Blood Brothers

by Colleen Nelson

  “Give them privacy,” the teachers say, herding us back into the school.

  “What kind of an asshole steals cars? One with a kid in it?” one guy says, shaking his head.

  A desperate one, I think.

  But the morning is a write-off. No one can concentrate, not even the teachers. If Link still has the Escalade, he’ll have taken it to the chop shop. Did he ditch the kid on the road somewhere? But he might have bailed, left the kid in the truck and taken off, too freaked out to drive it through the city.

  If I’d said something an hour ago, none of this would have happened. Tanner’s little sister would be safe. Link wouldn’t be a grainy photo on thirty kids’ phones.

  Guilt gnaws at me. It radiates through my skin and I duck down, hunching in my desk, terrified that someone will notice.

  Finally, Father O’Shea’s voice, calm and steady, comes on the PA.

  “The Creighton family would like to thank everyone for their prayers. The child in the stolen car has been found and is unharmed.” A cheer goes through the class. I see my teacher raise her eyes and murmur a quick prayer of thanks. I do the same, but not just for the little girl. “I’m sure a full report will be on the news tonight. In the meantime, please respect the family’s privacy and resist the urge to speculate. The police are doing their best to resolve the situation.”

  Guys around me mutter their revenge fantasies. I sink lower in my seat, wishing I could crawl under it. I didn’t press on the gas pedal or drive it out of the lot, but Link wouldn’t have either if it wasn’t for me.

  Link is falling, slipping out of my grasp and tumbling somewhere I can’t reach him.

  When I see someone sitting on the front steps, I think it’s Lincoln, and my stomach lurches because I don’t know what I’ll say to him. I’m too mad to think straight. The events of the day have bled into a pulpy mess. But it’s not Lincoln. It’s Lester, hunched over, smoking. He raises his head in greeting when I turn up the sidewalk.

  “Hey,” I say. He has a beer between his feet and a couple of empties piled up behind him. “Day off?”

  “Something like that,” he mumbles. He takes a sip from the can and stares across the street. Pouches of skin under his eyes are pronounced against the gauntness of his face.

  “You okay?”

  Lester runs a hand over his greying hair. For as long as I’ve known him, he’s worn it pulled back into a skinny rat-tail. “I’m leaving,” he says. I move closer to make sure I heard him right.

  “What?”

  “Got to get away. Owe some guys money.”

  “Shit.” I let my backpack drop to the ground and sit down beside him. “When are you leaving?”

  “Tomorrow, or the next day. Wanna say goodbye to the guys at Fenty’s and then I’ll take off.”

  “Did you tell Laureen?”

  He sucks on his teeth and shakes his head. “Not yet. Don’t want to. I’m paid up for rent, but I’d rather just sneak out in the night.” He turns to me. “Maybe you could do it? Tell her I got a job on the rigs, or something. Had to leave right away.”

  “Nah, man. That’s not right. She’ll want to say goodbye to you.”

  Lester sighs. “Guess you’re right. Kind of chicken shit, to do it my way.”

  “How much is it?” I ask. “The money. How much do you owe?”

  Lester’s eyes flare. “It’s my fucking no-good brother. It’s his debt I’m on the hook for.”

  We sit together on the stairs watching traffic on the street go past.

  He pops the tab on another beer. “Look at that.” He nods at my backpack. “I don’t know if I ever opened a book when I was your age.” He gives a rueful laugh. “Guess that explains things, eh?”

  We sit quiet for a few minutes. A dog down the street barks as someone walks by. “You’re really going?”

  He purses his lips, his whole body rocking with a nod. “No choice.”

  “Not gonna be the same around here.” I hold up my hand and he clasps it in his.

  His mouth twitches, but he covers it up with a draw on his smoke. “Thanks, kid.”

  Laureen’s phone is in my hand. I stare at it a few minutes before pressing the numbers, trying to work out what I’ll say to Lincoln if he answers. Finally, I just dial and hope that when I hear his voice, I’ll just know.

  “Yeah.” Link’s voice echoes into the receiver.

  “It’s me,” I say. Silence on the other end. “We need to talk.”

  He snorts on the other end. “About how you bailed on me?”

  With a groan of frustration, I try again. “Look, man.” I lower my voice, cupping my hand over the receiver. “Things went sideways. A teacher took my phone. We almost got busted.”

  “I was the one outside,” he hisses. “Your friggin’ faggot friends were after me!”

  Running a hand through my hair, I hear him breathing on the other end of the phone. “You took a car with a kid in it!”

  There’s noise in the background, laughing and talking.

  “Where are you?” I ask.

  “Doesn’t matter.”

  “Can we meet at the park?”

  Link gives a long exhale, thinking about it. “I’ll be there in fifteen.”

  I hang up and know that I’ll have to paint tonight. A car with the Red Bloodz dagger stabbed through the hood. I grab my sketchbook and do a rough outline of the idea before I lose it. The list of cars Link wanted to steal is on the other side of the paper. A few sheets away, the one of him and Dad climbing the stairs on the first day of school. Where’s that kid? I wonder. How could Henry and his gang pull him away so quickly?

  But I know the answer. It’s hanging inside the apartment on a shitty wire hanger. The day I got accepted to St. Bart’s was the day Henry’s grip got so tight on Link he couldn’t escape.

  Lincoln

  I stare anywhere but at Koob as he walks toward me. When he slides onto the bench, I inch away, but I don’t think he notices. At least, he pretends not to.

  “That didn’t go down how I thought it would,” I say. I try to stay cool, but inside I’m choking on all the things I want to tell him.

  “No shit,” he says, his eyes bugging out.

  I grit my teeth and stare at the garbage can.

  “Shit, Link. If you’d been caught! That was kidnapping.” He hisses the words at me. “You got away with one. You didn’t need to come back.”

  He doesn’t know what it’s like, trying to impress the guys at the clubhouse. I want to wipe the stupid look off Jonny’s face for once, make him see I’m not just some punk-ass little brother. “I was showing initiative,” I mumble. “And where the hell were you?” I say, turning on him. “Doing fuck-all while those guys almost caught me!”

  Koob gets in real close and flicks the brim of my hat, tipping it back so he can see my eyes. “I told you not to come back. I was in class. A teacher took my phone. I could have been expelled just for that, never mind stealing a fucking car!”

  I let out a deep breath and sort of laugh. It was close with those guys after me. If that Escalade hadn’t been there … I shake my head thinking about what would’ve happened.

  But Koob doesn’t think it’s funny. He grabs my jacket in his hands and pushes me back hard against the bench. “You almost got me kicked out, you asshole. Why are you laughing?” His eyes are narrowed and he looks more pissed than I’ve ever seen him.

  I push him back and he lets go, but we’re both on our feet. “Who gives a fuck about a school?”

  “I do!”

  I snort at him, disgusted. “Used to be a time when you had priorities. Me, your dad. Where’d that guy go? You’re turning into one of them.”

  “What about you? What are you turning into? Kidnapping little kids, stealing cars. What’s next? Huh? What’s Henry’s next big plan for you?”

  I
don’t like him talking about Henry. Blood rushes to my head, and my hands curl into fists before I even know what I’m doing. “He’s looking out for me,” I snarl.

  “Bullshit! He’s using you.” Koob’s backing up, circling me. “All this is about money. He’s got you doing all his dirty work. He doesn’t give a fuck about what happens to you. If you get caught, go to juvie, he’ll just find some other dumb shit to do the work for him.”

  Koob’s never called me dumb before. It knocks the wind out of me hearing what he really thinks about me.

  From the street, a car with a thumping bass makes me turn and look. A familiar low-rider with tinted windows rolls past. It stops on the other side of the chain-link fence. The window rolls down. Henry pushes his sunglasses, black wraparounds, to the top of his head and stares at me.

  I can’t let him see me back down from a fight.

  I take a swing at Koob. It almost catches him in the gut, but he jumps away too quick. Both of us breathe hard, waiting for the next move. He comes at me and grabs me around the waist so we both go down on the ground. He’s on top at first, shouting at me, spit flying out of his mouth, but I can’t hear him because all I’m thinking about is that Henry might hear him and we’ll both get a pounding from him. I have to shut him up.

  I raise a leg behind him and kick. He rolls off to the ground and then I’m on top. I give him two good ones to the face and blood pours out of his nose. “Fuck!” he yells, holding his face. My hand hurts, but I stand up.

  Henry’s still there. I don’t have to turn around because I can feel him, like a shadow. I collect spit in my mouth and blow a wad at Koob. It lands beside him. “Fuck you!” I say real loud. I turn and walk to the car.

  He groans and staggers up, but I’m already walking out of the park.

  When I slam the car door shut, I’m breathing hard. My hand throbs.

  I’m waiting for Henry to say something, but he stays silent till we get to a stoplight. Then he turns around, eyeing me. “What were you doing with him?”

  “Why does it matter?” I ask.

  He narrows his eyes. “Cuz it does.”

  “He played me. I had to show him he can’t mess with me no more.”

  Henry snorts. “You call that showing him? You gave him two pansy punches and walked away. You should’ve finished him.”

  I seethe from the back seat.

  Rat laughs beside him. A nasally whine that makes me grit my teeth.

  “You’re a joke,” Henry says.

  “Go to hell,” I mutter.

  “What did you say?” he asks, leaning back so hard in the seat, I think it’s going to snap.

  “I said to go to hell.” Bolder now, I say it louder. He thinks he can boss me around, treat me like shit and get away with it. One muscular hand reaches out for me and grabs a fistful of T-shirt.

  “Don’t you ever talk like that to me again. I don’t care who you are. I will beat you to a pulp. I will show you how you send a message. Got it?” His eyes are like firebrands. I try to nod, but my body is frozen. He’s looking at me like he could snap my neck if he felt like it. When he finally lets go, I fall back against the back seat.

  “Hanging out with that kid, that’s what made you soft.”

  He’s watching me from the rear-view mirror, his mouth set in a disappointed scowl. “We got to toughen you up, little brother. See if you really got what it takes to run with us.”

  I have a dream that night that I’m drowning. The muck of the river bottom makes my feet stick. The water swirls around me and I’m screaming cuz I can’t move and the water’s getting higher. When I wake up, I’m sweating and my heart’s pounding cuz the nightmare felt so real. I kick off the sheets twisted around my ankles and lie on the mattress, trying to remember why I’m here and not at my house.

  Then it all comes back to me and I feel like I’m drowning all over again.

  Jakub

  I can’t tell Dad what really happened. My nose swells and I wonder if it’s broken. I’m too mad at Link to notice how bad the rest of my face is throbbing until I get in front of the apartment door. Drops of blood stain the front of my shirt. If Dad’s awake, he’s going to freak out.

  I try to sneak in, quiet. He’s in the corner of the couch, reading a book. One light beside him makes a circle just big enough for the pages to be seen. The rest of the apartment is dark. Perfect.

  “Where were you?” he asks, looking up. The bad lighting camouflages my face. I keep my head down and go to the washroom.

  “At the park. I was supposed to meet Link.”

  He doesn’t say anything. My face feels like it’s going to burst through the skin. When I splash water on my face, a thin stream of pink trickles out of one nostril.

  In the kitchen, I put some ice cubes in a towel and hold it to my face. Instantly, it feels better and I sigh. Dad’s off the couch and hobbling toward me. “What happened?”

  “Got jumped,” I lie. “On my way to the park.”

  “Who?” He wants to know. His eyes bulge in anger.

  I shrug. “Don’t know. Didn’t see them.”

  He holds my elbow and leads me to the couch. “Dad,” I say, shirking him away. “I’m fine. It’s not a big deal.”

  “Pfft. Not a big deal! It is a big deal.” We both fall to the couch, a spring creaking against the weight. He pulls the ice pack away and inspects my nose, shaking his head and muttering in Polish. “Where was Lincoln in all this?”

  “He never showed. Probably with his brother.” Bitterness creeps into my voice.

  “You see now why I wanted you to go to St. Bartholomew’s?”

  I shut my eyes and nod.

  “You’re a good boy, Jakub. You deserve a chance.”

  His voice swirls in the background as I lean back against the worn, nubby upholstery and wait till the throbbing in my face subsides. Lincoln went too far this time. Whatever history we had together is just that: history. From now on, my life is with St. Bart’s.

  Lincoln

  “Where are we going?” I ask once. The other guys, Wheels and Rat, throw me looks, so I shut up. No one tells me anything. They just bark at me with orders like “Get in the car” and “Get me a beer.” Wheels turns the music up so loud, no one can talk anyway. My knuckles are split. I touch the still-soft scab and wonder how Koob’s doing, how bad I hurt him last night. Stop caring, I tell myself. My loyalty’s with Henry and the Red Bloodz. Koob’s nothing to me.

  We stop in front of Fenty’s Bar. A few people hang out on the corner, leaning against the building. Only Rat gets out. Henry and I stay in the car as Wheels pulls it around the back, into the alley. I try to catch someone’s eye so they’ll fill me in, but no one bites.

  Wheels kills the music and my ears ring from the silence. My brother cracks his knuckles, opening and closing his fist. I swallow hard, watching him. My foot starts to tap, rocking up and down against the floor in the back seat.

  The engine is still running when Henry gets out of the car and goes around to the trunk. I stay sitting in the back as he pulls something out. The lid slams shut and I jump. When he comes around to my window, his jaw is clenched so tight I can see the bones sticking out through his cheeks. He taps on the window. A signal for me to join him. I want to stay in the car, cower against the back seat, but I can’t.

  I get out slow, pull my hat down low so he can’t see my eyes. The alley stinks like sour beer, the cement sticky with it. Wheels reverses out of the alley, flinging pellets of gravel from under the tires. Henry’s nostrils flare open and he rolls his shoulders. I look at the tire iron in his hands and he glares at me, his eyes hooded and mean, a warning to toughen up.

  A grey door with the words “Fenty’s Bar” half scratched off opens.

  Lester walks out. Rat’s behind him, his pointy face twisted in a scowl. Lester stumbles; he’s been drinking. His eyes roll from Rat
to Henry. He tries to go back inside, but Rat moves in front of the door and pushes him toward Henry.

  “I told you I’d get your money,” he mumbles, staggering.

  “When? After you took off?” Henry walks up close to him. “You’re too stupid to even keep that quiet. Think you can dick us around?” Henry yells, spraying Lester with spit. Lester doesn’t wipe it away, just keeps his head bent, staring at the ground.

  “I told you, man —” He’s desperate, his words jumbled. But Henry doesn’t let him finish. At a chin nod, Rat drags Lester to the other side of the alley, behind a dumpster. Lester resists, kicking at the ground until one of his work boots comes off.

  “No one messes with us,” Henry says.

  Lester’s bony and his face is weathered, like a piece of wood that’s been battered by the sun and wind. His eyes are wide and terrified; he knows what’s coming. He sees me, standing behind Henry. His face twists with surprise. “Lincoln!” he shouts, like I might be able to help him. “Lincoln?” I turn away. My gut aches for him and I feel puke rising in my throat.

  Henry’s in my face. He grabs my hand and slaps the tire iron in it. It’s heavy and thin, and I know what he wants me to do with it. What people usually do with a weapon: break a knee, smash in a skull, crack ribs.

  My fingers barely curl around it. I don’t want it in my hand.

  “You said you wanted in. Show me.” I look between him and Lester. I freeze, staring at the weapon in my hands.

  I hesitate too long. Henry snorts with disgust. “I knew it.” He goes to grab the tire iron, but I jerk it away. I tighten my grip and take a step toward Lester.

  “Please, Lincoln! Please. Don’t! Aw, man, come on!” He shakes his head and mutters, begging and swearing.

  “Shit,” I swear under my breath. I hold the tire iron out, ready to whack him with it. Henry’s breathing is loud and close. He’s impatient, us being in the alley for so long.