He parked and locked the bike outside Whole Foods and went in for his breakfast tacos-Suzie couldn't make a bowl of Cheerios-but his journey to the taco bar was interrupted.
'Hi, Andy.'
Bobbi. A senior brunette majoring in nightlife ('journalism' in the UT curriculum catalog). Another top-of-the- line fit-and-Spandexed Whole Foods girl.
'Oh, hi, Bobbi. You're looking especially delicious this morning.'
She smiled and inched closer. Andy could feel movement south of the border.
'Where's Suzie?'
'Who? Oh, Suzie… yeah, she's, uh, somewhere.'
'I saw y'all at Qua last night. I'll be there tonight. If you come alone, maybe we could hang out… or whatever.'
Whatever sounded good. But there was Suzie. She would call him later about his plans for that night. He could just not answer his phone, but then she might unexpectedly stop by the loft. (Funny how territorial women were, which was a new and fascinating experience for Andy.) Or he could… Bobbi stepped closer to allow a woman pushing a cart past; her breast-covered only by a thin layer of Spandex-rubbed against Andy's chest and wiped his mind clean of all thoughts of Suzie as effectively as an eraser on a chalkboard.
'I'll see you tonight, Bobbi.'
She squeezed his arm.
'Tonight.'
She walked away. Andy stared after her. Bobbi had a bodacious body.
You couldn't slap the smile off Andy Prescott's face.
Andy was a new man, but he still got his coffee at Jo's.
'Mr. GQ dude himself,' Guillermo Garza said when Andy stepped up to his window for his coffee. 'Looking sharp, bro. Large coffee and a muffin?'
'Just the coffee. I ate at Whole Foods. But give me Floyd T.'s.'
Guillermo nodded at the trail bike.
'That's an awesome ride, dude.'
'Stumpjumper.'
'What'd that set you back?'
'Sixty-five hundred.'
'Living large now.'
'I'm still the same guy.'
Guillermo laughed. 'If Russell Reeves hired me, I sure wouldn't be the same guy.' He pointed past Andy. 'You forget something?'
'What?'
'The Chronicle.'
'Nah.'
'Oh, don't need to look for love in the personals anymore, huh, Andy?'
Andy smiled. 'I found a better place.'
Now Guillermo smiled. 'Whole Foods.'
'Amen, brother.'
They fist-punched through the open window.
'Keep the faith, bro.'
Andy paid then pedaled to his office. He found Floyd T. on Ramon's stoop and gave him his breakfast; he put a $20 bill in Floyd T.'s cigar box. Floyd T. whistled.
'A high-roller. Thanks, Andy.'
Andy Prescott was still the same guy, albeit better dressed and with better transportation. He still worked in the little office above Ramon's tattoo parlor, he still mooched off Ramon's Yahoo account, and he still went to traffic court.
He was trapped by his own traffic ticket scheme.
He had requested a jury trial on every ticket for every client; consequently, he had cases set for trial every Monday of every week for the next two years. If he didn't show up to contest, the city would win by default; and he would have to make good on his guarantees to his clients. At $500 a pop, the fines would add up fast. He had five cases set for that Monday morning, so he was looking at upwards of $2,500 out of pocket. His pocket. Out of which he had just paid $15,000 to the IRS for quarterly income taxes, social security taxes, and Medicaid taxes-an outrageous sum! Six weeks' hard work, and he had netted only $45,000 after taxes. Now he understood why rich people complained about the government taking so much of their money.
He could not afford to pay his clients' fines.
So just before nine, Andy Prescott walked into the Municipal Court Building. Arturo waved him through the security checkpoint without making him empty his pockets. Andy rode the elevator to the third floor and entered the courtroom. Judge Judith immediately motioned him forward. When he arrived at the bench, she smiled at him like a mother whose prodigal son had returned home-with a job. She put her hand over the microphone.
'Andy, you're looking quite professional today. And your hair-very nice.'
'Thank you, Judge. You're looking as beautiful as ever.'
'I know you're busy with Mr. Reeves, so we'll call your cases first.'
'Why, thank you, Judge.'
Fifteen minutes later, his five cases were dismissed and Andy was walking out the door. Ms. Manning stopped him and handed him her business card. She leaned close and whispered.
'Come by my office, Andy. We'll lock the door and bang out a plea bargain.'
She gave him a wicked wink. Ms. Prosecutor had a wild streak beneath that buttoned-up suit. Andy was smiling when he walked out the courtroom door.
And he was still smiling when he arrived back at his office where he found Floyd T. sitting on the sidewalk with his back to the building writing in his notebook and a limo parked out front with an action-figure named Darrell leaning against the back door. Russell Reeves' driver/bodyguard jutted his square jaw toward Ramon's.
'He's in the tattoo shop.'
Andy went inside and found Russell Reeves in deep conversation with Ramon Cabrera.
'Does it hurt?'
Ramon laughed. 'Of course, it hurts, Russell. Pain is part of the experience.'
'I don't know, Ramon. I really like the idea of my son's face tattooed on my back, but I'm not big on physical pain.'
'Russell, my man, excruciating physical pain is the threshold a man must cross to get to the other side of life.'
'And what's on the other side?'
'Enlightenment.'
'Have you been to the other side, Ramon?'
Ramon pulled his sweat shirt over his head to reveal his painted upper body. He spread his arms and turned slowly.
'Russell… I am the other side.'
Russell Reeves regarded the living mural that was Ramon Cabrera.
'My God, you're a work of art.'
'I am an artist and I am art.'
After a moment, Russell said, 'I'll think about it.'
'You do that.'
'Later, Ramon.'
Ramon stuck his fist out; Russell gave him a fist-punch like he had done it before then turned and walked outside.
'Tickets,' Ramon said to Andy.
'What are you doing in so early?'
'Appointment.' He checked his watch. 'She's late.'
