Under the Bridge

by Michael Harmon

  Indy grabbed the sides, too, and we worked the box away from the wall. After a minute, I was able to reach behind it, and as I did, my fingers hit something. Angling my arm further back, I wrapped my fingers around it. “I got it,” I said, pulling the plastic-wrapped bat out. I handed it to him. “Let’s go.”

  Indy ran for the window as I shoved the refrigerator back. Just then, the doorknob squeaked as it turned. I was in direct sight of the door. I motioned at Indy, who had one leg out the window. “Go, man. Get out!” I whispered frantically.

  He stared at the door as it swung open, then lifted his leg back inside, staring at me. “I’m not leaving.”

  There was only one solution. It was football time. I looked at Indy. “Follow me.” As the door opened, I ran, sprinting down the short hall toward it. Just as Will’s uncle stepped inside, I hit him high and hard like a linebacker going in for the kill: elbows up, forearms crossed. I nailed him solid in the chest and he flew back, his feet in the air as he slammed against the wall of the hall outside.

  I didn’t stop, and we ran. Just as we hit the stairwell at the end of the hall, I glanced back. Vernon was on his feet, pulling a pistol from his waistband. He staggered after us. I grabbed Indy. “Come on.”

  We took the stairs three at a time, grabbing the railing for balance as we ran and jumped and scrabbled downward. I could hear Vernon following, and was surprised he’d even gotten up after a hit like that. As we reached the first floor, Indy let out a yelp and I stopped, turning around as he tumbled ass-over-head to my feet. He groaned. I grabbed him, yanking him to his feet. He still held the bat. “You okay?”

  He grimaced, gasping in pain, then looked down. “Fuck.”

  I looked down. His foot was angled sideways. Completely destroyed. “It’s broken.”

  “Fuck. We’re dead,” he said, clenching his teeth.

  With the sound of Vernon running down the staircase behind us, I took a breath, then picked Indy up. “Nothing to do but try. Put your arm around my neck, and don’t let go of the bat,” I said, then ran through the lobby of the building, carrying him.

  We hit the doors and I took a sharp right, hoping to get around the corner to the alley before Vernon saw which way we went. It was no use, though. Just as we rounded the corner, I heard the doors slam open, then running feet coming our way. I looked around in the dark, and there was nothing but the alley. Nowhere to hide. We were screwed.

  “Why are you carrying your brother?”

  Startled, I turned to the other side of the alley. “What the fu—?”

  Dad stood there, his work clothes still on. “Your mother told me you were meeting with Indy. I followed you, then lost you, then saw Piper skating.…” Then he whipped his head around as Vernon, pistol in hand, charged around the corner. Dad stepped between us and him, facing the man.

  Vernon came to a halt, raising the pistol.

  My dad lifted his hands to him. “Whoa. Slow down there, buddy. Put the weapon down.”

  Confusion spread over Vernon’s face, but he didn’t waver. “Who’re you?”

  “I’m these boys’ father. Put the weapon down.”

  Vernon shook his head. “Give me the bat and everything will be fine.”

  Dad glanced back at us, confusion on his face. He looked at the packaged bat. “Indy, throw him the bat.”

  My heart raced, and my mind reeled. “Will used it to kill Lucius, then made Indy hold it. His prints are on it for insurance. They’ll think Indy did it. He was the kid in the video,” I blurted out.

  It took a second for my words to register in his head, but the picture was there. He took a great breath, his chest and shoulders expanding. He stared at Vernon. “Let’s talk about this. Find a solution.”

  Vernon smiled. “Your kid has been nothing but a pain in my ass. Give me the bat.”

  Silence followed in the darkness. Then Dad spoke. “You’re not hurting my boys.”

  Vernon cocked the pistol. Dad rushed him. I dropped Indy.

  The shot rang out as Dad closed in, but he didn’t stop. A look of surprise crossed Vernon’s face when Dad didn’t go down, and the next thing he knew, Dad plowed into him.

  They both went down in a heap, Dad’s huge fists digging into Vernon’s rib cage as he struggled to get away. As I ran toward them, another shot rang out, this one muffled. Blood pooled beneath them. Then I saw my dad’s hand wrap around Vernon’s, pinning the pistol against the ground. I saw my dad’s elbow jacking into Vernon’s face furiously. The drug dealer’s body went limp. Then I was there.

  I scrambled around them, grabbing the pistol and yanking it from Vernon’s hand, then throwing it across the alley. Dad lay on top of the man, his chest heaving. I touched his shoulder, fear ripping through me. “Dad.”

  He put his palm on the ground for support, then rolled from the unconscious Vernon, whose face was a mess from the elbow hits. Both men were covered in blood. Panic swept through me as I knelt. Indy, his ankle mangled, hopped to us, then fell to his knees beside me. Dad stared at the darkened sky, breathing heavily. We heard sirens in the distance. Dad grunted. “Bastard got me good.”

  Indy leaned over him. “Jesus, Tate. He’s shot.”

  Dad looked at Indy, his eyes glassy. “You clean that bat handle off and give it to the police when they get here. You hear me? Do it right, Indy. Do the right thing. You’re my son.”

  Tears slid down Indy’s face. “Dad, no. You can’t go. I fucked up so bad. You can’t.”

  Dad closed his eyes. “Go home tonight, son. Be with your mother.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

  “He’s in critical but stable condition. The surgery is done, and your mother is with him.” Detective Connelly sat behind the table. Indy and I sat facing him. We were waiting for an attorney to show up. He went on, looking at me, “When you told me that you would ‘turn in’ the murder weapon, you didn’t tell me how you’d do it.”

  I shrugged. “I want to see my dad.”

  “You will. We just need a statement, and to make it legal, you need an attorney present because you’re minors. Your mother gave consent at the hospital.”

  Indy shook his head. “I told you. Will murdered Lucius with the bat. I saw it. I’ll testify.”

  The detective nodded. “I appreciate that, but we have to make it legal. I know you boys want to see your father, but until we get your statement, I have to detain you. Policy.”

  I cleared my throat. “What about Will’s uncle?”

  “He’s being charged with attempted first-degree murder for shooting your father. With his record, and the charges that will follow, he won’t see daylight again.”

  “And Will?”

  “Based on testimony from Indy, he’ll be charged with murder in the first degree.” He looked at us. “That is, when we find him.”

  I furrowed my brow. “You can’t find him?”

  “He disappeared. Don’t worry, though, we’ll get him.”

  I shook my head. “He’ll be after Indy.”

  “He probably fled the area,” he said. Then the door opened.

  A fat, balding man, disheveled and angry-looking, walked in. “It’s three-thirty in the morning. What am I doing here?”

  Detective Connelly looked at us. “Indy, start talking.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

  Indy wouldn’t leave the hospital, and every time I looked at him, I could see what he was feeling. Guilt, pain, relief, sadness. He and Dad talked privately for long hours, and I could tell that something had changed in my brother. Maybe he had learned that life could be for keeps and that sometimes it could turn out for the worst.

  As usual, Mom was the rock of the family. My dad had always gotten the credit for being the tough guy, and she had always stood in the shadows, but I realized that she was something altogether different. Something that I’d always taken advantage of without knowing it. She held everything together. When there was no reasoning, she was the reasonable one. When tempers flared, she was the voice th
at kept us together. She was the one who made our family function, and I looked at her in a new way.

  Two days after the incident, school let out and I skated three blocks to the hospital. Indy was just leaving Dad’s room, awkwardly working his crutches. He smiled. “He’s coming home tomorrow.”

  I slapped him five. “Cool.” I looked at him. “You coming back to school?”

  He leaned against the wall. “Eventually. Mom is talking to them, and it looks like I’ll be able to be in Mr. Halvorson’s English class. But the police told her that I should stay home until they find Will.”

  “They’ll find him,” I said.

  He shook his head. “I know Will, Tate. He didn’t leave town.”

  I clenched my teeth. “Then we’ll deal with it as it comes, but they’ll find him. They will.”

  He looked down, shook his head, then smiled. “Whatever, dude, but I heard something else.”

  “What?”

  He looked at me. “The skate Invitational. Piper told me you guys are in it. Badger’s sponsoring?”

  I nodded. “Yeah.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me?”

  I laughed, looking away. “Other things were going on.”

  He shook his head. “You’ve got to stop it.”

  “Stop what?”

  “You always take care of other people, Tate. Mostly me.” He studied my face. “It’s time for you to do this for you. You could go pro.”

  “You hate corporate,” I said.

  He chuckled. “I don’t hate it as much as I’d like to see my brother kick ass.”

  I smiled.

  He came forward then and gave me an awkward hug.

  “What was that for?”

  He stuffed his hands in his pockets. “I don’t know, man. Maybe because you saved my life. Maybe because I’m a selfish asshole and I don’t want to be one anymore.”

  I laughed. “You can be quite the asshole.”

  He hit my shoulder. “Back at ya. I’m going to Burger King. Dad’s got a hankering for a burger.”

  I nodded. “I’m out in a bit. Just stopping by to say hello to him. We’re meeting at the Monster tonight. Practice again.”

  “Cool. See ya, huh?”

  I opened the door. “Yeah. See ya. And be careful.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

  The night air whipped through my hair, and the echo of my wheels on the Monster filled my ears, as I finally laid down a seven-twenty without a hitch. Piper sat on the edge watching, and he flipped me the thumbs-up as I grinned. Sid lit a cigarette as I hit the edge for a breather. We’d been practicing hard-core every night for three to six hours. It was also the only way I could get the threat of Will out of my head. “Tomorrow night’s the night, guys.”

  Sid lay back, staring at the underside of the bridge and exhaling. “Too bad Indy’s a cripple.”

  I shrugged. “I don’t think he’d do it even without a broken ankle.”

  “When’s he coming back to school?”

  “Depends on Will. Mom had to meet with the school to get the truancy stuff all straightened out.”

  “Will would be an idiot to stay in town, man. He’s probably in Texas by now,” Piper said.

  Sid, still staring at the bridge above him, picked his nose and flicked the booger. “I heard he’s around.”

  My stomach squirmed. “From who?”

  “Michael.”

  “Shit.”

  Sid took a swig of Mountain Dew. “Shit’s right. You know why he’s still here, huh?”

  “Indy.”

  Sid nodded. “Serious stuff, man. He knows Indy is the only witness.”

  “Yeah.”

  Piper chomped on a stick of beef jerky. His midnight snack. “You guys should lay low until the cops get him. Have they said anything?”

  I shook my head. “Nope. They patrol by the house every hour, and my mom has talked to them about it, but there’s not much to do.”

  Piper shook his head. “Witness protection. I wonder if you can pick your own name.”

  I laughed. “Yeah, right. This is a small-time thing, not some big federal gig. And they said Indy wouldn’t be the deciding factor if they could get Will’s DNA or fingerprints from the bat.”

  Piper chewed his jerky. “How’d that work out, anyway? With Indy’s prints?”

  “He took the bat out of the plastic before the cops came and was holding it when they got there,” I said. In our statement, we hadn’t mentioned that Will had made Indy touch the weapon, and now, with the cops knowing that Indy had touched it after the fact, he wouldn’t be implicated.

  Sid laughed. “Wow. You so smart, Kemo Sabe.”

  I nodded. “I’ve got an idea.”

  Piper grimaced, glancing at Sid. “Crap. You know what this means, Sid? Every idea he gets has to do with possible death.”

  I shook my head. “Not yours. Just mine.” I looked at Sid. “I want you to tell Michael that Indy wants to score some dope tomorrow night at one-thirty. At the Monster.”

  Piper shook his head, chewing with his mouth open. “You’re nuts.”

  I shrugged. “I’m serious.”

  Sid hesitated. “Tate …”

  “Just do it, huh? You know he’ll tell Will, and I’ll take care of the rest. Just don’t say anything to Indy.”

  When I came home forty-five minutes later, Indy sat at his desk, his fingers flying over the keyboard. I smiled. “Not at the hospital, huh?”

  He stopped typing. “Dad kicked me out. Told me to stop feeling guilty and move on.” He looked at me. “How was practice?”

  I dropped my board and lay down on my bed, glancing at his desk. A fat tube of pepper spray sat on it. “Good. Piper’s really ripping it up.” I motioned to the spray. “Where’d you get that?”

  “Mom got us all one,” he said, pointing to my nightstand, where another spray was. “Dad had me unlock his shotgun and put it in their room, too, but Mom unloaded it. She said it’s dangerous in the house without somebody who knows how to use it right, and Dad is the only one who took a defense class on it.”

  “Looks like we’re Fort Brooks, then.”

  He shrugged. “I’m under unofficial house arrest until they find him.”

  “That’s a good idea. Sid heard he’s around.”

  Indy picked up the tube of spray. “I almost wish he’d come. Just to get it over with. It’s freaking me out.”

  “He might be evil, but he’s not stupid. The cops are all over this neighborhood.” Changing the subject, I said, “How’s Dad?”

  “Fine. Pissed off that he can’t go to work.”

  “Figures.”

  Indy nodded. “He told me that he’s going to the Invitational no matter what any doctor says.”

  I smiled. “Cool.”

  “You can do it, Tate.”

  I hopped on my bed. “We’ll see.”

  “You win the Invitational, I’ll get straight A’s for the rest of the year if I can. Deal?”

  I smiled again. “Deal.” I took a breath, tempted to tell him what I was going to do Under the Bridge, but there was no need. It would just put him at risk. “They’ll get him, Indy. Then you’ll be in school getting those A’s.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

  Kimberly Lawson and I stood across the street from the arena. Badger—along with giving the three of us the T-shirts he had made—had set us up with extra boards, shrugging and telling us that if we were going to represent the Hole in the Wall, we’d better do it with some sort of style. I looked up at the huge building. “Well, here we are.”

  She smiled, then took my hand in hers, squeezing. “My parents are coming.” I looked at her.

  She nodded. “I told them I was dating a soon-to-be-pro skater.”

  I frowned. “I’m sure they were thrilled.”

  “My mom had a fit because she’s sure you’re a criminal, but my dad …” She paused, smiling.

  “What?”

  “He told me that the only thing that mattered
was that I was happy. He wants to meet you.”

  “Wow.”

  “I know. I think he realized after I quit the violin that I lived my life around them. Either that or he’s scared to death I’m serious about you.”

  I led her across the street. “I say let him be scared.”

  She laughed. “I say there’s nothing to be scared of. He’ll see that today.” Then she turned to me. “Look for me, huh? I’ll be waving a big banner with Tate Brooks Rocks on it.”

  I kissed her then, and it wasn’t a goodbye kiss. It was a great kiss. A fantastic one. One that I never wanted to end. “We’ll see you.”

  She smiled. “Excited?”

  I looked at the building. “Crapping my pants, actually.”

  She laughed again. “You can do it, street boy. I know you can.” Then she was gone, walking across the street and around the corner.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

  “Tate Brooks. Hole in the Wall.” I showed my registration ticket to the lady at the rear entrance, then looked around for the crew. The loading area of the arena was full of semitrucks, drivers, security, roadies, and a small group of pro skaters who, true to their nature, took turns dropping in off a loading dock, their boards clattering as they hit the pavement.

  The lady checked my name off a list, handed me a plastic ALL-ACCESS SKATER pass with my name on it, and opened the door. She smiled. “Good luck.”

  “Thank you.” I looped the pass over my neck and walked down a hall to the staging area. People milled around, and a kid—probably thirteen and wearing a RESTRICTED ACCESS sticker—ran under a rope barrier and up to me, a board in one hand and a black marker in the other.

  He held out the pen, excitement in his eyes. “Sign it for me, please?”

  I looked at his board. “I’m not—”

  “Please? I can’t go over there.” He pointed toward some offices, where four or five pro skaters sat on black metal road bins.