Air Brushed

Kismet

Chapter 13: Kismet

Going into the office portion of the building, I find Haz sitting on the couch, picking at a piece of his worn shoe.

Coming back to the warehouse to take care of 'stuff' my ass. Unless he had taken care of this 'stuff' within ten minutes, he had simply lied to get out of the apartment building. Then again, I can't blame him.

He looks up as soon as I enter, his dimpled smile growing wider.

"What is your job EXACTLY?" I tease lightly, watching his fingers leave the peeling piece of shoe.

Haz shifts to make room for me on the couch and pats the cushion next to him, "That's categorized as one of those classified pieces of information."

"Well damn," I fake pout and plop down next to him. "I mean, it's hard to make guesses when all I see you do is sit around and stare at walls."

He chuckles, rolling his eyes, "You'd understand if I could tell you."

"If you could tell me," I repeat sarcastically.

"Yup," Haz pops the 'p' and nods towards the warehouse, "So how'd it go?"

I give him an overview of the conversation Prints and I shared, the bargain I had been forced to make, and the brief eye contact I had made with Tats, who is still in POGs' room as far as I know.

"I think you did just fine," he gives me a friendly, but rough pat on the shoulder.

"JUST fine?" I let my head loll back, gold hair cascading over the back of the couch.

"Better than bad or okay," he shrugs, the collar of his jean jacket brushing his curls.

"That's true."

The conversation fades into a tense silence and I am instantly lost in my own thoughts. The morality or lack thereof of Prints' request plagues my mind. What will Liam think? This is what creates the most dread inside.

On our date, I will have to STEAL something.

Could I ask him to help me?

He is, after all, a police detective and my friend. Maybe I can confide in him and maybe he can talk to the person, tell them it will be alright. Prints only said he wants to see the object right before the final decision is made. I can return it after.

This reduces the size of the cold stone that had sunken into the pit of my stomach.

See, Brooke? This doesn't have to be SO bad. All I will have to do is tell Liam-

That is when it occurs to me that I CAN'T. He will ask questions. WHY do I have to steal something? To prove myself. WHY do you have to prove yourself? To get answers. WHAT are these answers for?

And that is where I am stuck.

I can't tell him about Prints, about Haz, about Tommo- much the same way I can't tell them about Liam. This all circulated around the fact that gangs and the law don't really have a rich history of mixing nicely.

Now the stone in my stomach feels like a boulder.

Maybe I can figure out a way to tell Liam WITHOUT all the questions... No. I know I can't. There's no way.

"So, Ozzie, you have any siblings?" Haz asks abruptly, cutting my train of thought.

I sit up straighter to look at him, "No. Just me."

"And what about your parents? Where are they?" he pulls his knees up, wrapping his arms around his shins.

A stab of pain races into my chest at the sore subject and I repeat, "Just me."