Rat and Butch are sitting at the table, too. Jonny darts to the empty chair and leans back in it. None of them look happy to see me. There aren’t any more chairs, so I lean against the counter. It’s sticky with spilled beer.
Henry’s flipping his phone around in a circle. There’s a bottle of Jack Daniel’s in front of him, almost empty. No one offers me any.
It’s still noisy in the house. One guy walks into the kitchen, takes a look at me and who’s around the table, and beats it out of the room. I swallow hard and wish I could leave. I don’t know what’s going on, but it feels like the day in the car when we drove to the alley to find Lester.
Finally, Henry holds up the phone and shows it to me. I move closer, peering at the screen. A grainy photo, hard to make out. I use my fingers to make it bigger. A graffiti piece, no colour, except for the Red Bloodz tag and one other thing. And I don’t have to enlarge the photo to know whose tag I’ll see.
A weird thump in my chest makes me go pale. My eyes blink, darting from the phone to the table and back again.
“You know anything about this?”
“No.” I give him the phone. But my throat’s gone dry and I can’t look at him cuz I’m blinking like crazy.
“I only know two graff writers who knew Lester. You and the Polish kid.”
“H-how do you know it’s Lester?” I stutter.
Henry stands up and holds the back of my neck. He puts the phone right in front of my face. Flecks of spit fly out of his mouth when he shouts at me. “Look at the fucking picture!” I smell the booze on his breath and meet his eyes. They’re like a rabid dog’s. “You told him, didn’t you?” he yells in my face.
I catch a glimpse of Jonny, grinning.
“He guessed.” My voice is higher than normal. “Didn’t need to tell him.”
Henry lets go of me and swears, slamming his hand on the counter.
“We gotta take care of this,” Jonny says.
“Like I don’t fucking know that?” Henry turns on him. I have a flash of satisfaction watching Jonny’s face fall.
“Where’s the kid?” Butch asks. His voice is deep and rough like it’s been bottled up for too long.
Their eyes are on me again. I get a choking feeling in my throat. What was Koob thinking? He went too far this time. The Red Bloodz can’t let a piece like that go unanswered. He’s going to pay for it.
“I don’t know.”
“Find him,” Henry says. “Bring him here.”
“Why?” I ask. I know it’s stupid, but I can’t help myself.
“Why the fuck do you think?” Jonny sneers.
Henry comes up real close again, and I lean further back, the counter digging into my spine. “You want in with us. You gotta prove it. Even I’m not so sure you know who your real brothers are.” He slaps my arm where the tattoo is and I gasp at the jolt of pain. “Go!” he whispers in my face with hot, tangy breath that I have to swallow.
When I get outside, I’m shaking, cuz I don’t know what the hell I’m supposed to do. I squeeze the knife in my pocket. They want Koob. Are they gonna beat him? Kill him? Leave him in an alley like Lester? I know I should get moving, find Koob and warn him about what’s coming, but my feet won’t move. Cuz if I do tell Koob, Henry will come after me, punishment for my faded loyalty.
“Where are you going?”
I didn’t notice Roxy. She moved from the steps to the chair on the porch, the same one as the day I met her. In the dark, all I can see is the burning tip of her smoke. “Some shit’s going down,” I say. “I gotta take care of it.”
A truck drives slowly up the street, headlights glowing. It’s old, the suspension’s gone. Every pothole makes it creak like it’s dying. Roxy stands up, hikes a bag up on her shoulder, and comes to stand beside me. She flicks her cigarette onto the grass. “My sister won’t let me smoke in the truck.”
“Your sister?” I look at her again, the bag she’s carrying, and understand. “You called her?”
She doesn’t say anything. The truck’s front door opens. The shout of “Rachelle” lights up the night like fireworks. Her sister flies across the yard at her, crying and laughing with relief. I watch from the shadows as she holds Roxy’s face in her hands. “I’m sorry,” Charlene says, gasping and sobbing at the same time. “I never should have —” They hug, and her words are muffled, like whatever it was never mattered anyway.
Roxy’s going home. I let the sounds of their reunion, the apologies and explanations follow me as I go into the night. I’m glad one of us is going home. Missing Rachelle got found.
Jakub
There’s nowhere more silent than a church at night. It’s still like death.
I wish I could drink it in, let it coat me with quiet. But that’s not why I’m here.
Father Dom sits beside me in the pew. He’s wearing his black robe, nodding, waiting for me to start talking. I still haven’t told Dad. Every time I think about it, my guts start to churn and I feel like I’m gonna puke. And on Monday, I’m supposed to confess everything to Father O’Shea.
“I can’t do it.” My voice echoes off the stone. A whisper magnified into a shout.
“Jakub!” He takes a breath, reigning in his frustration. “What happens when the police catch Lincoln? Because they will. You two aren’t master criminals. The truth will come out and it will be worse for you.”
I shake my head, stubbornly. “I’ll deal with it then, if it happens. I learned my lesson. I’m done with Lincoln.”
“But he hurt people. There are consequences —”
“No!” I shout at him. “I can’t do it. I can’t give Lincoln to the cops like that. He’d never do that to me.”
“This isn’t about you and Lincoln anymore. It’s about a murder. You need to go to the police,” he says. “I told you before, this is bigger than you. You’re fifteen, Jakub!”
But I shake my head. “Not the cops.”
“Then what? Another piece of graffiti? You think that’s going to help?” He points to the sketchbook in my hands. My breath catches in my throat.
Father Dom sees my hesitation. “Of course. You’re fifteen. That is what you think will help, isn’t it?”
I frown at him.
“That’s not how it works. We aren’t living in a comic book. You aren’t a superhero.”
Under the cover of night, I can believe in Morf, that he protects me. But sitting beside Father Dom, in a place where truths are told that cut to the quick, I feel small and helpless. Like a lost child.
I look at my lap. I gulp. The sketchbook is ridiculous. Fantasies for a different world. And my graffiti, the truths I thought I could shout, is a joke. I fucked up. No one is listening.
Someone bangs on the wooden front doors and I jump. Again, they pound, insistent. Father Dom sighs and slides to the end of the wooden pew. This late at night, only someone in desperate need of help would be on the church steps. Whoever it is hammers again.
I turn to the entrance as Father Dom slides the lock back and pulls open the door. I can hear voices, quick mutterings. Then Father Dom’s voice booms out of the murky darkness. “Jakub. Come here.”
Lincoln is on the church steps. His hood is up over his hat and I can’t see his face. We stare at each other for a minute, or I stare at the spot where his eyes are supposed to be, and neither of us says anything.
“Do you want to come in, Lincoln?” Father Dom asks, breaking the silence.
But he shakes his head. “Went by your place,” he says to me. “Your dad said you were here. Moving more books.” He snorts. “You confessing your sins?” There’s a bite to his voice, an edge I’m not used to hearing.
“I could listen to yours, too, if you wanted,” Father Dom offers.
“How do you know I got any?”
Father Dom stays quiet and tilts his head at Lincoln. “We all s
in, Lincoln.”
Link shakes his head and snorts.
“Why are you here?” I ask.
He tips the brim of his hat up and his hood falls back. He presses his lips together and looks at me, like he’s trying to decide something. “They saw your piece. The one of Lester. They know it’s you.”
“How?” I look at Link, dumbfounded. “No one knows I’m Morf. Unless —” I break off, the idea hard to believe. “Did you tell them?”
Link throws his head back in exasperation. “Wake the fuck up, Koob! Who else would care about Lester? Who else would do a piece for him?”
The silence between us is deafening. My face gets red, flushed with panic. I thought I was untouchable, up there with my spray cans. “What are they going to do?”
Lincoln meets my eyes. “They sent me to find you. I’m supposed to bring you to them.”
There’s a sharp intake of breath from Father Dom. “Over my dead body,” comes his thunderous reply.
“Fuck,” I mutter, but my heart is pounding, cuz when I look at Link, I know he’s not shitting me. I saw what they did to Lester. “What do I do?” I ask.
“Leave.” There’s no waver in his voice. “I’ll go back, say I couldn’t find you, but you have to go. Get out of the West End before someone sees you.”
“And go where?” I choke on the words. “I don’t have anywhere to go. Dad can’t —” My voice cracks at the thought of Dad, of having to explain why we have to run.
Link shakes his head. “Why’d you get messed up in this shit, anyway?” He glares at me. “You shoulda stayed out of it.”
“I tried.”
Memories flood through my brain as I look at him. All the times we had each other’s backs, me and Link against the world. I thought I was helping.
“What if I don’t run? What if I go to the cops, tell them what I know. Say I found the body, saw some Red Bloodz running away?”
Father Dom nods. “Finally! One of you says something that makes sense.”
“And then what? Henry lets me walk away? Think about it, Koob! He already knows I told you. What happens to me then, eh? You shoulda just stayed the fuck out of it! It wasn’t your problem.”
“It was my problem!” I fire back. “Lester’s dead and I know who did it. What if it was you lying in the alley with your head bashed in? You think I wouldn’t do something about it?”
“A piece of fucking graffiti isn’t doing something about it!”
Father Dom yells, “Stop!” We stare at each other, tempers simmering. “Enough of this. I’m doing what I should have done in the first place. Both of you, inside.” He holds the door open and I lean against it, watching his robes swish as he retreats, his footsteps rushed on the marble floor. I turn back to Lincoln, waiting for him to join me.
“I can’t, man.”
My stomach drops. He’s bailing. He’d rather live as a murdering thug than do the right thing.
A car pulls up in front of the church, the kind with tinted windows and an engine that makes too much noise. Link turns, spinning to look at it. The driver and passenger side car doors open and two guys get out. “Father Dom,” I call warningly. I listen for an answer, but there’s just the echoing silence of the church.
My breath catches when I see it’s Henry. The guy with him is scrawny compared to Lincoln’s brother. Wiry, with hollowed out cheeks and eyes that dart between me and Link. The two of them open the backseat doors. I think someone else will get out, but they just hang there, an ominous invitation. The car idles.
Henry walks slow, leisurely. Run beats in my head. But where? Where should I run? They’re standing at the bottom of the stairs, twirling something in their hands, like batons. Lincoln is frozen in place, too.
Henry shakes his head, mockingly. “You don’t follow directions so good, little brother.” His voice, deep and gravelly, jolts me to my senses. The church doors shut as I take a step closer to Lincoln.
I see his chin quivering. His eyes don’t leave the metal rod in Henry’s hands — he keeps slapping it against his palm. The other guy glances at Henry and smirks. “Knew he was never Red Bloodz material.”
“Run!” Link whispers to me between clenched teeth.
I look back at the church doors. A guy like Henry isn’t going to let a place of worship get between him and a beating. I could bang, scream for Father Dom to open them, but that would put his life in danger. Henry won’t want witnesses. I shudder at what that would mean.
Henry and the other guy come up the stairs slowly, the things in their hands spinning menacingly. When Henry gets close enough, he gives Lincoln a shove that sends him flying to the ground. “Jonny’s right. Trying to warn the rat, eh?” He crouches down and gives Lincoln a long look. “You know what we do to rats, don’t you?”
Jonny’s eyes are trained on me. Up close, he’s not much of a threat. Except for the weapon, I could take him. But against Henry I wouldn’t stand a chance.
“Get him in the car,” Henry says to Jonny. I search the street for a witness, someone I can shout out to, but it’s empty.
Jonny takes a fake swing and I jump back. He gives a snort of laughter. “Not so tough without your spray cans, eh, you little faggot?” I don’t say anything back to him. He looks at me with disgust, one lip curled up. “It’s no fun if you don’t fight back.”
I narrow my eyes at him. Not fight back? My whole life I’ve been fighting. Maybe he doesn’t think I look it, but I was raised in the West End, too. I know what it takes to survive here. If he thinks I’m not going to fight for my life, he’s dead wrong.
Lincoln
I hear something. A banging in the rear of the car.
Jonny gives Koob a grin, like how a wolf would before it attacks. “Hear that? Guess who we picked up on our way over?” Then, he turns to me. “Followed you to the Polack’s place. More fight left in that old guy than I thought.”
Mr. K? I look at Koob. His eyes get bigger than I’ve ever seen them and his mouth hangs open. “You got Mr. K?” I look at Henry and my guts churn.
“You got Mr. K?” He imitates me and spits in my face. “What the fuck do you care? He’s not your family. Your family is right here.” He points to his chest. “That kid is nothing to you, you hear me? Nothing! He’s gotta learn not to mess with the Red Bloodz and you’re the one who’s gonna teach him.”
They’ve got Mr. K. I blink trying to figure out why the hell Henry would do that, hurt a guy like Koob’s dad. My mind’s moving slow, processing all this. He moves to grab me and then I get it. They’re gonna take us somewhere, an alley, back to the club house. Beat us, torture us, do whatever they want to teach us a lesson.
It’s like Lester all over again.
Henry’s grinning, one side of his mouth raised up, his eyes half-hooded, and then I feel it. A sudden rush of anger so intense it surprises me. It’s hot and thick like lava and courses through my veins. The lava pumps into my heart and up to my head and it might explode.
The smile dies on Henry’s mouth when Koob springs to life. In a second, he’s wailing on Jonny, kicking and punching him to get to the car, to get to his dad.
“Dad!” Koob shouts, “Dad! I’m here!”
The blows catch Jonny by surprise. He puts his arm up to block them, the tire iron useless. But then Koob takes a breath, ready to run to his dad, and Jonny sees his chance. He raises the tire iron and brings it down hard on Koob’s leg. Koob goes down, clutching it, but still yelling for Mr. K.
“Bring him to the alley,” Henry says to Jonny and I know it’s gonna be just like Lester. “Don’t hurt him too bad. Not yet. This is Lincoln’s boy. I want him to finish the job.”
I guess it was always going to come to this. Henry making me choose between him and Koob.
Jonny gives Koob one more whack across the stomach. He gasps and moans and I look at Henry. “Either you do it, or y
ou watch and we do the same thing to you.”
I know he’s telling the truth. It’s how he made it through jail and how he’s going to make the Red Bloodz into a gang that people respect and fear. And in the West End, that’s the same thing.
I can still hear Mr. K’s muffled shouts and hammering inside the trunk. He’s calling Koob’s name, over and over, at the top of his lungs. Koob’s moaning on the steps. “Give it to me,” I say and hold out my hand for the tire iron.
But Henry snorts and shakes his head. “Not yet.” Jonny’s dragging Koob to his feet and pulling him down the stairs. Koob’s half-staggering, half-walking. Henry cracks his neck. He’s like a hulk, standing beside me. I’m a powerless wimp.
Where’s Skar now? I swallow the puke that rises in my throat. All the superhero talk me and Koob do when we’re painting, sneaking around in the night, is bullshit. When it comes down to it and I have a chance to save someone, I turn into a weakling.
“I do know who my family is,” I say. I keep my voice calm as my fingers wrap around the knife in my pocket. “Oh shit, cops!” I say, pointing.
When Henry turns, the knife comes out and the blade flicks open. It only takes a second. I lunge at Henry, holding the knife like a madman. I aim for the tattoo on his neck. But his body is all muscle and he’s so much taller than me. He turns back before I’m close enough to plunge it in.
The tire iron comes fast and knocks me over. Stars flash in my eyes when my head hits the ground. “You fucker!” Henry shouts. I don’t know where the knife is, but it’s not in my hands. I search the pavement for it, trying to sit up. Henry stands on my hand, his boot crushing bones. I hear the crunch and then numbness. I scream with pain. “Compared to what I’m going to do to you and that little shit, I took it easy on Lester.” His eyes flare like a mad dog, teeth bared.
And I know it’s over. I can’t fight against what was always going to happen. But I think about Dustin. I don’t want him to know this is how it ended for me. And Koob. It’ll be my fault if he and Mr. K die.
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