Chapter Text
"Turn this fucking song off, Liam," Zayn groaned from the passenger seat, but with the howling wind of the Arizona desert blowing through the open-roof convertable, Liam didn't hear Zayn's whinging. Alas, it wasn't worth Zayn shouting - he was too tired and too hungover to bother. And that is how they spent the next 45 minutes listening to the rest of The xx's album.
Zayn usually wouldn't complain. The xx were one of his favourite bands, but he was feeling like death for most of this road trip, so melancholic indie music did not do him any favours.
But he had to admit, he had enjoyed the peace of the last few weeks. Road tripping along the Southern plains of America, no paparazzi enquiring about the status of their friendship or whether they kept in touch with the rest of their band-members. It was just he and his best mate, and the open road.
And Liam was, truly, one of his best mates. Liam spent most of his time in London, living with Cheryl and his newborn, and whenever he was in LA, where Zayn lived, Zayn just happened to be in New York visiting Gigi. But no matter how many miles were between them, whether hundreds or thousands, their friendship never really changed. They still texted each other hilarious memes, complained about their girlfriends over the phone, and sent each other extravagant birthday presents via mail. These were things that the media would freak out about if they knew, blow up to the point where a One Direction reunion would start making headlines, but to Zayn and Liam, they were simply the small things - the foundations of a friendship that was now nearing the seven-year mark.
They'd started in Houston, Texas, where Liam had performed a one-off set to promote his new album. Zayn picked him up in his shiny Cadillac, his obsession with vintage cars growing since leaving the band and having the freedom to do whatever he pleased. Of course, after two days of drinking - stopping at little bars along the way - Zayn just could not muster the strength to focus on the road, and Liam became designated driver.
"I don't like this at all," Liam said at first as he took over the driver's seat, easily over the legal limit. Don't be fooled. For all his Gucci belts, Versace sunglasses and growing display of tattoos, Liam was still the purest at heart of all the 1D boys. He hated breaking the law, but Zayn was slowly unpeeling the layers to his mate. Liam was learning that you can't appreciate the simple things in life if you're afraid of them.
And so here they were. It was quaint, peaceful, serene. Even with the wind and Jamie xx's throbbing beats pulsing throughout the old car.
- - -
Liam instantly felt nervous when he saw the black car flashing it's headlights repeatedly in his rear-view mirror. It was still a fair way behind them in the distance, but if it were trying to get his attention, then they had succeeded. Liam had subconsciously slowed down, distracted by the somewhat unwanted guest approaching them.
Liam tugged at Zayn's sleeve, but the boy was still asleep, slouched to the side, head resting against the vibrating door. He looked so peaceful, despite the frown that was plastered to his face in his permanent state of hungover-ness.
He pulled at his sleeve again, nudging him to wake up. Zayn slowly rose from his slumber, eyes puffy and lips full, looking dazed and disoriented.
"What?" Zayn slurred.
"Look in the mirror - do they look like they're getting closer to you?" Liam said seriously, not even bothering to cover up his anxious tone. Zayn stared into the rear view mirror casually and immediately noticed the flashing headlights, before shrugging his shoulders and turning away again.
"S'probably just a broken headlight," Zayn said dismissively, slouching back down to get back to sleep.
"No, Zayn!" Liam said through gritted teeth, the frustration at his friend's laboured, intoxicated non-chalance finally bubbling over. "I think we should pull over."
Why did Liam think this? Well, it was what he did back in the UK, when he would be signalled by the police to pull over if he was driving too slow, or he'd forgotten to turn his headlights on. It put his mind at ease a little, thinking of the police. After all, they were literally in the middle of nowhere, so he didn't want any problems - whether with his vehicle, or with strangers in the desert.
He waited nervously on the side of the road. The music had been completely silenced, and all they could hear was the buzzing of the hot, Southern desert. He and Zayn exchanged anxious looks, Zayn sensing that his more reasonable and rational mate was probably right that something was up.
The black car finally caught up, it's engines making a ferocious roaring sound, the tyres screeching to a halt. It was a black commodore, lined with bright orange flames along both sides. Two of it's back windows were blacked-out, obscuring any chance of Liam and Zayn figuring these people out. Then, a door opened, and a short but solid man emerged from the driver's seat, stalking around the front of the car so they could see his full figure. He was built like a bulldog - short limbs, but his waist was stocky and his chest full. He wore a leather vest, littered with patches of various logos and symbols, and a white T shirt underneath that exposed his arms, of which every inch were covered in elaborate and intricate tattoos.
The man was of Latino descent, clearly, so Liam and Zayn both looked unsure of whether to speak English to the man. Their fears were alleviated when the man broke the silence first.
"Nice car", the man's smoky voice said as he gestured towards the Cadillac. "This a 60?"
"56," Liam quickly replied. If he was being honest, Zayn was pretty impressed. He felt instantly taller in the passenger seat of his car just being next to his mate who he considered to be a fucking legend.
"Nice, nice." The Latino man continued, approaching the vehicle and stroking it with an extended arm. Liam and Zayn sat in silence once more, waiting for some sort of moment of clarity or a point to this man's provoking. "But tell me -"
And there it is.
"What are two dudes like yourselves doin' out here, drivin' a '56 Cadillac? What, your mommies let you have a break from college?" He taunted, his tone becoming darker. He removed his sunglasses, and they realised his eyes matched his sinister voice.
They both took offence at the remark. Neither of them thought themselves bad-ass sex symbols, but they both thought they had enough swagger, not to mention wealth, to break their stereotypical 20-something-at-college image.
"We - we're just on a road trip" Liam finally stuttered out, once he knew the man had finished. "Started in Houston, making our way to Cali," Liam finished.
"Ohhh, no shit! Cali, huh?" the man said excitedly. "That's where we goin'!" Zayn's stomach sunk at this point. What the fuck did this guy want with them? "Y'know what boys, I think you should come with us!" He said in an upbeat, inviting manner, but both boys knew there was a more sinister undertone in the suggestion.
"Oh, I dunno. We have to make a lot of stops along the way," Liam said, and paused hesitantly when he saw the man glance back towards his car. Liam continued, "and it would just be too difficult." Another long pause as the man's face grew from curious confusion to serious conviction. "But thanks, anyway!" Liam tried to respond with positivity.
"Y'see, I can't let ya' do that, boys." And then the sound of car doors opening and slamming shut filled the dusty bay off the side of the road. Three other large, solid men of similar build to the first man, emerged from the black commodore. One of them was gigantic, towering over the rest of them, and almost doubling them in width, like some kind of Andre the Giant impersonator.
Liam and Zayn didn't know what to do or say to the man's stern response. After all, they still had no clue what any of this was about. All they knew is that there was a distinct feeling that this was very fucking scary.
"We were following you boys for about a half hour. I was thinkin' to myself, "Damn! What the fuck are those dudes doin' out here, just the two of 'em, in that car?" And then it hit me!" He interrupted his speech to playfully slap himself on the cheek. "I remembered my first job. Me and my homie Frankie went out, just the two of us, to this shitty little bar outside of Sacramento. And we waited and we waited, and we watched every motherfucker that walked in and out of that place. And that was it! That was the whole fucking point of the job."
More silence, and more confusion.
"But we got paid, man, we got fucking paid! I'm talkin' big cash! We earned the boss' trust, worked our way up. Job by job, like fuckin' rodents or somethin', man. So don't think your little, 'road-trip across the South Side' shit is gonna' work with me, motherfuckers! I know drug mules when I see 'em."
Liam and Zayn were horrified, too stunned to even form words.
"In fact, you two remind me of me and Frankie back in the day. Except you two are a little more gay!" He burst out into a fit of cackling as his band of brutes behind him followed suit with mumbled laughter. "Get your asses out the car, motherfuckers!"
And who were Liam and Zayn to disobey a command like that? They scrambled out of the doors on either side, scurrying to the front of the car to get away from the man who was approaching the rear end. This wasn't all bad though, Liam realised. They had nothing on them at all to create the illusion they were drug mules. They would just figure out they had the wrong guys, and let them go. They just had to hold on a few more minutes.
The Latino man began scuffling through their bags, secured in the boot of the Cadillac. They couldn't see behind the raised boot door, but they could see various items of clothing flying onto the dusty ground with reckless abandon. 'Gee, how respectful', Zayn thought to himself. Still, it was better than being murdered and their bodies left on the side of the road.
"Well look here, boys!" The man howled from behind the door of the boot. It earned a cheer of endorsement from his crew, and a quiver of realisation from Zayn. He knew as soon as he heard the man's voice from behind the boot that he'd fucked up. How could he forget about his bag of joints? He'd kept them buried deep in his sports bag, and even then he thought he was being over-cautious. After all, he never anticipated being pulled over by some drug gang that suspected them of drugs.
He didn't even tell Liam about his stash of joints. Liam had seen him toking away here and there throughout the trip at various pit-stops, but Zayn had always assured him he'd gotten them from locals and paid for them fairly. He neglected to tell him about the part where he was transporting dozens of them across state borders in the back of their car. He could feel Liam's eyes piercing him to his side; he felt his skin get hot and flushed, and his heart was throbbing so hard in his chest he actually felt in pain. He couldn't even process anything other than dread and fear as he saw the Latino gangster hold up the bag of, what - 20? 30? - joints and parade it to his cronies.
"What the fuck dude!" Liam whispered under his breath in Zayn's ear, leaning ever-so-slightly towards the smaller man but not enough to break their cool, calm and collected facade.
"That's a fat stash, Jorgé!" One of the men cheered, slapping the main guy on the back. So that was his name, at least.
"Not drug mules, they say," Jorgé announces. "They just ride around solo with a fuckin' keg of green hidden in all their faggoty clothes!" He continues, spitting beads of saliva with every syllable. Was he excited that he'd caught them out (or at least he thought he'd caught them out), or just infuriated that they'd lied (or at least he thought they'd lied)? "Sure as hell look like drug mules to me."
"Look, we're not who you think we are. We're not drug mules!" Liam pleads, trying to keep his voice as rational and calm as possible to remain convincing, but to be fair, he wasn't exactly trained in the art of gangster persuasion. Liam turned to Zayn. "He - he's," he was lost for words, so nervous he could feel beads of persperation in seemingly every crevice of his body. He caught Zayn's nervous eyes, searching, pleading for Liam's help. Think, Liam, think! "He's my boyfriend. We do weed together. We just finished college. But we are not drug mules."
The words just sort of rolled out of Liam's mouth without much process or comprehension. It was certainly not how he intended to get out of this a minute ago, or even thirty seconds ago. But it's the best he could come up with on the spot, and judging by how the guarded looks on the gangster's faces changed from alarmed and defensive to confused and uncomfortable, it seemed to work.
He hadn't even noticed Zayn's reaction yet, nor did he want to. This was probably the most uncomfortable moment in their friendship, but he would not apologise for it. He'd rather these gangsters think they're a couple of gays than a couple of drug-pushers encroaching on their territory. Jorgé seemed grossed out by this revelation, so hey, maybe he'd even prefer to just get them out of his sight sooner rather than later.
"Yeah, well," Jorgé stammered, clearly lost for words. He seemed the type who probably never encountered a gay person in his life, unless you count taking one of his rivals from behind in the nearest correctional facility as a gay encounter. "You should have just said that from the beginning, save us sitting here talkin' our arses off for so long." Jorgé turned around to his gang, and they linked arm-in-arm in a huddle.
After what seemed like an eternity, presumably to discuss their fates, Jorgé faced the two boys again, greeted by their anxious, but hopeful, faces. "This isn't the ideal way I like to do business, know what I'm sayin'? This just seemed too good to be true. Two young, capable dudes who know the market."
"Know the market?" Zayn piped up, feeling somewhat responsible for getting them into this mess, and feeling he at least owes it to Liam to right his wrong.
"Yeah, y'know. You don't get this much quality weed unless you know what you're doin'." What exactly was he getting at here? "You boys know what you're doin', even for a coupla' queers."
Liam and Zayn weren't sure if they were supposed to react to that kind of language. They weren't gay, so they didn't feel the sting of his homophobic language, but maybe that's what this act needed? At the same time, they didn't want to do over-do it. Jorgé's presumption that they were gay was the only thing keeping him from considering them to be a threat.
This also caught Zayn's attention as he realised one thing: Jorgé and his men had no idea that he and Liam were famous. Not surprising, Zayn thought to himself. They probably wasn't familiar with the pop boybander scene. If Jorgé knew that he was worth over $60 million, he probably wouldn't find anything strange about Zayn's quality weed.
"How would you boys like to try something even fresher than this? You boys look like you know good product when you see it. I have a few, ah, clients who would be interested in this," he held up the zip-lock bag of joints.
Liam was confused, but Zayn was dismissive. As if any drug lords would give a fuck about some joints, even if it was the highest quality weed you could get your hands on.
"A few joints?" Zayn pondered aloud. Jorgé admired Zayn speaking up, as Liam had taken the lead so far throughout the entire exchange.
"Think of it as an investment. They come, they meet you, they test the product, no matter how much of it there is. If they think it's solid shit, and it is, then they'll put up the cash. S'like throwing their hats in the ring - they'll want more, keep comin' back, and that's how you get new business partner." Zayn nodded slowly, as though he was only slightly following what Jorgé was saying, and more importantly, insinuating. Almost as if he were following Zayn's thoughts in real time, Jorgé spoke up again.
"Your part in this is pretty simple homie - you get me in contact with your guy, I remind him it'd be insulting to refuse our organisation... I think he'll be keen to keep this thing goin'."
Oh shit.
So he basically wants Zayn to be the linking associate between his grower and this... thug, about whom he knows nothing, other than he is in the drug business and doesn't know shit about pop music. Zayn couldn't possibly do what Jorgé was asking of him. He couldn't risk his grower, Moses, becoming involved in some kind of drug racket. He was a small-time producer from South Gate, just north of Compton. He had a wife and two kids, and basically limited his weed trade to Zayn and a few other notable musicians only. He didn't deserve to be brought into this. But how could Zayn say no to a dangerous criminal?
"What do I have to do?" Zayn said, seeking clarity. Liam turned to Zayn, looking frustrated but more disappointed that Zayn would succumb and get them even more involved in this illegal shit.
"S'easy, bro. I'm having a mad party tonight, open bar, valet, girls, all that good shit. Well, no girls for you," Jorgé chuckled, and Zayn just glared at Liam begrudgingly. "Come to this address," he went to reach into his breast pocket before he stopped suddenly, and returned his gaze to Zayn with an evil, sly smirk. "Actually, I have a better idea. You follow us, we'll take you there. That way I know you boys won't get lost or nothin'." He winked at them, before turning his back on them and walking away to get back in his commodore, leaving the two young guys to stand there and wallow in just how over their heads they were.
As they regathered themselves to reluctantly slouch back into the Cadillac, Jorgé raised his head out the open window of the driver's side of his car. "Ay, y'know, you fags ain't so bad after all," and with a wide, confident smile, the commodore sped off back onto the main road.
- - -
They had been on the road for hours now, must of been over three going on four. The sun was starting to wind down over the burning red, orange and golden slopes of the desert, ushering dawn in over the arid landscapes. It was just Liam, still driving and focused intensely on the road ahead; Zayn, too afraid to sleep, but too exhausted to sit upright; and the commodore they were following. Through the dark rear window, the boys could see silhouettes of the Latino men, all huddled into the car. Liam wondered whether they were talking about he and Zayn, laughing at how idiotic they were to get themselves into such a mess. Zayn could only think about what the fuck he was going to do.
The drive had been almost entirely silent. They both blamed each other for this shit-storm, but they were also too uncertain about what their immediate futures held to turn on each other.
"I can't believe it," Liam finally broke the silence by muttering under his breath. And there it is, Zayn thought. It was one of Liam's most annoying, irritating qualities. How he'd let things bubble and seeth inside him, too determined to always be the nice guy, and it would then come to the surface at the most inconvenient and inappropriate moments. Unlike Zayn, who basically was incapable of hiding whether he was happy or pissed off. Sure, he didn't say much. He'd never come out and say everything that's on his mind, but he was also never fake, and never tried to stifle his true feelings. His face would most of the time say it all.
Sensing Zayn was not going to give him the satisfaction he wanted of an acknowledgment of his statement, Liam continued. "You brought a whole fucking stash of it, and let some crim find it!" Zayn knew all that Liam was saying was true - he didn't need to bring a whole stash. It was illegal, after all. But he would not allow himself to bear the sole burden here.
"Bullshit, bro, as if I knew this shit would all happen! We'd lasted nearly two weeks without you even knowing about it so shut the fuck up!"
As soon as the words left his mouth, Zayn regretted them. They'd never, ever gotten into a fight like this before. Even in the band, when they'd each had screaming matches with the other three boys, fights between the two of them had always been limited to moody silence on the tour bus or private jet. That was the extent of it. They'd never been capable of mustering enough hate towards each other to actually scream it out. And even now, they both knew it wasn't really hate that was making them do it; it was fear.
"Yeah, OK." Liam huffed, seemingly trying to put a pin in the heated conversation. But it was easier said than done, given the stress he was under, following a car full of criminals into the abyss of the Southern desert. "No one said you had to agree to be fucking partners with them."
"Dude, it's one night. Let's just go and get this over with. I'll fucking sort it out," Zayn mumbled. "Anyway, no one said you had to make us a fucking gay couple!" Zayn spat spitefully. Liam creased his eyebrows, and Zayn himself even looked taken aback by his attitude. He wasn't homophobic - he'd worked with and befriended enough hairstylists and photographers and make up artists to know he had no problem with gays. But after five years in a band where the label was constantly thrown around by the media and even his own fans, he was just tired of it rearing it's head all the time. And he resented Liam for putting him in a position where they now had to keep up some kind of charade. But as Zayn himself said: it's only for one night.
"I freaked out Zayn, I was put on the spot. Don't forget I was trying to cover your ass!" Liam snapped, forcing Zayn into silence. Realising this merry-go-round of insults and burns was getting them nowhere, Liam sought to break the tension. "You know in Friends, when Joey and Chandler are stuck with that baby? And people assume they're a gay couple and it's kinda easier for them to just go with it?" Zayn nods slowly, connecting the dots in his mind. "Well, that was the best I could think of at the time. If we can use it to make us seem as non-threatening to this Jorgé guy as possible, we might just make it out of tonight alive. Got it?"
Zayn had no choice but to nod and accept his friend's suggestion. He was usually right about things, Liam was. It's why Zayn looked to Liam as both a friend and a father figure. If he was going to be stuck up shit creek with no paddle, there's no mate he'd rather be in it with than Liam. That thought made him smile, and he whispered, "We got this bro" as they turned off the main road, with no idea of the fates that lay ahead of them at the end of this narrow, gravel road.