Dark Justice by Kristi Belcamino (smallest ebook reader .txt) 📗

when I got there so I didn’t have to make eye contact with the valets or the people in the front lobby as I made my way to the elevator.

Once in my room, I flopped on the bed. My phone buzzed again and I ignored it. James had called and texted a few times while I was at the bar.

I’d deal with him again in the morning.

When I woke, it was a typical San Francisco late morning—gray and cold. I saw that James had not stopped calling and that Dante had joined in with four of his own calls.

Fuck.

I would have to deal with them soon.

Meanwhile, I sheepishly called Tony and asked if he and a friend could get the Bugatti back to my hotel from the bar where I’d parked it the night before.

I put on the coffee and then unpeeled my dress and stepped into the hot shower.

Only after a cup of coffee in me did I dial James.

“Yo.”

“Gia, where the fuck have you been?”

“What’s up?” I said nonchalantly.

“There’s some pretty strong evidence that points to you. I’m not sure there is anything I can do to help you.”

“Whatever. Dante is handling it.” I said. “Did Madame Butterfly say you couldn’t help prove my innocence because we nearly fucked last night?”

I was pissed.

He gave a loud sigh. “That evidence, Gia, it’s bad. You need to be perfectly honest with me. I shouldn’t even be talking to you.”

“What is it now, James? Another shitty photograph?”

“Video. Hotel surveillance footage. It shows you shooting Maxwell Carlton.”

“That’s impossible.”

Twenty-Five

I needed help.

A video of me? That was some high-tech shit, since I obviously did not kill anyone and yet there was a video showing me murdering someone.

I hung up with James and called Danny. I already felt guilty that I’d been in town so long without letting him know. But how did I know things were going to hell so quickly and that I’d become a murder suspect?

Danny always been a night owl, so I knew when I called that he was either still up or had just gone to bed with the sunrise.

As a millennial who didn’t speak on the phone, I could hear the surprise in his voice when he answered. “Gia?”

“Long story short. I’m in the city. There’s a video of me shooting someone dead. I need your help.”

I heard some shuffling sounds. “At your service.”

Then: “You’re in San Francisco?”

“I was going to surprise you.”

“Um, you did.”

“Can I come over.”

“I’ll make coffee.”

“What? So sophisticated.”

“Haha, Gia.”

I disconnected.

I dressed in a faded pair of black jeans, my heeled motorcycle boots, a soft T-shirt and my black Armani blazer.

As soon as the wheels of the Bugatti hit the pavement of the Tenderloin district, my heart sunk. My once-beloved working neighborhood was gentrified. Boutique coffee shops. High-end restaurants. Shiny silver skyscraper apartment buildings.

I could hardly believe it.

And still, tent cities on the sidewalks housed the homeless.

Meanwhile, young men with slouchy stocking caps, goatees, and flannel shirts with Armani sneakers were walking the streets. Women dressed in Lululemon leggings, carrying lattes and pushing their dogs in tiny strollers gathered on corners, wearing their Tiffany sunglasses on top of their balayage-blonde heads.

It was fucking bizarre.

I hated it.

My neighborhood was now home to a bunch of hipsters.

My brief idea to buy another apartment in the TL was immediately discarded.

This neighborhood was no longer my kind of scene.

As I looked for a parking spot outside my building, I decided to pull into the spot near the homeless guy the mommy crowd had just dismissed.

He didn’t look over when my alarm beeped loudly as I set it.

“Hey,” I said.

He kept walking. I jogged to reach his side. “What’s your name?”

“Roland,” he mumbled and kept walking.

“Hey,” I said again, keeping pace with him as he walked. He side-eyed me.

“You busy, Roland?” I asked.

He stopped and laughed. I laughed too. His teeth weren’t bad for a homeless guy. And his face was freshly shaven.

“No, seriously. I need your help.”

He drew back and gave me a skeptical look.

“I’ll pay you to watch my car,” I said and jerked my chin back toward the Bugatti.

He looked and blinked. “Yeah?”

“Yeah. Twenty bucks to start screaming if anyone gets near it? I’m just going to be right there.” I pointed toward the building.

He shrugged. I pulled out a ten. “I’ll give you the other ten when I come back in about an hour.”

He nodded and headed back toward the car. I watched him slouch against the wall near the car before I rang the doorbell.

The camera swiveled to point at me. I held up my middle finger.

The door clicked open. Inside, the lobby looked great. I’d told Danny to do whatever he wanted with the building, and I’d pay for it all. He’d installed beautiful paintings of different San Francisco scenes. I loved it. I raced up the stairs. He was waiting at the top of the landing with his arms wide. I was enveloped in his hug. He smelled like woodsy spices.

My heart filled with gratitude. I’d never expected him to live this long. He had a disease that made him grow too much and too fast, but some new experimental drug treatment had arrested his growth and prolonged his life indefinitely.

“What are you doing here?” he asked.

I stepped inside my old loft.

In the old days, Danny had lived in a tiny, cramped apartment a few blocks away that was full of computer monitors and old pizza boxes.

One corner of the loft still held all the monitors he needed to be the world-class hacker he was, but he’d closed it off into a dark room. I could see the bank of computers flickering green lights from the door to the room that was ajar.

I nodded that way. “That was smart.”

“Yeah, that equipment doesn’t do well in the light.”

The other area was a very tasteful masculine apartment with dark wood and muted tones. And it was neat as a pin.

“Looks good, Danny.”

He blushed.

Steam was starting to bloom out of a kettle on the stove.

“I’m making