There’s something weirdly fascinating about watching young Dick Casablancas begging for heroin and getting his throat cut for it. Granted, it’s on a movie screen, but before his undercover-cop character (who thought of that one?) got his blood so messily spilt, his performance could be categorized as true art emulating life.

Logan reaches over and takes my hand. His is cold and clammy. Turning to him, I notice he’s not watching the screen, his eyes, filled with a disconcerting mix of desperation and relief, are on our joined hands as he runs the pad of his thumb over my engagement ring.

And it suddenly hits me. Boy, I’m so stupidly blind sometimes. This scene could be triggering for someone with Logan’s history of substance abuse. He could’ve died all those years ago, just as the character on screen did. With less blood, but he could’ve died. Logan wouldn’t be here, if he’d succeeded in killing himself in his depression. He wouldn’t be here with me, holding my hand, feeling the engagement ring he’s put on my finger under his thumb. He would’ve died alone, would’ve probably been forgotten by now as if he’d never existed.

I blink hard to keep tears at bay at the thought of him being snuffed out of existence so easily, so callously, and clench at his hand. Not on my watch, I swear silently. I won’t let you go, Logan. Not if I can help it. Prophetic dreams and premonitions or not, I’ll protect him with my last breath.

Even from something as trivial as a movie scene.

I elbow Dick, who’s sitting on the other side of me, his eyes glued onto the screen, watching Josh Duhamel’s character screaming about cops.

He elbows me back as if to convey the message of letting him be.

I sigh and lean closer. “I’m getting Logan out of here,” I whisper.

Now I have his attention. “But it’s my movie,” he whines softy. “I want you to see it.”

“Dick,” I growl. It’s only a minor role; his character dies in the first half of the flick, it’s not like he’s an A-list actor.

His eyes slide to the left and his entire demeanor changes. “That’s it, dude,” he says obnoxiously loud, jumps to his feet, almost climbs over me, and parks himself in front of Logan, blocking his (and everybody behind him) view of the screen. “We can go, the best part is over.” He grins. “And the second best part is just beginning. Part-ay! We can celebrate the two of you ruining a good thing by deciding to get hitched. That’s just sick, dude!”

He giggles maniacally, grabs Logan’s arm, and, with a look at me that speaks volumes, drags us out of the auditorium.

Just like that. One glimpse of Logan’s face and he knew what it was all about, having lived through this particular nightmare with his best friend, while I was miles away, trying to escape the mayhem I caused.

There are hidden depths to Dick, you just have to dig to find them. He might seem shallow and self-absorbed, but he’d do pretty much anything for the people in his close orbit. He doesn’t have many friends in the true sense of the world, most people who hang around him are 09er residue from our school days, 09er wannabes and groupies only interested in money, sex, and recreational drugs. And all that he has left of family, is his con of a father, recently released from prison and wanting to flip the town upside-down, and an absentee mother who doesn’t give a shit about her son.

No wonder, he needs his special chocolate brownies when the blues hit. But he has a support core around him now, I guess. There’s Logan, who’s been like a brother to him for more than half their lives and there’s me, his adoptive wicked step-sister (his words), because he failed in getting Logan to shake me (again, his words).

It didn’t happen overnight, God forbid. He has a good reason for not being able to fully forgive me, just as I cannot fully forgive him for being one of the catalysts for my rape. We don’t talk about that, of course, we never did, and until we do, full forgiveness will remain elusive. Yet, gradually, Dick and I got to a mutual understanding that we’re the two constants in Logan’s life and no matter what, he won’t shake either of us. And if we keep trying to get him to do that, the only one suffering is going to be him. Since we both love him and neither of us wants to make him suffer, we’ve buried the proverbial hatchet. That doesn’t mean we stopped trading barbs or insults, but it comes off more as good-natured banter between old acquaintances than weapon-rattling by two mortal enemies.

And with me becoming a permanent fixture in Dick’s life, courtesy of Logan, my friends have joined his orbit as well. Hence, the pool involving our engagement he participated in.

So now, the seemingly shallow idiot with hidden depths and rip currents has both a quasi-family and a couple of buddies that won’t take advantage of him.

You’re welcome, Dick.



I smile gratefully at Logan, when he finally returns with our non-alcoholic beers. We’ve fully embraced teetotalism, staying away even from an occasional glass of wine or cocktail among friends. I might’ve dabbled at the beginning, but I never actually acquired the taste for alcohol—as you probably know, I have an aversion to being out of control of my mind and/or body, while Logan...Well, let me just refer you back to the aforementioned substance abuse for any explanation you might need.

Though, if I’ll have to listen to Dick recall which was the hardest scene to film for him one more time, I just might change my mind and go for the hard stuff.

“Okay, I think the hardest scene for me was when I was supposed to surf while trippin’ on heroin, ‘cause I had to think two things at the same time.”

I move my bottle to the side in order to make room for when I’ll start slamming my head against the table. It’s either that or knocking Dick out. Which also doesn’t sound like a bad idea.

“It’s a challenge,” Logan says with a nod, running his hand soothingly down my spine.

“You were amazing,” titters a young brunette who’s sidled up to Dick during one of the versions of his hardest scene soliloquy.

Dick grins like a kid at Christmas. “Yeah?”

The girl nods enthusiastically and if we were characters in a musical movie, I bet she’d burst into song and cheering moves, she’s so young. I frown at the image. She looks too young.

Richard Casablancas Sr., also known as Big Dick, former resident of Chino, chooses that moment to finally approach his movie star son. “Well, that was somethin’, huh? Well done, superstar!” He slams his hand on Dick’s back. “Boy, they didn’t scrimp on the blood, huh?”

Apparently Dick’s character isn’t the only one who ends up gushing blood in the movie, then. Looks like we didn’t miss much by leaving early.

“Whoa.” Big Dick appraises the too young girl by the table, then notices me and Logan. “Oh, Logan, Veronica.” He grins. “Alright, when are you two crazy kids gonna make it legal?”

Dick snorts. “Great powers of observation, dad. Can’t you see the rock on Ronnie’s finger?”

“Oh, well, congratulations you two.”

“Thanks, sir,” Logan murmurs, while I just nod and take a sip of my beer (mmm, elderberry, yum), hoping he’d just go away.

Of course, he doesn’t take the cue. Quite the contrary, he points at the slender, middle-aged man who wouldn’t look out of place in a jazz club with his all-black attire and the pork pie hat perched on his bald head,standing beside him. “Veronica, Logan, meet my friend and associate, Clyde. We go back to,” he leans closer, pride and smugness coming off him in waves, “ya know, when I was on the inside.”

Being an ex-con is nothing to brag about, but that fact obviously eludes Big Dick. As does the reason he was on the inside in the first place. Rich, privileged assholes never acknowledge the little people they trample.

Logan shakes hands with Clyde and I do the same. “Hi.”

Big Dick points to the young, too young, girl hanging on Dick. “And who is this?”

Junior clearly has no idea. Neither do I, for that matter, although I’m pretty sure she mentioned her name.

She’s more than capable of introducing herself. “Malone.”

Did she say she was a Malone when she came to the table? No clue.

“Malone?” Big Dick also seems surprised at the name.

“Yeah,” Dick agrees. “Yeah, I was gonna say that.” He looks at me with the expression of someone who’s dodged the bullet, and bites into another one. “So, V, I gotta say, playing an undercover detective has really given me a deep appreciation for what you do.”

No, it didn’t. He told me that getting Logan off that last murder charge has given him a deep appreciation for me and what I do. Besides, I’m not an undercover detective. I’m not even law enforcement. So he’s making stupid small talk, while also conveying to someone, I don’t know if it is Clyde or young Malone, just what I do for a living.

Still, I can’t help but take the bait he so generously offered. “Hold multiple thoughts at the same time?”

He giggles softly, but there’s a ‘this is a worthy opponent’ light in his eyes. He was baiting me.

“You know, Veronica here’s a legit PI.” There’s something akin to pride in his voice. “She’s working the Sea Sprite bombing.”

This isn’t for Malone’s benefit, it’s for Clyde’s. I glance over at Big Dick’s brother from another Chino, but he keeps a blank expression. And you know what they say about blank expressions. They’re masking something else.

“You wouldn’t think it by looking at her,” Dick goes on, moving against young Malone hanging onto his shoulder as if he wants to dislodge her, “but you know what they say about small packages.”

I can’t help this one either. “That you’ve got one?”

I take another sip of beer, to cover my wince, when Dick frowns as if mine was a low blow.

“What?” He finally manages to remove Malone from his shoulder, which I find odd, coupled with his previous movements. Isn’t she his type? I mean, she’s female, she’s breathing, and she’s ripe for the picking by Dick Casablancas, the movie star.

“Yeah, I feel weird for asking,” Logan interjects, breaking the tension, “but what does Big Dick’s right hand do?”

Break the tension and poke a little more. He got the same idea as I did. There’s something fishy about Clyde.

Blank expression still firmly in place, the guy doesn’t look ruffled at all, Clyde replies, “I’m just a glorified property manager.”

Logan and I share a quick look. Glorified property manager, my ass.

“Oh, the guy’s brilliant.” Of course, Big Dick has to expand the narrative, though it’s obvious Clyde would’ve preferred he stayed silent. “He does everything.”

And then Malone, obviously feeling left out with no Dick shoulder to hang on, pipes up, “I thought we were going to an after-party at DJ Khaled’s house.”

Dick’s face seems set in stone, but he manages a slight eye-roll. “No, babe,” though there’s no endearment in his voice, “the after-party party’s after this party.” He looks to the side, calls to a Tim to shoot him party deets, but it’s obvious there’s no Tim around and whoever Dick is pretending to call doesn’t know him. Still, he grabs his glass and disappears into the crowd.

Big Dick goes in search of another drink, leaving Logan and me alone with Clyde and Malone.

We move closer toward one another, hoping to be left alone, since neither of us has any intention of making small talk, while Clyde slides toward Malone, leaning his forearm on the table.

“So, I can’t get over how much you look like my niece. You’re probably about the same age. When were you born?”

Logan and I wince simultaneously. What kind of question is that? Is he angling for a date, which is gross or—

“’98,” Malone responds.

As if. I look at Clyde, trying to determine what he’s about.

“Yeah, same as her. So, high school class of 20...15?”

I can literally see the girl’s inner calculator frizzing as she opens her mouth. “Yeah.”

Some basic rules of lying. Never choke, own it, bluff your ass off. She evidently never heard about any of those.

Clyde has, though. “Yeah.” He also knows math and can detect an underage person without checking the possible fake ID. He straightens from his slouch, and pins Malone with a hard stare. “I don’t know what kind of math they’re teaching you at your high school, but you should probably pay more attention. And you should probably go somewhere else...Maybe the prom?”

She slowly moves away, disappearing into the crowd.

I take another sip of my beer and meet Logan’s eyes. Well, that answered the question about what the interrogation was for. Clyde wasn’t angling for a date, he was trying to save Dick from possible statutory rape charges.

A corner of Logan’s mouth quirks.

He has a point. Dick’s been acting weird since Malone came to our table. The introduction of me and what I do, the trying to shake the girl’s grip from his shoulder, the disappearing act pretending to inquire about the details of a party. He probably knew there was something hinky, but, in true Dick fashion, decided to have someone else do the job of removing the girl from the premises without her making too much of a fuss.

Suddenly, the man in question magically reappears. “Oh, did Monroe leave already?” Like he hasn’t seen her go.

“Malone,” Clyde corrects, before melting into the crowd.

Dick shrugs. “Whatever.” Then slams his hands on the table. “Well, now that we’re finally alone, we can get back to celebrating. Your engagement and my stardom.” He grins. “And guess what, the drinks here are free!”