Here comes the rain (Buddie) - English

Chapter 11: Stop being Buck

"You've reached Evan Buckley's phone. I'm currently unavailable, please leave a message, and I might get back to you next time."

"Buck, I've called you three times already, and you still haven't called back, so get moving or I'm coming over."

Eddie hangs up and clenches his fists on his hips. Beside him, Lana waits and listens in silence. She looks up at him.

"Still nothing?"

He shakes his head, looking serious and annoyed.

"It's Saturday, he's supposed to pick up Christopher, it's their outing day," he says, unable to hide the growing concern within him.

"Maybe he doesn't feel like going out with your son today?" she ventures delicately.

Eddie scoffs bitterly.

"Buck would move heaven and earth if he couldn't see Chris on Saturdays. I can guarantee you something's wrong."

He stands on the sidewalk, observing the social housing building across the street, wondering if the day will come when they'll have to intervene there for a collapse.

Lana, in her wheelchair, clicks her tongue.

"You're dying to go check if he's okay, so why don't you jump in your car and run all the lights to get to his place?" she questions impertinently.

He shakes his head.

"I promised to drive you home; I'm not leaving you here just because he's not answering the phone."

She raises her eyebrows, resigned, and stares at him, waiting for the moment she sensed coming from miles away.

Eddie looks at his pickup truck, parked a few meters away on the edge of a sidewalk where an old parking meter had been tagged several years ago and never cleaned. Garbage bins were piled up in a heap of black bags on a spot marked with a yellow cross, and one of them was torn open on the asphalt, attracting the attention of dogs pulling on their leashes as they passed by. People were leaving work to grab something at the bakery across the street, and several individuals were already occupying the terrace of a small French-style bistro on the sidewalk. They were chatting, enjoying the day before the rain forecasted for tonight fell, and they paid no attention to what was happening around them. Honking horns, shouts, it was all normal. If Eddie had been in El Paso, a pedestrian being hit would have caused a worried and shocked crowd. In Los Angeles, everyone was too used to the chaos. On his right, a doorbell rings as a woman pushes the door of a clothing store with her arms full of cardboard bags, and just after, someone shouts on the phone.

The silence on the phone line when he called Buck, who was usually glued to it, was starting to breed an intuition in him.

The traffic lights turn green, pedestrians rush to cross before it's too late, and cars start in single file before heading straight on Broadway or turning onto Realm and Medicis. Eddie has reached the breaking point of his patience.

"Okay, let's go."

Lana propels herself onto the sidewalk, opens the pick-up door at head height, pulls the handle, grabs onto the step, and hoists herself onto the floor of the cabin. Eddie folds her wheelchair, opens the rear door, slides it between the two seats, and extends his arm to his friend so she can brace herself and reach the seat. She fastens her seatbelt, and he closes the door before joining the other side of the car.

He jumps inside, turns the key in the ignition, and pulls out of his parking spot, immediately taken by a small gray car struggling to fit in despite its size.

Inside the cabin, silence reigns. Eddie taps impatiently on the rim of his steering wheel as the lights take their time to turn green, and he squeals his tires as he takes Realm. He glances at the digital clock on his dashboard and accelerates a bit, pushing the limits of reason. His phone still doesn't ring.