remained turned around, shoulders rising and falling as she sighed deeply. Then, she faced him, eyes downcast.

"Hi," she mumbled.

"I, know you," was the least creepy thing Zeke could think of to say.

"Um, yeah." Even with her concentrating on the cracks in the sidewalk, he could see the scarlet bloom spreading across her caramel face. "I was hoping you wouldn't remember."

Her voice, so docile and musical, sparked a memory.

Please, no!

Zeke immediately hardened. Now it was he who stared at the ground, shifting as imperceptibly as possible in the hopes the burgeoning carnival in his pants went unnoticed.

Luckily, Bubble Butt wasn't looking anywhere near him.

"Say, Bubb---" he stopped himself just in time. He tried fixing the odd half-sentence, and quick. "Say, what's your name?"

The forgiving breeze ruffled her dark hair. She met his eyes for the first time, and he was startled by how big and brown they were.

"Rami," she said softly.

He extended a hand, pairing a non-threatening work-smile along with it. "Hi Rami, I'm Zeke."

Hesitantly, she shook his hand. Her touch ignited another memory, this one full of much nudity and panting.

"I mean," he hedged, "I kinda remember, and I kinda don't. We did...stuff, right?"

Rami's head ducked down again, a smile on her lips. "We did. You were pretty drunk, but so was I, so I didn't think you minded."

More images pulsed in his head: stumbling about, catching himself on Rami, slurring suggestions in her ear, handing her a small stack of money, bragging about a bigger stack he could give her later. He vaguely recalled how she had shoved aside the money, but had pulled him in for a deep kiss.

"I dance over there about four nights a week," Rami pointed at The Prancing Pony Gentleman's Club across the street.

"Oh really?" Zeke said, hoping to keep his rising excitement from his voice.

Rami had a wholesome look about her, and seemed sweet. To know that her job was so naughty was a definite turn-on.

"I'm also a grad student at USF," she said, her expression telling him she wished she hadn't shared as much. "I don't know why I'm telling you this." She went back to investigating the sidewalk's imperfections.

The journalist-side of Zeke said, "Because you're embarrassed."

Her scarlet face nodded.

"And you'd never done that before?"

"Never with a customer." Rami hesitated, then added, "A couple years ago, I was used, for money," she paused, and he guessed at the implications of the word used, "and then someone saved me." She met his eyes. "You saved me. Then you wrote that story about us, the Dolls. Even though the news made you sound like a murderer, I knew there had to be some mistake. I knew you were a good man. And kinda cute." She shrugged.

He sifted through old memories, from the Living Doll story he had covered with Samantha the first time around. There had been so many girls, and a few boys, that they had discovered in the warehouse. To know one of them remembered him was humbling. To know that he had boned one of them churned his stomach somewhat.

Silence stretched out, nice and awkward-like. Rami mumbled something about waiting for a Lyft, and Zeke's mind raced ahead.

As he often did, he spoke without thinking: "If you're not a hooker, how come I saw you blowing a dude in an alley?"

She actually laughed, a full-throated sound that was sexy as hell. "My ex is really into public sex fantasies."

Zeke was surprised at the immense relief flooding through him. The mystery of the pleading girl had been revealed, and the best part about her was---she was still alive!

Gently, he asked how things had gone, and just as gently, Rami explained how Zeke had been rougher than she was used to, and that had scared her a bit. He apologized, which she graciously accepted. In the back of his mind, he couldn't believe and didn't care that they were having this conversation in the middle of the day while standing outside the Rainbow Mart. As she spoke, her lips brought to mind the deep-fake of a porn star, and he liked that very, very much.

"It's not that I'm not into rough stuff," Rami was saying. "It's just that, we should probably get to know each other better."

Music to my ears.

Instead, Zeke said, "How about the WTR Pool and Grill tomorrow night?"

"Never been. Sounds fun," Rami said.

Her mixture of shy responses and flirtatious glances was enchanting. Zeke had fallen for her like his heart was a mob informant, and she was the East River.

"You'll like it," he promised, already picturing her in a bathing suit. "On Saturdays, they have night swimming."

A blue sedan pulled up to the curb, a pink light flashing from the dash.

Rami nodded at the driver, reaching for the door handle. "My Lyft is here. Gotta go to class." She half-turned, "Here's my number."

She pressed a scrap of paper into Zeke's hand. Giddy, he chuckled and waved goodbye.

Distantly, he was aware of the immense sweat building under his pressed button-down shirt, and the strangers passing him on the sidewalk. Mostly, he was looking forward to Saturday Night Swimming at the WTR.

From his back pocket, his phone vibrated. The number had a strange zipcode, but Zeke answered it anyway.

"Zeke?"

He knew the voice. He'd heard it almost every day of his life.

"August?"

"I should've returned your call sooner. I just didn't know what to say."

"No, I get it." It would've been hard when all that he could've said would've been, Hey murder-suspect. What up?

August proceeded to explain how he was sorry it had been years since he'd called. It had been hard for him to get over the workshop, and what Silas had done to him.

"He threatened me, and I ran like a scared kid," August admitted. "It took me some time to think about how that might've messed you up. I did call you a couple times back then, but you didn't answer."

"I lost my phone. And I didn't call you because---" I thought Silas killed you, he wanted to say, but didn't.

"It's all good. I hope we can still be friends. Talk, like we used to."

"I'd really like that."

Zeke meant it. And for the next ten minutes, that's exactly what they did. By the time Zeke hung up the phone, they'd made plans to meet for a weekend in Vegas, to talk shop and catch up.

"Order 33!" Bueno was so loud, his voice carried from one building over.

As Zeke hurried to pick up his sandwich, a ringing sounded from his pocket. It couldn't be August calling him back so soon. Plus, the brrring brrring was unfamiliar, as his phone just vibrated. He dug for the source, pulling out a brick device.

He blinked at it, not comprehending where it had come from.

Brrring. Brrring.

Then he remembered. Raffi. Burner phone. For emergencies.

Brrrrrrring.

Dayshift perpetuated boredom, and this was the opposite of that.

"Order 33!" Bueno repeated.

Zeke hit the green enter button, phone to his ear. "Hello?"

~*~

A/N: So proud to add a red check to the title! As cruel as that might seem, Zeke's journey is over. For now.

Thanks again for reading to the end!

I've been editing earlier chapters, and plan on adding more scenes, along with a new character, August Lopez. He's a friend of Zeke's, and will join in some of the shenanigans. He's already introduced in Part 1, and will be threaded into subsequent parts.

My next endeavor will be to finish a novella, The Silence, a story with Carrie-esque undertones, set in post WWII. I will of course share on it on Wattpad when possible, but that might not be for awhile.

In the meantime, I also plan to finally finish Failure to Adult, Followed, and The Compound. My other unfinished stories (A Drop in the Ocean and Piece Simul) will have to wait, but I always bite off more than I can chew, and have slight problems with commitment. In that way, Zeke and I have a few things in common XD

'Til later.