RECYCLED MEMORY

  A boy with torn clothes and a shaved head spoke first. I recognized him from school but didn’t know his name or what he was doing there. He was as tall as Marcus but much too thin for his height and build.

  “Fuck off, Range. Mind your own business.”

  Marcus elbowed him in the arm, but he just laughed it off and kept walking. The other two boys didn’t join in their banter; they were too concerned with the snarl coming from the large man who stood to my left. He might intimidate a bunch of silly boys, but I wasn’t afraid of some old dude with too many tattoos.

  “I don’t know what she’s doing here, Buck. I didn’t invite her to come, and I for damn sure didn’t ask her to follow me.” Oh shit. He is Buck Calhoun, the owner of the junkyard.

  Now, I was really fucked.

  “Hello, I’m Sebastian. Very pleased to meet you.” The well-dressed boy wearing khaki pants and a bow tie extended his hand toward me in efforts to introduce himself. Buck shook his head and chastised him in front of everyone.

  “Cut the shit, boy. No time for that crap. Marcus, walk this little girl home. Make sure she gets there. The rest of you… get your asses to work.” Geez, bully much?

  Marcus tried to protest, but once Buck turned his back and walked away, he had no choice but to comply. I wanted to give that old bastard another verbal beat down, but Marcus was in no mood for my little outbursts. He huffed, and he puffed, kicked some dirt around on the ground, and then yelled at me to “Come on!” before he stomped off toward the exit. There I was looking to bail him out, save his ass yet again, and he wanted to give me attitude?

  “You know? You could be a little more grateful, tough guy. I saved you from having to deal with that freakishly large dude back there.” I tried to keep up with is steady pace, but my legs were just too short, and Marcus was just too furious.

  “You didn’t save me from shit, Polly Pocket, and you need to stop following me before you get yourself hurt. Buck is not the sort of man you want to play around with, and he don’t take kindly to insults, not even from girls.”

  None of this made any sense. How could I have gotten it wrong? I replayed the facts over in my head as I walked along silently next to Marcus. I hadn’t imagined his tear-streaked cheeks or the defeated look in his eyes the last time he’d entered that damned junkyard. Something awful had happened to him in there, so why was he being so mean? There just had to be another explanation, one only he could share. I slowed down my pace and allowed Marcus to walk ahead just so I could have a moment to myself. I didn’t want him to be angry with me, not over something that was a big misunderstanding. He realized I wasn’t next to him and stopped so I could catch up. I used that to my advantage.

  “I’m really sorry if I embarrassed you, Marcus,” I offered. “I wasn’t trying to be a pain.”

  A single tear slipped from my eye before I had a chance to stop it. He was going to think I was a baby and never talk to me again if I didn’t get hold of myself.

  “Aww, don’t cry, little pocket. I’m not mad, okay? I’m just dealing with a lot of shit right now.” He scrubbed a hand over his face, clearly put out by my little display of emotion. I used the sleeve of my lab coat to wipe away the snot from my nose and remained silent.

  “Nan, my grandmother… She’s sick, Pocket.” His voice waivered when he spoke. “She told me a few weeks ago that her kidneys were in bad shape and she needs a transplant.”

  “Oh, Marcus, I’m so sorry. Is there anything I can do?” It took a lot for him to open up to me about something that important. My heart broke for him and his family.

  Life really sucked sometimes.

  “Naw, I’ll be fine.” He smirked. “I’m a tough guy, remember?”

  He placed his arm around my shoulders and gently guided me back toward the direction of my house. He didn’t remove it once we started walking again; its weight was a comfort to me in ways I couldn’t understand. The only thing I knew for sure was that I never wanted him to take it away. I led us through different alleyways and side streets by pointing toward the direction I wanted us to go. The comfort I felt made the journey much too short, and before I knew it, we were standing outside of my gated community.

  “This is where you live?” Marcus exclaimed in awe as we stood outside.

  “Yeah, my dad is a doctor at Madison Lee Memorial Hospital.”

  I’m not sure why I made light of my father’s profession. I wasn’t ashamed of his success. He worked hard to provide for us as a family. I just didn’t want him to think I was anything like the golden princess, a spoiled little rich girl who didn’t give a shit about anyone but herself. His perception of me was important, and I never wanted to ruin that.

  “Come on, I’ll show you around.” I untangled myself from under his arm and grabbed him by the hand. Our house was actually on a corner lot, so the rest of the trek was only yards away. Unfortunately for us, we never made it inside.

  “My, my, my. What have we here?” Jiminy Cricket.

  My sister stood at the top of the steps in all her princess glory, her gaze completely focused on Marcus. Like a shark that smelled fresh blood in the water, she slunk her way down and muscled her way in between where Marcus and I stood at the bottom.

  “I don’t think I’ve had the pleasure. I’m Marci, the pretty one in the family.”

  She snaked her tongue out of her mouth and added her patented hair flip that made most boys drool like a bunch of fools. Marcus didn’t take the bait, nor did I think he would. He looked down at her hand as if it was encased in shit and turned his attention back to me.

  “I’ll catch you at school, Polly Pocket.”

  I hated watching him leave without knowing for sure when the next time I would actually see him again. I missed the warmth of his arm around my shoulders and the feel of his calloused hand as it held on to mine. Most of all, I hated knowing that now the golden princess would do everything in her power to take Marcus away from me, even though he wasn’t mine to keep.

  “You’ve been holding out, little sister. Looks like I have my work cut out for me.” I tried to ignore her little dig, but the words cut deep, especially coming from her.

  “He won’t fall for your bullshit, Marci, so just give it up,” I screeched.

  “We’ll see about that.” She beamed. “Let the games begin, Poindexter.”

  She blew me a kiss and strolled off with a high-pitched laugh as if she hadn’t just shattered me like a glass window pane. This was one time I wouldn’t bow down and watch as everything I ever wanted was slowly taken away. Not this time.

  This time, I planned to fight her tooth and nail.

  For him. My tough guy.

  THIRTEEN

  Marcus

  WHAT THE FUCK ARE we doing here? It was the first thought that crossed my mind as we pulled up to an old, abandoned warehouse just outside of town. Nan and I had battled over her insistence that I spend more time with Buck Calhoun at his junkyard during the afternoon and weekends. I’d thought she was batshit crazy and told her so on more than one occasion. In my eyes, he was the scum of the earth, a criminal who wanted to steel my soul and turn me into some kind of follower. Nan had stood firm that Buck was the only man she knew who could give me what I needed, and there was no more room for discussion. Days turned into weeks, and I’d realized pretty fast that whatever assumptions I’d believed about the man were nothing compared to the real thing. I’d also been dead fucking wrong.

  Buck was a tough son of a bitch, mean as a snake, and unforgiving when it came to his boys. He was also systematic in his approach. Everything had a purpose, even if you couldn’t understand its full meaning or objective. He’d bombard us with rules, Buck-isms we called them, used as a teaching tool for life’s ever-changing circumstances.

  Always look a man in the eyes.

  Strike fast, strike hard, don’t stop until your opponent is drowning in his own blood.

  Treat your woman with respect. You don’t, some other asshole will.

  N
ever leave your brother behind.

  Fight for something or die for nothing.

  The list was endless, and we were expected to learn them if we wanted to become honorable men. I wasn’t the only boy forced to endure his special brand of instruction; in fact, I was a late addition to the party. Range was Buck’s shadow. He picked up anything and everything he could when it came to the junkyard. He wasn’t a suck-up; he truly loved that place, maybe even more than Buck himself. He often stayed behind well after I had left for the day, and considering his home life, it was hard to blame him. His father didn’t know the first thing about raising a kid; the bottle was his only concern. Range never let that stop him; he wanted something better for himself and for his future. Even though I’d tried to whip his ass during our first meeting, he never held it against me. He embraced me as a brother. His response was simple:

  “Shit happens, Marky Mark. No worries, dude.” From there, our friendship was born.

  Sebastian’s motives were a little more difficult for me to understand, and Lord knows I tried. He never mentioned having a father but more than made up for it by sharing the wisdom of his mother and great aunt Enid whenever he thought the occasion called for it. He wasn’t the most aggressive guy in the world; more often than not, he had an anecdotal response to every direction he was given. He wasn’t very good at anything. Shooting, hand-to-hand combat, knife throwing; you name it, and he sucked at it. The one thing he did do was try. No matter how many times he got knocked on his ass, he always picked himself up and asked for more. We clowned him at first, laughed at his failures and teased him relentlessly. Buck was none too happy with that shit; it was a strike against the brotherhood to piss on a man when he was down. I still felt the burn in my calves from running laps around the junkyard whenever Buck thought about how much we acted like a bunch of pussies. Eventually, Sebastian found a way to make us all eat our words. Over time, we feared his progress with a bow—a thinking man’s weapon, Buck called it. I called it kick ass and never laughed at him again.

  Maxwell O’Neill—or Max, as we called him—lived with Buck at the junkyard, but we never knew where he actually came from. He didn’t carry himself at all like the rest of us. In most instances, he chose to stay by himself when we weren’t training. He hated to be touched and would often recoil if you accidentally brushed against him. The boys and I would catch him gazing into space with an overwhelming look of panic on his face before he’d quickly brush it away and snap back to reality. Buck told us to give him time, that he needed more than the rest of us ever would, but he never betrayed Max’s confidence. We never knew what to make of it, but it only made us that much closer. His pain was our pain.

  That’s how brothers looked out for one another in the world.

  I never expected so much to happen in such a short period of time. For all the resistance I put up when I’d first started coming to the yard, I couldn’t imagine my life without it. None of us had siblings, yet we were as close as any blood relative. Without fathers we were thought of as sons. Once loners, we paved the way to become friends. That was the reason Buck and I were sitting outside of a warehouse in the middle of nowhere. I’d gotten into another fight at school, and Range had ended up taking the blame, so I wouldn’t get into more trouble. That little bitch Marci had cornered me in the hallway after class, and when I wouldn’t kiss her ass, she cried wolf to one of her little flunkies. Range happened to be walking past and saw what was happening, but before he could drag me away, I had swung on that fool and knocked him into the lockers. Somebody called for Principle Garvey, and Range took the fall, which earned him three days suspension. We’d had no choice but to tell Buck what happened and face the consequences. Hence the ride to the warehouse. Buck had been beyond his usual level of pissed-offed-ness when he’d told Range, Sebastian, and Max to run around the yard until we returned. Some customers were asked to come back tomorrow, others were told to “Get the fuck out” depending on their attitude. Buck grabbed me by the collar and tossed me up into the work truck. His only words were to “shut it.” When I asked where we were going, he said, “Somewhere I shoulda taken your little ass a long time ago.” And that was pretty much the extent of our conversation during the ride.

  Buck exited the truck in a huff, which was my only cue to follow. He stomped his way toward the back of the building, where I assumed was an entrance. Once we stepped inside, my breath caught, and it took all I had not to yelp like a chick at its grandeur. Golden statues lined the walls in varying sizes and shapes, some with candles burning brightly, others with some sort of smelly stick-like things that filled the room with a sweet scent. There were wooden plaques on the four corners of the room with strange writings on them that definitely was not in the English alphabet. Buck hardly seemed fazed by it; in fact, he stood silently with his hands on his hips like he was waiting for something.

  “Buck, let’s get outa here. This place is creepy as fuck,” I whisper-yelled.

  I grabbed him by the arm and tried to get him to move, but Buck wasn’t having any of it.

  “Quiet, boy, don’t let me tell you again. We wait.” I didn’t question him further.

  If it weren’t for the hair on the back of my neck standing on end, I might’ve been a bit more comforted, but I had the distinct feeling we were being watched.

  “It does my heart good to see you alive and well, my old friend.”

  Holy shit, where did he come from?

  A little oriental man stood behind us wearing a pair of pajamas and carrying a necklace made of large black beads in one of his hands. He was barely taller than Maribel, but he had a deadly look about him, something that said Don’t fuck with me.

  “Lim, you old half-eaten eggroll. ‘Bout time you showed yourself.”

  The two men shook hands and gave each other a hefty pat on the back. Once they took a moment to give each other the once-over, they turned their attentions to me.

  “And who do we have here, Buck Calhoun?” Little man gave me a strange look.

  “Lim, this is Marcus, one of my boys. Marcus, this is Jimmy Lim, the baddest motherfucker ever to cross a Devil’s Raptor and lived to talk about it.”

  “Old times, Buck, old times.” He moved around me slowly to get a better look before he spoke again.

  “Ah, yes. He is the son of your heart and not of your blood, Buck Calhoun,” he observed. “I see a dark cloud of pain and sorrow within him. So much anger and rage with nowhere to go, so it festers and grows. His aura is conflicted; it wars with his true nature, a sign of things to come.”

  “What is this wax-on-wax-off bullshit, Buck? Let’s get the hell outa here.”

  I had enough of this old fart’s ancient Chinese secrets, talking about me like I wasn’t even there. Who was he to say I was angry and full of rage? He didn’t know me from a hole in the wall. Fuck him. Buck could stand there and shoot the shit all he wanted. I was outa here. I’d find my way back on my own.

  “He very much reminds me of you when you were a boy, Buck Calhoun.” He took a few steps back from my personal space and addressed his old friend.

  “Yeah, tell me about it. I need you on this one, Lim. Can you help me out?” What the fuck?

  Buck asking for help, and from an old, dried-up prune like Lim who looked like he’d just escaped from the set of an old karate movie? This had to be a joke, only I wasn’t laughing. Lim took a moment to consider; all the while I was hoping he would say no.

  “Promptly at six per evening. We begin on Monday.”

  And with that, he turned and walked away without another word, not even a goodbye. It wasn’t until we were back in the truck and on our way to the junkyard when I questioned Buck’s logic in all this. I trusted Buck, and usually he was a better judge of character, but he couldn’t possibly believe that Lim guy had something to offer besides a philosophy lesson.

  “I don’t understand, Buck. Why did you take me to see that guy?” He thought about it for a second, and I didn’t think he would answer.


  “I met Lim when I was a punk kid prospecting for the club,” he recalled. “Thought I knew it all, done it all, and seen it all until I met him. One night, me and a bunch of the other guys thought it would be fun to pick on an old Chinese guy, rough him up a little, scare him a bit. Shit, he was at least sixty, if not older, back then. Lim whopped our asses without even breaking a sweat. Old bastard was fearless. The other boys took off, but he grabbed me by the arm before I could get away. Thought that dried-up ball sack was gonna kill me.” He paused.

  “Well? What happened next? Did he call the cops?” I was intrigued by the story and listened like my life depended on it.

  “Naw, wasn’t his style. Lim told me that anger was a noose around my neck that would one day choke the life out of me, and if I ever wanted to learn to control it, he could help. No idea why he took the time to only talk to me, but Lim never did make much sense.”

  Buck smirked to himself as he thought back fondly of the old man. It was a good look on him, something I didn’t often see when Buck was his usual surly self. There was one thing I still needed to know that Buck never mentioned.

  “Did you take him up on his offer? You know, to teach you how to control your anger?”

  “Not until years later when…” He hesitated. “Later, much later.”

  Buck’s tone was reflective and laced with sadness. It didn’t take a genius to figure out that the old Chinese man had helped him in some way to move past the death of his son and find a way to breathe again. That wasn’t a topic that Buck talked about often, and we knew better than to ask too many questions; not if we wanted to live. He never would have introduced me to Lim if he hadn’t really believed that I needed his help in some way. The least I could do was give it a chance and see where it went. What was the worst that could happen? I made up my mind to just go with it by the time we arrived back at the junkyard. I knew I’d dodged a bullet when I spotted Range and the other boys barely making their way toward the work truck. They were dripping with sweat, and there wasn’t a spot on their clothing that wasn’t soiled with dirt. I tried not to laugh, but it was useless.