Out of Control

by Sarah Alderson

  ‘You like it?’ he asks me, taking another bite.

  I stare at the burrito, confused. He can see I haven’t touched it.

  ‘Ballet,’ he says, seeing my bewilderment.

  I shrug at him. ‘I’ve done it my whole life.’

  ‘That’s not what I asked.’

  I pause, playing with the foil wrapper on my burrito. ‘I like dancing,’ I say.

  ‘Why?’ he shoots back.

  Like before, I have this sudden desire to share with him, to try to make him understand. ‘I like the perfection of it,’ I say in a rush. ‘You know?’ I look at him and see that he’s nodding. He’s with me. ‘The steps are all there, laid out,’ I continue, ‘choreographed by experts, and if you follow them right, you make something beautiful, exquisite even.’

  He nods some more. ‘That’s your problem right there.’

  ‘What?’ I ask, confused.

  ‘You think that if you follow the rules everything’s always gonna be perfect?’ He shakes his head, smiling ruefully at me. ‘Life doesn’t work like that. If you follow the rules it doesn’t mean bad shit’s not going to happen to you or the people around you. I think that’s been proved.’

  I open my mouth to protest and then shut it again. Is he right?

  ‘What about contemporary dance? What about improv? That can be beautiful,’ he says.

  I stare at him, trying to process his previous comments and then getting confused because now he’s talking about dance? What?

  ‘What do you know about dance?’ I ask.

  He grins at me, his eyes sparking, ‘Hey, I’m half Cuban. We know all about dance.’

  I bite my lip, trying to imagine Jay dancing. I have to admit that that’s something I would like to see. He certainly has the grace of a dancer, and he moves like he has rhythm, but the thought of him in tights and a leotard makes me want to grin ear to ear.

  He keeps his gaze fixed firmly on me as he finishes his burrito with a final bite, then he scrunches the foil up and tosses it into a nearby trash can, before picking up the bandana lying beside me to wipe his hands.

  ‘You not going to eat that then?’ he asks, pointing at the untouched burrito in my hand.

  I peel away the foil and nibble at it.

  He purses his lips in disapproval.

  ‘Are those gang colours?’ I ask him, pointing at the bandana, trying to distract him from my calorie intake, which frankly, is none of his goddamn business.

  Jay looks at the bandana and then gives me a long, cold stare.

  ‘You are nothing if not direct, anyone ever tell you that?’ he says.

  I give him a vague shrug.

  ‘Is that why you went all weird when I gave it to you?’

  I shrug again, noncommittally.

  ‘Do you even know anything about the gangs in this city?’ he asks.

  ‘Only what I’ve heard from my father. Which isn’t much,’ I admit.

  ‘It’s just a bandana. It doesn’t mean anything.’ He turns away and glowers at the horizon, still shaking his head.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ I say quietly, regretting having mentioned it at all.

  He wheels around. ‘I’m not in a gang,’ he says, barely reining in the anger. ‘Never have been. Never will be.’ His jaw is clenched and his hands are fisted at his side. The abrupt change in mood has thrown me for a loop. But I guess I only have myself to blame for having brought it up.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ I say again, swallowing the knife blade lodged in my throat. ‘I made an assumption.’ Stupid. I’d already agreed not to do that.

  ‘Yeah,’ he mutters.

  ‘Let’s just agree no more assumptions, OK?’ I say.

  He laughs then, unexpectedly, ‘Sure thing, Moneypenny.’

  I pull a face at him, but I’m smiling.

  ‘Look,’ he says, his tone softening, ‘my older brother – Luis – is in a gang. The Latin Blades.’

  He has a brother. I lean forwards, alert. I want to hear this. I really want to hear this, to find out more about him. So far, I feel like the exchange has only been one way. Jay’s watching me, though, like an examiner determined to find fault, so I make sure my face stays neutral. ‘He’s in prison,’ he goes on. ‘Been there the last two years. Got another six to go.’

  I keep my gaze fixed on Jay. I can tell he’s reading my every look, waiting to pounce at any sign of judgement on my part. I want to ask what he’s in prison for but decide not to.

  ‘My middle brother too – Teo – he’s getting mixed up in the same gang.’ He presses his lips together so they turn white. ‘My mom’s only got me to rely on. I’m the one that she was proud of, the one she could boast about.’ He blows out a loud breath and rests his head in his hands. ‘Now I’ve messed it all up.’

  I don’t move for a while. I just watch him, feeling like a massive wall has fallen between us. I know nothing about his world. But then again, he knew nothing of mine either, but he still tried to understand. His shoulders are tensed and he looks ready to spring like an attack dog if anyone comes too close, but I move to sit beside him anyway, my thigh brushing against his. I put my arm tentatively around his shoulders. ‘After we get through this I’ll help you fix it,’ I say.

  He stiffens under my touch and then tilts his head slightly towards me.

  ‘There’s no fixing this,’ he says.

  ‘But if it’s the police, we can tell them that you saved my life. They’ll have to take that into consideration.’ I can hear my voice rising in pitch. ‘My dad’s got influence. He knows people. He can do something. I’ll make him.’

  Jay shakes his head and smiles softly at me. ‘It’s not the police I’m scared of.’

  He’s scared?

  ‘Not them I gotta worry about,’ he quickly corrects.

  ‘Then who? Who are you worried about?’ I ask, my arm falling away.

  He grimaces, rubbing a hand over his head. ‘I was doing a favour for my brother Teo. He’s on parole.’

  I frown.

  ‘He was done for possession. Mota. Marijuana.’ He grimaces as he speaks, glancing at me warily. ‘He’s an idiot. But he’s my brother. And if he got caught this time then he’d be facing time. Ten or twenty years even.’

  ‘Hold up,’ I say, the pieces falling into place. ‘Is that what happened? Was he supposed to steal the car and you did it for him?’

  He nods and I see the anger flashing in his eyes, and something else – something close to despair.

  ‘They needed him to drive,’ he says now, pressing his knuckles to his forehead. ‘The Blades. And he owed them. They called in the debt. That’s how it works. And when they call in a debt there’s no way out of it. There was something big going down. They needed a driver. But he turned up at my place, wigging out, begging me to do it for him.’ He shrugs as though embarrassed. ‘I’ve never stolen a car before though,’ he says, his eyes flying to mine. ‘I was telling the truth. Someone else jimmied it. I was just doing the driving. But the car they chose had one of those tracking devices in it. I didn’t make it six blocks.’

  ‘So now you think that the Latin Blades are going to be pissed at you?’ I ask.

  ‘No,’ Jay answers grimly. ‘I know they’re going to be pissed at me. And pissed doesn’t even cover it. These people don’t do pissed. That’s for polite rich people. They do vengeful fury. Usually involving hollow-point bullets.’

  ‘Is your mum going to be OK?’ I ask, feeling the blood start to flow a little faster, my brain shifting back into gear as I try to figure out what all this means for Jay – for us. ‘I mean, would they do anything to her in retaliation?’

  Jay shakes his head and looks away, embarrassed. ‘No. Look,’ he says with a sigh, ‘I already called her.’

  I sit bolt upright. ‘What? When?’

  ‘When you were in the shower. I didn’t want to tell you as I figured you’d be pissed. I used the phone in your dad’s study.’

  I stare at him as what he’s just said sinks in.
/>   ‘You used the phone?’

  He nods. Then his face pales as he sees the look on my face. ‘What?’ he asks.

  ‘Jay, they’ll have traced it for sure. The people chasing me. I mean, think about it, they traced that call I made to my dad’s cell. These guys are good. If they hadn’t figured out who you were already, they will have by now.’

  23

  We jump in the first cab we can find. The driver grumbles when Jay gives him the address.

  ‘How long’s it going to take?’ Jay asks, leaning forwards.

  The driver mutters something about rush-hour traffic and the Queens Tunnel and that it’ll take as long as it takes.

  ‘You want to take the subway instead?’ I ask Jay, who’s practically bouncing off the sides of the car.

  ‘No,’ Jay says, shaking his head. ‘Too many police.’

  ‘You should try calling her again,’ I say. ‘Just make sure you keep the call under thirty seconds in case they’re putting a trace on it.’

  Jay nods at me, already pulling out his phone, his fingers flying over the keypad. He lifts it to his ear and I watch, holding my breath.

  After a minute he cuts the call. ‘No answer,’ he says, his leg jittering up and down beside me.

  ‘What did you tell her earlier, when you spoke to her?’

  He stares at me blankly for several seconds, then shakes his head. ‘No. I didn’t speak to her,’ he says. ‘I left an answerphone message. She wasn’t in.’

  He rocks forward and puts his head in his hands.

  ‘What did you say on the message?’ I ask, putting my hand on his back, between his shoulder blades.

  ‘Just that I was fine. That she shouldn’t worry.’

  I swallow down my own worry. ‘It’s going to be OK,’ I murmur.

  He sits upright. ‘I swear to God, they do anything to my mom,’ he growls, ‘I’m going to kill them.’

  I take hold of his hand and squeeze. ‘It’s going to be OK. I’m sure she’s fine.’ I wonder if Jay can hear how hollow my words sound.

  ‘She should be at work,’ Jay suddenly says, brightening. ‘Maybe she’s not answering because her phone’s in her bag or something.’ He looks at me, desperate for agreement. I nod, giving him an overly enthusiastic smile.

  ‘Where does she work?’ I ask.

  ‘She’s a receptionist at a medical centre.’

  ‘Do you know the number by heart?’

  He shakes his head. I grab the phone and switch it to internet mode. We Google search and Jay places the call. This time he grips my hand tight. My bones crunch but I don’t say a word. Someone picks up but I can tell from the look on Jay’s face it’s not his mum.

  ‘Hey, I’m looking for Lucia Moreno,’ he says to whoever is on the other end. ‘Is she there?’

  Silence.

  Jay swallows, his grip relaxes a notch. ‘OK, thanks anyway.’

  He hangs up. ‘She’s not there. Never showed up for work today.’

  ‘Could she have gone somewhere? Taken a day off?’ I ask, clutching at straws. ‘Maybe she’s sick.’

  ‘No. She only takes off holidays and birthdays. And she’s never sick.’

  Jay lets go of my hand and leans forwards to tap on the Plexiglas. ‘Hey, any chance you could step on it?’ he asks the driver.

  The driver doesn’t answer. He doesn’t seem to have heard. I lean forwards. ‘I’ll double the fare if you make it there in twenty,’ I tell him.

  The driver puts his foot to the floor. People are right. In this city, money talks.

  I make the cab drop us a few blocks from where Jay lives in Jackson Heights.

  ‘You think this is wise?’ I ask as we duck inside a convenience store.

  Jay just stares at me. ‘I gotta know if she’s OK.’

  I nod. He’s stuck by me all this time. I’m not going to leave him now.

  ‘OK,’ I say, swinging the bag on to my back. ‘Let’s go then.’

  Jay knows how to get into his apartment building the back way, via a series of alleyways and then a basement service entrance. He wears his hooded sweater, pulling it up to shield his face.

  In just one block we walk from an area that looks like Mumbai – with women on the street wearing saris and shops selling gold jewellery and life-size Ganesha statues – and cross into what appears to be a suburb of Mexico City. The contrasting smells and bright colours and all the different sounds and languages being spoken make my head spin. We walk past a food cart. A short, squat woman is busy cooking tamales, a man stands beside her keeping one eye out for the police or whoever it is that cracks down on unlicensed food sellers. Two guys with shaved heads wearing red-and-black bandanas walk out of a liquor store a few feet ahead of us and Jay turns his face away from them on the pretext of looking back at me.

  ‘‘Are we in Latin Blade territory?’ I ask, once they’ve passed.

  ‘Not right now. But one block east, yeah.’ Jay’s nervous as hell, keeping his chin tucked in close to his chest and his shoulders hunched. He moves fast, dodging in and out of people on the sidewalk before disappearing down a narrow alley between two shops.

  I follow behind him, my fingers gripping my dad’s Smith & Wesson, which I’ve taken out of the bag and stuffed down the waistband of my jeans and covered with the sweater which I’ve wrapped around my waist. It’s still in flagrant disregard of all Felix’s lessons on gun safety. But I don’t have a holster or anywhere else to hide it and, in the event that we do run into trouble, I’m not going to be able to hold up a hand and ask for time out while I rummage for my weapon in my bag. All this talk of gangs is making me nervous. So nervous in fact that for the last twenty minutes at least, I’ve forgotten all about the cop who’s after us and Agent Kassel and her partner.

  At the end of the alleyway Jay stops and does a quick scan behind us. When he’s sure no one’s following, he beckons me over, cupping his hands together and holding them out to me. I stare at the wall he’s braced in front of and sigh, before putting one foot into his hands and letting him boost me over.

  With no one to boost him, Jay has to take a running leap to reach the top. I sit straddling the wall, watching for any witnesses as he scrabbles up and hauls himself over, dropping silently down on the other side. He catches me for a third time and then leads the way quickly across a scrappy dirt yard backing on to a dilapidated apartment block. I glance upwards. Six storeys, one rusting fire escape, a flat roof with guttering that looks ancient and rickety. I hope to God we don’t have to flee via the roof again. There’s a locked rusting gate at the side of the yard which I guess leads through to the street we were just on and, up some steps, there’s a door with a boarded-up glass panel. Jay takes us down some dingy concrete steps towards a solid metal door that’s coated in orange rust.

  He runs his hand across the top of the doorjamb, finds what he’s looking for – a key – and fits it into the lock, then he pulls me inside into a gloomy basement.

  We tiptoe past some wire cages filled with boxes, rusting bicycles and broken sports equipment. My dad’s apartment building has the same storage facility, except in his building the cages are filled with top-of-the-line skis and snowboards and even a kayak – still wearing its Christmas bow.

  Just as we reach a doorway that must lead to the stairwell Jay suddenly stops and turns to me. ‘I think you should stay here,’ he says, worry furrowing lines between his eyes.

  ‘No way,’ I answer. Where he goes, I’m going too. We stick together. There’s no debate on that any more.

  He chews his bottom lip but decides not to press it, I guess figuring that there’s no way of making me stay put. ‘There’s only one way up,’ he says. ‘We’re on the fourth floor.’

  I push past him, pulling the gun out of my waistband. ‘Follow me. We’ll move fast. Any sign of trouble we turn around and get out of here. Agreed?’

  Jay blocks my way with his arm. ‘Give me the other gun,’ he demands.

  I stare at him, surprised that he even
knew there was a second gun. I had kept the one I took from my dad’s safe hidden.

  ‘That’s not the one I took from the cop,’ he says, nodding at the one in my hand.

  I scowl at him but he refuses to budge. ‘Fine,’ I huff, digging the other gun out of the bag. ‘But do you even know how to fire one of these things?’

  Jay takes it from me. ‘I’m sure I can figure it out,’ he says, slipping off the safety and smirking at me. ‘I’m a quick learner,’ he adds when he sees my surprise.

  ‘You’re going in front though,’ I tell him. ‘I don’t want my head blown off.’

  ‘Afraid of a little friendly fire?’ he asks me.

  ‘Hold it in both hands and aim low, for the chest area,’ I tell him, positioning the gun in his hands. ‘The Glock’s not got much recoil but it’s easy to aim too high, especially on a second shot.’

  Jay nods at me, all traces of humour gone.

  ‘Are there any other exits?’ I ask him, turning back to the door.

  ‘Front and back doors only,’ he says. ‘And the fire exit. But please, no more roofs.’

  I grin at him briefly and then I move. Although I told him to go in front of me, now I don’t want to let him. Adrenaline scores lightning tracks through my body, pushing me to go faster. I let it carry me all the way to the second floor and then the fear cuts like a razor blade through the adrenaline, severing it at its source, and I stumble. What the hell are we doing? But Jay’s right behind me, urging me onwards, trying to overtake me, so I push on, fighting down Felix’s voice in my head, which is telling me that we could be walking straight into a trap.

  And then we hit the landing to the fourth floor and Jay is suddenly ahead of me, blocking my way. I move to his side and it’s only then that I realise why he’s come to a sudden halt. The door to his apartment is hanging wide open.

  Jay takes a step forward and every instinct in my body screams at me to turn and run. I take hold of Jay’s arm and start pulling him back towards the stairs. It’s not safe. We should never have come.