I stumbled back to my apartment. it was conveniently around the corner, so i never had to drive. my room was on the second floor of a 3 story complex. it was an ok place to sleep at. secluded and quiet. the apartments themselves held up pretty well, they had to have been at least 30 years old. the desert sand took over most of what used to be a swimming pool in the visitors center. where i lived wasnt exactly the best place to raise a family in all of Riverside, so i never heard the sound of children running around. better for me.
i make it up the stairs to my door, room 426. fumbling through my vintage ducati jacket, i find my keys and go inside. i feel and look like total shit, plus i knew i was fucked as soon as i left the bar. my room was littered with garbage. mail, dirty clothes, old pizza boxes, regular, nasty college student filth. i couldnt remember the last time i took out the garbage in that place, much less when i last took a shower. i make my way over to the fridge and pull out the last bottle of whiskey, right next to the hydrocodone pills, known to me as sleepers. alcohol and pills always went hand in hand. i popped 2 and finished the last swig of drink left, and i pass out on the couch a few minutes later. last i checked, it was 1:36am.
life for me had been mostly a joyride to a place i didnt want to go. at the prime age of 32, i looked like a homeless man that rode a street bike. at this point in time i had been living off the money i had saved up when i was working security detail for a family sometime back.
my name is.....god, i cant remember. i got my start in security a few years after high school. to most people, security means rent-a-cops. to me, it means danger, unnecessary risks, and getting fucking shot. i specialize in personal safety, basically a bodyguard, without the all the legal bullshit. i protect those who pay me the most. the community college thing wasnt for me, and with growing pressures at home to do something with my life, i ran away to Nicaragua and became a guerilla there. revolution and young kids for some reason always got along, so at the time, i thought i was a little badass. then one day during a routine patrol, the squad leader was assasinated by a sniper, and at that instance my unit was disbanded. i was 24 when i came back to the sates, having spent 4 years in central america. i later learned the country went into an all out civil war the same month i got back.my first bullet dodged.
with all the experience i earned in the military, i came back with a friend of mine to Riverside, california. he had connections here that could get us some legitimate work. thats how i got started in the business.
6am. i get up and pack what little clothes i have and leave. i shoved all my possessions into a backpack. my Ducati waits for me downstairs. out of everything i own, this was the one thing i was proud of. it was an all black Ducati 1098, a superbike used in moto GP.the top speed was about 180mph, way more than what i needed,but it was cool to say it could go that fast. im still a little buzzed, but i'll be ok. the lack of sleep never bothered me, i naturally have insomnia, and with military training, i could be ok sleeping just 3-4 hrs.
the sun started to rise. i rode all the way up to the gate and took one last look at the mountains behind. i light myself a cigarette and put on my sunglasses. my over-developed trigger finger had gotten me in trouble again now i had to leave. in a couple of hours, the mountains will turn to buildings, and i'll be back home in Los Angeles.
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