CHAPTER FOUR || IV || KAMAR

Kamar (KT)

IV.

***

The April air was thick with humidity, and raindrops pounded my leather jacket like bullets. The sky darkened to deep indigo, and the smell of wet soil rose from the asphalt below. Cars screeched as tires dug into the slick streets. I summarily discarded my cigarette butt into a puddle before advancing to Patchy's bar in downtown Venice City. The buildings surrounding it were monolithic and decaying, chunks of crumbled concrete teetering precariously. The bar itself was a dilapidated wooden structure that needed long overdue renovation. Sitting on the stool nearest the taps, I grinned wolfishly at the bartender, who raised her gaze from her glass mug to meet mine under the dimly lit bar. Her eyes glittered dangerously under the bar lights.

I leaned against the bar, keeping eye contact, "Emma, darlin', let me get a double Jame-o and coke?"

I've been trying to get her phone number for several weeks. Though she'd often flirt and laugh with me, she never wanted to share her digits. At that moment, the skilled bartender, Emma took out a small glass from underneath the bar and filled it with ice. She poured Jameson over the ice with expert precision, creating a crackling sound, and mixed in the cola. Emma's attention to detail was impressive, and she crowned the drink with a slice of lime, making it look all the more delightful. Finally, she put two black straws into the glass and served them to me with a warm, welcoming smile.

"Bottoms up, KT," Following a moment of humming to herself, she gracefully made her way over to the beer taps and poured an impressive array of dozens upon dozens of beers.

The bar was bustling with people enjoying finger foods and drinks, including Emma skillfully making martinis with her bouncing curls. As I savored my sip, a man entered and sat beside me after receiving a shot of vodka from Emma. Although tired and sad, he exuded an air of nobility and wore dark-wash jeans and a black sweater accentuating his broad shoulders. His expression conveyed a sense of loss and grief, but I smiled at him nonetheless, and he nodded in return before resting his arms on the bar. A gleaming chain around his neck caught the light, adding an intriguing touch to his appearance. We sat there in awkward silence until he finally leaned in closer.

"KT, right?" While contemplating my response, he impatiently drummed his right index finger on the bar's surface, creating a rhythmic tapping sound.

"Yeah, that's me," I replied, somewhat taken aback.

“You know August?” He raised an eyebrow, and I nodded, still at a loss for words, “I don’t mean to freak you out.” He crossed his arms and glared ahead, ” I’m a family friend.”

I nodded, “August talks about me a lot?” He shrugged. I let the conversation end there, sipping my drink again.

Time passed while I watched Emma fight off the drunks. The man who knew my name was one of them, but his chain was in his hand, and he was talking to another drunk at the bar.

"It's pretty heavy, and there's a diamond in each crevice."

Patty, also intoxicated, looked on in wonder at the glittering diamonds on the chain, tracing their exquisite contours with her sun-kissed finger. She was transfixed on the fine jewelry, captivated by the stunning beauty of the jewels.

She slurred, "It'ssvery beautful, but I'd nev'be able to afford'it."

The man chuckled, "You got a beauty that'd help you afford anythin', darling."

Patty grinned toothily and placed her hand on the man's chest, "Why don't we take this somewhere a little more... private?"

I furrowed my brows and focused on Emma, determined not to be a cock block, but the soft sounds of their flirting were becoming too much for me to bear. Patty and the man stood up, pushing their stools in and approaching the exit. I glanced at them briefly, noticing the man's intense gaze fixed upon me. His eyes glinted yellow in the bar's dim light, and his mouth curved upwards into a sinister grin. I shuddered and looked back at Patty, fearing for her safety. But she was laughing obliviously as they left.

"Eh-Emma, did you fucking see that?" My eyes locked onto hers, and fear lodged so deep into my chest that I could barely find oxygen to speak.

"See what?" Emma fixed her gaze on me curiously and carefully set another beer bottle on the wooden surface before me. "Do I need to cut you off soon?" Her tone was light-hearted and playful.

"That guy knew me somehow," I turned my gaze to the door and shook my head slowly, rubbing my arms to rid myself of the goosebumps that had formed. "I don't know... but there was something off about him," I replied uneasily, "His eyes were yellow. Dude was creepy." I picked up the bottle and took a long sip.

"His eyes were hazel. And he was gorgeous."

***

The city was overflowing with violence and fear. It didn't seem to matter what ethnicity, gender, or age group the people were from; they all seemed to be dying at the same rate. There were no clues left behind for us to follow; it was as if the killers were invisible. My fellow activists and I spread information about who we thought was responsible—and hope had taken hold of everyone in our community. We wanted to stop the violence, but how? The mood was tense as people assembled around the police station in the night. Everyone’s spirits lifted when I approached the microphone, and they enthusiastically roared. I took a moment to gather my thoughts before speaking into the microphone. I searched the faces of the people in the crowd, my throat tightening as I recalled the day my father never returned. Posters with messages like "NO NEW POLICE" and "STOP KILLING THE PEOPLE" were held up as people chanted in protest. Rage bubbled within me; why did he have to be taken? I still had no answer. Today marks two years since my father passed away.

"The day Jeremiah Tyson was taken from this world, the local media reported that officers had "reasonable suspicion" of him carrying a weapon and wanting to harm an officer, but the truth on that fateful day was something else entirely... On that rainy day, Jeremiah was wearing a hoodie to keep himself from getting cold. On that rainy day, Jeremiah was coming home to see his son and his wife. Instead, his life STOLEN from him. These officers, these thugs, murdered him and never faced any punishments… my life was ruined, and they’re living large." Whilst delivering my speech, the crowd chanted in unison. I glanced back at the towering building behind me, then continued into the microphone, "Patty Greenes! Trevor Johnson! Jordan Rogers! Nevaeh Peeles! Carl Spooner! Vinny Oliveria! And Jeremiah Tyson! We won't stop until we have answers! We won't stop until we have justice!" I shouted, and the crowd erupted with exhilaration.

Several people charged towards the building, throwing glass bottles and eggs, while others stood by and watched. Afterward, I stepped off the podium, abandoning the microphone. Dina's face was ornamented with a warm smile as she approached the gathering, but when she caught a glimpse of my presence, her expression shifted to worry.

She cautiously approached me, hesitating to speak as she opened her mouth. "Farah’s not answering the phone… I thought she’d be here with you?"

"Are you fuckin' kiddin' me, Dime?" I surveyed the area before the station.

My cousin Farah, who is younger than me, wanted to join the protest, but I had to explain why it wasn’t safe for her. After our talk, she agreed to stay home.

“I gave you one job. How hard is it to watch her?”

The townies were out, chatting and laughing—and the vibrant atmosphere was reminiscent of a neighborhood block party; the distant sound of police sirens reality-checked some. This wasn’t a party. I checked the telephone booth closest to the far right of the steps, but she wasn't there. My gaze shifted to the flag pole, where officers used their nightsticks on a group of rioters. Thank God, nope.

"KAMAR!" Dina let out a frightened cry.

We were positioned directly in front of the police garage when suddenly, an SBPD pickup truck emerged from within its confines. The suddenness of the vehicle caused a momentary panic, and I felt myself freeze. The truck lurched forward, and I sprung into survival mode.

"Fucking run, Dina!" I yanked her hand and sprinted, noticing she couldn't keep up with my pace. "Hurry up!" I yelled, yanking her again. The truck was revving its engine menacingly, lurching forward each time we’d made good distance.

"Wait! This way!" As she tugged at my arm, I turned to look in her direction. A narrow alleyway led to the other side of the building, with vines creeping up the sides of the gates and trash scattered on the ground. Even though I wanted to charge at the squad car and physically harm them, I knew it was unrealistic. Screams echoed off the concrete buildings, and the car quickly sped away.

“Are you okay?" She was still holding my hand tightly and looking at me with concern.

"Yeah, I'm fine. Are you okay?" After letting go of her hand, I took out my phone and dialed Farah's number.

"I'm fine… are you calling her?" She spoke softly while keeping watch as the phone began to ring.

"Yeah…" After a brief ring, the phone emitted static noise. "Farah?" Still static… oh wait.

"Kamar?" Sirens blared through the speaker of the phone, "KT…! I'm… Big Pink! People are… it's crazy! You've gotta… Hurry!"

"Big Pink. Something's wrong, but I can't hear her…” I yelled into the phone, “I'm coming to you, Farah! Don't move! Do you hear me? I'm coming to you! Don't move!" I shoved it into my pocket, then grabbed her hand. "We gotta get to the diner." I took a step forward, but she pulled me back.

"You'll pass the club if you go that way." The police are frequently stationed outside of Blue Ocean. They couldn’t see me while leaving the protest; we'd get arrested.

"Okay, lead the way then."

As we walked down the alleyway, I expected her to continue forward, but instead, she reached into her bra and pulled out a tiny key. We continued to walk further, and the alleyway grew more expansive; vines streaked the buildings and reached the ground. She used the key to unlock a car parked behind two tall dumpsters. The smell was putrid, like a combination of old socks and cat food. She then opened all four doors of the car and let go of my hand.

"Get in,"

After shutting her door, she retrieved a larger key from under her seat and inserted it into the ignition. The dim lights flickered on as she started the car.

"My cousin been stealin’ these cars for a little while. He’s into that drag racin’ now, says only real men do it." She shook her head, “Shit’s gonna get him killed.”

I teased, "Well, damn. Is this when I feel emasculated?" I was already in the passenger seat, fully taking in the gravity of the situation; I buckled my seatbelt.

“Oh, so, you don’t like racing?" She giggled and started the engine. The gravel beneath the tires crumbled as she drove out of the alley and headed towards the diner.

Once we arrived at the front of Big Pink, Dina parked the car and turned off the engine. I analyzed the lot as we exited the vehicle and noticed many people congregating in front and around the building. Some stood in circles within the parking lot, while others were seated, waiting for their respective groups to arrive. People held broken and bent signs, and a few cried. Towards the diner’s entrance, a group of men shared a joint.

One of them hacked and spat. "Shit ain't pretty," He said. Another's eyes locked on the tear-streaked face of the girl next to him who had come outside to be with him in the parking lot, along with a few other patrons from the diner. A group of women stood in the parking lot, all hysterically crying, "They killed him!"

The streetlamp cast a neon-yellow light across the curb. A tiny figure sat huddled on the curb, weeping to herself. We made our way toward the glass door. It swung lightly on its hinge, and Farah pushed open the doors; she ran to us with her arms outstretched.

"Oh my God, you guys," She cried and hugged me tightly.

"Are you okay?" I hugged her tightly, comforting her with a back rub, before stepping back to look at her. "What the fuck happened?"

Dina was rubbing Farah's shoulders, "Pol-police were shooting at the protest… and many people got hurt." She sobbed, gripping my collar.

"We were there…" I looked at Dina, who was shaking her head. “How did you get here before us?”

Farah pulled away from me and wiped her face, her breath shaking as she spoke, "Mike got shot in the hea-head…" Mike was a good friend of Dina’s; he was tall and wide with a kind smile, intimidating, and harmless. She continued, "We had just got there, and Aaron got shot. Keegan got us back into the car before we got shot at."

"Where are they?" I asked. Faint sounds of police and ambulance sirens wailed from around the corner.

"They took him to the hospital and told me to stay inside until you showed up. He's really hurt." Her gaze shifted towards the device clasped in her hand, and the reflection of her apprehension was starkly evident in the depths of her large, brown irises as conveyed through the small screen before her. "Keegan texted me. You guys came in a car, right?" She raised her phone to her ear and glanced at Dina.

"Yeah, c'mon," Dina said. We all hurried to the car to pile in.

"Hey, wait!" I unlatched the passenger door, and a frightened yell caught my attention from the far end of the parking lot; it sounded like the Zippo Chick. She looked afraid. Her hair stuck to her forehead, and her nostrils flared as she raced towards the car.

"Hurry up!" I hastily got into the car, and with a swift motion, Dina opened her door and hopped into the driver's seat. I watched her insert the key into the ignition with a steady hand as she turned the key; the engine roared to life. With a determined look, she shifted the car into gear and slowly exited the parking lot.

"What's your name?" I glanced in the rearview mirror. Her brown hair was slick to her face, accentuating the contours of her cheekbones and highlighting the natural glamour of her face. Her locks cascaded down her shoulders effortlessly but were ravaged by an unruly tangle and slight frizz that betrayed its natural beauty.

"Ana…lina," She huffed and stared through the rearview mirror, swallowing hard, "You?"

"Kamar... My friends call me KT, though. Weren't you at Blue Ocean?"

"Someone shot the place up… I saw you there! What happened to your friends?" As Analina turned her gaze towards Farah, their eyes met briefly. Quickly, Farah averted her gaze and crossed her arms. Farah let out a barely audible mutter and topped it with a dismissive roll of her eyes; Analina fixed on her with a perplexed stare.

"So you just bold-faced lied in our faces?" Dina clamored but kept her eyes on the road.

Despite the surge of frustration, I managed to control my emotions and merely scowled. "Didn't I say it's dangerous there, Farah?" She bowed her head. “People go missing in that area of Venice City. Especially women." Regardless of Farah reaching the legal age of eighteen, I still feel uneasy about her going to Venice City. Blue Ocean is a risky club to go to. She could go anywhere else in South Beach.

"I was fine, KT--" She attempted to voice her fuss with a tone of defiance.

"You could've gotten fuckin’ shot!" In a fit of frustration, I couldn't help but hit the dashboard with my fist, causing the argument to end abruptly. Farah seemed taken aback, her lips parting slightly before quickly closing again. I looked back and noticed tears forming in her eyes, and I immediately regretted my outburst. I sighed softly, "I just want you to be safe... I can't let something happen to you too."

"I know..." Farah stopped speaking. I glanced at the rearview mirror and noticed Analina's empathetic expression. I closed my eyes and released a lengthy, subdued sigh.

"If I knew you'd yell, I wouldn't have said anything..." She said.

Farah scoffed, "You shouldn't have said anything at all."

"Listen, I didn’t mean to —." Analina attempted to explain politely, but Farah interrupted with a sharp retort.

"Stop talking to me then." Farah dismissed Analina from the conversation. In response, Analina reacted by sticking her tongue in her cheek.

I averted my gaze from both of them and instead fixed my attention on the surrounding street. A profound absence of conversation marked the rest of the drive.