What the fuck has James gotten him into? I thought. I wanted to pound on the window, make enough noise to have it all stop. But my feet felt like they were stuck in wet cement, my arms just tubes of air.
Ricky sat on the stool. Red stared at the TV, watching Tom and Jerry in the freaky glow. Every so often a slice of Red’s belly would jiggle with laughter. Ricky remained quiet. Red then reached down with one hand and drew his robe to his sides. His dick was hidden in his bush of red pubic hair. Ricky picked up the bottle of baby oil and lathered his hands. My mouth went chalk dry. Ricky was about to place his small hand on Red’s bush but Red’s fat hand came up and slapped Ricky in the head. Ricky almost toppled over. I thought about calling the police. I knew what the police would do to men like Red, but I didn’t know what they would do to Ricky. Ricky righted himself, blew on his hands and rubbed them together. Red’s head fell back as he closed his eyes and spread his legs wider.
I waited in the cold, crouched against the brick wall next to the basement window. I couldn’t watch anymore. Spit gathered in my mouth like a puddle. I fought not to swallow because I was afraid all the spit would gush into my stomach and that would make it worse, trigger the vomit. I sank into the fog that had settled near the ground and tried to breathe in the frosty air. James was sending Ricky in to do this shit. Making him do the same shit he did. The world was full of monsters and he was one of them.
I heard the side storm door open. I slunk behind the garbage can. Ricky wiped the snot from his nose with his sleeve. He zipped his jacket up to his chin and looked up to the sky. His breath made small puffs in the night air. He turned and walked between the houses, toward Red’s front yard and onto Markham Street.
I followed. I saw him turn into his walkway. He looked so small. He shut his gate and disappeared onto his porch. I wanted to make sure I heard his front door closing behind him. I crossed over to the sidewalk and hid behind the trunk of a maple tree. I tucked my face up to my eyes in my jacket and breathed hard to keep warm. I waited until his bedroom lights went out. It was all I could do.
— 9 —
EVEN THE DECEMBER AIR couldn’t erase the smell of cat piss and dog shit in the Patch. A mattress covered in brown stains leaned against the brick wall of a garage. It seemed like everything got sucked up into the Patch, like it was a gigantic magnet for diapers, shampoo bottles, broken chairs, squashed lampshades, and I don’t know how many shoe boxes. It was early in the morning and the clouds in the sky looked bruised, as if they were about to burst. Even though James did the one thing everyone else promised—destroying the lapa—I hated him. And after everything I knew about him, I hated what my body did when I so much as thought of him.
Up the lane, Manny’s garage door opened. He stepped into the laneway and rolled the door behind him. He walked a bit faster, and then jogged, when he saw me. “Kinda early for you, isn’t it?” He horked up a good one, shot it five feet away, then dug into his Afro for a cigarette.
“I couldn’t sleep.”
Manny kept bouncing on the spot to keep warm. He looked at me through his squinted eye as he flicked his Bic lighter, then took a drag and blew the smoke out through his nose.
“Getting fuckin’ cold,” he said. “What’s up with you?”
“Where did you learn to do that?”
“What?”
“Blow through your nose like that.”
“Watch this,” he said. He took another long drag and tilted his face up to the sky. He poked his tongue slowly into the smoke and blew out in puffs in perfect O’s that wobbled as they got bigger. “James taught me.”
“What else did he teach you?”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“I don’t know. You tell me.”
“Okay, I’ll tell you. You got a lot of hang-ups when it comes to James.” Manny tipped the mattress down. Some potato chip bags and chocolate bar wrappers flew up into the air and tumbled in the wind, until they wedged against the fence. “Problem with you is you think too much,” he said.
I lifted the cuff of my jeans and drew the knife from my sock. The minute I had heard my father’s truck revving that morning I got out of bed, dressed, and opened the drawer of my nightstand. Shoved at the back was the knife my father had given me when I turned ten. My father said he had carved the handle himself. A big wooden fish with fat lips twisting along its length. A grouper, he said. I held the knife in the air, and the glint of the blade caught Manny’s attention.
“What’s that for?”
“Just because.”
Manny grinned. “You first.”
I had brought it out before and we had taken turns in the Patch throwing it down at each other’s feet, trying to stick it into the packed soil, as close as possible to our toes.
Our shoulders touched, back to back, before we each took ten giant steps forward, like we were preparing for a shootout in a western.
“Go on,” Manny said. “The first to jump away is chicken shit.”
I held on to the tip of the knife, reached over my shoulder, and flicked it with my wrist. It bounced off a brick or something and skipped like a stone in water. It stopped a couple of feet from Manny. He went over to pick it up.
“You ever wonder why James is here?” I asked, just as he was about to throw the knife. I saw him mouth Fuck.
“What, you think he stabbed someone or maybe you think he killed a guy?” Manny grinned, flicked his wrist quickly. The knife whistled past my shoulder. I ducked but kept my feet stuck.
“You’re an asshole, Manny.”
“What does it matter anyway?” he said.
I picked up the knife by its cold blade. I stepped back to my spot and flung it. “I think we should stay away from him.”
The knife hit the frozen ground, twisted, then slid across and stuck in the sole of Manny’s boot.
“Ohhh, that was close,” he said, bending over and wiggling the blade until it came loose. He straightened up, pinched his cigarette butt between his thumb and forefinger and flicked it to the ground. “What’s got you so pissed?”
“I don’t want to play anymore,” I said.
“Even-steven. After my turn you can call it quits.” Manny licked his bottom lip, raised his arm, and threw hard. It landed a foot short but it was too late, I had already jumped away. “Chicken shit!” he howled. “Listen, James is harmless.”
“You don’t know that.”
“What is it you know that you’re not telling?”
“I know too much.”
“Look, I know what James does,” he said. “You think I’m stupid?” Manny turned his back to me. “It’s the same kind of shit Ricky’s been doing at the pool hall for a long time.”
“You knew? Why didn’t you say anything?”
“The same reason you didn’t.”
“Doesn’t it kinda freak you out?” I said.
“I fuckin’ hate it. But as long as James doesn’t touch me and as long as he knows that I won’t do the shit Ricky does, I’m good.”
“So why do you steal bikes for him?” I asked.
“I don’t know,” Manny said, turning around and jabbing his heel into a puddle covered in ice. “I guess he’s there for us, and he lets us use the garage. It’s kinda like paying rent, a payback.”
“You don’t owe him anything, you know.”
“He took care of Amilcar for us. Blackmailed his dad about something, got his dad to agree to beat the shit outta him if he even looked at us.”
It took a minute for it all to sink in. Even though Amilcar was no longer around, the fear of him stuck to me.
“What’s Ricky doing out so early?” Manny said, pointing at Ricky running down the laneway to meet with us.
“You okay, Ricky?” I said, trying to make the words sound normal, but I could hear in my head that they hadn’t come out right.
“I saw you, Manny,” Ricky said, out of breath. “Saw you following your mom and dad and your brother up to Poom Pooms’ porch.”
“It ain’t gonna happen.” He took a deep drag. “Eugene’s not good enough. That bastard. Poom Pooms’s hair was all done up like some kind of old Elvis. He reached his hand out to my old man and said, ‘You understand, don’t you?’ Fucker!”
“They can still elope,” Ricky said. He reached up, took the cigarette from Manny’s lips, and took a drag. I had never seen him smoke before. Manny grinned and Ricky tried hard not to cough.
“My brother left a hole in the drywall bigger than his fist before taking off.” He took his cigarette back. “He hasn’t come home yet. Shit, man, if you could have only seen the hole.”
“My dad didn’t come home this morning,” Ricky said. “He should have been home by now.” Ricky looked around the laneway as if he was looking for a clue. I took a step toward him and he stepped back.
“You’re better off,” Manny said. “You don’t have to clean your old man’s ass now.”
“Shut up, Manny,” I said. I took another step toward Ricky but he held up his hand to stop me.
“No, it’s okay. I’m going home now to wait a bit more.” With his blinking eyes and twitching lips, he looked like he was about to cry right there. “I made his favourite breakfast.” He ran back up the lane.
Manny threw his cigarette down and turned to follow, but I pulled him back. “Let him go,” I said. “He’ll figure things out.”
“You’re right. Anyway, you and me, we need to have a bit of fun.”
“Edite’s away this weekend. Let’s go hang out there,” I said. Manny’s smile grew big.
Edite had told me she’d be out all weekend looking for Johnny. Manny thought we should raid her fridge, take everything over to James’s. I knew her fridge would be empty, but there was always a jar of peanut butter and a box of Ritz crackers in her top cupboard.
As I opened the door, Manny tackled me and we both fell into Edite’s kitchen, laughing. Manny sat up on my chest, holding on to my coat.
“Everything’s going to be okay.” I said. “With your brother, I mean.”
Manny stopped laughing. “I know.” He flopped off me and sat with his legs crossed on the kitchen floor. I got up and opened the fridge door. “Thanks,” Manny mumbled. I pretended not to hear him.
There was some beer and a few cans of Tab in Edite’s fridge. I knew James would like the beer, so I left them behind. Let him get his own beer. I’d sneak a few cans of Tab back for Agnes. James said Edite had been helping them out. She wouldn’t mind if I did the same. I scooped as many cans as I could into my arms, wedged a cold can of Tab under my chin, and kicked the fridge door closed.
“What the hell!” I yelled. Manny stood in the kitchen, his pants dropped to his knees. The can of Tab fell, hissing and spitting fizz all over the floor. Manny’s coat was hoisted and held under his chin. He had his pecker pinched between his fingers.
“Double digits, buddy,” he said.
“What?”
“Seventeen pubes. Count them.”
“You’re nuts.” His dick was a lot darker than mine. It was bigger too.
“Got a few fuzzin’ up those too.” He giggled. “Sprouting like weeds.” He flopped his dick up, pointed it toward his belly button to expose his nuts.
“Pull up your pants and help me.” I bent over to pick up the can, trying hard not to look at his dick. “Get the dishcloth from the sink.”
“You a man yet?” he said, bumping into me as he reached for the can I had placed on the counter. He sucked up the hissing foam.
“Shut up!”
He flung the dishcloth at my face. “How many times do you whack off? My record is seven. Of course I get about a hundred stiffies a day. If you get less than that there’s something wrong with you. My brother says you gotta stretch it and use it, kinda like exercise. If you don’t it’ll dry up and fall off. If you want I can lend you some of my brother’s Playboys. He’s got a whole bunch in a box under his bed.”
I thought of James, but then I thought of my dead grandmother and once again it did the trick. I got a grocery bag from the kitchen drawer and started stuffing the cans inside. Manny watched me, sucking the pop from the dented can. I stepped on the dishcloth and dragged it across the floor.
“Help me clean this up. And stop making that horny sound, you’re freaking me out.”
“What sound?”
We both turned to each other. Groans were coming from the bedroom. Manny zipped up his fly and stepped out into the hall.
“We gotta go, Manny.”
He was lurking outside Edite’s bedroom. The door was open a crack. He looked back at me as I approached, placed a finger over his lips.
He picked up an empty bottle of Canadian Club. “Looks like your aunt had herself a bit of a party,” he whispered.
Edite lay under a mishmash of blankets. Her head and long legs stuck out of the bed, along its sides. There were empty or half-empty bottles everywhere, mostly wine. She shifted a bit and her sheets slipped off her shoulder, almost far enough that I thought her nipple might pop out.
“Let’s get outta here,” I said, sweeping my arm back to get Manny away from the door. I heard the faint sound of the shower. That’s when I looked down at all the clothes and newspapers and garbage and saw a pair of men’s black boots, the kind cops wear, tucked under a chair. I shoved Manny back, tried to trick my brain into erasing what I knew I had seen.
The whole way down the laneway Manny kept clicking his tongue.
“Shut up, Manny.”
“What am I doing?”
“You know what you’re doing.”
“I know what I’m gonna do. I’m going home to break my record.” He grabbed at his pretend penis and stroked it. He looked at me as if I understood. I swung at him but he dodged my arm and ran away laughing.
“Freak!” I yelled, walking faster, half jogging down the lane. My cheeks were getting prickly from the cold. I wanted to go straight home but then James was standing in the middle of the lane, outside his garage, blocking my way.
“What’s that all about?” he said.
I stood in front of him. I wasn’t going to tell him anything.
“I’m just going home.” I tried to go around James but he stepped in front of me.
“Shit happens, Antonio. I didn’t send you to follow Ricky to get some cheap thrill. Shit happens and I guess I thought you could handle it.”
“Handle what?”
“Forget it.”
“You can’t send him to Red’s anymore.”
“Ricky isn’t doing anything he wasn’t doing before I got here.”
“What you do is one thing but—”
“And what is it I do, boy, that’s got you all in a knot, huh? I took care of that little shit Amilcar for you—called him off. And I closed down that circus your father had going.”
“I never asked you to do any of it.”
“I did it for you.”
“Where’s Agnes?” I said, noticing she wasn’t in her rocking chair.
“She slept at her parents’ last night. She wanted to sleep in her old bed.”
Strings of coloured lights throbbed in the garage. They hung from nails and hooks, were tucked between joists. There wasn’t much thought to where they were placed. It was clear James had tried to cram in as many as he could.
“Agnes’ll be back soon. Just needs to rest. It’s not safe for her to climb the ladder anymore. I tried bringing her things down, set her up nice and cozy down here but—”
“What if she doesn’t come back? What if she’s gone?” I said, looking at a section in the strand of lights that hadn’t come on. It only took one blown bulb and the whole string wouldn’t light. You’d have to go through the whole thing, jiggling the bulbs one by one until you found the bad one.
“What did she tell you?” He came toward me. “Agnes is coming back.”
“How do you know?” Goosebumps crawled up my arms at the sound of my tough voice.
J
ames caught me by the arm and yanked me into the garage. He was strong and it happened quickly. I wondered if those men had done the same thing to Emanuel. I tried to stop shaking. I focused on the feeling of the electric heater searing my ankle. James let go to lower the garage door.
“Sorry. I’m sorry, Antonio. I shouldn’t have—”
I still had the knife tucked into my sock. I could stand up to James. We could take care of Agnes ourselves, I thought, without all the crap he dished out.
“We’re all we’ve got,” James said, his voice softening. “Each other. Agnes and I are family.”
I nudged the garage door open a couple of inches to allow the cold air to gush in or the hot air to escape.
“We’re a family,” James said as he removed his T-shirt. He was doing it on purpose, I thought. “We stick together.”
“I’ve got a family.”
His face and neck turned red. He came closer. The scar on his cheek looked like the silvery trail of a snail. “My mother left. She never came back. Ricky’s mother left him too. Took off one day in a cab because she couldn’t take the beatings any longer.”
“How do you know that?” Ricky had never talked about his mother with me.
“He told me. He remembers the way she looked from the back of the cab as it sped off. He tried to chase it but his dad held on tight,” he said. “It’s just some work, you know. It doesn’t mean anything. It’s just about the money. And believe me, he’s safer not working in the streets.” James went to the bucket of water on top of the hot plate. He reached in with a face cloth, wrung it out, and dragged it slowly over his shoulders. “Ricky knows that.”
Kicking the Sky Page 17