Something Wicked 🏳️‍🌈 (bxb)

5: Tattoos aren't worth it, kids

MARÍA POLICE DEPARTMENT, October 16

Twice I'd been saved from patroling the Vogel site by a call from Sylvia. Twice I'd sat shooting the breeze with Rayan when the elusive intel operative, Dante, didn't make an appearance. This time I'd flatly refused the invitation unless The Great Dante himself graced us with his presence.

But neither Dante nor Sylvia showed up.

Rayan was in good spirits though, cussing out Gabi in Arabic for giving him too much paperwork, sending me into bouts of stifled laughter. Gabi didn't seem offended; a little smile settled on her face, like it was the first time in a while that the office had been fun.

"Why does Sylvia keep calling me here if this Dante dude doesn't even think I'm worth interviewing?"

Gabi dumped thick reams of paper through a shredder and screamed over the grind of the motor. "Maybe she knows something Dante doesn't. Or maybe she has more faith in you than Dante does."

Not that I cared. As long as I was getting parole for spinning on office chairs with Rayan every week, I was happy with the deal. "You find my Mom's number on the Police Database?"

Rayan shook his head. "It's the same number she's had for years. I got Comms to call her. Two officers even went to her place in San Diego. She's not there. She on vacation or something?"

"She can't afford vacations. She was probably passed out drunk on the sofa with dude-of-the-week when the police came knocking." I regretted saying it instantly, but it wasn't an exaggeration by any fucking means. "Sorry. My Mom's a hot mess."

"So she's not gonna win Mom of the Century," Rayan murmured as he click-clacked on his keyboard. "Still better than my mother."

"Your Mom's overly fond of alcohol too?"

"Kinda. She smuggles it."

There was me thinking that Saudi moms were the sweetest, their only crime being their constant urge to feed me luqaimat. In three years in Riyadh I hadn't come across a Saudi mom who'd sell me backstreet vodka.

"Can I search someone else on the Police Database?"

Rayan clicked open his laptop. "Your Dad?"

"Nah, man. That ship sailed years ago," a chuckle burst outta me before I could hold it back, "to Puerto Rico when I was two."

Rayan's face rippled with pity, like the thought of being away from his pop woulda killed him.

I leaned in to his Police Database screen. "I'm looking for a man with initials D.R."

"Not enough information. You got a name?"

"Nope. What about his appearance?"

"Maybe." Rayan began tapping keys. "Any distinguishing features?"

"He's kinda Asian-looking."

"Asia is a massive continent, man. I need more description."

Recalling the agile stranger's perfection was easy. His graceful features bobbed like a lily pad on top of the quagmire in my brain. Perhaps I'd never forget his face. "He's...insanely beautiful."

"I can't stalk people for you!" Rayan slammed down his laptop screen. "You into guys as well as Leila Abdelli?"

"OK I admit it; getting Leila back was ambitious. But I need to find this dude. He stole my favorite spot. I gotta negotiate with him for it."

Rayan's pained expression told me I was inches away from getting him fired from his internship.

"I'm not hot for this dude, OK? He's probably straight as an arrow. Wallah, he kinda...jumped off a building when he saw me anyway."