Still Waters

by Ash Parsons

  He talked about the money he’d pay me to come along. Six hundred dollars, half up front, half after. He said I was worth it because I inspired confidence in the others.

  My fingers dug into my leg.

  He talked about destroying things. Seeing things break, shattering glass, throwing paint. He talked about it like it was the part I’d like the most.

  And then he wrapped it up. Put a bow on it.

  “This office, they do minor surgical procedures there. They have drugs, and like you said, that’s the first half of how I’ll square it with Cesare. But they have all kinds of drugs. More than I need. And that’s the best part of the whole damn thing.” He stopped talking and waited for me to look at him.

  “That’s how we do it.”

  He looked like a kid who’d just gotten a pony for his birthday.

  I waited.

  Michael continued. “It’s perfect. We take all we can get and save some for us to use to do it. Then we slip them to your dad. In a drink. A beer. He drinks it, passes out. Maybe we’ve even given him enough to kill him right there. But if not, we finish him off with an injection, or we pour more down his throat.”

  It would work. I could already imagine it, but not in the beer. My dad always started with beer, finished with whiskey. I’d wait until a fifth was getting low, then put the drugs in. He’d swallow right from the bottle, all in one swig. It’d probably be enough to kill him.

  My father, sprawled on the sling-back sofa, the bottle loose in his grip. But not passed out. Not this time.

  I rubbed my forehead. “What about an autopsy?”

  “Who’s going to do one? He’s just an ex-con. No one will care. And so what if they do?”

  “They’ll find the drug.”

  “That’s the beauty of it. As long as we get rid of the beer bottle, who’s to say he didn’t accidentally overdose? He’s a known user. We just leave some out. Stage the scene.”

  He drummed the steering wheel.

  I shook my head. “Overdosing is a good idea, but not what you’re talking about.”

  “Don’t forget who you’re talking to, Ice.” He smiled, a coach encouraging a star player. “I know about your dad’s prison term. Drug dealing.”

  “Then you know it wasn’t for any prescription drugs.”

  “So? He can’t move up in the world? And like I said, we leave some lying around—”

  “That’ll trace it all back to the offices.”

  He waited for me to catch up. “Exactly. The break-in. It’s perfect. A nice, neat package for the cops.”

  “It won’t go down like that. We’ll get caught.”

  “No, we won’t.”

  “It’s too complicated. Something will go wrong.”

  “It’s simple.”

  I shook my head, wishing it actually was simple. “It won’t work.”

  “You’re afraid? It’s easy to doctor a drink. You don’t even have to confront him. We just have to get some into him. Enough to knock him out, or something close. It doesn’t take much if you get the right stuff. Isn’t that right?”

  Something then. Glinting in his eyes, like acknowledgment. An inside joke in a glance. The ozone scent of lightning in the air.

  The skin on the back of my neck prickled, and for an instant, it was like I could glimpse something, shifting and dark, growing bigger.

  “Monique,” I began. Trying to think back. To where Michael had been during the party when she’d drugged me.

  His hand cut the air, like the look I gave him was beneath his comment. “Monique simply illustrates my point. It would be easy, and it wouldn’t take much.”

  Was that all there was? Suspicion littered my thoughts.

  I shook my head. “No. I’m not doing it.”

  Because if anyone was killing my dad, it was me. And I didn’t need a power-hungry accomplice for my part of The Plan. I couldn’t trust Michael, never could. I sure as hell wasn’t committing murder with him.

  Michael’s storm-dark eyes lightened. A slow smile edged across his face. “Oh well. If you change your mind . . . It’s entirely up to you, isn’t it.”

  Not a question.

  “What about the rest of it? You coming along, or is it your last day?”

  “I’m in if you agree to my conditions.”

  Michael smiled, that crooked shark’s smile.

  “It’ll take eight hundred, not six. And you leave your gun at home. Robbery and vandalism are a hell of a way off from armed robbery. If it goes wrong, we ditch. Leave everything behind. And I say if it’s going wrong. I make that call.”

  Michael nodded. “Fine. And of course, no guns. I’m paying the man precisely so we don’t need them. So, yes. All reasonable requests. Half up front, half after, though.”

  I nodded.

  “I haven’t even told you the best part. Well, the best part for only you, since we’re not doing your dad.” Michael cut me a poisonous smile.

  “When we get the drugs, we’ll be helping Cyndra with her stepdad. One of the drugs we’ll get, Depo-Provera. It’s birth control, but it’s also used to chemically castrate sexual offenders. Usually given by injection, but I’ll let her in on my drug-his-beer idea. He’ll never know it’s happening. So we’ll be helping her, too.”

  The people in the road yelled and shoved. Hard to tell if it was the start of a fight or just playing.

  “Birth control? This guy’s an obstetrician?” I asked.

  “I told you. It’s a suite of offices.”

  He couldn’t have it both ways. Either Cyndra had her stepdad exactly where she wanted him, or she was a victim.

  When I thought she was a victim, he’d told me she was in control. Now he said she was a victim, so I’d believe we were helping her.

  “Why do you want me to care about it? I’ve already said I’ll come,” I said.

  Michael’s eyes shot between my face and the play-fight in the road. “No reason. I just thought you would.”

  “I don’t.”

  He shrugged. “Whatever you say.” He popped his door open, climbed out of the car without waiting.

  We walked back into the crowd.

  I told myself not to watch Cyndra as she sat down next to Michael. Curled around his back, chin resting on his shoulder. The perfect girlfriend pose for the perfect boyfriend.

  I sat on another hood and slapped hands when they were presented. One thought I couldn’t stop, needle-dragging in my mind.

  It would all be over soon. Janie and me, leaving all this crap behind.

  I told myself I couldn’t wait.

  Cyndra glanced at me. My heart shuddered.

  Monique was watching me, hip cocked. Ray-Ray and Mike-Lite were standing just like they did every time they were together in a crowd: Mike-Lite wrapped over and around her shoulders. Her head rested against him. All of them doing what they always do, oblivious.

  Maybe they’d miss me. Maybe she would, too.

  Cyndra saw me watching her. A little smile hovered on her mouth, telling me she liked the way I looked at her.

  She said something to Michael and slid off the car, walking down the road a ways before slipping between two cars and into the dark woods at the edge of the road.

  She didn’t have to look back to know that I would follow.

  I drained my beer and waited a minute before walking around behind the cars, slipping into the dark after her.

  She was waiting for me just a few feet into the trees. Her hand floated toward my face, like the day in the food court, moving slow, like sudden movement might make me attack or take off.

  She stroked my cheek, then stepped into me, nuzzling her forehead against my neck. “Let’s go somewhere, Jason.”

  Hot needles stung my eyes. I wanted to unwrap my arms from around my sides and hold her, pull her tight
and feel her hug me back. I wanted to be out of the dark on the side of the road, standing in front of a headlight, everyone watching, everyone knowing.

  That I was worth it.

  I took a step back.

  Her hand stayed in the air for a moment before it dropped. “My car’s this way.”

  We walked to it, passing behind Michael and the rest of them. She drove us through the city and over the river. Winding our way down deserted streets to where the water lapped the shore.

  I didn’t mention the plan to break into the doctors’ offices or ask her if she would really want that drug for her stepfather. Because I wanted something from her that was just for me. That didn’t have Michael, or his games, or Cesare, or drugs, or anything else.

  Just us.

  After, she drove me to the edge of Lincoln Green. Gave me a goodnight kiss. I tried to pretend we weren’t counting down to the last one she’d ever give me.

  I walked to Clay’s house and let myself in with the hidden key. Spent the night on the sofa, staring up at the featureless ceiling, telling myself it was good that it was almost over.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  On the walk to the bus stop the next morning, I told Janie and Clay about the doctors’ offices. Gave all the reasons why I would be going along.

  “I don’t know.” Janie scuffed the heels of her shoes as she walked.

  “Yeah,” Clay agreed. “It sounds risky.”

  “Inside job, though,” I said. “I was at the meeting with Trent. Easy money.”

  “No such thing. Besides, haven’t you made a lot already?” Clay shook hair out of his eyes. “Maybe it’s time to start hedging your bets.”

  “Jason, we already have enough for—” Janie started.

  I cut cold eyes at her, warning her not to say any more. Not to mention how we were going to start The Plan early.

  “—for now,” Janie finished.

  I’d find a better time to tell Clay. When Janie and I knew more. Like where we were going and how we were going to get there. All the questions he would ask.

  “Can always use more. Especially that much more.” I shoved Clay slightly, bumping him sideways into Janie. “It’ll be fine. I can handle it, and if it goes wrong, all goes to hell, or if the zombie apocalypse comes, I’ll ditch them.”

  “And come back for us,” Janie said, a slight smile quirking her mouth.

  “Even if I have to fight a zombie horde, uphill through the snow—”

  “Both ways,” Clay added.

  “Who ignores the laws of topography like that?” I asked. “Uphill both ways? Impossible.”

  “Don’t care. That’s what it’ll be. It’s the zombie apocalypse. The world as you know it has ceased to exist.” Clay’s voice, like a self-important teacher.

  “Can zombies fly in this world? Just wondering what other rules you’re changing.”

  Clay clapped a hand to his head. “Why did I never think of that? Flying zombies!” He mimed holding a fat cigar between two fingers, then pretended to put it between his teeth.

  “Someone take this down.” He made a frame with his hands. “Flying zombies. Genius! Cupcake, get that hotshot director on the horn.” He waved at Janie like she was his secretary.

  “Cupcake?” She laughed and shoved him sideways into me.

  “Damn. Flying zombies. It’s like I’m printing money here,” Clay said.

  I went to push him against Janie, but he leapt back, and I stumbled into her instead. She shoved me hard, then took off running after Clay.

  I chased them, making guttural zombie noises.

  At Janie’s stop we settled down, but were still laughing and shoving each other lightly.

  “All right, you win,” Janie finally said to me. “Easy money. But remember your promise.”

  I put a fist over my heart. “Uphill both ways.”

  Janie’s bus ground to a stop. She got on. I watched through the windows as she found a seat next to that kid Hunter. He put an arm around her.

  I showed my teeth and waved.

  Hunter winced and waved back. Took his arm off her as the bus shuddered forward.

  Clay and I walked to school. Stopped at the far edge of the parking lot. Clay squinted at the cluster of showroom-shiny cars where Michael and the others waited.

  “In all the movies, in all the books and shows, when the zombie apocalypse comes, the humans turn out to be worse than the zombies,” he said. “Always.”

  I followed his eyes, watched Michael’s group churning between the cars like flies over meat. I nodded. Clay left, walking to the building.

  I crossed to Michael and leaned against his car. The others stood around, like always, although there was an undercurrent of tension. Nods and intense eye contact, everyone watching each other and pretending they weren’t.

  The impending break-in hovered behind smiles and glances.

  Dwight glared at me from T-Man’s car. He stayed back, a distant moon circling the planet that held him. Like Michael’s magnetism had reversed and now forced him back.

  Cyndra arrived and smiled at me before kissing Michael and standing under his arm.

  Something rose in my throat, burning and sour. I mumbled about the bathroom, slapped hands with Michael, and left.

  The first bell toned as I hit the bathroom door. I leaned over a sink, gripped the scarred porcelain in both hands. A couple of stupid freshmen eyed me as they edged out.

  My eyes closed. I pushed deep lungfuls out my nose, forced the choking mass in my throat back down.

  Behind me, the door creaked. I opened my eyes as the lights went out.

  The door groaned as it was shoved shut.

  I turned, fists clenched, listening to another person breathe. Waiting.

  My first thought, stupid as it was, was that it was Cesare, that Michael had played me for a fool, had set me up to take the fall for dealing drugs, because Michael had dealt the man’s drugs but had kept the man’s money.

  All while saying it was me. Which anyone in the school would confirm.

  But I was at school. And Cesare would never come for me or anyone here. A flashlight beam swung into my eyes.

  I lifted my arm. The flashlight winked off, and whoever it was tackled me. We fell against the wall. My head glanced off the cinder blocks. He put a hand on my throat.

  I grabbed the arm that held me as a point of reference. Jacked a punch into his unprotected side.

  The grip on my throat loosened.

  I held his shoulder and punched again, white dot afterimages from the flashlight floating before my eyes.

  Our breaths sawed the air. He grunted as I grabbed at his head.

  Three things bloomed in my mind with the rapid perfection of a time-lapse flower. The arm was covered in leather, but at the shoulder was scratchy wool. The head was buzz-cut.

  A letterman’s jacket. A big guy with buzz-cut hair. A grudge to settle.

  I laughed. One hand held the back of his head. With my other, I made a fist and punched the guy in the face. Felt the scrape of his teeth against my knuckles.

  Dwight crumpled toward me.

  I shot an elbow at his face. Chunked against his cheekbone. He hit the floor with a groan.

  I walked, hand out in the dark, to the light switch. Flipped it.

  Dwight shifted up, propping his shoulders against the wall nearest him. Swiped a hand across the blood and spit smearing his chin.

  “Thanks,” he said.

  I reached for the door.

  “Don’t go yet. I haven’t even started.” He shifted against the wall again. Touched his cheekbone gingerly. “Is it bruising already?”

  I flexed the hand that had punched him.

  “You did exactly what I wanted. Busted lip and all,” Dwight said.

  “What the hell are you talkin
g about?”

  “I wanted you to hit me. There’s not a mark on you, except your knuckles. From when you jumped me. Do you honestly think I’m that bad a fighter that I couldn’t even hit you once?”

  He smiled, gap-wide at the corners of his mouth. “This is what I’ll tell the principal: I went to the bathroom. And you jumped me.”

  “So what? I’ll tell them you jumped me first. Worst case, we’re both suspended.”

  Dwight squeezed his lip to get more blood up. “Wait. You haven’t heard the whole thing.” He giggled like he was performing how funny it was for me. “See, I’ll tell the principal that I followed you to the bathroom because I was angry and wanted to confront you. About how you make Cyndra deal for you. Then you jumped me.”

  I forced my fist open.

  “Those cameras in the hall?” His voice like a teacher trying to lead you to the answer. “They got both of us walking in here. No one else. So you can’t say it wasn’t you who did it.” He gestured to his face.

  “What do you want?”

  “Let me enjoy this for a minute.” He got up and checked his face in the mirror. “Yes. This is so much better than hitting you. Although I’ll eventually get to that.”

  “We’ll see.”

  Dwight flashed a self-satisfied grin. “You’re not worried about the principal? The cops?”

  I shrugged. “Again. Say what you want. I’ll deny it. Cyndra won’t back your play.”

  “You’re probably right. But that won’t matter when they check your locker.”

  Cold stroked up my spine.

  Dwight laughed. “Look at your face!”

  “What do you want?”

  He stepped forward. “I want you to quit. Yeah, I know about Michael thinking he needs you. And I know you’re not really his friend.”

  Unlike him. He didn’t have to say it. Wounded pride and resentment at being shoved aside pulsated from his eyes.

  “Quit.” He grabbed the edges of his athlete’s jacket, resettling it on his shoulders. “Or I go to the principal, and it ends with the drugs in your locker and your arrest.”

  He curled a hand on the door handle. “You have until lunch. I’m going to the nurse now. For my timeline. But don’t worry. I won’t rat. Not yet, anyway. Maybe never. Either way. You’re out. It’s up to you if it’s in handcuffs.”