Jo slaps his hand away from her butt. She walks to the fridge, yanks the door open, grabs two beers, and shoves the door shut with her hip. Then she swings the apartment door wide open and doesn’t bother to close it on her way out. “Thanks for the place to stay this week,” she calls over her shoulder. “Now we’re square.”

“Stay here whenever you want, baby,” Gus calls down the hall.

Empty cardboard boxes line the wall. She raps on the scratched wooden door.

No answer.

Jo keeps knocking. The light is on.

The door finally opens. A crack.

“Buy me a beer?” She plasters on her cocktail waitress smile. “Buck a beer. Ice cold Coors.”

“No.” The door starts to close.

Jo plants a foot against the frame. She hasn’t even gotten a good look at this guy. Gus might be right.

“Why not?” she asks.

“Beer does not cost a dollar. One beer sells for seventy-five cents.” He pushes on the door. “Move your foot. Please.”

She shifts to her pout face. “Why not?”

“You don’t live on this floor,” the new guy says. “I don’t know who you are.”

Jo raises her eyebrows. “Well, Sherlock, open the door wide enough for me to introduce myself.” She points down the hall. “I’m visiting the asshole who runs this place.” Why does he assume that she doesn’t live here?

“My name is not Sherlock.”

She drops the act. “I’m Jo.”

To Jo’s surprise, he opens the door and thrusts his hand out for a handshake. “I’m Ruben. It is nice to meet you.” He sounds robotic.

Jo shifts the beers to one hand and shakes hands with him. He’s tall, black, not much older than her, and dressed like a preppy catalogue model. Teal polo shirt and khaki shorts. She hands him a Coors and takes a long swig of her own. “You gonna make me drink this in the hallway?”

Ruben pauses for a long moment, but Jo holds out. Finally, he opens the door wider and gestures for her to enter.

“Where you from?” Jo waits. Ruben doesn’t answer. “Not from around here. I know that much.” She settles on the couch and puts her feet up on a convenient box.

“Don’t touch that! Please.” Ruben drags the box away from her feet.

Jo laughs. “Yes, I’ve heard from Gus. You don’t like people to touch your box.” She gives him a wink and says, “I feel the same.” She doesn’t expect the joke to land. It doesn’t. She takes in the kitchen counter covered with papers. No TV. A ton of stereo crap. A bookshelf with a row of dictionaries. Multiple CD racks.

Jo tries again. “So, where are you from? Or is it top secret?”

Ruben stares at her for a moment. “I am from California.”

What Jo knows about California comes from the Sweet Valley High books in her crappy reservation school. She read those books over and over – palm trees, swimming pools, and convertibles. Fueled by those escape fantasies, she made it off the rez. Only as far as Reno. She gestures at his shirt and shorts. “You dress like a white guy. Or is that how everyone dresses in California.”

Ruben rocks back and forth, bobbing around like he’s listening to an invisible Walkman.

Jo finally gives in. “Hey, Mr. Manners, here is where you ask about me.”

Ruben looks at her closely. “You aren’t white either.”

He says this as she takes another sip of beer, and she chokes with laughter.

“Observant,” she says after she coughs up the beer. “What am I?” She wipes her hands off on her shorts.

“Not Mexican,” he says.

“Correct,” she answers.

“Which tribe are you?”

Jo blinks in surprise. “Very good!” Everyone always assumes she’s Hispanic. No one has ever asked about her tribe.

Ruben studies her face, turns around and pushes a box labelled books out of the way. He looks through a box marked ‘CDs H-R’. He pulls out a few CDs, sits down next to her on the couch. He places each case down, one at a time, on the nearest box: Navajo Legends, Iroquois Dance, and Lakota Sundance Songs. The last CD makes her sit forward. He hands her the CD as if it’s made of crystal. “Careful,” he whispers, “it’s rare.” Shoshone Tribal Songs. The CD cover art shows a hunting party in a green meadow. Strong men sitting upright on beautiful horses. Nothing like her brother slumped on the couch after work, drinking beer, and drooling over Joan Jett.

“Where did you get this?” She stares at him.

Ruben points to her hair. “Bampipe.” He points to her cheek. “So’o.”

Jo swallows hard. The words transports her back to the rez, making a baloney and mustard sandwich with Gagu after school. She only remembers a few words.

“Yes, you’re right.” Jo stands. She hands the CD back to him. “I’ve gotta go.”

He stands. “It was nice to meet you.”

For the next week Gus speculates about Ruben. He paces the living room listing what could be in the boxes. The lists are limited only by his imagination: guns, drugs, money, body parts – either car or human – and back to guns and drugs.

When Jo insists it is CDs, he scoffs. No one can afford that many CDs. She doesn’t tell him about Shoshone Tribal Songs.

“Going now. Good luck solving the Mystery Neighbor.” She kisses him on the cheek and removes his hands from the front of her cocktail uniform.

“I’ll walk you down,” he says.

“Because you’re headed to The Bar,” she finishes for him.

“No. Collecting a rent check from apartment two. Leaking toilet in seven.” He locks the door after her. “Then The Bar. Coming back here tonight?”

“Maybe. Unless you’re hanging out at The Bar. And fantasizing about the new -”

Gus elbows her. Ruben is below them heading up the stairs. Gus blocks the way with his linebacker body. “Ruben, is it? Time for us to be properly introduced.” Gus sticks out his hand.

Ruben nods in Jo’s direction. “Nice to see you,” he says to Jo. He ignores Gus. All three of them stand there waiting for the other to step aside. Ruben is silent. Gus not budging.

Jo sighs. “Enjoy the staircase, guys. I’m late for work.”

Ruben lets her pass.

Jo turns back for Gus, but he’s not moving. When Ruben ducks under Gus’s arm to get up the stairs, Gus knocks him against the wall. “Sorry! Lost my balance.”

Jo slaps Gus on the arm. “Why are you such a dick?”

Even by the end of her shift, Jo is still pissed off. Ruben should fight his own battles, but when she’s pissed, it’s hard to mind her own business.

Gus sees her walking up and comes out of The Bar. “Still mad?” He holds the door open. “Come in for a drink.” Mr. Nice Guy is back.

“Not dressed like this.” She pulls at the rib-breaking corset of the cocktail uniform.

“Borrow one of my T-shirts.” He strokes her hair. “Come back down.” He laces his fingers through her hand and gives her a little kiss. “I’ll order you a Coors.”

“Fine. Just one.”

As she heads for the stairs, he says, “Ask Ruben to join us. I’ll buy him one to apologize.”

Her back stiffens. She spins around on her heel.

“No.” She sounds like Ruben. “You go. Go knock on his door if you want to apologize.”

“Come on, babe.” Gus tilts his head. Puppy dog eyes. “Would you answer the door to me? I mean, if you were him.” He looks sincere. “Help me fix this.”

Gus has a point. “God damn son of a bitch,” she curses.

Gus looks proud. “You know I’m right.”

Jo stomps up the stairs and into Gus’s apartment. She tugs off her uniform and throws it against the wall. She yanks out one of Gus’s smallest shirts from the drawer, and digs shorts out of her backpack. Too dirty to wear. She should go back to her own apartment. Sit out the rest of this Ruben situation. She pulls on the dirty shorts. Her neighbor must have finished his bender by now and quieted down. She grabs up her backpack and stuffs dirty clothes back in. A good night to do laundry. But she hesitates.

If she doesn’t take Ruben down to The Bar, Gus will keep at his ‘got to know the tenants’ bullshit. Gus has sniffed out the fact the Jo is protective of Ruben. When she first left the rez, she was like Ruben. Green behind the ears, as Gus liked to say of her.

She will run interference tonight. Then the guys will need to figure it out on their own.

“Headed down to The Bar for some beers. Wanna come with?” She digs through her shorts pocket, finds a ponytail holder, and ties up the bottom of the oversized T-shirt, waiting for Ruben to say something. Finally, she says, “Sorry to disturb you,” acting like she is a butler. “Would you care to come downstairs and join us for a drink?”

He opens the door a bit wider. “It’s late.”

“It’s ten. On a Friday.” She jiggles her foot. “Gus wants to apologize. Wants to buy you a beer.” Then she backs away from the door with her hands up. “But if you don’t want to accept an apology…”

Ruben peers down the hallway to Gus’s door. “I don’t like him. He’s rude.”

“Gus is rude,” Jo agrees. “He tries to be a good guy, but he’s not always successful.”

“Manners are important.” Ruben steps out into the hallway.

Jo tilts her head. “Isn’t it rude to refuse an apology?”

Ruben pulls his door shut and locks the deadbolt.

Jo leads the way down the hall. She hums the song stuck in her head from the casino bar to fill the silence.

Ruben says, “Bonnie Raitt. ‘Real Man’ on Nick of Time. Released last year, 1989.”

Jo wrinkles her brow. “That’s right. It was playing at work.”

“Seventh song. Tenth album. Released by Capitol Records. Warner Bros dropped her. She didn’t sell enough records.”

“Really?” Jo purses her lips. “Bonnie is stuck in my head. KRNO overplays her to death.”

Ruben rocks back and forth. “Nick of Time is on the Billboard Top 100.” He pulls at the hair on the back of his head. “KRNO plays her too much. I should fix that.”

“Not much we can do about what they play on the radio.” Jo nudges his arm and says, “Not unless you know the DJ.”

Ruben moves his arm away from her hand. “I don’t like to be touched.”

She puts her hands behind her back. “No touching. But answer me this. Why do you have that CD?”

“The Shoshone CD? I like languages.” He shrugs. “I like learning to speak other languages.”

Jo laughs. “I’m sorry. You’re not very talkative for a guy who likes languages.”

To this observation, Ruben says nothing.

Jo picks a crusty bit off her shorts. This evening is going to be a nightmare. “What I need you to do, Ruben, is follow my lead. Know what I mean?”

Ruben rocks back and forth. “Do what you do.”

“Yep, that’ll work.” Jo tightens her ponytail. She can tell that, like her, Ruben doesn’t have his own people around. If Gus sees Ruben is harmless, even a little helpless, he’ll look out for him. Even though Gus is hot tempered, he likes to help people and fix things.

As they head down the stairs, she says, “Hey, Ruben, if this goes well, maybe I can find tickets to the Metallica concert.” Like a bribe will help the evening go smoothly.

“Metallica. And Justice for All. 1988.”

Jo’s hand is on the door. “You know a lot of song trivia.”

“‘One'” was an unexpected breakout hit.” He locks eyes with her. “I’ll follow your lead.”

She nods. As they walk in, Gus breaks from his pals. He points to the table in the corner and picks up three bottles of Coors. “Hey, man, sorry about that thing on the stairs. I was out of line.” Gus clinks his beer against Ruben’s. “I’m the property manager for the building.” He pauses, expecting a response. “Not much to brag about, but this building is home.”

Ruben takes a sip of beer and stares around the bar.

“Anyway, what brings you to my neighborhood?” Gus eyes Ruben for a moment. “No offense, man, but you don’t look like you belong.” He waits for Ruben to speak up but can’t tolerate the lag in the conversation. “Tell me about yourself,” Gus commands.

Madonna sings through the silence at their table.

“Ok, let’s do this interview style.” Gus knocks his leg into Jo. The check-this-guy-out nudge. “Where you from?”

Madonna ends. AC/DC blares out the opening guitar riffs of “Dirty Deeds.”

Jo cuts in. “I told you he’s from California. ”

Gus says, “I won’t hold that against him.”

Ruben says, “AC/DC. Dirty Deeds Done Dirt Cheap. Released 1981. One year after Bon Scott died.” He rocks back and forth on his stool.

Gus grins at Jo. “My man Ruben’s a metalhead.”

Jo slumps back on her chair and takes a long drink as the two guys talk through the intimate details of Scott choking to death on his own puke.

After about seven songs and a debate over the merits of Kurt Cobain compared to Bon Jovi, Ruben stands up. “It was a pleasure to formally meet you.”

Gus pushes his stool back. “Nah, we’re just getting started. Let’s get another round.”

Ruben shakes his head, no. He taps the face of his watch. “11:00pm. Bedtime.”

Jo is juggling three problems. Gus is obsessed with teasing Ruben about his bedtime. Then, the bigger problem. Her spur-of-the-moment promise about the Metallica concert. She didn’t expect Ruben to really want to go. He barely seems to leave his apartment, but he knocked on Gus’s door to ask about it. Thank God Gus was at work. She needs to get away from this stupid situation, but there is her third problem. The biggest. Her apartment building is a crime scene. She can’t go home. Gus wants her to move in with him.

Jo focuses on the Metallica concert. The friend with the tickets can’t make the show. It’s already Thursday. She can go alone, or she can bring Gus. Bad idea. She needs a little space from Gus right now. That leaves going to the concert with Ruben.

On Saturday night, Jo tells Gus that she needs to pull another double. After her regular shift, Jo changes, walks out the side entrance, and sees her mistake.

Down in the fifteen-minute waiting zone, Gus is leaning against the wall. A bagged lunch waits on top of a car for Jo. He does this sometimes. Cigarette in hand, Gus is shooting the shit with a valet driver as he waits for her break.

Ruben is waiting further down the alley, away from the flashing lights and loud ringing of slots that carries into the night. He waves to her, and Jo holds up a finger to let him know she needs a minute.

Gus takes in her street clothes. She’s wearing his Alcoholica T-shirt. He looks around and clocks Ruben waiting. Before she can explain, Gus throws the lunch in her face. “I brought you something to eat because you had to ‘work a double’.”

The valet driver vanishes.

Jo grabs Gus by the hand. “It’s not what you think.”

Gus grabs her by the shirt – his shirt – and pushes her up against the wall. “It’s exactly what I think. You’re going out. With him.” He points at Ruben who has walked over to them.

“It’s not a date. It’s not. The Metallica concert…”

Ruben picks up the sack lunch and is rocking back and forth. “I want to – I want to go -”

Gus turns on him. The punch sends Ruben sliding down the brick wall. He grabs on to a pipe and tries to pull himself up.

Jo takes Ruben by both hands and helps him to his feet.

Gus pushes her aside. “You want to go? Where?” The next punch breaks Ruben’s nose, and he crumples to the ground again. Gus stands over Ruben’s slumped body. He is ready to hit him again, but Jo pulls him away.

“Stop! Stop! Stop it!” Jo cries out.

Gus swings around to face Jo, his arm drawn back.

Jo covers her face with her arms, but Gus puts a vice grip around her upper arm and drags her past the side entrance. She’s crying and begging him to slow down. People stop and stare. No one intervenes.

By the time they are under the neon sign of The Bar, they hear sirens. Gus hauls Jo up the stairs and slams through his apartment door. He peers out the window. Police and ambulance lights flash blue and red across his face.

Jo is crying so hard that she can’t breathe. She’s tried to explain. Gus won’t listen.

“What the fuck, Jo? What the fuck? I do something nice and -” Gus throws the remote on the ground so hard it cracks.

Jo opens the apartment door and walks down the hall. If she can’t get Gus to listen, she will show him. He follows her down the hall. She points at Ruben’s door. “Open it.”

He digs out the building keys and unlocks the deadbolt.

Gus walks in slowly as if expecting a trap. Then he roves around the CD towers. Many of the CDs have labels: For Promotional Use Only.

“The boxes were actually filled with CDs,” Gus says.

“Yes,” Jo says. She sits at the kitchen counter and puts her head down. Ruben’s mail is piled on the counter. A pay stub from KRNO. “Gus, he works for the radio station.”

Gus scrutinizes the pay slip and drops it back on the counter. He waves an open letter from IHSS Nevada. “In-home support? What’s that?”

Jo reads the letter out loud: “You are scheduled for an intake appointment. This will be an opportunity to discuss necessary community support services. Please bring a copy of your autism diagnosis as proof that you qualify…”

Gus collapses on the couch. “What the fuck?” He explodes out of his seat and paces the floor. “Why was he living here?” He throws his arms open wide. “Why wasn’t he in a… a… home? I don’t know. What’s he even doing here?”

Jo stands up from the kitchen stool. “Ruben should be – what – locked up?”

“Because he’s not safe!”

“Not safe!” Jo shakes the letter at Gus. He refuses to look at her.

“It’s not safe having people like him wandering around.” Gus clenches his fists. “He could have hurt you.”

Jo sees what he’s doing. “No.” She points a finger at him. “You attacked him.”

Gus covers his face with his hands. “I know. I know what I did.”

A silence stretches between them. “You’re going to fix it.” Jo clenches her fists and then shakes out her hands. She sits next to him on the couch. They both stare forward to the spot where a TV should be. “We’re going to fix it. We’re going to the hospital.”

Gus nods. “Then what?”

Jo sighs. “I don’t know. We make him feel safe. We let him know he’s welcome here.”

Gus nods.

Jo says, “I’ll tell Ruben I’ll be right downstairs.”

Gus wipes away tears. “You’ll move in?”

“The downstairs apartment.”

Gus leans into her shoulder. She pulls him in tighter and holds him until he stops crying. “Come on,” she says. “We need to go and bring Ruben home.”