by J D Spero
Tall pines surrounded the truck, making the night darker.
“Stoppin’ at the lake.”
“Schroon Lake? Why? We’re almost home.”
“Shut up.”
Whatever.
Trees opened up and a fat disk of a moon illuminated the lake before Derek’s headlights did. The moon was huge. Ty could jump right into it. He didn’t even need to fly.
Derek clicked off the headlights, shut down the engine. “Get out.” Derek fumbled through the glove box, knocking his fist into Ty’s knees. A flashlight appeared in his hand. “I said, ‘Get out!’”
“Okay, okay.” Ty stumbled onto the sandy gravel, mesmerized by the moon. Someday he’d build himself a big round bed just like it. A waterbed. And it would glow softly like a nightlight and put him into a safe slumber every night.
Derek’s flashlight showed a trail. “Come on. Walk.”
They were at a remote part of the lake. Undeveloped, with no hint of civilization in sight. If Ty listened closely, he could hear the lake. It sounded like a dog lapping water. “What’re we doing?”
“Just do it.”
Ty walked in front, following his shadow from Derek’s flashlight. The trees grew thicker, the path narrower. Ty kept tripping, his Chucks finding every tree root. It gave him the giggles.
“Shut up.”
Ty tried to stop laughing and walk. They walked forever. Soon, his legs ached.
They came to a big, flat rock that sloped to the water. The rock must’ve messed with the tree roots that flanked it, because the tops all swept inward, making a kind of shelter. Like a fort. Something flew erratically across the moon, and Ty was struck with wonder. Slick black. A raven. But a drunk one. Wait. Not a bird, a bat! It swooped down, licked bugs off the water’s surface, and disappeared back into the woods. Hen would have loved it.
“Cool.” Ty nestled beneath the brush.
“Cool. Yeah. You will be.” Derek’s head looked huge silhouetted by the moon. “Get undressed.”
Ty laughed. “Yeah, right.”
“Dead serious, dude. Strip and get in.”
“Get in…the lake? Dude, it’s April. Lake’s barely thawed. Haven’t you heard of hypothermia?”
“We’re in a bay, dickhead. Temps are warmer here. Don’t you know your geography?”
“I don’t know where the heck we are. Trampled through the woods to get here. Is this even Schroon Lake?” Ty giggled without meaning to.
“Ty, don’t piss me off any more than y’already have. If ya don’t get in the lake to shake off that crap in your system, you don’t have a ride home.”
“Geezum, Derek. It’s not like I meant to do it. I mean, I didn’t want to do it. But what the hell took you so long? I was sitting there for hours while you’re laughing it up with whatever-dude in the kitchen.”
“It wasn’t hours.”
“Felt like hours.”
“It was fifteen minutes. Max.”
“Whatever. So, this bearded-dude had the lines on the table. Gave me this hollow pen. Kept telling me ‘Go! Go!’ What the frig was I supposed to do?”
“Say ‘no,’ Ty. Say freaking ‘no.’ Didn’t your mom teach you anything?”
Ty’s gut hitched. A surge of affection for his mother sobered him. Marcella hadn’t ever talked with Ty about drugs. She probably didn’t even know they existed—in this town or anywhere. He wouldn’t want her to, either. She was innocent that way.
“Shut up. Leave my mom out of this.”
Derek clicked off the flashlight. Moonlight filtered through the inky pines, dappling light against the rock. Lake water clapped rhythmically, taunting Ty. It even sounded cold.
Derek stared him down, arms crossed. Ty felt his dark eyebrows pointing at him. Pushing him.
“Whatever,” Ty mumbled, and flung off his drug rug. It didn’t make much sense, but it didn’t matter. Ty needed a ride home. Now he stood naked and shivering.
Get it over with.
His feet hit first. Cold shot up his legs faster than lightning. His stomach lurched into his esophagus. His lungs clenched, and he sucked air as if breathing through a straw.
He slapped the water, frantically pulling toward shore. Scraping his fingernails against the rock moss, he found a ledge to grip. He scrambled out, scraping both knees. His body shook uncontrollably. His teeth chattered.
Derek threw him his wadded up clothes, which he hugged to his stomach as it heaved. He puked into the water. Tiny white specks of it caught the moonlight and floated away, looking like chunks of bread he used to throw to ducks when he was little.
He shoved on his T-shirt, which soaked the water like a sponge. Drenched and cold. He slid it off and put his drug rug over his bare chest. He forced his legs into his jeans, commando. He wadded up the rest and threw it as far as he could into the lake. It made a disappointingly puny splash.
He shoved his feet into his Chucks and heard the click of Derek’s lighter.
“You good?” Derek grinned, Ty could tell from his tone.
“Screw you.”
Back to the car in silence. The only light came from the moon and the tip of Derek’s cigarette. Aside from snapping twigs, Ty heard the suction-cup inhale and sighing exhale of Derek smoking.
“Gimme one of those.” Ty shivered so violently, Derek had to light it for him. It warmed him a little. He lagged behind, yearning to be alone.
It was still there, that inner tingle. Softer, coming down. Euphoria. He laughed to himself.
Ty might have known it was wrong, if Marcella had ever taught him. He might have understood he had too much to lose, if his father had been around.
And what about Derek? Raised by a fat drug-dealing father, Derek was all of a sudden dripping with morals? Thought he was the bomb after scoring with Roxanne Russo? Mr. High and Mighty over there, driving his piece of crap truck.
Bullshit. He was still high. He was higher than Derek. Always had been. Always would be. He held on to that clarity, and saw Derek for who he truly was. Like an aftershock.
Derek was nothing. A big, fat nothing. Just like his father. Roxanne would see it too.
Ty smiled to himself, as warmth from the truck traveled from his toes to his scalp. He closed his eyes the rest of the way home.
Summer 1991
“Work fast,” Derek told him as they walked through the doors at Leon’s. “I’m meetin’ Rox in an hour at the manor.”
Ty frowned. Derek could at least use her full name. “What the hell am I gonna do?”
Derek led him to the slop sink near the back room. “Well, first you’re gonna mop the floors. Then you’re gonna shine the booths. Got it?” His tone was meant for first graders.
“I mean, after, dickhead. While you’re at the manor with…” He couldn’t say her name.
Derek went to the kitchen, his shoulders jiggling from laughter. “I’m droppin’ your ass home first.”
Ty’s stomach twisted with jealousy. “I thought you guys weren’t dating.”
“We’re not,” Derek called from the kitchen.
Ty twirled the mop, slapping the rags against the linoleum, watching beads of water skirt away. Octopus arms.
Heat built behind his eyes, and his vision blurred. Ty shoved the mop between the barstools, angry now. The only sound was Derek’s staccato chopping on the butcher block.
Dup-dup-dup-dup-dup-dup
Why couldn’t they play music while they worked? Leon didn’t like the noise, that’s why. Big ol’ Leon must have sensitive ears. He emerged from the back room in a black T-shirt and scrub pants. Ty gaped at his belly overhang, exposed without an apron.
“Gotta run out for a minute. Be back to lock up.”
“Yo,” Derek answered without pausing his knife. Ty froze in place as Leon boomed past. An elephant, huge and lumbering, moving through the diner. Out the door. Car door slammed. Engine revved. Headlights swept across the back wall. A moment later, the engine softened to a distant hum.
Ty forced
a stuttering breath.
Dup-dup-dup-dup-dup-dup
Sweat broke out on his temples. He propped the mop against the counter and rubbed his thighs. His legs itched to move. Derek’s chopping paused, probably getting another onion or pepper, and Ty waited, his insides humming.
Dup-dup-dup-dup-dup-dup
Ty had to move quickly, even if it felt like he was swimming through the hazy diner. His fingertips tingled as he set the bucket in the slop sink. The back room door was ajar. His stomach got jittery.
He gently pushed through and held his breath, taking a quick inventory of the room. In the dim light of the desk lamp, Ty made out an armoire, a closet, and three filing cabinets.
His breath came back in spurts as sweat broke out on his upper lip. He cupped a fist—a boxer’s grip. Ready to fight.
Pop, pop, pop.
Crap. He hadn’t meant to crack his knuckles.
Derek’s knife was still at it. Thank goodness.
Ty went to the closet first. Through the shadows, he could see the safe. Forget that. He needed something little. A taste.
Inside the armoire, he found linens: aprons, towels, etc.
Near the desk, the lamp emanated a thick heat. Lava started pooling in his shoulders. It crept down his chest.
Stay focused.
Ty’s pulse quickened as he worked the drawers. Left top, locked. Right top, a leather-bound notebook. He pulled open the wide middle drawer, making too much noise. Lots of stuff in here, a regular junk drawer.
“Come on,” he chanted.
Lava rolled down his arms and into his feet.
Vertigo threatened.
Please, stay focused.
Ty dug in with both hands, shutting his eyes to focus his other senses. Touching. Smelling. Listening.
Something had to be in there.
Boom!
Office door slammed open. Ty hadn’t heard the hard stop against the butcher block, nor Derek’s clomping footsteps to the back room. Just the door’s big boom.
The diner’s fluorescent light flooded the back room. Derek’s silhouette, his cap like an arrow, shot across the desk.
“Whatcha doin’ in here, Ty?” Derek’s voice was a warning.
Ty had gotten good at quick lies. “Thought I’d get the key to lock up. Help out your dad.”
Derek chewed on a toothpick, like his father always did. “Pop’s comin’ back. Didn’t you hear him say that? There’s no key in there anyway.”
“Oh.” Ty’s hands were still deep in the drawer.
Derek snapped. “Ty! Get the hell out of this room. Pop sees you in here, you’re done.”
“Oh, sorry.”
“Come on. We gotta get goin’ anyway. Gonna be late.”
Ty closed the drawer with fists. He swallowed sourness in his mouth. “Wouldn’t want to make Princess Roxanne wait, would we?”
“Hurry up, dickhead.”
Derek waited in the doorway as Ty trudged past, hands shoved in his pockets. Derek cursed under his breath as he shut the door behind them.
“Don’t go in there again. Back room is off limits. I tole you that.”
“Aw’right.”
It was already better. Ty blinked away some cobwebs and took up the mop again. He made his own music as he worked now, humming his favorite—Guns N’ Roses Sweet Child O’ Mine. He finished the floor, and then wiped down the booths. From the kitchen, the stretch and zip of plastic wrap replaced the dup of Derek’s knife.
By the time Leon returned, the whole place smelled of Lysol. The booths’ red pleather glistened and the tabletops sparkled.
“Good work, Ty,” said Leon.
“Thanks.” Don’t talk to me now. I’m at the breakdown. As the refrain built in his mind, Axl Rose’s voice roared in his ears. He had to concentrate on walking calmly to Derek’s truck.
Derek threw his apron in the back. He finger-combed his overgrown hair as he slid into the driver’s seat.
Ty felt cool all over, that lava having melted away. His hands deep in his pockets, his fingers traced that little packet of white stuff he swiped from the middle drawer. It was all he could do to keep from singing that final refrain, belting out to the stars, matching Axl’s gritty falsetto.
Fall 1991
“She thinks she can control us, D. But she can’t,” Pop told Derek. They sat in a booth at the diner after closing, twin beers on the table between them. Twin cigarettes in the ashtray. It was late, and Pop’s eyes were bloodshot. Derek had thought they’d go right home, but Pop was all hyped up. He went from his cigarette to his Bud without pause, smoke seeping around the bottleneck like dueling snakes.
Derek knew they paid rent to the witch. Big rent. He knew Pop didn’t like it. Tonight, though, something else bothered him.
“She’s gonna find out, D. This guy has been comin’ in the last few weeks for lunch. From outta town, he said. Heard about my famous chili, he said. Bullshit. Had this pad he kept writin’ on. Didn’t touch his chili or cornbread. Just eyed the place. Watched me like a freakin’ hawk. When I went back to the dumpster with a load, he was there—sittin’ in a Buick with tinted windows. It was the investigator. I know it.”
“Investigator?”
“Hubbard hired him. She’s got her hooks in us good, D.” Pop slugged his beer. “Good thing is. It’s just her right now. Hasn’t blown the whistle on us. Hasn’t even told her lawyer. We don’t have to worry about Clapp as long as we keep him supplied.”
Derek drained his beer. His craving for another distracted him.
Pop held up his empty. “Get yourself another. Me too.”
When Derek returned with the Buds, Pop took it but didn’t drink. “Hubbard gave me the hairy eyeball the other day, told me she had the report. Kind of was a bitch about it. Said she was ‘disappointed in the findings’ or somethin’.”
“What, did she come in here?”
Pop burp-chuckled. “Yap, can you believe? Ordered coffee. Didn’t touch it. Scowled at her mug, kinda.”
Derek’s blood boiled. “Like she’s gonna catch something from us? What a wench.”
Pop tilted his bottle, slurped the foam. His cheeks billowed with a silent belch. He grabbed Derek’s elbow across the table. “Listen up, D. We gotta take control here. We need to get ahold of that report.”
Derek glanced at Pop’s fat fingers on his arm. He couldn’t remember the last time Pop touched him.
“You think you can do it?” Pop squeezed his elbow.
Derek took his arm back. “Me? Do what? Get it from her?”
“Yeah. Go to her house. Sweet talk her or whatever. Bribe her if you have to.”
Derek kind of laughed. “How am I supposed to do that? She won’t let me in. She thinks I’m the devil.”
“You’re a smart kid. You can figure it out. Go over there with the little guy.”
“Hen?”
“Yeah, let the kid work it for ya.”
No freaking way. Derek did not need Hen for anything. “That’s not going to happen.”
Pop eyed him sideways. “What’s your problem with that kid, anyway?”
Derek shrugged. “He doesn’t like me either.”
“What about Tyler?”
“What about him?”
Pop scratched his scruff, mumbling about the Trout family and being a neighbor and trust and…
Derek stared at his beer, mulling it through. Ty had a weakness. And it had nothing to do with his mental problems. It had to do with that white stuff he’d been pilfering from the back room.
“You think Tyler could help you get in there?” Pop’s voice came through the grid of his thoughts.
Fizz from his next sip tickled Derek’s nose. A JV-version of what the white stuff must have done to Ty’s nose. Ty was becoming desperate for the stuff. He would do anything for it.
“Yeah, I think I could get him to do that.”
October 1991
“Cabbage Night”
Stuck behind a school bus, it took Derek a mome
nt to recognize Ty as he put Hen on, giving a thumbs up to his half-brother through the window.
Derek tapped his horn.
Ty swaggered to the passenger side, leaning in like Marcella had done on Hen’s birthday.
“Chicken duty?” Derek nodded at the bus as it chugged from the curb.
Ty laughed. “I get it. ‘Chicken doody.’ Good one.”
“Didn’t even mean that one. Whatcha got today?”
“Nuthin’. Same old.”
“Get in.”
Ty slid in and turned on the radio. Commercials. As they pulled out, Derek switched it off. He drove slowly to school, in sync with the gears of his mind. He’d planned it out, mostly. Pop would be proud. He hated to admit, though, that he needed Ty.
“Listen, I need your help with somethin’ tonight.”
“Oh, yah?”
Derek lit a cigarette. “Besides, you still owe me.”
Ty chewed on his drug rug strap, shifted in his seat like he had a load in his pants. “For what?”
Derek blew smoke in his friend’s face. “For being such a loser. Back in April.”
In Hen’s first-grade class, the instructions were simple: Thread plastic beads onto a pipe cleaner. Choose colors that make a pattern.
Murphy chose black, purple, and orange. And more black. He twisted his eyebrows. “Mine’s evil. Bad-guy evil.”
Murphy claimed to like bad guys, but joked about them too much. He didn’t fit the part, anyway. With a face full of freckles and missing front teeth, Murphy seemed as wholesome as a cornfield.
“What kind are you making?”
Hen shrugged and chose his favorite colors. Red, dark blue, yellow, and green. He tried to push away thoughts of Derek Hogg. How he’d waited there in his truck as the bus pulled away. Where had Tyler gone with his best friend? He had a sinking feeling it wasn’t school. “Headed for trouble,” he’d heard Miss Sally say more than once. He squeezed a red bead, wondering where trouble might be.
Pushing the red bead onto the fluffy wire, Hen wondered at how it stuck. Almost magnetic.
Red, dark blue, yellow, green.