When Kazimir stood up, his vision twirled in circles like he was performing an intense ballet. The blond guy was quick on his feet to keep Kazimir from stumbling over like a fool.
“Hey, are you okay?” His savior rose an eyebrow, scanning Kazimir’s small frame from head to toe.
Legs trembling, Kazimir swayed when he stepped away from the stranger. Something deep inside his soul screamed to run away. His savior looked so familiar. Had he met him before? Looking down, Kazimir noticed some scrapes in the ripped holes of his Wrangler jeans. His bruised hands stung from bracing the rough concrete.
“I’m good,” Kazimir replied. “I-I didn’t mean to fall on you. Um, thank you for saving me.”
“No problem. You’re the painter, right?” His lips twitched, forming a half smirk. “Your art popped up in Voiceless Rebel’s turf about a week ago.”
“What?” Kazimir froze. His breaths quickened, heart pounding with each intake of air. “Who are you?”
Kazimir’s delirium slowly faded into a mild confusion and then recognition of the face before him. He was the man from the photo. His porcelain skin had easily fooled Kazimir into believing the guy could be some ethereal spirit. Sullen green eyes with heavy bags underneath gave him a fragile appearance. Nothing like the frightening gangster Samantha made him out to be.
Brushing some dirt off his black trench coat, the gangster exposed his bruised knuckles. His savior then bent over to pick something off the ground. A gun protruded from his trench coat pocket.
“Name’s Emmett,” he replied, revealing a little plastic baggie of cocaine. He opened it and took a whiff. “Where’d you get this?”
Kazimir’s gaze darted from the mysterious man to the alleyway opening. He’d gotten himself into some deep shit. Digging through his hoodie pocket, he mentally cursed himself. Emmett had his coke. Without hesitating, Kazimir snatched it from his hand.
“So rude. Didn’t your parents teach you any manners?” Emmett scoffed. “I would’ve given it back. You just needed to ask politely.”
The bizarre expression of joy that washed over Emmett’s face confused him. What was with this weirdo? Kazimir took another step back, stuffing the baggie back in his hoodie pocket. He needed to get the hell out of there.
“So, where did your latest muse come from?” Emmett pointed at the brick wall. “Why’d you paint my face on a dick?”
Kazimir failed to hide his grin. “Someone must think you’re a dickhead.”
“What the hell did you say?”
Instead of answering, Kazimir bolted, shoving Emmett aside as he made a run for it. Emmett reached out for Kazimir as he pushed passed him, but the artist ducked down to avoid capture. Kazimir knew what those gang members were like and had no intention of experiencing a bullet wound or a beating.
“Hey! Where are you going?” Emmett shouted.
The pounding soles of his shoes echoed over his heartbeat as he splashed through the puddles. But in his hazy state, he wasn’t very coordinated. One moment Kazimir was running for his life, then the next he was in a head-on collision with a ginormous green recycling bin.
He regained a piece of his dignity when he pulled himself together and reached his motorcycle. Revving the engine, he drowned out Emmett’s laughter and let it carry him far away from the Voiceless Rebels territory.
Kazimir couldn’t help but peek over into the rearview mirror at the sight of Emmett on the street corner. While staring at the guy, he almost crashed into the yellow pedestrian crossing sign, but with a swift swerve, he avoided it.
🎨
Miraculously, Kazimir made it back to his apartment in one piece and didn’t damage any street signs. He knew Samantha would get a kick out of the graffiti piece he created, so he sent her a text with the location of it. He wanted to send her a photo, but that frightening gangster had showed up out of nowhere. He warned her about that Emmett guy too.
Jordy put his Xbox controller down when Kazimir stepped in the living room. “Didn’t realize you went out. What pulled you away from your art?”
“Sometimes I need to get outside for some inspiration. It gets boring staying inside all day.” Kazimir dropped his backpack down on the floor. “How was lunch?”
“It was fine,” Jordy replied. “How’s your day been?”
Kazimir closed the window curtains after taking a gander around outside. He worried that frightening gangster followed him to finish him off. “I think I ran into one of those gang members you warned me about.”
“Oh shit. For real? What happened?” Jordy reached over for his fountain coke on the table, taking a sip.
Kazimir took a seat on the couch beside Jordy, folding his arms across his chest. “The guy showed up out of nowhere. I was painting in an old alley. He said he’d been keeping up with my art. He had a gun too.”
Jordy’s eyes widened. “A gun? Did he threaten you with it?”
“No. I fled on my motorcycle before he could do anything.” Kazimir fiddled with his bruised hands in his lap. While his heart no longer felt like it would explode in his chest, paranoia held his mind hostage. He kept glancing toward the door, expecting the gangster to come break it down.
“That’s good. I’m glad you’re okay, man.” Jordy patted Kazimir on the back, causing him to flinch. “You gotta be more careful though.”
“I’ll try. It’s just… You’ve never told me much about the gangs. Just that I should stay away,” Kazimir said. “How long have they been around?”
“It all started with the shithead of the Voiceless Rebels a few years ago,” Jordy explained. “There’re some rumors about who he might be but nothing’s for sure. Some say he’s from Chicago but I’ve heard Mexico too.”
Kazimir furrowed his brows. “Their leader wasn’t raised here?”
Jordy shook his head and resumed his game. “I don’t think so.”
Virtual gunshots rang through Kazimir’s ears as he flinched. Jordy shot the staggering zombies that appeared on the screen, attempting to attack his avatar.
“It takes guts to operate a gang. I’m surprised people would follow an outsider,” Kazimir said.
“Someone should send him back to wherever he came from in a body bag.” Jordy shot a bullet into one of the zombies. “Our town will be a peaceful place when they’re all gone.”
“Body bag? That’s extreme. Locking them up in prison would be best, I think.” Kazimir leaned closer, eager to learn more about how the gangs operated.
“Nah, they’d just deal from behind bars. The gangs frighten their neighbors and blackmail businesses into silence by doing trade with them. It’s like nobody’s safe from them.” Jordy kept his gaze glued to the television screen.
“That’s terrible. Aren’t the police doing anything to stop it?” Kazimir asked.
“They’re everywhere. They’re like rodents feeding on our fear. Vigilantes have come together to help put an end to them too, but it’s still not enough. I’ve heard they pay the cops hush money, but I don’t have proof of that either.”
“Everywhere?”
“They pretend they’re normal, just like us. They’ll hold steady jobs and act like they fit right in. They could be anybody in town.”
Kazimir fidgeted on the couch. “That’s... frightening.”
“Remember what I told you when you first moved here? Gangs usually go after big companies or people who threaten them. Just mind your business and keep away from their sides of town,” Jordy replied. “Enough of all this gang talk. Are you stoked for tomorrow? You’ve been going on nonstop these past weeks about the art gallery you work at.”
“It’s like a dream come true.” Kazimir gleamed. “I’m beyond excited for this. I can’t believe our neighbor convinced his manager to showcase my works there.”
Jordy nodded. “That was really nice of him.”
“I hope people like the paintings I’ve chosen to sell. I’m actually afraid I won’t hold a candle to some of the other masterpieces.”
“You’re just as talented as they are, if not more,” Jordy said. “Are you gonna do any more painting today?”
“Of course. I’ve had a lot of inspiration lately. I like to paint when I’m in the mood.”
“Artists are so strange.” Jordy powered his game down after saving where he left off. “Well, I’m gonna study for a while. I have a big test tomorrow morning.”
“Alright. Good luck.”
“Thanks.”
When Jordy went off to his room, Kazimir returned to his own bedroom and locked the door. He reached into his hoodie pocket and pulled the baggies of cocaine out. He stuck one in his art supplies for his emergency stash and lined the other out on the dresser.
He fished out a straw from the box he kept hidden in his underwear drawer, then crushed the coke up, ensuring the straw was deep enough in his nostril, but not too deep. He didn’t want to lobotomize himself.
Slow and sweet, Kazimir inhaled his blissful coke before leaning back against his bed in relief.
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