“First of all, you don’t have twenty dollars, and secondly, why you betting against me?” Nick countered, taking up a boxer’s stance.
“I like underdogs,” Darryl said.
David fixed his eyes on the dog as it strained forward on its rope. Its nose was an inch from the concrete, as if it were sniffing for a way out of its predicament. Out of the heat. Out of Turnbull.
“Whose dog is that? That’s not your dog,” David said, glaring at the animal’s captor.
“Says you,” snapped the kid’s brown-haired friend.
“I can tell that’s not your dog, you got a dirty old rope tied around its neck.”
“So?” the mouthy kid retorted.
“So? You little prick, so you’re going to choke it to death. Untie it.”
The boy holding the rope stayed silent and didn’t move. Just stared up at David as though he was a loose tiger. This time the blond kid with the long arms spoke up.
“We caught it, what’s it to you?”
As if on cue, the dog coughed and opened its jaws as if it were about to vomit.
“Gimme that rope and get the hell outta here!” David yelled, lunging forward. The boy quickly released the rope, and with a collective yelp, all three ran past him, through the hole in the fence, into Zambrini’s lot.
David knelt beside the dog and untied it. The dog took off in the opposite direction, disappearing back around the corner.
“Aw, c’mon,” Darryl said. “They caught it fair and square.”
“I like underdogs too,” David muttered. Scowling at the wake of the little kids, he tossed the rope into the woods.
CHAPTER FOUR
DALLAS, FELIX, AND JAMES streaked across Zambrini’s sand lot and took the long way back home, up Mayflower. Dallas thought it gave them a better chance of avoiding the older kids. He’d been warned by James’s older brother Kevin that in Turnbull, teenagers, boredom, and summer break were a bad combination. Kevin always joked with him that, given his wise-ass mouth, he should stick close to home. Kevin told him he could piss off a Buddhist, and although Dallas wasn’t really sure what a Buddhist was, he knew enough to understand that he needed to watch it.
“Learn to run fast or punch hard,” Kevin had told him once, reaching out and mussing his hair.
This world theory was the opposite of what Dallas’s father tried to teach him. Yet everywhere he turned he found himself getting pushed and instinctively pushing back. Throwing an elbow on the lunch line. Scratching at someone’s eyes to get his football returned. There was the justice his father had taught him to wait for, and there was the justice of his impulses.
“Some kids down by Floyd’s River are building a fort,” Felix announced. “Let’s go check it out and tear it down.”
James lifted his head. One of his grandest pleasures was the thrill of spying on other kids building a fort and ransacking it. He loved nothing more than to spy on people. It was how he first learned what sex was, when he snuck up on Kevin while he was laid out in the flatbed of his dad’s pickup truck with some redheaded girl James never got to meet. The girl’s hair was the color of blood in the moonlight, and she was down near Kevin’s belt buckle, moving up and down. Kevin was moaning as though he had a stomachache. James stalked off after a few minutes, amazed he hadn’t gotten caught and beaten to a pulp. Kevin hated spying, and people who spied.
“How do you know they’re building a fort?” asked Dallas, pulling open his soda can and taking a large gulp.
“Could be a house,” said James.
“Maybe. But then at least there’ll be a foundation for dirt-bomb fights,” said Felix.
It was decided. The three boys stepped out of the woods, turned the corner, and headed east on River Drive, the road that led down to the Estates, a private, densely wooded development built on the banks of Floyd’s River. It was one of the few pockets in Turnbull with higher-income residents. Snobs, the local kids called them. People who eat cold pasta on purpose, and send their children to private school. Forbidding them to hang out with anyone from outside the development. A refuge for upper-middle-class families, guarded with gates and large dogs.
On the way down the road, the three boys haggled over where to build their new fort with the wood they would carry off as the spoils. James thought it would be cool up in a tree in his backyard, overlooking the stream. Felix wanted the fort in his backyard. Dallas lobbied to build it in the small plot of woods behind his house, so they could be halfway to Nino’s Deli whenever they slept in it overnight. After much discussion, the three boys went with Dallas’s plan.
About a quarter-mile from their homes, the boys looked through the trees and caught the first glimpse of a tree fort, in its early stages: the large support beams nailed into three trees to form a triangle, and a wooden platform of plywood and planks. It was only a few feet off the ground, the work of amateurs, they all agreed. The materials for the walls were piled on the ground beneath the structure. The kids who were building it were nowhere in sight. Dallas took the first step into the woods and crouched down. The other two followed.
“We should probably take all the loose wood first and drag it someplace safe. Then we’ll take down what’s on the trees already, since that’ll make the most noise.”
“How do we get all the stuff back to your house?” asked Felix. Dallas didn’t know.
Suddenly James remembered. “There’s a trail that runs through this whole stretch of woods, all the way to my backyard!” He stared through the trees in the distance.
Dallas made a wry face. “How do you know that?”
“My dad,” James whispered. “My dad used to take his horse through these trails. It comes out across the stream in my backyard.”
“Get out of here,” said Felix.
“I’m with Felix,” Dallas added. “I never saw any trails on the other side of the stream.”
“I’m telling you there’s a trail. It runs right along the top of this whole hill.”
Felix laughed sarcastically.
Dallas was deadly serious. “All right, let’s get closer, and if we see the trail, we’ll take it.”
The three boys slinked through the low brush until they were right beneath the fort. Dallas looked at the pile of wood, and saw the hammers were still lying on it. He made a note of it. They would come in handy, to take apart what had already been built. James was looking around somewhat frantically.
“I don’t see a trail,” said Dallas.
“It’s here, I swear.” James’s father had told him that James used to ride along on Clover—wedged between his dad and the saddle horn—when he was three years old. Never before had he so desperately wished to remember back that far. He was turning his head, hoping for the faintest sign of an opening in the brush. “My dad talked about it all the time.”
“Your dad was probably on his second bottle of whiskey,” said Felix, trying not to be nasty, hoping Dallas would laugh. He only smiled.
James crawled up further ahead, straining his eyes. He was horrified. Felix’s words punched through him, and he began to remember that all the times his father had told him about the wild, long trails down to the water, he was drunk, his lips constantly dry and needing to be licked. But it had to be true. He crawled further ahead.
“What if we pile the stuff up out on the street and pull it with our bikes?” suggested Felix.
“Too much noise,” Dallas answered.
“My mom can take us back to the spot in her station wagon and we can just load it up,” Felix said.
“That’s not a bad idea,” said Dallas.
James sensed the other two boys giving up on his plan. Still, he kept searching for signs of a trail. Dallas called him over, and though James wanted to keep looking, in the end he knew it would be better to help, rather than spend all day trying to find something that didn’t seem to exist.
James grabbed the largest plank he could and began dragging it through the woods behind Felix and Dallas. Dallas was almost jo
gging with his plank behind him, so he could double back quickly. The three boys kept this up for a good distance, until Dallas turned his head to speak.
“This should be far enough, let’s head toward the street.” Without question, the other two followed as Dallas turned and dragged his spoils out onto the shoulder of the road. The three piled the wood up neatly to give the appearance that it was meant to be left there, and headed back. James kept looking off into the distance. Through the brush. Between trees, as if he were hunting rabbit. His father’s trail was not there.
“One more load should do it,” said Felix.
“What are you talking about?” Dallas snapped. “We haven’t even taken down the wood they nailed up yet.”
“I think we have enough to build our own fort. Why do you want to keep taking chances?”
“We’re going to take every last splinter,” Dallas replied.
At the site of the fort, Dallas slapped James on the arm and motioned for him to help with a large piece of plywood. Dallas inspected the fresh, yellow wood and wondered how a group of kids could afford a brand-new sheet like this. His instincts told him that a construction site must be nearby.
James interrupted Dallas’s thoughts when he lifted the other end of the board and started to push Dallas backward through the woods. Felix, as if motivated by his own impatience, grabbed a hammer that had been lying there and loudly knocked one side of the support beam off the tree with a single swing.
Dallas’s eyes widened. “Felix!” he yelled. “What are you doing?”
Felix was looking at the tree with a grin. “Sons of bitches wouldn’t have been able to climb on top of this thing anyway,” he laughed.
The structure sagged from its own weight like a beaten boxer. Dallas’s eyes were burning into Felix—the mere image of him standing in the leaves with the hammer gripped in his right hand, and the structure swinging in the wind behind him, was enough to send him into fits.
“That noise just echoed, you idiot. Let’s go.” Dallas pulled on the plywood, and nearly yanked James off his feet. He was practically running with the thing, dragging James along.
James felt as if he were back on the end of that leash, struggling with the dog. He kept glancing around as he stumbled. Felix caught up with them, dragging the plank he’d knocked off the tree.
The three suddenly heard loud shouts, and wheeled around to catch sight of five boys hurdling through the bushes after them. They were many paces off, but all three boys dropped their cargo immediately and bolted into the woods. Dallas instantly put distance between himself and the other two, leaping and ducking as he ran.
James was frantic. The kids were getting closer. He knew this because he could make out some of the awful things they were shouting. He looked over his shoulder, realizing he’d outpaced Felix. He thought of his brother, who always talked about strength in numbers, but James kept his own course—a panicked direction, with its own strategies and justifications, known only to the impulses of his mind.
James watched Dallas leap between the forks of a tree. He could feel his lungs bursting, and his mind began to tell him that it was no use. He began to question the whole thing while he ran for his life. He was angry now. Why had Dallas gotten greedy? Why didn’t they listen to Felix when he wanted to stop after that last load? He was running, yes, but part of him was also wishing he was not running at all. He was angry, even at himself. For being stuck. For being run down by a gang of kids who would surely beat him up. He could hear the rustling leaves getting closer, and occasionally a kid howling out in pain after bursting through a wall of sticker bushes.
He dared not look back and ran on, leaping and ducking and sidestepping. Trees were whizzing by, and shouts came at such different distances, he didn’t know who was shouting. He didn’t know if the other two had been caught. He kept his eyes forward. His terror had complete hold of him.
Suddenly, he hit a low stump, catching the loop of his laces on the rotten edge. He flew through the air, landing on his side and rolling backward, down into a slight valley. His world was tumbling. His eyes focused on the ground, until he saw the tops of the trees, and the blue sky burning above him, and the earth coming back to hold him fast as his shoulders hit the dirt. Then again he saw the sky. Then the trees and, after, the dirt. From the speed of his own momentum, he managed to find his feet on the ground, but the imbalance and the dizziness sent him falling back. The sky snapped into focus. He had run smack into Dallas and Felix, who were standing above him in wonderment. James reached with his hand and grabbed a handful of dirt. He heard Dallas’s voice, panting.
“I’ll be damned.”
James sat up and looked around. All three were in the middle of the trail James had sworn was there. He took two deep breaths and the joy that had washed across his mind spilled out into a smile. But he had no time to bask in it. Dallas grabbed his shirt collar and pulled him up and he found himself on his feet. He was off and running again, toward home.
The gang of kids had burst out of the deep brush that lined the trail, and were now in a flat-out sprint. They had picked up sticks along the way.
Felix put his head down and began pulling out in front of the other two. “They’re coming,” he breathed out. “They got clubs.”
The trail bent around sharply to the left, and ran along the ridge of a steep hill. Felix stopped short in horror, skidding across the dry dirt. Dallas and James stopped behind him. They had hit a dead end. The trail had run straight into a stockade fence that couldn’t be climbed. Behind the fence stood a brand-new house, with new windows and fresh siding. Dallas’s mouth dropped open as he surveyed the fence. James’s heart sank. He thought of his dad and felt betrayed all over again.
“No way,” cried Dallas. “No, no . . . no way.” He slammed his palms against the wooden fence.
“What do we do?” shrieked James. The gang was approaching the sharp bend in the trail.
“Fuck you and fuck your dad!” shouted Felix. His eyes were moving all over the place.
Dallas didn’t say a word and reached for a fallen branch. He handed it to James and found another one for himself. Felix picked up a large rock, the size of a cobblestone. The gang of kids reached the dead end, and stood a few yards away. They were all panting. James could tell by their clothes that they weren’t from the Estates. The biggest of the five kids stepped forward; he was barely out of breath.
“Tryin’ to take our stuff?” he said, not looking for an answer. James, Felix, and Dallas stared back blankly. The kid glanced at his friends. “You’re outnumbered. Apologize and we’ll drop the sticks.”
Dallas shook his head. “I’m not begging.”
“If you don’t want to get beat with these sticks, you’ll beg.”
“I don’t beg,” said Dallas. “So up yours, we’re taking your fort from you.”
The smallest one in the group struck first, swinging a large stick. He connected with James’s arm, while James thrust his stick forward like a sword and caught him in the abdomen. Dallas swung wildly as he fought off two kids. The leader, who only a second ago was trying to negotiate, was full of fury, taking broad swipes at Dallas. Felix threw his rock, narrowly missing the leader’s head; he lunged for him with the same motion. Felix got the kid around his neck and pulled him to the ground. Dallas stomped down on his chest as the boy howled.
James caught a sharp stick across his back and tears rushed to his eyes. He charged at the kid who had hit him. Once on the ground, James threw punches wildly, connecting only a few. The smaller boy backed off, looking frightened. The kid underneath James got hold of his throat and was trying to choke him. James wrestled his hand away, took the boy’s thumb deep into his mouth, and bit down. The kid shrieked and flailed, wriggling under James like a fluke on the end of a hook. James threw a right cross and drove the boy’s head back down onto the ground. He still had his thumb in his mouth.
Felix refused to let go of his older foe, and Dallas was holding two kids at bay with hi
s stick. The older kid rolled over and got to his feet, with Felix clinging to his back like a bull rider. The kid bucked and twisted from side to side, trying to knock Felix off.
James was moments away from claiming victory, when suddenly, from the corner of his eye, he saw the smaller boy step into view swinging a heavy branch, the leaves still attached. The branch caught James in the side of the neck, and he fell and rolled over onto his back, blinking without making a sound, though he wanted to cry. His assailant stood over him, and James unleashed a swift kick. The blow landed in the middle of the boy’s chest. It knocked him off the trail edge, and sent him rolling down the steep hill. James got to his knees and looked over the edge of the incline. The boy came to a halt at the base of the hill and lay there, motionless. After a minute James watched him push himself up into a sitting position, before giving up and lying back down on the ground.
As the older fighter jerked his body to get Felix off his back, he stepped right into the path of Dallas’s swing. The tip of the stick caught him across his face, and, as if in slow motion, everybody turned to watch the blood spurt. The injured boy dropped backward instantly. Felix finally let go and pushed himself away. The kid rolled to his knees, holding both hands over his face. Blood was pouring through his fingers. He scrambled wildly to his feet, like a newborn calf, and without a look, a word, or a motion to his friends, he sprinted down the trail and disappeared. The other three dropped their sticks and ran to join him. The only ones left were Dallas, breathing heavily with the bloody stick in his hand, James catching his balance while still on his knees, Felix rising to his feet and dusting himself off with a deep sigh, and the small boy lying at the bottom of the hill.
They reached the bottom by using the trees to keep from slipping. When they approached the boy, he sat up with alarm and stared at them, his brown eyes blinking fearfully. James noticed for the first time how skinny he was. His shirt clung to him so that they could see his ribs, and his corduroy pants stuck like paint to a pair of bony knees. He had leaves in his hair and dirt on his face. James imagined that the leaves and dirt were caused by the fight, but somehow it seemed like they had been there for days. He looked starved and terrified.
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