Blood Brothers

by Colleen Nelson

  I close my eyes and take a swing. It lands across Lester’s arm and back. He clutches at where I hit him and moans. “Again!” Henry yells in my ear, so loud it drowns out Lester. Tears blur my eyes and I blink them away.

  Lester’s just sitting there. He’s not trying to run or nothing. “Get up!” I want to yell at him. Don’t make this so easy. The next swing catches him in the leg.“You’re not even trying!” Henry says and cuffs me on the head so my hat falls off.

  “Get up!” Henry yells at Lester and kicks him in the leg. Lester howls with pain and grabs where I hit him. He scuttles to the wall, his eyes wide with fear. He’s pissed himself. A dark stain grows on his pants. “Again, you pussy!” Henry hisses to me.

  I swing the tire iron like a baseball bat. Squeezing my eyes shut, I can feel it come down hard on his side. When I open my eyes, Lester’s writhing, mouth open wide in soundless pain. I stand back, my breath in hot pulses.

  Lester starts moaning, low and soft like a dying animal. I did that, I think. I can taste puke. I shut my lips tight, swallowing it.

  Henry looks at Lester like he’s a bug he can crush. He rips the tire iron from my hand and whacks it across Lester’s body, fast and vicious. I turn away until I hear Henry stop. Lester’s not moving. Henry’s breathing hard, and then his boot is raised over Lester’s head.

  Someone shouts, “No!” but between the sound of bones cracking and the spurt of blood, I don’t know it’s me till my throat aches from it.

  “Shit!” Rat says, kind of in awe, and takes a step back. He looks at Henry.

  I start to shake.

  Henry’s already moving away, taking huge backward strides away from Lester. “Let’s go,” he says, and even he sounds freaked out.

  Lester is on the ground, a pool of blood spreading on the pavement. I take a step closer, making sure I’m seeing it right.

  Rat grabs my arm and spins me away. “You nuts?” His eyes are big and scared.

  He yanks on my arm, and we hustle out of the alley to Wheels and the waiting car. Henry stashes the tire iron in the trunk and then jumps in the front seat. Rat and me get in the back. I’d pass out if I wasn’t sitting down.

  Wheels looks at us, waiting for someone to tell him what happened. “Go,” Henry says. No one says anything, and then Henry turns the music up louder.

  I slide low in my seat and go to pull my hat down, but it isn’t there.

  “My hat,” I yell.

  Henry turns all the way in his seat. I can feel Rat’s eyes on me, too.

  “It’s back there.” I put my hand on the door handle, ready to get out.

  Wheels puts the car in drive. Tires spin on gravel and cracked pavement. I fall back against the seat.

  “But, my hat!”

  “Too bad, man!” Rat laughs. Only it’s not a real laugh, it’s the kind that’s forced. His eyes are round and glassy, and I bet he wants to puke, too.

  I shut my eyes. It’s got my name in it, I want to tell them. They’d go back and get it if they knew that. But going back into the alley, seeing Lester’s broken body, the blood. I can’t do it. The words get stuck in my throat.

  The car’s beat-up suspension creaks over potholes. I gag and try to look out the window, pulling the red bandana low, hiding under it. Wheels blows past a stop sign. Home is close. I think about opening the car door and rolling out, like how they do in the movies.

  Henry looks at me in the rear-view mirror. His toughness can’t cover up the desperate look in his eyes. “You’re not gonna puss out on me, are you?”

  I can’t look at him. “My hat —” I say and my voice cracks, so I don’t say anything else.

  Henry takes a long breath. “Drop him on the corner,” he shouts to Wheels over the music. “He needs some air.”

  I think I might cry with relief when Wheels pulls to the curb and I stumble out. The walk to my street is only a block away, but it stretches so far in front of me, I wonder if I can make it because all of sudden, I realize we killed Lester.

  I stumble, dragging my feet over the cracks in the sidewalk. I want to crawl into my bed, turn off the lights, and never wake up. Never talk to anyone again because what if I spill everything that just happened? What if the truth spurts out of me like a cut artery and I can’t make it stop?

  Everything is so jumbled in my head. I need a place dark and quiet to think. I’m almost at my house when I see Koob waiting on the front steps.

  He raises his hand when he sees me, like nothing’s changed.

  I almost collapse from the weight of it, because everything’s changed.

  Jakub

  All day at school, every time I touched my nose I was reminded of Link. How he looked when he took the swings at me, his face contorted with anger. That wasn’t the guy I knew.

  Kids at school were still talking about the carjacking. Harris wasn’t hurting from it, though. He drove up in a new car that other guys stood around admiring. News crews hung around the perimeter of the school grounds, trying to get eye-witness reports about what happened. The teachers told us to ignore them. You want a story, I thought to myself. I could give them a real story: gangs, violence, all the things that sell papers.

  I thought about the little girl in the back of the Escalade. How scared she must have been. And Link, probably freaking out once he realized he wasn’t alone. They were the same, the two of them. Link was being held by his brother, the same as the kid. Neither one of them wanted to be there, but there was no way out.

  Maybe he’ll listen to reason now. I came down hard on him last night, forcing him into a corner. I know how things are with him and Henry. I should’ve stayed cool.

  I’ll go to Link’s place after school, I promise. See if I can make up for yesterday. Show him some of the new pieces I want to do. Maybe if we can paint tonight, things will feel like normal again. I’ll have my friend back.

  Lincoln’s chain-link gate clangs shut behind me. One winter, we poured water on the latch and watched it freeze. For a few days, everyone had to jump over the four-foot fence to get inside his yard, until his mom made him chip the ice off with a screwdriver.

  I knock on the door, trying to remember if the doorbell has ever worked. Lincoln’s mom comes to answer it. Her long hair is slicked back into a ponytail. “Hi, Jakub.” She doesn’t open the screen door and it stands between us. One of Lincoln’s little cousins walks across the hall behind her in a diaper, pulling a noisy toy. There’s always kids coming and going at Lincoln’s house. It’s hard to keep track of them.

  “Lincoln home?” I ask.

  She shakes her head. “Hasn’t been around much since his brother came home.”

  Her words are like a quick slice of a knife blade, unintentional but painful. “If he comes by, can you tell him I’m looking for him?”

  She nods. One of the kids starts to cry, a half-hearted whine. She closes the door and shouts at him to be quiet.

  I linger for a minute on the front porch. A stroller sits to the side, sun-faded and dirty, with a ripped seat. No point in hanging around waiting for him, but I’m not in a hurry to leave, either.

  There’s a guy on the sidewalk, walking real slow with his head hanging down. At first glance, I think it’s an old man, but then I see it’s Link. He pauses at the gate to his house, like he isn’t sure if he should open it or not.

  “Hey,” I say, walking toward him. There’s a flicker of relief in my gut, like a knot has been loosened.

  His head stays down. But with no hat on, I can see his chin trembling.

  I open the gate and he moves past me, like a ghost.

  “Link?” I say. “What happened?”

  He shakes his head, his lips quivering cuz he’s trying to hold back tears. He sits down in the middle of his yard and covers his face with his hands. I watch in shock because I’ve never seen Lincoln cry. Ever.

  I cr
ouch beside him on the grass. Helpless. “What the hell? What happened?” Flashes of Henry, his gang, the power they have. What had they done to him?

  “I think he’s dead,” he whimpers.

  I stare at him, not ready to react. “Who?”

  Tears drip onto his shirt.

  “Lester!” He wipes an arm across his face, smearing a wet line of snot on his sleeve. He leans over and gags, retching till he pukes.

  “Lester?” I ask, sure I haven’t heard right. “From my building?”

  Lincoln nods.

  “What happened?”

  But Link can’t answer. He shakes his head and stares at me, helpless.

  “Link!” I say and grab his shoulders. “What happened?”

  “They got him in an alley. Beat him up. I think,” he sputters through a choking sob, “they killed him.”

  I don’t need to ask who.

  “The money,” I breathe. Lester owed it to the Red Bloodz. “You were there?”

  Link gives a miserable nod, his eyes shiny with tears. “I’m one of them now. I got no choice.”

  He starts to cry angry tears, ripping off the bandana and pulling at his hair.

  “Where is he?” He doesn’t answer, so I grab his arms, forcing him to look at me. “Where?”

  He takes a deep breath, trying to pull himself together. “The alley behind Fenty’s.” Link looks at me, desperate, like a trapped animal. “My hat’s there.” He squeezes his eyes shut, digging the heel of his palms into them.

  I stand up on shaky legs.

  Link raises a tear-stained face to me. “Where are you going?”

  “I gotta see for myself. He might have faked going down,” I tell him. “Go, get inside.” He doesn’t argue. Stumbling up the front steps, he lets the screen door slam shut.

  I take a breath and leave Link’s yard, shutting the gate tight behind me. The metal latch clangs, ringing in my ears as I walk away.

  I walk quickly, keeping my head down, trying not to think what I might find when I get there. Fenton Avenue is a short street that dead-ends at an old candy factory. At night, it crawls with girls looking to make some money and druggies in need of a fix, or customers from Fenty’s Bar. I put up my hood and roll my shoulders back, trying to look as tough as possible, on guard for anyone looking to jump me.

  There’s two dumpsters side by side halfway down the alley, a few disintegrating cardboard boxes that never made it to the garbage, and a couple of pallets stacked against the wall of a building. A light over the back door of the bar make glass from smashed bottles and syringes sparkle at my feet. I take a few steps in, craning my neck to see Lester and hoping, praying, that I won’t.

  And I don’t. All I find is Link’s flat-brim hat, lying on the ground a couple feet in front of me. With a relieved sigh, I pick it up and spot a work boot. Black, it blends into the grime of the alley. Was it Lester’s? I move closer and look beside the dumpster.

  There, in a heap, is Lester. He isn’t moving. A bluish tinge paints his lips and around his eyes. Half-open, they stare blank into the alley. I freeze, waiting for his chest to move. There’s a pool of blood under his head.

  Hot tingles spread over my body. I should go. I should call the cops.

  What would they say? Would they want to know why I was in this alley? What if they put it together, figure out Red Bloodz is to blame? If Henry discovers I found Lester, he’ll know Lincoln told me. I can’t do that to Lincoln.

  Or myself.

  I wait, praying Lester’s chest will rise and fall, ignoring the colour of his skin, the blood on the ground, his expressionless face. But, it doesn’t. I hear sirens, dim, but getting louder. I back away, making sure the hood is up, covering my face. I hold Link’s hat tight in my hand. Zigzagging through alleys, I’m blocks away before I hear the sirens stop.

  Lincoln

  Mom’s on the phone with Dustin’s head on her lap when I walk in. He’s watching TV and one of my auntie’s kids is eating Cheerios off the floor. She looks at me but doesn’t say anything, so I go up to my room and shut the door.

  I’m sweating and shivering and want to lie down, but I’m afraid to. I pace and squeeze my eyes shut, wishing I could just wake up. “Please,” I beg, “make it be a nightmare.” But it isn’t, and now I’m going to live with what I did forever.

  Lester’s dead.

  I told Koob.

  It hits me like a punch to the gut. I shouldn’t have done that. Henry will kill me, too, if he knows I said something. I start to sweat all over again.

  “Link?” Dustin’s at the door now, standing in front of me with his natty old blanket, shredded and dirty. There’s smears of food on his face and he’s wearing a monster truck shirt that used to be mine.

  “What?”

  He stands at the door and doesn’t say anything.

  “What?” I shout and he jumps and runs down the stairs. I brought this into the house, all the shit that comes with Henry. It’s like a sickness and I can’t poison Dustin with it, too.

  I grab a duffle bag from the closet. There’s a dresser in my room, an old wooden one with chipped paint and sticky drawers. None of them close right. On hot days, they don’t open right, either. I yank at them, shaking the drawer till it comes loose.

  I don’t hear Mom come up the stairs, so when she’s standing in my doorway, I’m kind of surprised, but pretend that I’m not. “Where’re you going?” she asks, looking at the bag on the bed. She pushes her glasses up on her nose.

  “What do you care? You kicked me out.” I toss some T-shirts onto the bed, and another pair of jeans.

  She doesn’t say nothing, just watches me. Makes me feel worse, having her there. Tears start to prickle behind my eyes again. I wish she’d go away.

  “You don’t have to go.” She’s wearing shorts, and the flesh of her legs, washed-out brown, takes up most of the doorway.

  It’s too late, I want to tell her. It’s like when water gets sucked down a drain. Stuffing a finger in to stop it won’t do any good. The water still slips away.

  I grab a hat from the bottom of the closet. Doesn’t fit as good as my other one, but I pull it low over my eyes.

  She looks at me when I squeeze past her in the doorway. For a second, we’re pressed together, the door frame forcing us close. “What do you want me to tell Dustin?”

  I frown at her. “Whatever you told me when Henry left.”

  There are streaks on her glasses, but when she stares at me, her eyes are hurt. I can’t talk because of the lump in my throat. The sound of my footsteps on the stairs fills up the house where our voices should be.

  Dustin’s on the couch, rubbing his blanket against his cheek. I hold up my fist for a bump, burying grease-stained fingernails in my palm. His little hand taps mine. “Where’re you going?” he asks.

  “To a friend’s.”

  “You coming back?” He looks at the bag I’m carrying.

  “Yeah. I’ll be back soon,” I lie. I take a marker and write my cell number on his blanket. “You know how to use the phone, right? If you need me, call this number.”

  Dustin nods, all serious, and I wish I didn’t have to go, but I do.

  Mom’s still upstairs, so I let the door slam loud on purpose behind me, so she’ll know I’m gone.

  Jakub

  I crush Lincoln’s hat in my hand, squeezing it hard and wishing I could wring out the bad.

  My stomach lurches for him. He crossed a line. There’s no going back now.

  If there are cars on the street, I don’t hear them. People pass me, but I’m like a zombie, vacant with shock. Lester’s face settles in the back of my mind, haunting me.

  I walk past St. Mary’s. The front door is open, like an invitation. Rows of candles are lit on the altar, small twinkling lights in red glass under the statue of the Virgin Mary.

 
Father Dom is there, walking the aisles, straightening the songbooks. “Jakub!” he greets me, but one look at my face and his expression changes. “Come,” he says and steers me to his office. “Is it your father?”

  I shake my head. “No.” His eyes go to my hands and Link’s hat.

  He gives a sigh, like he knew this day was coming. With the door closed, Father Dom takes off his robe and hangs it on a hook. Pulling a sweatshirt over his T-shirt, he looks like any ordinary guy.

  Father Dom points to a chair and I sit down, waiting for him to do the same. “Tell me,” he says, pulling up a chair and giving me his full attention.

  It’s hard to look at Father Dom, never mind tell him.

  “If someone did something really bad, like really bad, would you have to tell the police?”

  “It depends. Are they going to do it again?”

  I saw the look on Link’s face, the way he stumbled and puked. He’s not a killer. I shake my head. “No.”

  “Is anyone’s life in danger?” Mine. If Henry finds out I know.

  “No.”

  “Confessions are kept secret. They are between me, you, and God. Whatever you tell me will not leave this room.” I’ve heard this speech before, but nod anyway. He leans forward, waiting.

  “Lester’s dead. He was murdered in the alley behind Fenty’s Bar.”

  Father Dom sits back in his chair. He closes his eyes, crosses himself, and mutters a quick prayer. When he opens his eyes, they are dark and intense. His mouth is set in an angry, thin line, and I lean away from him. He looks at the hat in my hands. “And you know who did this?”

  I nod. A wave of nausea rolls through me.

  “Jakub!”

  He’s never shouted at me before and I jump. My nerves are already fried and I start to tremble.

  “You need to go to the police!”

  “I can’t.” My voice cracks.