Chapter 3—FRIDAY
Blaise and Johnny arrived at Chris’s house at six-thirty on Friday morning. Chris stumbled out onto the porch, pulling his jacket on while eating a piece of toast and lugging his backpack in the bend of his left arm. His hair was still wet from the shower. He popped the hatch on the Colt and tried to toss the pack in, but got hung up and, somehow, lost his balance. He fell to the ground, but having his arm wrapped around the shoulder strap kept him from falling too hard. He did, however, lose his toast. The jolt caused it to flip out of his mouth, and it landed buttered side down on the top of his right shoe. Blaise looked in the rear-view mirror, but could not see Chris. Blaise and Johnny both turned to look just in time to see Chris stand up, his hair a wreck.
“What are you doing?” Blaise asked.
“I’m getting off to a really bad start today.”
“You need any help?”
“No thanks, Blaise. I think I can screw the day up all by myself.” Chris walked around the side of the house. A few moments later he was back with his fishing rod and tackle box. He sat in the front passenger seat and said, “Sorry guys. I had a real lousy night and this is too damn early.”
“It’s going to be all right,” Blaise said. “It’s Friday.”
“How are ya,” Chris said looking at Johnny.
“Fine.” Johnny was not sure if he should say anything else.
Blaise gave his usual early morning motivational talk as he drove them to the river. Chris had calmed down by the time they were on the bank of the American River just above the Watt Avenue Bridge. He began expertly tying tackle onto his line.
“Johnny, you’d better watch Chris. Nobody’s ever going to show you better how to catch a steelhead.” Blaise really did admire the way Chris handled his gear.
“The trick here,” Chris explained, “is to be able to feel the bottom of the river without getting caught on it. You need this break-a-way lead weight in case you get snagged, but the most important thing it does is keep the bait close to the bottom. It’s gotta be heavy enough to do that, but light enough to drift with the current.” Chris held up each piece of tackle for Johnny to inspect as he continued. “Put a three-way swivel on our line like so. Now I’ll show you how to tie the sinker and leader on.”
While Chris was teaching Johnny how to put the rig together, Blaise was busy threading the nightcraweler. Johnny watched as Blaise ran the huge steel needle through the length of the worm. “Oh my god!” he gasped, eyes wide at the gross sight.
“Don’t be afraid to give yourself three feet of leader,” Chris said as he finished tying the hook on. Blaise took the hook from Chris and set the point into the hollow tip of the worm threader. Chris held the leader taunt as Blaise slid the live bait off the needle and onto the hook.
“Now we’re all set.” Chris handed the rod to Johnny. “You want to cast straight out there,” he said, pointing, “and then let it drift right down there by that pylon. That’s where the big one is.”
“How do you know?”
“He knows,” Blaise confirmed.
Johnny was very careful. He did not want to mess up this opportunity. He had done some fishing before, but these guys were obviously very serious about it. He held the line with his index finger as he flipped the bailer back. As he made his overhead cast, he could feel the weight of the tackle and its force as it gained momentum. He let go with his finger and held his follow-through stance as the tackle sailed off in a perfect arch, the reel humming as it gave up line. Splash!
“Perfect,” Chris said. “Now flip the bailer back and gently pull back until you can feel the weight bouncing on the river bed.”
“I feel it. I feel it!” Johnny exclaimed.
Surprised but happy, Blaise said, “Nice cast John-John.”
Chris stood right beside Johnny, but was careful to not interfere. “If he’s going to hit, he’s going to hit right…about…now. Hold it.”
“Whoa! Oh jeez. I think I’m snagged.”
Chris studied the action of the rod. “Blaise, we need the net!”
“Hey Johnny! You got one,” Blaise called running for the net. “Play him out, man!”
Chris, satisfied with being the mentor, his work done, leaned against Blaise’s car and watched the other two land a beautiful 18-inch steelhead.
“Smile!” Blaise took the picture. Johnny stood there holding the fish, still feeling the thrill of the catch.
“You caught him,” Chris announced. “You clean him.”
Johnny looked at Blaise for help.
“Hey, Miss Mackey doesn’t mind cooking them for us,” Blaise explained, “but she wants ‘em cleaned first.”
After delivering the fish to the kitchen, they went straight to the boys’ room to wash their hands. Blaise and Chris had been careful to not come into contact with Johnny’s catch any more than was absolutely necessary. It was obvious which one of them caught and cleaned the steelhead. “You keep on scrubbing,” Blaise told Johnny. “That smell doesn’t come off easily, and you’ll probably notice it the rest of the day. You keep washing. Chris and I are going to step out in the hall for a minute.”
“Yeah, okay.” Johnny worked on cleaning under his nails.
Out in the hallway Blaise joined Chris in a slow walk. “So what are you guys going to do all weekend?”
“I’m not sure, but I’d like to keep away from here, and it would be good if you didn’t call, about school stuff anyway. He’s going to stay at my house. We might go to the movies or something. I’m hoping that if it can be like old times he might feel more like trusting me.”
“All right, man. I hope you can get somewhere, though, because I want all the cards on the table by Monday. Okay?”
“Yeah, sure.”
Late the night before, Chris had called Blaise with a report of his conversation with Sammy. Sammy admitted that his biggest problem was the commitment he and Jeff had to their newfound associates. He said, “If we try to back out now, I don’t know what they’ll do.” Chris thought about what his sister had said and did not try to push Sammy into making any quick decisions. Instead, they talked about the way Sammy would like things to be if everything else could just go away—what his perfect world would be like. And all Sammy wanted was for things to be the way they were. His perfect world started falling apart when Chris, his best friend, became too busy for him. Confessing all of this to Chris was very painful, and he knew he sounded childish revealing his inability to change and grow up like other boys his age, but the sobbing and tears had already given him away. He did want to get on with his life, as Chris was doing, but what he had done so far was not only stupid and dangerous, it only made it more difficult to get back on the right track.
‘That’s our challenge then,’ Chris told him. ‘That will be our quest, and now all we have to do is figure out how to get there. We’ll do it together.’
The steelhead was served at lunchtime and Johnny was given high honors. Blaise made a toast. “To Johnny, fisherman and friend.” The others wrapped their knuckles on the table calling, “here, here,” and drank milk to his health. Marty asked Johnny questions about every detail of the catch, saying over and over, “I wish I coulda been there.”
Across the room at a table near the windows, a small group of big athletes were talking about football and beer and girls. Their volume increased as each one tried to be heard over the other, but Vince did not contribute to the noise. He did not join in the high fives that were being exchanged across the table or punch the guy next to him for being an idiot. He stared, indifferent to the camaraderie around him, across the room at the smart kid, and next to him, Blaise, and then Chris. Bunch of faggots. Then Vince settled his gaze upon Jeff Barnes, the one senior among them. Once again Jeff was getting too comfortable, too relaxed around Blaise and his ass-kissing followers. He would have to remind Jeff that his job as senior class prez was mainly to keep Blaise a
nd the rest of them from thinking they can run things at the Cross.
“What’s the matter with you, Vince?” Jason Arnold said. The other guys laughed.
Vince, wondering what he had missed, looked at Jason, and before anyone could make another comment, said, “Eat shit, Jason.”
Johnny was enjoying the attention he received at the president’s table. Johnny knew that he would not be invited to the table very often and it was really just a fluke that he was there in the first place. He would, however, continue to help Blaise with his algebra, and hopefully that would mean that they could continue being friends. Johnny thought it was strange how Blaise had taken to him, but decided it made sense.
Chris, on the other hand was harder to figure out. He was a cool guy, but he had a detached way about him. It seemed to Johnny that Chris was the kind of guy who always did the right thing. Everything he said was appropriate. He only seemed to have fun when it was time to have fun, and everything he did was calculated. He did not appreciate last minute changes, while Blaise could make a joke in any situation or call for a change of plans at a moment’s notice. Nothing fazed him. Chris was easily frustrated when things did not go according to plan, but Blaise took it all in stride. They made a good team, though. Blaise was the salesman—the guy who could make everyone believe that it could work. Chris was all business—the guy who actually made it work.
After lunch, while Johnny was still reveling in the glory of his celebrated steelhead feast, Vince stopped him in the hallway. This time Vince did not use threatening body language. In fact, at first Johnny thought he sounded friendly. “Hi Johnny,” he said smiling. “That looked like a nice lunch you guys had.”
Johnny was taken completely by surprise and did not know how to respond but said, “It was good.”
“Now Johnny, what’s going on here? I thought you were Chris’s boyfriend. You mean to tell me you’re doing Blaise, too?”
Johnny could see that Vince was not being friendly at all. He was simply using another tactic to achieve his usual goal of instilling fear and intimidation. Johnny thought for a moment about his new friends. Then he gave Vince his best do I know you look and said, “That’s a good one. You should have your own late-night show.” The friendliness on Vince’s face vanished and was instantly replaced with what Johnny interpreted as anger and vengeance. “You tell Blaise,” he hissed, “that some things never change no matter how hard he tries. You tell him.”
“Okay,” Johnny said calmly. “I’ll tell him. Oh, what’s your name again? Sorry.”
Vince glared at Johnny for a moment, then turned abruptly and walked off. Watching Vince hurry away, Johnny realized that his heart was pounding. He looked around at all the other boys who were moving to class. None of them seemed to notice him and he wondered why Vince, of all people, had the power to see the invisible kid.
Johnny did not see Blaise or Chris after school. He thought about what Vince had said to him, but he decided to not let someone like that have any control over his life. He would mention it to Blaise, but he was not going to go out of his way to do so. He got on the bus, showed his pass, and sat down in the front seat. It had been a while since he had last ridden the bus home from school, and it was like returning to a familiar grind after a fun weeklong holiday that was over way too soon.
Kathleen stood at the window in her room and looked out onto the street. The leaves on the trees in the old neighborhood were turning orange and yellow and red. As long as she could remember the trees were always so big and she loved the way they changed color in autumn. Through a space between an oak and a fruitless mulberry she saw first his feet and legs. They were the legs of a man who was not in a hurry and could not pass anything beautiful without appreciating it. Their eyes met. They each felt that comfortable sense of fulfillment that one expects to have after seeing or touching or tasting something lovely. As sight of him was lost to the oak tree, her eyes followed the path where she envisioned him continuing along. When her line of sight cleared the colorful leaves of the old oak tree she blinked and refocused on the empty sidewalk. She smiled and laughed a little as she realized he was playing a game. She moved around in the window trying to see more ground under the tree. Still not seeing him, she decided to run down stairs and find out where he was hiding.
Turning from the window, Kathleen’s entire body flinched and “Ohmygod” escaped her mouth just before her hands flew up to cover it. Blaise stood in the doorway holding a single red long-stemmed rose. “How did you do that?” she asked.
“The door was unlocked so I let myself in.”
“No, I mean how did you get passed me down there?”
“Magic.”
Kathleen smiled and took the rose from Blaise. Then she put her arms around his neck and kissed him. “What other tricks do you know?”
“That depends,” Blaise said while holding her and closing the door with his foot.
“On what?”
“On where your parents are right now.”
“They’re meeting the Braxtons for dinner at the Espanol.”
Blaise picked Kathleen up in his arms and moved toward the bed. “And for my next trick…” he said as they fell in a cascade of laughter and limbs.
Chris and Sammy left campus while the last bell was still ringing. Sammy did the driving in his 1978 Camero, and they went straight to Chris’s house. It had been a while since they had done anything together, and though Sammy had not been at Chris’s house for almost six months it was the same there and he made himself at home. It felt good to go back to a time before he had so many problems, but he knew that he would have to deal with the trouble he had created for himself and for Jeff, and now Chris. He wondered what Chris was really thinking, but it was nice to not have to worry about it. Chris had said they would just have fun this weekend, like old times, and they would figure something out by Monday.
Sammy knew where everything was in the kitchen and he had two glasses of milk and an open package of Oreos on the table by the time Chris came back from the bathroom. Chris sat down and unscrewed one of the cookies. He then scraped the cream filling off the chocolate cookie with his teeth. Sammy held a cookie under the milk for three seconds before popping the whole thing in his mouth, another three seconds and another cookie. With his mouth full he said, “Man, I can’t b’wieve you still eatin’ Oweos ike dat.”
“Like what?”
“Unswooin’ ‘em.” He swallowed. “Like a kid.”
“Like a kid?” Chris said laughing and covering his mouth with his arm, conscious of the fact that he too had a mouth full of cookies. “Look at you! You still eat like a refugee.”
Sammy had just taken a gulp of milk when Chris’s last comment made him laugh so hard that milk came out of his mouth and his nose and he leaned over trying to not get any on himself or the floor. Chris almost choked at the sight and began cracking up so badly that his eyes started to water and he slid off his seat. Sammy, worried for a moment about the mess he was making, got up to get a towel. Then realizing that it was not too serious, he began to laugh again and the sight of Chris in tears made him double over in hysterics. He walked back to the table holding his gut like someone who has just been run through with a sword, each step taking a great deal of effort.
“Oreos make me sick,” Chris said. “I don’t know why I eat them. They’re great at first, but then I get the O-R-E-O blues.” After rinsing and filling his glass with water, Chris guzzled it down in hopes of feeling better. Sammy just took one more cookie and finished his milk.
In Chris’s room the two cousins took off their clothes simultaneously, starting with neckties, then shirts, then shoes, and so on down to their briefs, throwing everything in a pile on the floor, and began flexing and posing. They compared biceps and quadriceps and each made comments about how the other needed to work out more.
“One on One?” Chris said pulling on white socks.
“Ok
ay.”
They dressed and went out on the driveway where an old basketball hoop and backboard was mounted on the roof over the garage. The hoop was slightly bent downward by Chris’s taller friends who like to show off.
Sammy dribbled the ball and bounce-passed it to Chris. “I haven’t played basketball since the last time I played here with you.”
Chris shot the ball and scored—all net. “Sammy, you really gotta get out more.”
“I don’t need to get out more. I just need to get out to the right places.” He faked left and drove around the right side of Chris and laid it in.
“Nice move,” Chris said taking the ball out. “Check.”
They played ball until Chris’s mother came home. As she pulled onto the driveway, the garage door opened automatically. The window rolled down as the car moved up and she said, “Hi boys.” When she was out of the garage there was a good deal of hugging and talk about how long it had been since Sammy was over and how glad she was to see him. She suggested going out for pizza for dinner and the boys were all for it. “It’s just like old times,” she said.
“Thanks Aunt Mary,” Sammy said.
Chris’s mom looked the boys over. As she walked toward the house she shook her head saying, “You boys are so big and tall and handsome. I must be getting so old, but pizza tonight does sound good.”
Chris and Sammy looked at each other and burst out laughing.
Johnny’s family had just finished eating dinner when the doorbell rang. Joshua jumped up and ran to the door yelling, “I’ll get it.” He came back to the kitchen table and announced, “There’s a black guy at the door for you, Johnny.”
Johnny’s father gave the child a stern look. “You don’t have to tell everyone what color the man is, Josh.”
Johnny went to the door and found Terry Garland waiting on the porch. “Hi Terry. What’s up?” Terry was a junior at Holy Cross. Johnny only knew him from Brother James’ science class.
“Sorry about the surprise, man. I just need to talk to you about a few things. Blaise, you know, has got some ideas and he asked me to run them by you.”
“Run them by me?” Johnny laughed. He stepped back in the house and said, “Come on in.” After Terry walked in the house Johnny closed the door behind him and said, “That Blaise is a trip, isn’t he?”
“Tell me about it. Sometimes I think he asks me to do these little favors for him just so I’ll have to turn up in these kinds of neighborhoods.”
“What’s wrong with these kinds of neighborhoods?” Johnny asked, puzzled.
“I’m not saying anything’s wrong with your neighborhood, chief. It’s just that you don’t see too many brothers around here.”
“Yeah well, the Jesuits really don’t have anything going on around here,” Chris said grinning.
“Those weren’t the kind of brothers I was referring to.”
“I know, man. Come in here and meet my folks.”
Johnny introduced Terry to his parents who shook his hand and offered him dinner. “I’ve already had dinner, but thank you. It’s very nice to meet you.” He was still wearing his school uniform.
Johnny led the way to his room and asked, “Where did you eat dinner?” He guessed Terry did not go home after school.
“Taco Bell. Where else?”
“I love Taco Bell. But you know what? I always order too much food and I eat it all and then I order one more burrito before vowing to never go back. But I always go back.”
Terry nodded his head knowingly. “I have a Taco Bell dependency. I’ll probably end up in a program.”
In his room, Johnny pulled a chair around and then sat on the bed. The room was small and plain. There was a twin size bed, small table, lamp, folding chair, and a few notes taped to the wall over the table. Johnny spent very little time in his bedroom when he was not sleeping. He preferred the garage or back yard for homework, and he was more comfortable in other parts of the house. Privacy was seldom an issue since his parents were quiet people who spent a lot of time reading and writing in their own private areas of the home. Johnny thought Terry might be more comfortable in his room, though, and he asked, “So what’s up with Blaise? Why’s he asking you to talk to me about something?”
“Well, Johnny, it’s like this: Blaise has a lot going on and he normally asks certain people to handle certain areas that he feels are important, but would go over better if they took place without his personal involvement. You know what I mean?”
Johnny thought for a moment. “I understand what you’re saying, but I’m pretty sure I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“It’s like this,” Terry began to explain. He moved his hands around in front of him as if to add dimension to his explanation. “Sometimes Blaise feels very strongly about a position he’s taking, and sometimes there are problems that confront him as he deals with the issues; it might be a school rule or another student who opposes his efforts. Whatever it is, it’s not always effective for Blaise to personally take action. There are some of us guys who support him by doing whatever we can to smooth the way or work out some of the details, anything to make his job a little easier.”
Johnny raised his eyebrows and looked right at Terry. “You’re not here to kick my ass are you? I’ve been doing everything I can to help him with his algebra.”
“No, man. Nothing like that. Besides, Joey Trevino handles shit like that. Blaise thought you might be able to help me with something I’m working on.”
“You’re not having trouble with algebra, too?”
“No. I’ve got to ask you a favor, though: anything we talk about stays between us. Okay?”
“Yeah, sure.” Johnny leaned closer expecting Terry to start whispering or something.
“In at least the past few months an undesirable element has penetrated our ranks.” Terry’s tone was serious.
“Wait a minute, Terry. You’re sounding like we’re at war, and I’m getting some kind of an intelligence briefing.”
“Look, man, I don’t want to sound like a Saturday morning TV public service message, but we are at war. One of our guys has gotten involved in a gang or something and he’s been selling dope to other guys. Now, the problem isn’t so much that guys are buying and smokin’ weed; but, this is the first time that we know of that one of our own guys is involved in the distribution of it and at school to boot. That’s what I mean by an undesirable element. Anyway, our concern is foremost for the student himself. It appears that he wants to stop and get out of the gang, but that’s really the hard part, isn’t it, Johnny?”
“Getting out of the gang? Yeah,” Johnny said nodding his head. “Oh yeah. Getting out of a gang can be a delicate matter. It doesn’t look good for the home team.”
“Blaise wants us to get this guy out, and do it without ruining his life by involving the school, the police, or his parents.”
“And without getting this guy or anyone else killed, I suppose,” Johnny added.
“That would be a plus.” Terry looked at Johnny like he expected more.
“So why are you guys letting me in on this?”
“You’re the idea man,” Terry told him like he was supposed to know already.
“Idea man? What’s that?”
“You’re the guy who’s going to figure out how we’re going to do it.”
Johnny laughed. “Why am I the idea man?”
“It does sound kinda funny, doesn’t it?” Terry was laughing, too. He paused and said, “Blaise says you’re smart.”
“Oh, he says I’m smart.”
Terry started laughing again. “He also says you know something about gangs.”
Johnny let out a gasp. “Oh yeah, I usually work with the FBI, though!”
Now Terry was really cracking up and said, “And get this, man. He said…he said that you know how…know how to be invisible.”
Johnny, remembering the conversation he had
with Blaise earlier in the week, could not believe that Blaise could take something he said so seriously. “You’ve got to be kidding.”
“No lie. And he was so serious when he told me. It was all I could do to keep a straight face. So tell me, how do you become invisible?”
“I don’t really become invisible. It’s just an expression.” Johnny stood up and began pacing the floor, his hands clenching his hair. “Okay. If you’re serious, and Blaise is serious, we’re going to need some help.”
Terry stood up. “What ever you need, chief. What ever it takes. Just say the word and you got it.”
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