Prep

  “I didn’t want to fight,” I said. “I swear.”

  “What am I supposed to do with you?” She sighed. “I’m totally at a loss.”

  Elliot opened the drapes in my room and checked on the windowsill for dust. It was dark outside. “Ground him. For starters.” If I’d had the energy, I would’ve told him to go fuck himself.

  “Get some more sleep,” my mother said, kissing my cheek. “Your doctor says that’s the most important thing right now.”

  They walked out into the hallway and I went back to staring at ceiling tiles. When Kodak went down, I’d spent half the night in the refreshment room wishing I could trade places with him. I’d even thought about going into the bathroom and smashing my fist into the sink mirror, just so I’d have a scrape or cut or bruise. But lying there now, wrapped up like a Christmas gift, I didn’t know what to think.

  The curtain swung open, and Danny appeared holding a suitcase. His right eye was blanketed with a square sheet of gauze, and his upper lip was deep violet.

  “You awake or sleeping?” Danny asked.

  “I’m too stoned to do either,” I said, trying to roll onto my side and failing. It was good to see him. “I thought you were in jail.”

  “My sister begged them not to hold me. Eventually, they released Daniel H. Conway on his own recognizance, with a court date and everything,” he said, picking up a container of Percocet on my nightstand. He twirled the top off and pulled out a white capsule. “Can you believe they leave shit like this out?”

  “Put it back,” I muttered.

  Danny sat down at the foot of my bedspread. “Hell no.” Unzipping his suitcase, he slipped the container inside his bag. “This makes the whole fucking weekend worthwhile.”

  “How you doing?” I asked, gesturing toward his face.

  “Been better.” I could hear a soft lisp in his voice from all the swelling. “It’s funny, but the first punch is the only one that really hurt. You know.” He pressed his palm against his ribcage and winced. “What’s that line, ‘After the first punch, there is no other.’ ”

  “Something like that,” I said, grinning.

  “Well, I’m getting the hell out of Dodge.” Danny stood up. “And I wanted to invite you.”

  “Where?”

  Danny winked with his one good eye. “California. What do you say?”

  I was too tired to breathe, and he wanted me to go to California. “Why?”

  “Come on.” He stretched his arms wide and raised his palms to the ceiling. “On the Road, Jack and Neal making a run of it.”

  “You can’t drive.”

  “I know. But my father’s picking me up at the airport.”

  I laughed and felt a crisp pinch in my lungs. “Why so soon?”

  “Nick,” Danny said, raising his eyebrows in disbelief, “we’re marked men. Greg spent an hour in the holding tank explaining to me how the Diggs are gonna massacre MKII. He’s already prepping for your initiation ceremony.”

  “Tell him we’re Conformists,” I declared. Couldn’t Greg wait until I was out of the fucking hospital?

  Danny nodded. “I tried. He’s not the smartest kid, you know.”

  Kris pushed aside the curtain and fell into the plastic chair at my bedside. She rolled her eyes at her brother. “He’s not going with you,” she said, placing a brown paper bag on my nightstand.

  “Let the man decide for himself,” Danny said.

  “I’m cool,” I said. I couldn’t understand how Kris seemed so relaxed around me.

  “Your loss.” Danny reached out his hand to shake, and I noticed a metal splint binding his first two fingers together. We held hands for a second, and then he lifted his suitcase to his side. “Thanks, Nick,” Danny said, tipping an imaginary hat.

  “No problem.” I didn’t want him to leave. I was getting used to Danny’s endless philosophies. “When are you coming back?”

  “When everything cools off.” Kris walked over to Danny, gave him a kiss on the cheek, and then pulled him into a gentle hug. “Or in time for the court date.”

  Danny looked back at me and grinned. “We could have a lot of—”

  “Get going,” Kris said, fighting a smile.

  Danny waved good-bye behind his back and disappeared into the maze of curtains. Even after I lost sight of him, I could hear hundreds of little capsules rattling in his suitcase.

  “Your mother wants him out of the city?” I asked, trying to fill the silence.

  Kris sat back down and reached into the paper bag. “Yeah, she called my dad from the precinct. They decided to put him on a flight ASAP.” She pulled out two cups of coffee. “I couldn’t figure out what else to buy you,” she said, passing me a cup. “Regular, right?”

  “Thanks,” I said, surprised. “You know, you don’t have to stay here.” I didn’t want her pity.

  “I’ve got no better place to be.”

  “What about with Luke?” I had to ask, even though it stung.

  “It’s just really complicated.”

  “Huh.” The warm coffee traced the soreness in my chest and ribs and stomach. “It sounded pretty simple earlier.”

  “Nick . . .” Kris hesitated. “I want to thank you.” She sat forward in her chair and rubbed my leg through the blanket. “I mean, I’ll always owe you for helping him.”

  I looked down at my sheets. “I didn’t do it for you.”

  “I know. That’s part of the reason it means so much to me.” Kris stood up from her chair and sat on the side of my bed. She pressed her hand softly against my hip. “Slide over,” she said, smiling.

  I handed her my cup of coffee, lifted myself up on my arms, and moved to the edge of the mattress. Kris adjusted my spare pillow and lay down next to me. I loved having her by my side again, but it scared the shit out of me. Couldn’t she see how broken I was after this morning?

  “You know,” Kris said. “I’ve never been so confused in my entire life.”

  “How do you mean?” Was she trying to torture me?

  “I’ve just spent the last twenty-four hours trying to sort everything out, the difference between friendship and love and . . .” Her voice trailed off. “It’s impossible.”

  “If it makes you feel any better,” I began, “I haven’t been able to tell the difference for a while now.”

  “But you know what you want, right?”

  “Yeah,” I said, staring out the window. I didn’t have the strength to look her in the eyes. “As much as I know anything.”

  Kris turned to face me. “Can you give me some time?”

  Before I could figure out what to say, I realized I was nodding. “But what do we do until you figure everything out?”

  She shrugged. “I guess you’ll have to keep waking me up in the middle of the night.”

  “Sometimes I don’t know who else I can talk to,” I confessed.

  “Well, you’re lucky you don’t have to.”

  I rolled onto my side and lay my head on Kris’s shoulder. I’d run out of words and explanations and arguments. “No matter what, you make an incredible pillow.”

  She slid her shoes off against the bedside railing and covered her legs with my blanket. “You know what I was watching in the waiting room?”

  “What?” I said, studying the pale arch of her neck.

  “The Wizard of Oz. I thought you’d be proud of me, Cowboy.”

  “I am.”

  “Well, have you ever noticed how important Toto is?” she asked, lifting my forearm and gently squeezing it.

  “Toto?” I mumbled.

  “Yeah, Toto. Okay, when the movie starts out, what’s going on?”

  I rested my palm on her hipbone. “It’s black-and-white.”

  “Toto’s the reason Dorothy is so upset and decides to run away.”

  “Because that old bag is trying to kill him.” I had no idea why we were debating The Wizard of Oz, but it felt good just to talk.

  “Exactly,” she said, carefully rubbing my wrist. �
��But Toto escapes from the basket.”

  “I still think it’s Dorothy’s story.” I pulled the blanket to my collar and curled my legs toward Kris. “Toto’s just a plot point.”

  “Or look at the ending. Toto and Dorothy are captured by the flying monkeys. Do you remember how they’re saved?”

  “I barely remember my middle name right now.”

  Kris smiled. “They’re saved because Toto escapes from the witch’s castle and goes and finds the three guys. Same with the ending. Toto’s the one who discovers the Wizard is just some sleazy old man.”

  I felt my toes press against Kris’s ankle. “Maybe they should have called the movie Toto.”

  “I’m being serious.” Kris laughed and massaged the back of my neck. “When I was younger, I was so obsessed with Dorothy that I never realized how important the little guy is.”

  “Judy Garland was your idol?” I said, yawning.

  “Oh, come on.” She looked over at me. “Everyone has a hero. Little kids are just the only ones smart enough to admit it.”

  I closed my eyes and let my lips brush softly against her sweater. “You should go home and get some sleep.”

  “I’ll stay,” Kris whispered.

  Monday

  My eyes slid open and I squinted at the fluorescent hospital bulbs. I stretched my back and yawned at the wool curtains. Outside my window, the bricks were soaked in a warm turquoise light. I figured it was dawn, but it might be dusk.

  I turned to my right and smiled when I saw Kris. She was draped in a pair of lime-green blankets and snoring softly against the metal frame of my bedside chair. This was the second morning I’d woken up next to her, but this time I was sure that she cared about me.

  Sitting up in bed, I tossed the sheets to the side. They’d changed me into a gray hospital gown, and I scanned the room for my clothes. I couldn’t find my hoodie. I rolled off the mattress, my feet falling quietly onto the cool linoleum, and reached for my jeans and Timberlands. My kneecaps were still swollen, but I slid the jeans back on and lifted my backpack onto my shoulders.

  I walked over to Kris and placed my hand gently on her arm. “I’ll be back in a few,” I whispered. She nodded faintly, and I tucked the blankets against her body. I was never going to get used to how beautiful she was.

  I leaned out into the hallway and checked the floor for doctors. I wasn’t sure if they’d let me leave and I didn’t want to chance it. There were a couple of nurses at the far end of the floor flipping through clipboards. I stepped into the hallway and walked as quickly as I could in the other direction. I felt like Jack Nicholson in One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest, but nobody else in the ward was around to cheer me on.

  After about fifty paces, I found an empty elevator bank and pressed the down arrow. The doors slid open a few seconds later, and two nurses surveyed my hospital gown—I was fucked. Stepping in between them, I searched the panel of buttons. There was an L, an M, and three different-number Ps. I had no clue what to push, so I hit L.

  “Can I help you?” the taller nurse asked, leaning toward me.

  “Just going outside for a butt,” I said, waiting for one of them to jab a needle in my arm.

  “A lot of people quit while they’re in the hospital,” the other nurse said.

  I shrugged as casually as I could.

  On the third floor, the elevator doors slid open again and the nurses stepped off. I’d made it.

  Back on Amsterdam, I spotted a taxi waiting for the light to change. I slid across the vinyl seat and asked the driver to take me to 22nd and Sixth. My forehead was still aching, but it felt good to be out of the hospital. I just couldn’t remember if the piece was off Sixth or Fifth. The night Kodak and I put it up, we were drinking Crazy Horse like it was going out of style, and I hadn’t been back to the wall in at least a year. I knew the piece was still up, though, because Jerry had asked me about it a couple of weeks ago. It was my last one.

  The taxi sailed down Ninth, and I studied the fresh scabs on my fingers. The clock in the cab read 5:02 A.M. Kris was probably still asleep, curled up in her chair. I had no idea what she’d think if she woke up, but I knew I’d be able to explain it to her later.

  When the cabbie turned onto 22nd, I asked him to drive slowly down the street. I knew I’d recognize the parking lot. Kodak and I had spent four hours there standing on the roof of a minivan. Halfway toward Fifth, I spotted my jagged lettering. I handed the driver a five and grabbed my backpack off the seat.

  Two years later, the piece was still strong. It started ten feet up the parking lot wall, and the three gray-blue characters were taller than I was. Writers had plastered the brick below with tags and blockbusters, but my wildstyles had hung in there.

  Surveying the block, I spotted a pay phone outside a shuttered sports bar. I pushed a quarter into the coin slot, leaned against the inside of the booth, and dialed Greg’s cell. I hoped he wasn’t still in the holding tank.

  After the second ring, I started practicing my message. “Hey, it’s Nick . . .” “ ’Morning, it’s . . .”

  “S’up,” Greg said.

  I straightened up, startled. “It’s Nick.”

  “Thet,” he shouted. “Wassup, kid? How you feeling, yo?”

  “Not bad. The cops hold you?”

  “Hell, no.” Greg laughed. “My pops sent his lawyer.”

  “Where are you?”

  “Chilling at Jason’s crib, working on the MKII plan. Shit’s gonna be like the fucking crusades.”

  “Hey, I need you to meet me at the Twenty-second Street wall,” I said. “You know, where my piece is.”

  “Oh shit. Thet’s back,” he howled. “But I don’t have cans.”

  “Don’t worry about it. I’ve got’m for both of us.”

  “I’ll be there in twenty. And get back to work, homes. We gots years to make up for.” Beep.

  I hung up the phone and started walking back to the lot. Across the block, two busboys were hosing down the sidewalk outside an Italian restaurant. A bread truck was idling in the al leyway next to the restaurant, and I felt like asking the busboys for a bagel or roll or something.

  A red Explorer was parked underneath my piece, and I climbed the chrome bumper. Pushing myself onto the roof of the car, I threw my legs over and planted them against a ski rack. I stood up on top of the Explorer and unzipped my backpack. Reaching into my bag, I flipped off the cap on a can of Krylon Black.

  I stared at my lettering and took a full breath. I still loved the blends and highlights. I couldn’t believe I was about to cross myself out. Had anyone ever done this before?

  Raising my arm to the clouds, I sprayed long black streaks down the surface of the brick. Thick streams of paint washed away the silvers and blues, and my A dissolved into a tiny triangle. Flexing my wrist back and forth, I mixed the can again and then leaned into the wall. My O collapsed into a broken C and I waved my arm across the width of the piece. Misting Krylon started to settle on my fingertips and nails. Halfway through my D, I remembered the way Kodak had spent ten minutes detailing the shinemarks on the arch, and then it was gone. Puddles of paint started to grip the brick, but I didn’t let up on that cap. It felt too good to stop.

  After a few minutes, the can sputtered and deflated. I tossed the empty into my backpack and sat down on the roof of the Explorer. I pulled out my pack of cigarettes and searched for a match. Taking a soft drag, I smiled at the shining black rectangle. It looked like someone had painted a floating doorway fifteen feet in the air.

  The first thing I heard was Greg’s voice. “What the fuck is that?”

  I looked up and saw Greg walking across 22nd Street. He was wearing a loose Polo jumpsuit and pointing a half-eaten bagel.

  “ ’Morning,” I said, hopping down from the Explorer. A set of brass knuckles had left a cookie-cutter bruise on his cheek.

  “Yo, why’d you roll your piece?”

  “I’m retiring,” I began. “Retiring Thet for good.”

  “Fu
ck you retiring.” Greg laughed and took another bite. “You must’ve had one of those crazy laptopomies or whatever,” he said, staring at my bandaged head.

  “No, for real.”

  “Thet, chillz. What the fuck are you even talking about, kid?”

  “Me.” I don’t know why, but I wasn’t afraid of Greg. I was exhausted and sore and confused, but I wasn’t afraid. “I’m done. With DOA, with Thet.”

  Greg shook his head disgustedly. “So your punk ass crossed yourself out?” I nodded and he pointed angrily at the wall. “And what do you think that shit means?”

  “It was my last piece,” I declared.

  “Nah,” he sneered. “What do you think that shit means to me? Your bitch ass still owes me for throwing down at the church.”

  “I didn’t want you to fight.” My voice was firm. “I didn’t want anybody to fight.”

  Greg sidearmed the rest of his bagel into a dumpster. “You still owe me.”

  “What do you want me to do?”

  He smiled. “Roll with me on this mission we’re planning.”

  “I can’t.”

  “Fine. Once your head’s healed.”

  “No,” I said calmly.

  “Your shit’s a one-way street,” he exploded.

  “I’m just not about violence or street cred or any of it.” I reached into my pocket and found Ella wrapped up in a couple bills. It felt good to have him with me on this one.

  “And when Derrick comes after you?” Greg smirked.

  Derrick had the Diggs to deal with first. MKII would come for me eventually, but there was no changing that now. “I’ll think of something.”

  Greg wrapped his hands behind his head. “So your punk ass thinks you can just walk away from everything?”

  “I’m doing it.”

  “What if I say you’re not?” Greg asked.

  “Let it be over.”

  He scanned the avenue and laughed. “You’re such a pussy, Nick. You know that?”

  I shrugged it off. “We’re just different guys.”