After some hesitation, Nick bit his lower lip. “She’s on the other side of the house with Cassidy . . . He—”
David didn’t wait for Nick to explain. He bounded with long strides across the backyard. Halfway across, Krystal stepped deliberately into his path.
“You haven’t said two words to me all night,” she said, glaring up at him, smiling. Her white teeth shimmered from the spotlights affixed to the back of the house.
David looked down at her. “What do you want me to say?”
“Start with hello,” Krystal said, placing her hands on her hips. She turned her head to the side.
“I’m not in the mood, Krystal.”
As David started walking away, she yelled after him, “Get ahold of me later, I want to talk to you!”
David turned back to her. She was standing in the spotlight, and all the features in her face that made her the object of everyone’s desire were illuminated. She smiled at him, but he turned and headed for the side of the house.
Darryl’s friends were hanging out there, but David ignored all the proprieties of his social status and took a giant step into the shadows. Immediately Phil Massa, an offensive lineman who was always sweating, threw his damp hand up and placed it on David’s chest.
“Whoa, whoa, whoa . . . Where you think you’re goin’, little man?”
The small crowd jumped into frenzy. They surrounded him. Nick caught up with David at that moment, but hung back. He lowered his eyes and watched nervously. Julia was standing by the keg next to Bob, and when the group of friends leapt to attention, they both looked up from their conversation. Bob was grinning at him. Immediately David regretted the intrusion. He’d grown bold when he cut through the piñata. He had no means of cutting through the entire football team, and from the expression on Bob’s face, it seemed Bob knew it too.
“I was looking for my girlfriend, that’s all,” said David, moving his eyes around at all the people who had surrounded him. Julia stared at the ground and nervously tucked her hair behind her ear. The side of the house was eerily quiet.
“She’s in good hands,” Bob said.
“David, we’re just talking,” said Julia, as a deep blush rose to her face. David clenched his fists as the circle of football players tightened around him.
“You like crashing parties, buddy?” Bob asked, taking a few steps toward David, who sized him up and down. “Because I know Darryl didn’t invite you.”
The small crowd moved in closer and they looked just about ready to seize him, when Bob broke them up.
“Easy. I can take this little guy blindfolded,” he said, and turned back to David. “These guys tell me you’re some kind of a wiseass? You like to start arguments with people all the time? Think you’re some kind of fucking genius?”
“David, walk away, I hate fights!” Julia shouted from behind Bob. David looked confused.
“You walk away, I’ll chase you,” Bob said with a grin.
David glanced behind him. It was a long way to run. Feeling cornered made him angry. He could feel the warmth of the bodies behind him. A wall of flesh. Should he listen to his knees and buckle? Should he listen to his stomach and retch? Should he listen to his hands and tremble? Could he forgive himself afterward? The things you don’t do are the things you regret the most, he remembered. He thought of the Vikings in that same instant. How they burned their boats after landing on enemy shores. Fight or die; there was no escape.
Burn the boats, he thought. You are a Viking; you hail from Vikings. Burn the boats. He closed his eyes and let fly with his left hand. He missed entirely. He quickly threw his right fist, a one-two combination his father had taught him. He opened his eyes for that, and saw Bob weaving his head out of the way as if David weren’t even there, as if a mosquito was buzzing around his ears. Bob laughed out loud when David threw and missed with another left. Four straight misses, and Bob had not even taken his hands out of his pockets.
When David finally did connect, the punch landed square on Bob’s jaw; a sharp pop rang through the air. Bob never moved an inch, and kept laughing even when the second punch landed on his cheek. Without taking his hands from his pockets, Bob bumped his large chest into David just as he was swinging with a wild right. The bump sent David flying backward. He landed on his back, but quickly rolled over and sprang to his feet. Bob laughed and turned to Julia. He winked at the friends who were standing with him, smiling their own little satisfactions. David charged at Bob; Bob didn’t move. He braced his muscles for the collision, and when David’s head drove into his stomach it was as if he’d rammed a concrete wall. David felt a bolt of pain run through his neck as he careened off the hard stomach and fell to the ground once again. Bob stepped lightly on David’s back and then stepped off, laughing. David dragged himself up. He lunged with another desperate left, and punched Bob squarely in his teeth. Bob grimaced, but leaned back and kicked David in the backside. The momentum sent him flying. David landed headfirst into the fence that hemmed the side of Darryl’s property.
Through the entire fight, Julia had her back turned, and she closed her eyes in pain each time she heard a crash and the crowd’s laughter ring through the air. When she saw the fence beside her shiver from the impact of David’s body, she finally turned around.
“David, stay down!” she cried out. The others jumped on the opportunity.
“Yeah, David, stay down,” repeated one of the boys.
“Listen to your girlfriend,” said another.
“Pretend girlfriend,” corrected Phil Massa.
David heard this and sprang to his feet. He shoved Phil away from his path, and took a final swing. Bob stepped aside, and finally took his right hand out of his pocket to catch David by the collar. He spun David quickly to the ground. As if deciding she was nobody’s girlfriend, Julia ran past the fight and disappeared.
The rest of the party had caught on that there was a fight and had gathered at the side of the house to watch, but since they had no sense of the history behind it, they gazed on in relative silence. Nick was waiting for his chance to break up the fight without getting hit. Bob had David pinned on his back, and placed his heavy knee on David’s chest. He used his weight to crush the air out of David, who began to quickly feel his lungs grow heavier. He struggled to escape from under the pin, wriggling like a worm on a hook; Phil Massa stood over him laughing, looking around as if to see if he was the only person who saw the humor. Bob Cassidy smiled at David. David was getting light-headed, and was beginning to panic. He was convinced that Bob would kill him.
“Here’s how it goes, buddy,” said Bob. “You get your sorry ass up and get out of here, or I’ll personally tear you to pieces, understand? Can’t talk? You’re losing your breath by the second, aren’t you? I’ll let you up, just nod that you’ll get the hell out of here.”
David made one last try to shove Bob’s leg aside, but failed.
“I can stay here all night if you like. Just nod, and it’ll be over with.”
David stared up at his nemesis, who was grinning in the moonlight. The last thing he could imagine doing at that moment was giving him the satisfaction of a nod, but the pressure on his lungs had built up so intensely that he began to feel his life slipping away. He knew he would go unconscious soon, and yet believed he had one last punch left in him. He wanted that chance. He nodded to Bob Cassidy. Bob laughed, tousled David’s hair as if he were a little child, and got off him. He stood up and jammed his hands back in his pockets. David rolled to one side, coughing and trying to suck in air.
Bob looked around for Julia. Phil Massa was standing next to him, staring down at David, who had rolled over to his stomach and was up on his knees gulping at the air. Nick helped him to his feet.
“Don’t come around where you’re not invited,” Phil said.
David took his chance. He wheeled around with a steady right fist, and drove it into Phil Massa’s face. Bob looked stunned as he jumped back. Phil hit the ground. Then his body sat upright.
In a daze, he looked around at everyone, before he lay back down clutching his nose. Immediately the team pounced on David, but Nick had a good hold of his waist, and yanked him back. They both turned and ran.
Leaping through the bushes, Nick found his keys and they bolted for the car. David, though exhausted and furious, began to smile. He slid across the hood of Nick’s car like he’d seen on Dukes of Hazzard and jumped inside through the open window. Nick tore off, and watched the football team grow smaller in his rearview mirror as they futilely chased the car down the road.
“We left Matthew there,” David said, still catching his breath and rubbing his constricted chest. Nick glanced into the rearview mirror and nodded.
“Matt’s got no enemies. I’ll call the house and arrange to pick him up out front.”
David stared at Nick. “Now you got enemies,” he said.
Nick shrugged, looking over at David with a smile. “I never liked Massa anyway. We call him Masshole.”
David stared out the window. It wasn’t Phil Massa, or the fight, or the chase, or Matthew that was on his mind. He rubbed his chest softly as he stared at the trees whizzing by. He could see the flash of Nick’s eyes as he repeatedly looked over at him.
“Hold the wheel,” said Nick.
“What?”
“Hold the steering wheel for a second.”
David grabbed the wheel and trained his eyes straight ahead, concentrating on the yellow lines in the road. Nick reached both hands down underneath his seat and dug around for a few seconds. He came back up and took the wheel again with his right hand. David let go and sank back into his seat. He looked at Nick as he raised his left hand, holding a large, black gun with a wooden handle. David sat up.
“Why do you have a gun?”
“Relax, it’s just a BB gun. But it looks real.”
“Where did you get it?”
“Picked it up at the flea market. The pump’s right on the barrel. It’s already loaded with BBs.”
David stared as the weapon glistened in Nick’s hand every time they passed under a streetlight, growing dark and ominous between. Nick spun the gun around grip first, and reached it over to him. “Take it. It’s yours.”
“What do you mean?” David took the gun and laid it in his lap. He ran his fingers across the cool metal barrel.
“If I know these football players, they’ll be after you for a couple days. Least Masshole will be. You’re going to need protection. Anyone comes around, starts static, just wave that thing at ’em. They’ll go running for their mommies.”
David looked back down at the gun and raised it to his eyes. He felt the pump action, gliding his hand down the wooden handle. He shook the gun to hear the BBs rattle in the handle where they were stored. He wanted to turn around right there and use it on all of them. He wanted to put a couple between Bob Cassidy’s eyes. The way he’d grinned the entire time. He’d been fearful throughout the entire fight, and now he felt only rage. They all saw it. They all watched him nod to Bob Cassidy so he could breathe again. He’d done nothing to Bob; done nothing to deserve that. He wished he were holding a real gun. He looked back out the window.
“Thanks,” he finally said, as they pulled up in front of his house.
They shook hands, and Nick told him not to worry; it would all blow over before school started. Nick tore off and David stood on the curb holding the gun with two hands. He looked down at it again, switching it to one hand and holding it like Dirty Harry. Glancing across the street he was reminded of Mr. Hopkins. He narrowed his eyes at the front of Mr. Hopkins’s house, dark and peaceful looking. The low shrubs like black cotton balls were lined up beneath his windows. He took aim at Mr. Hopkins’s front window. He could see the man sitting at his La-Z-Boy, his pale face awash with the blue light of his television. The things you didn’t do haunt you more than the things you did. Great advice, old man, thought David. What did Mr. Hopkins have to say for himself now? He drew his bead on Mr. Hopkins’s bald head and pretended to squeeze the trigger, then let the gun drop to his side.
He thought about Julia, and that bastard Cassidy. He wondered if she was trying to help when she told him to stay down, or if she was deliberately making it worse. He wondered where she had run off to. Thoughts of the fight made him angrier by the second. His punches should have done something; was he that weak? How could Bob Cassidy stand there and laugh? Why couldn’t David drop him the way he’d dropped Phil Massa? And why couldn’t he have hit Massa when Julia was actually standing there? How could he make it un-happen? Was it over now between him and Julia? Was she with Bob Cassidy tonight? Now? Was Bob explaining himself away? Was she just now believing him? Smiling at him because he went to his knees and begged forgiveness or something corny like that? Was she buying his lines? As David stood here, this very minute?
He glanced around. He was alone. The street was quiet. He looked at his watch. It was still early for a Saturday night. He peered down the street, and then back down at the weapon. He raised it to his face—suddenly so empowered with a gun, even if it was only a BB gun. He took the barrel and slid it down his pants at the small of his back, like he’d seen done in movies. He pulled his shirt over the handle, concealing it. Then he walked off down the road with no particular destination in mind. No companion but his own thoughts, which burned like white coals.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
THE SUN WAS BACK OUT AND BURNING HOT when James Illworth awakened. He rolled over to his side and lifted his head. He was alert enough to know that he was not in his room. He was on a strange floor. Gradually he sat up to see he was near the foot of a bed, and it finally dawned on him he was in Dallas’s room. Then he remembered his father falling in the driveway, and Mr. Darwin giving him permission to stay over to “let your father sleep it off,” as he put it.
James rubbed his scalp, yawning. He got up slowly, staggered a bit, and then stretched his arms up to the ceiling. Dallas had opened his eyes, and was moving around under the covers. A stir caused James to turn. Felix was sitting up, looking around as if he shared in James’s initial confusion. The room began to come alive. The bedside clock read 8:07 a.m. Dallas sat up and pulled the covers off. He stood, crossed the room, and opened the door. Sunlight poured in through the glass doors that led to his back porch.
Dallas stretched in the doorway and looked out into the kitchen. There was a half wall that divided it from the dining room, and Dallas could see that his father was at the counter making sandwiches for lunch. This was how Dallas knew it was Sunday. His father made all the preparations early in the morning so that there could be no excuses or hold-ups for church service at three thirty. Dallas frowned, and looked over at the couch in the living room. Sure enough, his clothes were hanging, pressed, over the arm of the couch. His father must have snuck in while they were all asleep and picked out his Sunday outfit. The little black clip-on tie hung from the top of the hanger. He sighed, and wandered into the kitchen. His father noticed him, and glanced over before returning to his work.
“Morning, Dallas,” he said. “Mom’s still asleep. We have church today.”
Dallas yawned, and looked out at the gorgeous day. Such a contrast to the day before. “Not till later, though, right?” he asked. He could sense his father grinning, though his back was still turned.
“The answer is yes. You can go outside and play, but I want you back here at one thirty to get ready.”
Felix and James both stepped into the dining room. They were still in their clothes from yesterday, while Dallas was wearing his pajama shorts and no shirt. He stared at his two friends, dressed in shorts, socks, and T-shirts, and suddenly moved toward the bedroom.
“Go outside, I got to get dressed,” he told them as he breezed past and closed his bedroom door. Felix and James said hello to Mr. Darwin and filed out onto the back porch to wait for Dallas.
Impatient, they jumped down from the porch after a minute and started kicking around a basketball they had found under the bushes. Soon enough Dallas
emerged from the house, all in green. James took it as a bad omen. Dallas trotted down the steps and joined them by kicking the basketball clear across the yard where none of them would bother to retrieve it.
“We’re sticking with our plan,” Dallas said.
Felix rolled his eyes. James squinted at the sun and looked at Felix. It was a beautiful day, but James began to feel no different than yesterday.
“Why don’t we build a fort using branches and sticks?” James asked. “My dad says we can use all his tools; we don’t need to bother with their stuff.”
Dallas was already shaking his head. “No way, we’re going down there.”
“Why?”
“Pride,” Dallas answered. “You get pushed around here, and everybody thinks they can take a piece. Then someone comes along and takes another piece—and another piece until there’s nothing left.”
Dallas looked agitated, which didn’t happen often. Even when fighting, he remained silent, and never raised his voice, but now he was practically yelling, and blood rushed to his cheeks. James looked down at his shoes, as if in compliance. Felix kept quiet as well. Dallas started walking toward the side of the house, and the other two followed obediently, looking across at each other, as if hoping the other would say something to stop it.
Suddenly James perked, hearing his mother’s booming voice call, “Jaaaaaaaames!” Felix turned around and answered: “Yeaaaaaah!” Dallas shook his head. James frowned, and when he heard his mother finish laughing, she called out again: “Jaaaaaaaames!” He answered, and jogged across the street to find out what she wanted.
Near the driveway, Dallas leaned against his parents’ car and dug his hands into his pockets. Felix followed James with his eyes until he reached the bottom of his front porch. Then he turned back to Dallas.
“I don’t think James is going to do this,” Felix said.
“What do you mean?”
Little Beasts Page 13