I want to be with Koob and know someone’s got my back.
But then I look around the bathroom. There’s a brown sludge ring in the crapper and it smells like piss. I close my eyes for a second, because I’ll gag if I keep looking at it. But when I open them, it’s the same.
So I get up and go downstairs. I pull my hat so low that no one can see me, so low it almost covers my scar. I sit down on the couch and don’t look at Henry. But I do take the joint when it gets handed to me.
Henry’s leaning back in the chair; his eyes are closed and he’s humming.
Jakub
My eyes keep flicking back to the clock on the wall. I should be trying to follow what the teacher’s droning on about, but I can’t. All I can think about is Lincoln lurking in the trees outside.
The phone in my pocket vibrates. Our prearranged signal. I close my eyes and take a deep breath, willing myself to go through with this. I promised him. One car. Then, we’re even.
I raise my hand and wince, holding my stomach. “I don’t feel so good,” I say when the teacher looks at me. I give her a pained look and go to her desk. She sighs and signs off on a hall pass. I nod my thanks. All the way to the parking lot doors, I keep my head down and shuffle slowly, in case a teacher stops me.
Halfway through second period, the parking lot is quiet. Guys have arrived for the morning, their cars shiny like candy in the lot. Link’s across the parking lot. A row of cars separates us. He nods when he sees me lean against the building. All I have to do is keep watch, fake a coughing fit or something if someone comes by, I remind myself.
He sidles up to a Nissan Altima and bends his head over the driver-side door, and then disappears inside. It happens so quick that the door must have been left unlocked.
The door to the parking lot opens and three guys come out. Pressing myself against the wall, I duck my head, pretending to text. “Shit,” I mutter under my breath. I glance up, praying they don’t go toward Link and the Altima. Two stay together, but one veers off, heading in Link’s direction. My heart speeds up. There’s no way to warn Link, he’s inside the car. If the kid sees him, that’s it. Busted. I’m ready to shout something to get the guy’s attention, make a fool of myself, anything to save my friend. But then I hear it. An engine roars to life.
The car is out of the lot in a minute, peeling toward the exit and onto the street. I stare after it, hardly believing Lincoln could get it going that fast. I’m about to turn back into the school when the guy walking on his own calls out to his friends, laughing. “Harris is the worst friggin’ driver! Did you see how he took that corner?”
I wait for a second, but they don’t know it wasn’t their friend behind the wheel. It was mine.
My phone buzzes with a text. Too easy, it says. I’ll be back in an hour. Wait for my text.
My head pounds. We had a deal. I text back.
I stare at the phone, waiting for a reply. Nothing. I thumb a ? and wait. Teachers check these doors all the time. The hall pass was to go to the washroom, not hang around the student lot.
I hold the phone in my hand, willing it to vibrate with a message. But it stays blank, the screen glowing blue and empty.
If Link calls when I’m in class, I won’t be able to answer and I sure as hell won’t be able to leave again. He’ll be on his own. Between now and then, the Harris kid could realize his car is missing. And even if he doesn’t, it’ll be bad timing so close to lunch. If Link comes back and someone spots him, a guy faking that he’s a student, he’ll get dragged inside to Father O’Shea. It wouldn’t take much digging to figure out the connection between me and Link.
I yank open the doors, knowing I can’t hang around any longer. If Link comes back, he’s on his own.
I wait till third period bell rings and go to Mr. McGee’s class. A history teacher who looks like he’s lived through most of what he teaches. His eyes like piss holes in the snow zero in on any kid not paying attention. I cram my legs under the table and try to concentrate on what he’s saying.
My breathing is finally settling into a normal rhythm when my phone rings. The tinny, robotic tune makes the class freeze. Phones in class are against the rules. Phones in McGeezer’s class are suicide. Everyone looks around trying to locate the owner. I slide lower in my seat and fumble in my pocket, trying to turn it off.
It rings again. A catchy beat. Someone snickers. My face burns as the source of the sound is located. All eyes are on me, including McGeezer’s. “Please, Mr. Kaminsky, take your call. I’m sure it’s important.” His voice drips with sarcasm.
I shake my head. I don’t know where the hang-up button is, or how to silence the ringing. I press buttons, trying to make it stop, but nothing works. All of a sudden, Lincoln’s voice fills the classroom.
“Koob!” he yells.
My fingers tremble as I jab at the buttons. My hands are sweating with nerves. The phone slips to the floor. “That was too easy, man! I’m coming back. Meet me outside in fifteen minutes. Wheels is dropping me off. Koob? You there?”
McGeezer strides over and picks up the phone. He stands holding it out to me as I slouch lower in my seat. His gnarled hands wave it impatiently. I don’t want the phone back.
“Can you hear me?” Link shouts into the silent classroom. “I’m coming back. We’ll get one more.”
Every kid in the class stares at me with a silent question. Get one more what? Finally, the call ends. Link hangs up and McGeezer drops the phone on my desk. It rocks on its hard, plastic shell. “Care to explain?” he asks.
I shut my eyes and press my lips together, praying that when I open them, no one will be looking at me.
But they are. Leaning out of their chairs and waiting to hear what I have to say. “It’s not, ah, this isn’t my phone,” I stammer.
“Ahh, it’s not your phone, Mr. Kaminsky. Yet, you had it on you, and based on the way you’re acting, you’re mortified we’ve all heard what the caller said. I would argue that it is indeed your phone. Mr. Creighton, would you agree?”
Tanner, blond and sun-tanned, like a surfer, spins around to face McGeezer. “Yes, sir,” he says, quietly.
“I think, since your friend interrupted us, you should fill us all in on what he was talking about. Sounded very covert, didn’t it? Please, Mr. Kaminsky, enlighten us.” He mocks me, enjoying himself. I sit still, my silence defying him.
He glares at me, colour flaring in his saggy cheeks. “Leave, Mr. Kaminsky. Take your phone with you.”
I stand up, a hot rush behind my eyes. I don’t look at anyone as I make my way to the front of the class. “I’ll be letting the bursary selection committee know about this,” he says, loud enough for the whole class to hear.
By the time I get to the washroom, anger explodes from every limb. I fling my binder on the floor, and it bursts into a flurry of paper. I kick at the metal stall doors until my toes are numb, letting curses fly from my lips.
I pull the phone from my pocket. It was a stupid friggin’ idea getting mixed up with Link and the Red Bloodz like this. Dropping it to the ground, I stamp on it till bits of metal and shattered plastic are all that’s left. The SIM card pops out. I toss it in the toilet and flush it away.
Now what? I look around the washroom, taking deep breaths to calm myself. My fingers itch with anger, at Lincoln for dragging me into this and at McGeezer for humiliating me. At myself for saying yes.
Tucked into the pocket of my binder is a Sharpie, the black cap visible. I reach down to pick it up. A long expanse of mirror above the sink calls to me. A few swipes and McGeezer’s nose, lumpy and engorged, appears, then his heavy brow, almost like a Neanderthal’s, furrowed in anger. I make him decrepit, like an ogre, with small, beady eyes and hair growing out of his ears and nose. Standing back, I cap the pen and give the drawing a long, spiteful look. There’s no mistaking who it is.
Link and I had a deal. One
car, not two.
What happens when it goes sideways? What does Lincoln have left to lose? Nothing.
I could bust him myself. Tell Father O’Shea, blame everything on Lincoln. At least then Henry wouldn’t want him.
But he’s my friend. He saved my ass up on the building. I can’t stab him in the back.
Squeezing my eyes shut, I think about what the right choice is. But there isn’t one.
I pack up the papers on the floor and stuff the binder under my arm. I yank the washroom door open, slide into the hallway, and pray that I don’t bump into a teacher. And that I can catch Lincoln before it’s too late.
Lincoln
Rat raises his eyebrows when I drive the Nissan through the back gate. He swings it closed and puts the padlock back on. “Nice.” He whistles when I get out. “Where’d you get it?”
I don’t want to tell him. Koob’s school is a gold mine. But not for much longer. If I want to lift another one, I need to get back there before anyone figures out what’s going on. Koob’s left me messages on the cell. He’s freaking out. Rookie.
Rat opens the hood and gets to work. One thing about that guy, he hustles.
I dial Koob’s cell. It rings and I get impatient; my foot starts jittering. Then, the ringing stops, but no one says anything. “Koob!” I say. I can hear noises in the background. “That was too easy, man! I’m coming back. Meet me outside in fifteen minutes. Wheels is dropping me off. Koob? You there?”
The phone goes dead. Shit. I stand in the garage for a minute, breathing in the oil and gasoline, the grit that hangs in the air.
“Ha!” Rat laughs behind me and I turn. In his grimy hands, he’s holding up the St. Bart’s blazer. “You clever little shit!” he says.
A smile tugs at my lips, but I grab the blazer away from him and act pissed off. “You don’t know shit,” I say with a sneer.
“Heard you say you’re going back out. Probably got a whole parking lot full of sweet rides for me, eh?” He laughs like he’s not talking about cars. “Wheels is in the front.” He nods to the office area, the legit part of the business.
I dial Koob’s cell again. He’s getting cold feet, same as I did the first time. Probably doesn’t want me coming back, but I think about all those cars, ripe for the picking, and it’s too tempting.
Wheels can drive me past the school; if there’s heat, I’ll leave.
I dial Koob’s cell. It rings and rings, but he doesn’t pick up. “Pussy,” I mutter under my breath. In the front of the shop, Wheels is having a smoke. He tosses what’s left of the cigarette on the ground, crushing it with his heel. “You ready?”
I nod.
“What about your guy inside. He’s ready?”
“Yeah,” I lie. “We’re good.” Henry told me to take some initiative, so that’s what I’m doing. If I get another car, I’ll split the money with Koob, let him see that lifting a couple of cars is worth it.
I get in the car and slouch low, so I can barely see out the window. The West End slides by as we head to St. Bart’s.
“Drop me here,” I say to Wheels, a block from the school. I’ll walk the rest of the way. Wheels pulls over under some trees. They stretch over the street meeting at the top, like a friggin’ archway.
“Text me,” he grunts. “I’ll wait here, then head back.”
I nod and get out of the car. I wish I had my hat to pull down over my eyes. I keep my head bent, staring at the sidewalk, trying not to walk too fast.
I see the school and the parking lot. It’s almost empty. A couple of kids are at the doors. I slow my steps even more, knowing I have to wait till they go inside. The Audi, white with lots of chrome, is sitting in the middle of the lot. My fingers itch at the thought of getting behind the wheel. And what Henry will do when I get to the chop shop with it.
The cell is heavy in my pants pocket. I pull it out and try Koob one more time. No answer. “Shit,” I mutter, clenching my teeth.
There’s more guys coming to the doors now, and I wonder if it’s a break between classes. I need to lay low till they go back inside. I’m walking toward the front of the school and I can feel my heart beating faster. I didn’t want to get this close. The other guys have ties and shirts on. Me, in just a T-shirt, will get noticed.
I scan the door for Koob, in case he’s there but can’t answer his phone. Then a kid comes rushing out, a big guy. He runs to an empty spot in the lot. The place where the Nissan was. He looks around, spinning, waving his hands and shouting and swearing. Other guys run over, too; some look for their cars and some stand in the same empty spot with the guy.
There’s sweat on my forehead. I pull my mouth in tight and force my feet to keep moving slow, even though I want to run and get the hell out of here. An Escalade drives past, turns into the driveway at the front of the school. A blond woman gets out and runs inside the building. The keys are in the ignition. I hear the engine humming, life still flowing through the car.
I look back once at the guys in the lot. They’re looking around. Some are walking toward the sidewalk, close to where I am. And then, I see Koob. He’s there, at the doors.
“Hey!” someone yells. I don’t know if it’s to me, but I hunch my shoulders under my jacket and speed up my steps. “Hey!” the voice says again. I turn quick and he’s got a phone out, holding it in front of him.
The Escalade is close, if I run.
So I do. I bolt. Each slap of the pavement is a shout of guilt. There’s more shouting behind me. I see the blond woman walking out of the school. We’re heading to the same spot. The Escalade.
I get there first, yank open the door, and put it into drive before the door is even shut. Without looking at the lady, I step hard on the gas. I hear her scream. There’s a noise behind me.
“Mommy!” A kid’s in the backseat.
My heart hammers hard in my chest. Guys chasing me pound on the doors and windows, trying to catch a piece of the car before I get to the street. The kid’s crying, her face red, and I don’t know what to do. “Shut up!” I yell at her, because I can’t think with all the noise.
There’s guys on the sidewalk, holding out their phones, capturing my face. I get down low, so I can barely see over the steering wheel. The little girl is wailing. What am I gonna do with a kid? Dump her on the road?
The guys chasing me have fallen back, given up. I look in the rear-view mirror. There’s a mob around the lady, but one lone guy stands on the sidewalk watching. Koob.
I drive fast, all over the road cuz I’m freaking out, trying to figure out what to do. The kid is shrieking, losing it that I’m taking her away from her mom. I run a red and there’s a flash of a camera. There’s too much heat. A white Escalade blazing down the street, with a kid in the back? Every cop in the city will be after me.
Shit! I won’t make it to the chop shop in this thing. And the kid. I glance at her, real quick in the mirror. But instead of seeing her, all I see is me.
With a shout of frustration, I slam my palm on the steering wheel and pull onto a side street. I jump out and leave the Escalade running, the driver door hanging open, the girl’s screams fill the air. Wheels’s car is still there, idling.
He sees me coming and reaches over to open the passenger door. Before I’m even in the seat, he’s pressing on the accelerator. My heart beats so hard, I can hear it. I peel the friggin’ jacket off, bunch it up and toss it out the window.
“Do I want to know?” he asks.
I shake my head. “Just drive,” I say and shut my eyes.
Jakub
News of the car being stolen spreads through school quick. Father O’Shea comes over the PA and gives permission for all students with cars in the lot to check on them. Guys flood outside, even the ones without cars.
I go, too, slinking down the hallway and out the back doors. A crush of guys stands there. Harris is raging in his empty parkin
g spot. A couple of the other football players huddle around him, consoling. A murmur of anger flows through the waiting crowd.
I don’t see Link at first; I’m watching Harris.
“Who’s that?” a voice says. And we all follow his raised arm, pointing at the sidewalk.
Other guys jostle to see, craning their necks. I do the same. Link slouches down the sidewalk, his blazer out of place with the rest of his outfit. No tie or shirt, baggy jeans, and old, beat-up running shoes. No one would mistake him for one of us.
Phones come out, grainy images of the stranger captured. More guys flood out of the building, the doorway thick with bodies. I move to the edge, closer to Link. Run! I think and feel the word jam itself in my throat.
His cover is blown. “Run, Link,” I whisper under my breath.
On some silent cue, the guys swell toward him, swarming across the grass. Link starts running. Seconds later, a white Escalade careens onto the street, chased by guys with flailing arms and jackets flapping behind them. They shout, reach out for the truck, their effort futile because Link presses on the gas and leaves them in his dust.
“Stop!” I yell, the same as the others. Link, just stop.
And then a woman screams. “My baby!” she howls. “He’s got Kennedy!”
My stomach drops. A kid. He’s taken a car with a kid in it. Link. I shake my head. What have you done?
The lady who owns the Escalade starts screaming; her uncontrollable sobs fill the air. I’ve seen her before, at the Nearly New shop. Tanner, the kid from McGeezer’s class, comes outside, and I realize it’s his mom’s car that was just stolen. His little sister inside of it. His mom is still screaming for someone to call the cops. Tanner puts an arm around her, protectively, and pulls out his phone. My gut’s churning so bad, I think I’ll shit my pants right here.
They refuse to go inside, so none of us want to, either. We stand milling around until the wail of a cop car can be heard.
Blood Brothers Page 9