by Carey Lewis
They watched Cyrus get hauled off by the paramedics, then they fought over whose car to take because Jamal and Ray drove separately, neither one wanting to leave their car behind. So that’s how it came to be that Jamal and Ray drove different cars to serve the warrant on Hank. It’s also how it came to be that Jamal didn’t trust Ray.
At least when he was dabbling at being a criminal, he knew he couldn’t trust those guys. Cops were supposed to be the ones you could trust.
When Jamal got to Hank’s place, it was already crawling with cops and an ambulance.
“What’s going on?” he asked the officer at the door. He filled Jamal in on the 911 call asking for strippers. Caller ID got them Hank’s phone, then they looked up his address and came upon this crusty old man that seemed a little racist that didn’t want to leave, busted skull be damned.
Jamal asked if being a little racist was a thing.
He went into the house, a policeman making notes, two EMT’s trying to treat the head wound, good old Hank sitting on the floor drinking some Jim Bean.
“I told you this would happen,” he said to Jamal.
“You the one saw him before?” the woman Emergency Medical Technician asked Jamal.
“Me and my partner.”
“He needs stitches and refuses to go.”
“I didn’t leave the sand land, I ain’t leaving here. Just stitch it up and get out of my house.”
Jamal walked into the room, sat on the couch beside Hank.
“I switched to the clear stuff so I’d have a good head. I do that at night so I’m not hungover in the morning. This happens, headaches going to be there anyway.”
“Please stop moving,” the EMT said.
Hank took a big drink anyway, gasping when the bottle left his lips.
“I came in you said ‘I told you this would happen,’” Jamal said.
“And it fucking did, didn’t it?”
“What happened?”
“Dot like I said. Dot happened.”
“It wasn’t Lex?”
That’s when Hank turned his head, ripping the skin in the EMT’s hand when he moved. He sat there, staring at Jamal, death in his eyes, as the paramedic held the flap of skin.
“Dot came,” he said in his most sober voice, “with her cocksucker man. Busted me up and tore up my house.”
“He’s the one did this?”
“It’s what I said.”
“You have his name?”
“First name cock, last name sucker.”
“We have a warrant to search your house,” Ray said. Jamal didn’t even know he was standing there.
“What for?”
“Thirty-eight. The one you were going to welcome home Dot with.”
“It ain’t here.”
“We’re going to search anyway.”
“You going to clean up when you’re done?”
Ray looked around the room, said “sure,” and disappeared into another part of the house.
“Where’s the thirty-eight?” Jamal asked.
“Gone. Dot took it.”
“Dot huh?”
“Her and her man. I was power napping, only so much watch you can do. Cocksucker comes in, takes my rifle, starts smashing me over the face with it. She comes out of the bedroom with my thirty-eight, says it’s hers now.”
“Dot took your thirty-eight?”
“And he took my rifle, don’t you listen?”
“You sure it was Dot?”
Jamal caught his eye then. Hank hesitated for a moment then took a drink. “Got a forty-five I brought back with me, kept in the basement. They took that too.”
“So Mr. Sucker comes in, beats you with your rifle, your wife takes your thirty-eight and your forty-five? They take anything else?”
“What more’s there to take?”
“And Lex hasn’t been by to see you.”
Hank shook his head.
“Okay then,” Jamal said and stood up, crossed the room to leave when Hank called to him.
“You find him be careful okay? Show him mercy.”
Jamal nodded and walked out the front door.
They were walking side by side. Sometimes his hand brushed hers accidentally and she felt a spark. This isn’t going to be good, Catharine thought, leading Cochise down a path to the park that branched off from an abandoned textile plant.
She didn’t want to get involved because it would end badly. It always did. She didn’t get anything good in life, especially the things she wanted. And God help her, she wanted Cochise. He needed to stop asking whey she was called ‘Saint Catharine,’ but knew she would have to tell him eventually. And when she did, it would be over because that’s what happened to her.
The brushing of their hands, she knew it was accidental. Just bumping into each other while they walked. But she felt a spark, hoped he felt it too, and now she was looking for excuses to touch his hand, saying we need to go this way, grabbing him gently to show the direction.
“We need to get off the street,” she took his hand with her fingertips, guiding him to the park. “You should take off that plaid, it’s what they’re looking for.”
“I don’t know,” he said again. It was always he didn’t know.
“What don’t you know? That’s what they’re looking for. They see plaid, they’re going to jump you.”
“How do you know so much? Like the radio thing?”
They were walking into the park now, along the worn dirt path. She wanted to lead him through, then into the wooded area beyond where she knew a tunnel they could take, getting them closer to…
“Where we going?” she asked, just hitting her now that she didn’t know where they were going.
“I was following you,” and then he smiled. That goofy, lopsided grin that took her off guard every time.
“Okay, so where’s home?”
“I don’t even know where we are,” he said. Something about that smile. How it would flash on, then disappear into the sorrow of his eyes. Like he would forget everything that happened for a split second before it all came crashing back again. Like she was the only thing that brought him any happiness tonight. And because of that, she liked him that much more. She had never felt like the source of someone’s happiness.
“Who were those guys? You hang out with them? One of them your boyfriend?” he asked, looking to the ground. He didn’t even know he was being cute, that was the kicker of it all.
“God no, I was just bored. It’s complicated.”
“So what were you doing with them?”
“You want to take a break? Go up that slide?”
So she took his finger and pulled him gently to the playground in the middle of the park. They walked across the mat, through the swing set, up the curved stairs and across the rope bridge to the top of the slide. She leaned against the plastic wall made to look like wood that guarded kids from falling off.
“It’s not about the plaid,” he said, “it’s about family. They’re my family.”
“I’m sure they’re okay.”
“Maybe. You keep asking me where we’re going and I want to say home.”
“You don’t know where you live?”
“Not how to get there.”
He was pure, honest, his innocence wasn’t an act or a ploy. It was true. He was a genuine, warm soul, and she hadn’t seen that in a long time. He wasn’t after anything from her except her company. He was good for her.
“If we find a radio Asteria will be telling everyone what’s going on. Where they’re looking, if they caught any of your friends.”
“What about you? Aren’t you in trouble being with us?”
She didn’t put too much thought into it. She knew there was danger, and they were being hunted, but she wasn’t scared. She felt safe with him. She knew the minute she fell into his arms, all the danger in the world would fade away. All her fears and insecurities would melt in that moment.
“It’s okay,” is what she said.
“Aren’t you scared?”
“It’s okay,” and she took his hand in his, smiled at him. He smiled back and looked down. He was shy but he didn’t take his hand away.
“I’ve been around a lot of the gangs. How I know about the radio messages.”
She knew what the next question would be, and she dreaded it. She knew as soon as Cochise found out about her, he’d leave. She wasn’t ready for that. She wasn’t ready to lose him yet.
“They keep calling you Saint Catharine.”
“Cochise?”
He looked up, saw her staring at him. They locked eyes. She just wanted a little more time. A little more feeling like this. A little more of having someone look at her like he did. Like she meant something. Like someone thought she was worth a damn.
She kissed him. She refused to let go. When she felt his hands press on her hips, then rub up her back and then caress her face, him kissing her back, she knew she had her moment.
“He’s not answering,” Ajax said, putting his cell phone back in his pocket. They were behind an old arena, abandoned since the new mega complex was built in the next town over. There were kids, too young to be out this late, playing street hockey in the parking lot.
“Who else can we call?”
Cleon didn’t answer, he was sulking again. Something they didn’t have time for. They had to come up with a plan. They couldn’t fight every gang in the area to get home - eventually they’d lose, and Ajax already lost his lead pipe.
“Cleon, can you be a bitch tomorrow? We got shit to worry about tonight.”
“Go home Ajax.”
So they sat, catching their breath amid the rubble and debris from the collapsed arena, the overrun weeds and bushes giving them cover from the street. Once in awhile they’d hear a motorbike go by and they’d hold their breath, only breathing again when the bike didn’t stop.
“We need a plan,” Ajax said.
Again, Cleon said nothing, just sat with his back against the wall, his head hung low.
“What if the people hunting us, we go out and hunt them? Take them by surprise type of thing and then we take them out.”
“That’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard.”
“I need another pipe,” and Ajax started searching through the trash at their feet.
“Cyrus didn’t even care. He was done with us,” Cleon said.
“So?”
“So? So, he was our leader. What do we do now?”
“He wasn’t our leader Cleon. You think that’s why I joined? Why Snow joined? Because of Cyrus?”
“He was the Boppers.”
“We joined because of you. I didn’t even know about Cyrus when you came up to me. I saw you and Cochise running around and wanted to join. Fuck Cyrus.”
“Don’t you say that.”
“What? Fuck Cyrus? Fuck him. He gave up on us, I give up on him.”
“Don’t you say that,” Cleon got to his feet. Ajax saw the anger in his eyes.
“Fuck Cyrus and fuck you if you think he was the Boppers.”
Ajax saw Cleon’s fist clench, saw his jaw tighten and his eyes narrow.
And then Cleon’s phone rang in his pocket.
“Is that ‘Sugar Sugar?’” Ajax asked, the phone now singing ‘oh honey honey.’
“Shut up,” Cleon dug out his phone, “what? Cyrus is dead. No, I can’t refer you to someone else. His business partner isn’t here man, I kind of have my own thing going on,” and then he hung up the phone, put it back in his pocket.
“Cousin again?”
“He doesn’t give up.”
“Cleon. We follow you. You’re the one that followed Cyrus but we followed you.”
“And now he’s dead and Snow’s dead because of me.”
“Cyrus is dead because of Cyrus. Snow is dead because of Cyrus. Cyrus let that crazy bastard in on his own. You had nothing to do with it.”
“You guys are very sweet, you going to kiss now?”
They turned to see a kid around fourteen years old standing in front of them, holding a hockey stick, staring at them.
“You guys want to buy some weed?”
“How old are you?” Cleon asked.
“Old enough to be your daddy, you want some weed?”
Then another kid came over, “oh shit, you guys the Boppers? Keith, these are the guys everyone’s looking for.”
“The guys that took out Cyrus? That’s why you’re talking about him?”
“We didn’t take him out. How do you guys know this?”
“The radio dumb shit. Everyone knows. Oh man, I’m going to call Asteria,” and the one kid ran off. Cleon went to chase him, but Ajax grabbed his arm, his head up, listening to something.
“So where are we on the weed thing? Quality kush guys.”
“Is there a train station around here?” Ajax asked.
“Over there,” Keith said, pointing past the parking lot to the top of a hill in the distance.
Ajax pulled Cleon and they started running, Ajax taking the kids hockey stick as they went by him.
He heard the rev of the motorbikes and horns honking. Ajax looked behind him and saw one of the Satan’s Sons flashing his headlight at him, honking his horn. Then he heard more bikes in the distance coming closer.
The kids in the parking lot had their sticks ready, trying to stop Ajax and Cleon as they made their way through the lot. Cleon punched one kid in the face, Ajax swung with this stick and connected on another. It was the last kid that managed to get his stick between Cleon’s legs, causing him to trip and stumble. In a matter of moments, the other kids surrounded him, swinging their sticks.
The Satan’s Son pulled his bike to block their path as Ajax ran back, swinging his stick at the kids and unleashing a war cry. He pulled Cleon to his feet and the two of them were now facing the Son, swinging his chain, ready to attack.
Ajax picked up one of the sticks and charged with the two hockey sticks. He threw the first one like a spear, making the Son put up his hands to block it from hitting his face. As soon as he knocked the flying stick to the side, he was met with the other which Ajax swung like a bat into his face. It broke in half across his nose and Ajax and Cleon kept running for the hill.
The other Satan’s Sons were behind them, closing in. They managed to get to the hill and climbed up, gasping for air when they got to the platform at the top. They saw the lights of the train coming toward them.
Cleon looked down the hill and saw the Sons driving to the stairs, getting off their bikes and coming up after them. Ajax was bouncing on the balls of his feet, praying for the train to arrive.
Then Cleon started laughing. Ajax looked over and saw the Son’s laboring their way up the stairs, huffing and puffing for air.
“They’re too fat,” Cleon laughed.
The train arrived and Ajax and Cleon got on.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Dax found himself floating in the canal, fighting the undercurrent that wasn’t too strong, praying a boat wasn’t scheduled to come through. Even if the walls weren’t straight up and down, rising about twenty feet, they were covered in algae, too slippery to climb. He’d have to go down some, closer to where the walls would match up with the level of the water.
So he swam, taking breaks here and there when he found something to grab on to, a piece of the wall that didn’t have algae, and where the undertow wasn’t pulling him down with too much force.
He’d seen the boats come through these locks many times, taking Ajax when they were younger, riding their bikes on the path that went beside the canal. What he had to do was get out of this part, the part that could only fit one boat. Dax saw boats come through many times, barely a foot on each side between the boat and the canal walls.
And that’s if he didn’t get sucked under. They get a boat in here, close the locks and start draining the water, it didn’t matter how good of a swimmer he was, he was getting pulled under. But there was a siren that went off when a boat was coming in, sounded
like a raid horn. There was no point in panicking until he heard that.
What he had to do, he had to get to the parts between the locks, where it was wide enough for two boats to pass each other. Then he wouldn’t have to worry about them and the walls were lower there, better chance of him climbing out.
Then he heard the siren.
It was off in the distance someway, but it was still the siren telling him there was a boat he was going to have to swim toward if he was to get out.
So he started swimming. As hard as he could. He felt the waves of water starting to hit him, raising and lowering his body, kicking up at his chin. It was the water released from the lock giving way further out, letting the boat through.
In the distance he saw the flashing lights, heard the siren from the lock ahead of him closing, trapping the boat. He had about fifteen minutes until he was dead.
He scratched his hands on the rocks, trying to climb out, getting caught in the wire mesh holding them in place. He heard the siren again, the boat about to be released. Dax thought the fifteen minutes went by too quick. The water rushed up to him, throwing him back off the rocks, his hands bleeding as he held on with everything he had. Then he saw the giant liner coming his way, slow moving, giving him more time.
By the time he got out, climbed over the fence to land on the patch of grass on the other side, his hands were cut up something awful. He lay there, soaking wet and bleeding. His clothes ripped and cuts everywhere. He was trying to catch his breath, knowing he had a long way to go to get back to his brother.
“Can’t sleep huh?”
“My mother’s got this medicine cabinet full of Ambien. I don’t know how much you’re supposed to take, but I took a lot. That’s why she’s so fluttery all the time, my mom, she’s always high. She tries to hide it from my dad. Saw her crush up some Vicodin and put it in her coffee first thing in the morning. But they’re worried about me having a drug problem.”
Jamal was sitting on the couch, Kenzie on the easy chair across from him. Her mom didn’t seem too happy when she answered the door, her hair in curlers, the giant pale blue nightgown dragging at her feet. She started asking Jamal if he knew what time it was when Kenzie said it was fine, she was up anyway.