Under the Bridge

by Michael Harmon

  Over the last couple of years, we’d seen guys sucked in by it. Dealing, doing, thieving, joining gangs, getting involved with the wrong people. Now my own brother was in it, and I didn’t know what to do. Part of me said he wasn’t in too deep and I could get him out, but another part was so pissed off I didn’t want anything to do with him. My brain boiled over with it all the way home.

  Dad was sitting on the front porch when I came up the walk. It was after two in the morning. He reminded me of a great, hunch-shouldered statue of a bear—a warning to anybody crossing the doorway to his cave. I stopped five feet in front of him, far enough away that if he rushed me, I could run.

  A few seconds passed; then his voice, low and soft, vibrated through the air. “Go to bed.”

  I did.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  Dad was gone on an early shift before I got up, and that was just fine with me. Usually a good night’s sleep rearranged my attitude when it was swirling down the toilet, but I woke up in a worse mood than I went to bed with. I was sure the shit was going to hit the fan when he got home that night, and part of me envied my brother not having to deal with it.

  I was still so mad at Indy that even thinking about him made my blood boil, and as I brushed my teeth, I thought about what Mom had said about Dad the other night. I stopped brushing, looking at myself in the mirror. Am I him? I thought. Am I my dad? I looked at myself hard for a moment more, then spit in the sink. I was so pissed at Indy I could beat his face in, and it was because I cared about him, no matter how much I didn’t want to. I didn’t know what to do, either, and that made me more angry. Ms. Potter might have been right, but I realized that sometimes, being right isn’t enough.

  School dragged on with my mind in the nowhere zone, and when lunch came around, Sid came along with it. I sat on the concrete wall eating a bag of chips, and he sat next to me, not saying hello or even looking at me. “Word on the down-low is all about your bro.”

  “Oh yeah?”

  He nodded. “He’s dealing Under the Bridge.”

  I looked across the street, wondering if there was a hole I could crawl into. “Yeah.”

  Sid shrugged. “Not just the light stuff, either.”

  I turned to him. “What do you know about Will?”

  He shrugged again. “He’s the real thing.”

  I told him about the guy at the apartment, and that he was holding a stack of credit cards.

  He nodded. “Doesn’t surprise me. That stuff goes hand in hand.”

  “He’s in deep, Sid.”

  He sighed, kicking his heels against the wall. “Dangerous deep. I was talking to Michael about Will. I guess Will’s uncle has ties from Texas. Was he sort of older?”

  “Yes.”

  “He came up about a week ago. He supplies Will. Some sort of convict.”

  After sixth period let out, I had no plans to hit the park. Indy dealing was something I didn’t want to answer to, and I knew I’d have to put up with questions. It was embarrassing, and if there was one thing I couldn’t stand, it was being ashamed.

  I couldn’t escape it, though, and when I got home, Piper was sitting on our front porch. He stood, slapping me five. “Hey, Tate.”

  “What’s up?”

  He shrugged. “So what do we do about Indy dealing?”

  I sighed, sitting down. “I don’t know. I don’t even know if I should tell my parents. My dad would go off the charts.”

  “This isn’t about your dad, dude. It’s about Indy.”

  “So I should tell him?”

  “I don’t know, but it’s not about your dad.”

  I thought about it. “I could waste Will. Scare him off.”

  “I don’t think he’s the kind of guy who would scare off because you beat him up. I think it would escalate.” He paused. “Besides, Indy’s doing it because he wants to, not because Will is making him.”

  “Yeah. I just can’t believe it. After Cutter and everything,” I said, my thoughts trailing off.

  Piper took a breath, pausing. “The law came to my house last night.”

  I glanced at him. “Why?”

  “Lucius.”

  I frowned. “What do you have to do with Lucius?”

  He shrugged again. “They said they’re questioning all the skaters who hang there. Looking for clues or whatever.” He looked at me, and a long moment passed.

  “What?” I said.

  He eyed me, nervous tension on his face. “Come on, Tate, I know you’ve thought about it.”

  “About what?”

  “Lucius. Dead. Will running dope Under the Bridge. Your bro.”

  I had thought about it, but I didn’t want to even consider the consequences. “They said it was a bad drug deal.”

  He shook his head. “I know, and I’m not saying anything, but it’s there. And I was questioned about it.”

  “Shit.”

  He nodded. “There’s a videotape.”

  “Of the killing?”

  “Sort of. They showed it to me. The pawnshop has had break-ins, so they have a surveillance camera on the back of their building. You can see two guys, just shapes in the dark, really, talking. Then one of them swings something and the other one goes back, falling out of the camera view. The other guy goes after him.”

  “So what? Do the cops think you did it?”

  “Cops think everybody is a suspect, but they were just asking questions about anything I might have seen around. Pretty standard crap, I think.”

  “And?”

  He frowned. “And I didn’t say anything. About Will or Indy. But there was more.”

  “More?”

  He nodded again. “As the tape is rolling, this detective dude pushes the zoom on his laptop and zeroes in on the back corner of the frame. There’s a shape there, Tate. Another dude.” He looked at me. “A witness.”

  “Who?”

  “They don’t know. Too fuzzy and dark.”

  I remembered the guy at Will’s apartment. “Maybe Will and his uncle did it.”

  “Who knows. Lucius had problems with bangers up north, too. At least that’s what the word was.”

  I took a breath. “I suppose they’ll end up coming here to question me, too.”

  He nodded. “Yeah, which makes two big problems.”

  “Explain.”

  “Well, first off is that Indy is dealing down there, and with the investigation, the cops will eventually find out. The second is that Will and his uncle are serious people.”

  I knew he was right. “You didn’t say anything about Indy?”

  “Nothing. He’s got enough problems without me snitching him out as a dealer.”

  “Thanks.”

  He picked up his board. “No sweat. Take it easy.”

  I had two goals for the night. One was to avoid my dad and the other was to find Indy. I had to talk to him. Dad was the obstacle, though, because when he did talk to me, he was totally cool. No threats, no hard-core, no grounding. Every bone in my body screamed to tell him what was going on, but I couldn’t. Not yet.

  After a mostly silent dinner, I went to my room, and a few minutes later he knocked. “Come in.”

  He walked in, dwarfing Indy’s computer chair as he sat. “I want to talk about what’s going on.”

  “Okay.”

  He took a moment, then began. “I know you’re upset about Indy, and I know you love him. I do, too. And I know that in some ways, your loyalties lie closer to him than they do to me. I appreciate that, and I understand it. But this is my house, Tate, and there’s got to be rules. And respect. Your brother didn’t follow the rules, and he pushed it to the point where I had to do something about it.” He paused, leaning his elbows on his knees and steepling his fingers. “If you don’t like what I did, you have every right to tell me and we can argue about it. But you don’t have a right to disrespect me or your mother because you’re upset.” He looked at me. “You didn’t respect me last night or even the other night, and everything I said
holds true. I will not tolerate it in my home, and if you choose to behave this way, you’ll pay my consequences. Do you understand where I’m coming from?”

  I did, and he was right. “I’m sorry.”

  He stood. “Don’t apologize to me, Tate. Apologize to your mother. You and I can go in circles just fine, but your mother …” His eyes flared. “She’s not your mother when it comes to those things, Tate. She’s my wife.”

  I looked at him, and I realized he saw me as a man. Not a kid, not a child, but a man. I nodded. “It won’t happen again.”

  He nodded.

  “I think you were wrong about Indy.”

  “I know you do, and I might have made a mistake, but Indy can own up to his mistakes just as I can to mine.” He walked to the door, and once again I was surprised at how savvy he was. “I know you’re probably going out tonight to see your brother, and that’s fine. Tell him he’s welcome home to iron things out at any time. And tell him I love him.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  Under the Bridge. As I skated down the hill, the streetlights bathing me in a midnight glow as I rolled from block to block, I thought how I would have given up ever setting my feet on a deck if it would have stopped this from happening. I wished we lived above that buffer zone between the good and the bad, and I wished the biggest problem in my life right now was choosing what university I would attend after high school. It wasn’t that way, though, and my brother was in trouble. I had a creeping feeling it was more trouble than I could deal with.

  A bit away from the park, I kicked my board up and skirted around the block, coming to the place where Indy had been dealing. I found a corner hidden in shadow and sat, watching.

  It only took ten minutes for a car to idle up to the curb and a figure to come out from the darkness, and as I peered, I recognized Indy’s shape. I stood, walking across the street as the car pulled away. Indy saw me and stopped. I walked up to him. “Hi.”

  He looked at his feet. “Hi.”

  “I’m sorry about last night. I was mad.”

  Indy looked over his shoulder, nervous. “You should really go, Tate.”

  “Have the police talked to you yet?”

  He shook his head. “No. But you’ve got to go, Tate. Leave right now.”

  “They’re bad people, Indy.”

  Indy looked over his shoulder again, and my eyes followed his glance. Will walked from the shadows, that smarmy grin on his face. “You just don’t know when enough is enough, do you, Taterboy?” He didn’t stop walking, and as he reached me, he threw a roundhouse punch and clocked me square on the ear. I spun to the side, dizzy from the punch and my ears ringing, and came back around to face him.

  And stared down the barrel of a pistol. He cocked the hammer back, the click echoing against the concrete pillars surrounding us, my heart stopping on a dime, all the pain in my head vanishing in a millisecond. He smiled, his eyes unflinching. “That was for the mistake you made, Taterboy. Now I’m going to tell you one more time. We’ve got business, and it doesn’t include you. Got it?”

  Indy’s eyes grew wide with fear. “Will, come on, man.…”

  Will chuckled. “It’s all good, Indy. Your brother here just needs to learn his place, and it ain’t here. No problems otherwise.” He looked at me. “Isn’t that right, Tate?”

  I looked from Indy to Will. “The police are talking to everybody.”

  He smiled. “If I didn’t know that, I suppose I’d be called stupid. But I’m not stupid, Tate, and I don’t want you to be stupid, either.” He glanced at Indy, and then his eyes flashed back to me. He grinned wickedly. “You understand what I’m saying?”

  I looked at the black hole at the end of the barrel of that pistol, and it seemed to grow. My knees shook, and I knew all at once that if I pushed it with this guy, my brother and I would end up dead. “Yeah, I understand.”

  He didn’t lower the gun. “Good. Now get the fuck out of here. And keep your mouth shut or I’ll shut it for you.”

  I looked at Indy, wanting him to come with me, but he shook his head. I left then, my head hanging in shame, my knees shaking, and a sick feeling in me that I’d never felt before.

  It was well after two in the morning when I got home, and when I kicked my board up at the sidewalk, I saw a figure sitting on the front porch. As I came near, I saw it was Mom.

  She looked at me in the darkness. “Hi.”

  I sighed. “I suppose the front porch is becoming the meeting place.”

  “I want you to take me to him.”

  I shuffled, not knowing what to say. “I can’t do that.”

  “Why? You know where he is.”

  “I do know. But I can’t.”

  Her eyes searched me. “You don’t know what to do, do you?”

  I swallowed. “Not really.”

  She nodded, her eyes drifting back to the street. “Do you remember when you were little and we had that secret sign?” She held up her pinkie finger and wiggled it. “It meant that whatever you said or did was between you and me and nobody else, and that I wouldn’t say anything to anybody unless you said it was okay.”

  I chuckled, remembering. “Yeah.”

  “I never told anybody anything, Tate,” she said, looking at me and raising her finger. Tears glistened in her eyes. “Tell me.”

  I looked at her finger for a moment. “He’s dealing drugs for a guy he knows. A bad guy. Serious bad guy.”

  She took a breath.

  I put my hand on her knee. “I saw him tonight. He’s fine. Just messed up about things.”

  She shook her head. “He’s not fine, is he?”

  I sighed. She always knew. “No. But he will be.”

  “I want you to take me to him.”

  I thought of Will. “I can’t do that, Mom.”

  “Why?”

  No matter what kind of weight the pinkie sign held, I knew that if I told her that Will carried a gun and had pulled it on me, she’d call the cops. I couldn’t do that. They’d arrest Indy, and whatever chance he had of getting out of this without ruining his life would be gone. “I just can’t.”

  She took my hand. “Tell me, Tate. Please. What’s going on? I don’t care if he’s high or stoned or anything. I just want to talk with him.”

  I pulled my hand away. “Anything I’d say would be a lie, Mom, and I’m not going to lie to you. I’m sorry.”

  She looked at me. “Then I have no choice.”

  “What?”

  “I’m calling the police and filing a missing-person report.”

  I lowered my head, staring at the concrete step. “Please, don’t. You don’t know …”

  She stood. “That’s exactly right, Tate. I don’t know. But he’s my son and he belongs here.”

  “If you tell them he’s dealing, they’ll nail him, Mom. And you pinkie-promised.”

  “Tell him I want to see him.”

  “I will. But I can’t make it happen. Only he can.”

  She scratched the top of my head. “Okay, then.”

  “Are you going to tell Dad he’s dealing?”

  “No. Not now.”

  “Thanks.”

  She opened the screen door. “This has to come out, though. You know that. I can’t hide something this serious from your father.”

  I stared at the street. “I know.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  “In bed,” I said, then glanced at my dad, who did not look like a happy man. Two detectives stood in our living room, one carrying a laptop case. My dad stood in front of them with his arms crossed, his posture threatening. My insides were still twisted up from Will’s gun the night before, and my mind raced about what I should say.

  “You were in bed the night of the murder.” The skinny, balding one nodded, scribbling in a notebook. He looked up at me. “What about your brother?”

  I glanced at Mom. “I don’t know.”

  The other detective, pale, pudgy, and soft-spoken, studied our living room. He looked at my da
d. “And you don’t know where Indy is, Mr. Brooks?”

  “No.”

  “Is there a family issue going on, sir?”

  Dad didn’t like the law, had no use for them, and pretty much thought they were a bunch of nosy, greedy bastards. “What goes on in this house is none of your business.”

  The detective nodded, unaffected by the statement. “We’re trying to find a killer, sir.”

  Dad glared at him. “Then find a killer. My boys aren’t involved with those kinds of people. My son was asked to leave our home due to a disagreement. If that’s against the law, arrest me.”

  The skinny detective broke in. “Understandable, Mr. Brooks. If we could just have Tate look at a surveillance tape, we’ll be out of your hair in no time.”

  Dad nodded, and the detective went to our living room table, unzipping his case and taking out the laptop. He moved his finger on the touch pad. “We believe this to be the beginning of the assault that ended with the victim’s death. Please watch.” He clicked the play button, and the video began just as Piper said it did. The scene was fuzzy, dark, and shadowed, and it was hard to see anything but two shapes, one with a stick or bat.

  Halfway through, as one figure raised the stick, the detective stopped the video. “Do you recognize the figure with the weapon, Tate? Do his movements, his posture, anything at all, look familiar?”

  “No.”

  The detective nodded, then clicked the zoom on the browser, capturing the upper left of the frame. “See that there?” He pointed to the corner. “That shape is a person. A witness. Or an accomplice.”

  Dad and I peered at the figure standing there. I looked close. The detective asked again, “Familiar at all, Tate? This is important, so please, look carefully.”

  I shook my head. “You can’t even see.”

  “I know it’s hard. This resolution is the highest we have available, but please look.”

  I did. After a moment, I sighed. I couldn’t tell if it was Will or his uncle. “It could be anybody.”