Goodnight, My Angel - Georgeotown Book IV - 17. GMA XVII

“How the fuck did you convince your mom to give up all this stuff?” CJ held his corner of the couch with a knee while adjusting his grip on the bottom edge. The sofa was not overly large or heavy, but getting it inside the elevator was awkward.

“Bruh, I didn’t even ask. She offered. Dad grunted when she did. He claimed it was an excuse for her to get all new stuff for the den. Said I might be moving in with Tank, but I was still costing him money. When I first told them my plans, Mom teared up. She kept babbling about her baby being all grown up. I was like ‘Whatever!’ I mean, like what did she expect? Dad was surprised Danno had required Tank to live above Rogo’s as part of being the manager. Then he started talking about taxes and how it was a smart move. I thought about your dad. When Mr. A explained—“

“HARLEY! Watch where you’re going.” Tank stood by the door, ready to help wrestle the furniture inside the living quarters he would be sharing with his fellow Squad member. When Harley stepped on his foot, he jumped away screaming. “Damn that hurt. You’re wearing boots, and I’m barefoot! How about you shut up and pay attention?”

Owen’s step faltered when he started laughing, and CJ shoulder bumped him. “Hey, quit it. You’re going to make me drop my end.”

“How often do you think Tank will be telling Harley to shut up?” CJ chuckled, remembering his first day at School Without Walls High School when he met the lanky motorcycle technician. Brett had dropped him off in front of the school on his way to work. Harley was fascinated with his father’s Harley-Davidson Road Glide, approached CJ, and launched into one of his non-stop monologues. It took very little time before CJ first told him to “shut up.”

Once the back of Brett’s Ford F-350 truck was empty, the four men huddled in the kitchen while Tank threw each of them a cold bottle of Gatorade. “So that’s what a place looks like with real furniture in it.” Tank grinned as he surveyed the now furnished living area. “Never realized a wall-mounted TV and a ratty, old armchair made a place look so empty.”

“I’m glad you got rid of that ugly thing. I was scared to touch it when we carried it out to the curb. I kept thinking of how many times you got banged on it. Figured gallons of jizz had dripped out of your butt and soaked into the fabric.” CJ ran out laughing and dropped himself on the new, old couch.

Tanix Janda worked as a bartender to support himself while studying to become a Licensed Massage Therapist. Struggling to build a practice where clients did not automatically expect sex as part of the offered services, he accepted full-time employment at Rogo’s. His position as the establishment’s manager came with living quarters above the restaurant as part of his compensation. The bodybuilder created a serene space in the second bedroom he used to work on his clients. As his responsibilities and commitments grew at the restaurant, his massage business suffered. There was not enough time to keep both careers going. He stopped chasing new clients.

He was as surprised as his friends by how things turned out. The part-time job slinging drinks, which he thought he would leave behind once he acquired a solid clientele, became his principal source of income. It promised him a future in hospitality management. However, those plans hit a roadblock when Danno returned from a trip intent on moving back to his native Hawaii.

“Are you ready to start at Abuela’s next month?” Rogo’s was sold. The new owners planned on family members running the place, and Tank was left without a job. CJ came to his friend’s assistance, introducing him to Alvaro Diaz. Al held the majority ownership of a Cuban restaurant in which CJ and his grandfather held minority stakes. CJ also arranged for Tank and Harley to rent an apartment from AD Holdings, one of his fathers’ companies. The same Rosslyn, Virginia unit Chatri and Helen Mookjai lived in until her second pregnancy drove them to find larger quarters.

“I… About that, CJ…” The four men had settled in the living area; Owen sat next to his husband, and the other two took the recliners. I think I’m gonna look for something else. Not sure I want to work for Al.”

CJ was surprised. “How come? I thought you were excited about running Rum and Cola.” Named after the iconic Cuban cocktail, the tapas bar abutted the restaurant; it had become a popular spot for happy hour with Millennials and GenXers.

“I was…” Tank hesitated, he apparently had a problem getting the words out. “Oh, fuck it. You need to know. Look, last time I met with him, Al made it clear he expected sex if I worked there. After what the priest back home in Louisiana did to me, I’m not interested in being forced again.”

“WHAT?” CJ was stunned. “We’ll talk about whatever any fucking perverted priest did in a few. What did Al say to you?”

“He mentioned he didn’t have a girlfriend. That he had a high sex drive and didn’t have time to go looking for anyone to get laid. Since I was gonna be working close with him, he figured I’d be happy to put out.”

“Bruh…”

“Mate…”

“I’m gonna kill the motherfucker.” CJ swiped his phone open. “Ok, Google, call Al Diaz.”

Owen grabbed the phone and turned it off. “What are you doing?”

“I’m going to give that asshole a piece of my mind. If he thinks he’s gonna go all Harvey Weinstein—give me my phone back.”

“Nope. Not until you calm down. We need to talk this through.”

“What is there to talk about? Somebody’s trying to force one of our brothers to have sex with him as a condition of employment. I’m gonna fucking cut his nuts off.”

“No, you’re not. I’m as pissed as you. What he tried is wrong, and illegal. But we have to think about you and Sebastián being part owners. If this is a regular practice for him, and if it becomes known, you and your grandfather could at a minimum face unwanted publicity.”

“Fuck publicity, I don’t care.” CJ’s reaction was typical of his approach to problem resolution: Act first, and deal with the consequences afterward.

“You might not, but I do. And I’m sure the rest of your family does too. You can’t go with a knee-jerk reaction.”

CJ glanced at their two friends who remained silent. “Fine, genius. What do you propose?”

“First, we’re gonna talk to the dads. Then, we’ll call your grandfather. Once we figure out what we want to do, I’ll be the one to approach Mr. Diaz. I’m afraid your temper will get in the way.” Owen returned the phone, and CJ slipped it into his back pocket while shaking his head. He was not happy. He wanted to hurt somebody, but he trusted his husband.

“We’ll start your way. If it doesn’t work, I’ll beat the shit out of him.” CJ’s smirk disappeared, and he was serious once again. “Tank, tell me about the priest.”

“Whatever you decide to do, I’ll support you.” Sebastián and Rosario Abelló were on a two-week cruise down the coast of South America; he returned the call when CJ left him a message. “César, you have power of attorney over my and your mother’s finances. If there’s a problem, handle it.”

Brett chuckled while César rolled his eyes once the conversation concluded. CJ and Owen had shown up at the townhouse after helping their friends move. Their final words to Tank were: “Hang in there. We’ll get back to you.”

“Okay, Ozzie, I can tell you have something in mind. But it better not include CJ’s fists or gun.” Even though they all concurred the situation was serious, Brett lived up to his reputation by using levity to help relax his son.

“Fuck you! I may be nuts, but I’m not that crazy. Although I may want to borrow a rusty knife for the castration.” CJ fist bumped Brett while wiggling his eyebrows.

“Can’t the two of you give it a break?” César sounded frustrated. “What do you have in mind, Ozzie?”

“Well, I haven’t figure out all the details yet. I’ll start by drafting a document detailing what transpired, and I’ll have Tank sign it. I’ll do that tomorrow, and we’ll keep it informal for now. We can arrange for a sworn deposition later if we need it. Then, I’ll go talk with Mr. Diaz.” He fixed CJ with a hard stare. “Alone.”

“Owen! What are you doing here? Where’s CJ?” Al placed the box of plantains in the cooler and motioned for Owen to follow him. “I’m never here this early. You got lucky.”

“CJ’s busy. I’m here because he asked me to talk to you. And I remembered you come in Monday mornings when deliveries are made.”

Al stepped into his small office, sat on the desk’s edge, and pointed out a chair to his visitor. “What can I do for you?”

Owen placed his phone on the desk, not bothering to tell the other man it was recording; he would replay their discussion for CJ and the fathers later. The District of Columbia was a one-participant consent jurisdiction when it came to taping conversations. He retrieved a folder from his messenger bag and handed it to Diaz.

“Read that. Based on what we discovered this weekend, CJ and Sebastián are furious.”

Alvaro Diaz appeared surprised but sounded dismissive. “Yeah, so? If your friend has a problem he can get a job someplace else.”

“Wrong, Mr. Diaz. My husband and his grandfather are investors in this establishment. Their reputation’s at risk if the allegations against you become public. They seek action.”

The man rose, sighed, ran a hand through his hair, and sat in his chair. He became serious. “What would that be?”

“They would like to buy your interest in the restaurant and—”

“Never! I’ve worked too damn hard to get where I am, and I’m not about to give it up.”

“Nobody said anything about you giving the restaurant up. We would order an appraisal and pay you fair market value. Alternatively, they would like you to buy them out.” Owen would later count how Al’s forehead beaded with sweat.

“I can’t do that, Owen. Every penny I have’s invested in Abuela’s. I don’t have that kind of money.”

“Then, Mr. Diaz, I will advise Mr. Janda to file a civil suit against you. He won’t incur legal costs. We’ll cover those.” Since this type of litigation was not something Owen worked on, he had called Ethan in New York; their friend had offered guidance on what to do and offered his service if the conflict was not amicably resolved. “But you will. By the time it’s over, you’ll likely be deep in debt. And you could end up losing the restaurant anyway. CJ and Sebastián may pursue their own legal action. They would seek to have the restaurant sold, and the proceeds distributed amongst all individuals having an ownership interest.”

“You… You can’t do that. What with this whole me too thing, the publicity alone could drive away customers. CJ and Sebastián could lose their investment.”

“They’re well aware of the possibility. But they don’t care. As a matter of fact, they’re prepared to say the same thing in court. This is a matter of principle for them. How do you think a jury would react to your business partners standing against you?”

Al rose, stared at the wall, and sat again. He drummed his fingers on the desk and closed his eyes. “There has to be something else we can do.”

“There is. I have an alternative for you.”

Kim Hoang and Patrick Kennedy departed Washington at the beginning of the week, returning to their universities in time for the new school year. Although deprived of his girlfriend’s presence, Harley would be fine; moving in with Tank gave him his own space without being alone. Brad Kennedy’s situation was different. Still in a wheelchair, with his brother gone, he now depended on his fathers for many things.

Tank was working, so it fell on Harley and Carson to borrow the Tesla, drive it the few blocks to the Kennedy home, and collect Brad. Owen had driven CJ to the Dojo where Thiago waited with his son and returned to the apartment to watch over the baby. Owen joked trading CJ for Fabricio was the best deal he had made in ages.

UB40’s “Kingston Town” was playing at low volume when CJ walked through his apartment’s open door. “Would you look at that?” Grinning, he elbowed Thiago. They had stopped at the Thai restaurant a couple of blocks away on their way back from the dojo and picked up the order Owen phoned in.

“I think I just found me a new sitter.” While grinning at the Army veteran bouncing the six-month-old on his lap, Thiago dropped his and CJ’s duffles on the floor and offered his friend a fist to bump.

“Dude? Are you serious? Don’t you see my arms are wrapped around the bags of food?”

“Ooops, my bad. Here, give me one of them, and I’ll help you.” The other men in the room echoed Thiago’s chuckle. “Bradley, you look good feeding my son. You have the makings of a daddy.”

“Yeah, well, this is fine, but I ain’t changing no shitty diapers. Crap, sorry. Forgot about the language thing.”

“If his next word’s shitty, I’m kicking your behind.”

“I’m gonna shower, Thiago.” CJ had already discarded his flip-flops and the gi’s jacket. “You can go in after I’m done.”

Ever the environmentalist, Owen refused to allow disposable plates, cups, or tableware in the apartment. A stack of plates and a basket with forks, knives, and spoons waited on the kitchen peninsula when CJ and Thiago brought the food to it.

While they opened containers and laid them out, Thiago returned from the bathroom. Short, wet dreadlocks framed his face, highlighting his smile as he watched his kid guzzle cereal-laced formula. “Did anyone change his diaper before feeding?”

“I did.” A grinning Owen pointed at a plastic bag by the front door. “I double bagged it and left it there for you. We can add any others we use tonight and dump them in the container outside then. I don’t want the smelly things stinking up the place overnight.”

“Thanks, Ozzie. You told me you knew how to do it, but I didn’t ask how.”

“Cousins. Lots and lots of younger cousins.”

“I think he’s done.” Brad held the bottle aloft, then placed it on top of a couple of books resting on the small round table next to his chair.

CJ found the mid-century style, tufted armchair discarded on a curbside trash pile and had it re-upholstered in blue leather. The table was a hollow, wire barrel designed to hold corks. A birthday present from Ritchie to Owen. With it to one side and a floor lamp on the other, the grouping was CJ’s preferred reading spot in the apartment. “Am I supposed to do something else now?”

“You’re a beast, Red. You done good.” Thiago took his son and held him against his chest. “I’ll take it from here. You still need to burp him after a feeding, and the chances are good we’ll have to change his diaper again soon.”

“Okay,” CJ called out from the kitchen. “Food’s out, and Ozzie’s opening another bottle of wine. Come and get it. Brad, you want to get back in the wheelchair and roll by here, or do you want me to fix you a plate?”

“Fix it for me. What do we have?”

With Fabricio in the portable playpen CJ and Owen had bought for this type of eventuality, the guys loaded their plates and returned to the front area. ESPN SportsCenter was on the muted television and conversation shifted through a multitude of topics.

“How do you like your new living arrangement, Harley?” Carson had mentioned to CJ that at times he still felt like an outsider with the group. This evening, he engaged the others without reservation, and CJ hoped the feelings of not belonging were fading.

“Good,” Harley replied with a mouthful of food. “Tank’s in a good mood again. He’s all gung-ho about working at the new bar. I’m not sure what CJ and Owen did, but the owner called him and asked him to meet. Tank came back smiling. It was weird after what he told us the guy wanted him to do.”

CJ took advantage of the momentary silence while Harley shoveled more food in his mouth. “I had nothing to do with it. It was all Ozzie and his legal mumbo jumbo.”

“So what you do, Ozzie? Make him an offer he couldn’t refuse?” Carson’s reference to the famous line from The Godfather made Owen groan.

“Don’t start that crap again, mate. I’m not Don Corleone. That’s either Marlon Brando or CJ. Anyway, we made him realize sexual harassment of employees wasn’t cool. That it could cost him ownership of his business. Tank agreed not to sue him in exchange for an employment contract. If he tries anything again, and Tank gets fired for turning him down, it’ll cost him a lot of money in severance pay. He also agreed CJ and his grandfather had the right to interview any employee at any time. I’ve already done that with a few. Thank goodness nobody else’s complained about him so far.”

“Damn, CJ. Good thing you married an attorney.” Brad rubbed one of his stumps; it was something he did on a frequent basis. “No wonder he wasn’t scared when you went swimming with sharks. He knew they wouldn’t bite him as a professional courtesy.”

“Har, har, har. Watch it, Brad. We might be cousins…”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah. Like you scare me. You don’t see me running away.”

Multiple groans followed what Thiago called the evening’s lamest joke.

“Give Red a break, buddy. He’s spent the past couple of years surrounded by soldiers.” CJ was ready to keep the humor going; he liked to see Brad laugh. “It must be a military thing to tell lousy jokes. Trust me, I grew up having to listen to my dad.”

“Hey! No picking on warriors.” Brad shook a fist at CJ. “Don’t make me beat you up.”

The retired Army Ranger swiveled the conversation in a different direction when he complained about the current White House occupant and the approach to the war on terror by his minions. “They have no fucking idea what they’re doing.” Brad covered his mouth, glanced at Thiago, then at the dozing baby.

“You’re lucky he’s napping, homie. I’m not sure how long it’s going to be before he starts cussing if he hangs around all you degenerates on a regular basis. First time he does, I’m telling my mom it’s your fault.”

“Sorry, man. You know I always had the foulest mouth in the group. It got worse hanging with a bunch of soldiers who made me and CJ sound like amateurs.”

“What the frick? Don’t go throwing me under the bus, Red. This is all on you. Anyway, wanna tells us more about who they are, and why you think they have no idea what they’re doing?” CJ looked at the empty bottle of wine, and decided to open another one even though he was limiting his drinking; he had to drive Thiago and Fabricio home. Owen had picked the 2014 Vigilance Sauvignon Blanc for the evening, claiming the slight touch of sweetness and the taste of ripe fruits would go well with the food. As usual, the man was right.

“Have any of you seen the Ken Burns’ documentary on Vietnam?” When CJ and Owen were the only two to raise their hands, Brad smirked. “Why am I not surprised? Anyway, as you can imagine, I have a lot of time on my hands these days. I’ve been going through my dads’ collection of movies, and that was in there. I’ve also been reading some—”

“Bruh! You? Reading?”

“Shut up, Harley! Yeah, reading. Things have changed since high school. Did a lot of that while out there too. Someone lent me a couple of books on Afghanistan I wish the president and military brass would memorize. Why they think they can succeed in that shithole of a country when the British Empire and the Soviet Union failed is beyond me. We should have nuked the place after 9/11, turned it into a rock pit and be done with it.”

The room fell silent; Brad’s calm demeanor and precise words were mesmerizing even if a couple of the guys shook their heads when he mentioned nukes.

“Look, you can all disagree however much you want, but I’ve been on the ground, and I know what I saw. The same thing almost three million Americans saw in Vietnam. We’re not wanted in Afghanistan any more than we were in Southeast Asia. The documentary shows how the same locals who welcomed us in daylight back then, tried to kill us in darkness. The higher-ups want us to engage civilians. To show them we’re friendly. They have us building schools and playing with kids the same way they did in Vietnam. It’s not gonna work.”

Brad kept adjusting his position in the chair. His voice rose a notch and his words came out faster. “Do you know what it’s like to see people you’re close to get blown up by a veiled cunt wearing an explosive vest? Probably a relative of one of the kids my buddy kicked a ball around with the previous day.” Tears began to cascade down Brad’s face. “We keep trying to fight rabid animals in a civilized way, and it doesn’t work. But when we adopt their methods, we become as bad as them. It’s a no-win situation.” He quieted when the flow of tears evolved into sobs. CJ walked to the kitchen and returned with a roll of paper towels he handed his friend.

“Thanks.” He smiled after wiping his eyes and blowing his nose. “Sorry about that. I seem to have these mood swings… Sometimes I can’t stop the crying. Anywho, enough sad crap. Just trust me on this; we need to find a way to get out. Now, I was invited for food and a Big Mouth marathon on Netflix. I need me some sophomoric, dick and pussy humor to help me deal with my issues.”

“Issues, tissues. You just want to hear cartoon characters cuss.”

Brad said he was in the mood for a ride, so CJ drove to Anacostia first to drop off Thiago and Fabricio. On the return trip, he detoured through Capitol Hill’s Lincoln Park section. As the date he and Owen would reclaim possession of their house neared, CJ drove by it on a more frequent basis. Light traffic due to the late hour allowed him to stop in front of it for a few moments. “One of the first things we’ll do is install an elevator, Red. It’s primarily because of all the elderly grandparents on both sides, but it’ll also make it easier for you to reach the upper floors whenever you spend the night.”

Back in Georgetown, he parked in the driveway separating his fathers’ home from Brad’s and turned the engine off. “You okay, Red? You want me to roll you up the ramp?”

“Nah, I’ll be alright. Sorry I lost it earlier.”

“You have nothing to apologize for, brother. People say they understand us when we say something bothers us, but most of the time they’re lying. None of us can comprehend what you’ve been through. All we can do is listen and lend a hand when needed.”

“Jesus, CJ! Do you remember when we were in New York for your birthday? I asked you to grow up already, and run for President. You just made me want it more. How the fuck did you end up being so much wiser than the rest of us?”

CJ chose to remain quiet. If Brad needed to let things out again, he would sit in the car for as long as required.

“You know the American flag tat on my chest? The one you guys thought was so cool? Wanna know why some dots representing stars are red and others white?” Brad stared out the window, rubbing the tattoo above his heart.

“You were trying to match the color of your hair?” CJ’s attempt at levity elicited a slight smile from his friend.

“You’re such a dick…” Brad’s eyes fixed on CJ’s. “The red is for blood. The blood I spilled while fighting. Each red star represents a confirmed kill.” Brad ran a hand over his face and turned to stare at the brick wall outside the car window again.

“I don’t remember them all in detail but some stand out. Like the mother who came running at me, wailing baby held against her body with one arm, the other one raised, hand pointed in my direction, a gun in it. I shot her in the face, trying to avoid her chest for fear of hitting the kid. He was still crying, covered in his mother’s blood and brains, when we pulled him off her.

“Or the teenager who must have been around my brother’s age when we moved down here. We were in a warehouse. A rescue operation. I kicked in a door and found him sitting in a puddle of piss, his pants wet and stained. He sobbed pitifully as he tried to squeeze the trigger of his AK. He had no ammo left. I only found that out after I put a couple of bullets in him.

“It’s so fucked up, CJ. We keep trying to deal with these animals as if they thought the same way we do. But we can’t. We’re dealing with third world nations mired in the middle ages courtesy of their fucking imams, but with twenty-first-century killing technology.”

CJ reached for Brad’s shoulder and grasped it in support, while his friend covered his face with both hands.

He returned home after dropping everyone off to a picked-up apartment and Owen in bed reading. “Sorry it took me a little longer than planned. Ended up in the driveway talking to Brad.”

“Everything alright?” Owen closed the book, removed his reading glasses, and placed both on the nightstand.

“Yeah… I guess… I just don’t know, Ozzie. He goes to physical therapy every day and sees a shrink once a week. But I don’t see real improvement. I think he’s getting worse.”

“What do you mean? Because he started crying tonight when he talked about his mate getting blown up by that woman? You can’t hold that against him, CJ. It wasn’t my friend who was murdered, and I got moist myself.”

“Nah… That I can understand. I may not be the most emotional person in the world, but I’d react the same in a similar circumstance.”

“Then what is it?”

“The mood swings. I’ve called him Legless—“

“Well, that’s just wrong. I’ve told you so plenty of times.”

“Fuck you, Oz. Not everyone’s as prim, proper, and politically correct as you. Hang on one minute. I’m going to brush my teeth. I’ll finish about Brad after, and there’s something else I want to run by you.”

“You want anything from the kitchen? I’m getting water.”

“Nah, I’m fine.”

The conversation resumed when both were back in bed under the sheet. “Anyway, every time I’ve called him that, he’s laughed or made a joke. Tonight, when I said ‘Have a good night, Legless,’ he started crying again. Not sure if you noticed, but he popped a couple of pills. I can understand he needs painkillers, but he took two in a real short time period.”

“You think he’s in the same position he was with alcohol back in high school?”

“Don’t know. But you hear all this shit about people getting hooked on opioids…”

“So what are you gonna do? If I know my husband, he’s already plotting.”

CJ’s sniggering eased the heavy conversation’s tension. He rolled over on his side and spooned Owen. “Not sure yet. I’m calling someone tomorrow. I think he might have some insights.”

“Since you didn’t mention a name, I guess you want to surprise me.” Owen often said CJ should write fiction. He was all about the mystery and the cliffhangers. “Let me know what I need to do. So what’s the other thing you wanted to talk about?”

“We should buy a baby crib. The playpen’s good for times like tonight, but that’s it. If we get a real crib, when Thiago comes over with Fabricio they can spend the night.”

This time, Owen burst out laughing. “Right, so Fabricio has a place to sleep. Are you sure that’s it? No ulterior motives? You’re not like jumping the gun, are ya?”

“Of course not!” CJ was certain Owen could hear the smirking.

“Oh, what the hell. Let’s look for a nice one tomorrow. Speaking of tomorrow, wake me up early. If we’re going dancing with the Scandals tomorrow night to celebrate my last weekend before work starts, I wanna hit the gym. I need to make sure the abs are tight and the biceps pumped.”

“You’re such a queen!”

“Asshole…”