by J. N. Chaney
I clenched my teeth, shifting my grip on him, then slid to the side as I deflected his fall. The grip of the gun hit the mud next to my head. I twisted around him as he struggled to right himself, wrapped my arm around his neck, and held onto his whole body. “Sorry, Marcus,” I said, reaching inside his helmet for a piece of the visor, cutting my fingers in the process. “Ain’t never had much in the way of dignity.”
I pulled my hand up, then slammed it down in the soft spot between his neck and chest piece, digging the shard as far in as possible, and then twisted.
Brigham screamed, trying to get away from me, flailing his arms like he’d lost his mind.
But it was no use. He couldn’t carry my weight, not with the armor keeping him down, and not with a piece of glass in his neck.
I pulled the shard out, then stuck him again with it, this time on the other side. I decided to leave it there, focusing instead of the strength of my grip around his neck.
Brigham wheezed, both his hands on my arm as I choked the rage out of him. Choked the hate out. Choked the godsdamn soul out.
He strained, a scream caught in his throat as he tried to breathe.
But the real fight was done. Every elbow to my ribs was less forceful, every grunt a little softer, until we came to it at last—the final gasp of the man who’d dedicated himself to ending me.
I felt his whole body go still and empty, his arms falling into the mud.
I let go, rolling away from him.
The rain hit my face as I lay shaking, and at last I felt the pain in my chest from the bullet wound. It burned like fire, and my breathing grew faster, shallower. I could barely see straight.
And the rain was so cold.
“S-Siggy, tell Abby to…get a ship,” I said, finding each word more difficult than the last. The light around me was fading rapidly. “I think I’m…I’m think I’m gonna…sleep…”
Eighteen
Lawrence took a long drag off his cigarette as we sat crouched outside the Fix-It Garage, his eyes steady on the side window as Prisby helped Matty climb into the building.
We’d cased this place for nearly a month, mostly in-between other jobs. The owner had a safe with forty thousand credits in it, all physical chips. It was tough to find someone paranoid enough to stick that many creds in a box. Most people, even criminals, trusted the banks to store their money electronically, especially on Epsy where the crime rate was higher than average.
Eddie Flint, the owner of this particular establishment, was convinced the entire financial system was about to go belly-up. He spent his nights drinking at the local bar, shouting his apocalyptic beliefs to anyone who’d listen. On one such night, he’d made the mistake of telling those beliefs to Jesson Bishop, our parole officer by day and crew leader by night.
Since then, we’d made it a point to watch this place a little at a time, checking Flint’s routine and following him around town to see where he’d be and when he’d return. As it turned out, even the most spontaneous people still operate on some kind of routine. Jesson liked to say that it was hardwired into us, and if you watched a person long enough, you could learn to predict them, almost like a fortune teller.
Eddie Flint woke up every day at around seven in the morning, sometimes eight, and usually still drunk. Starting at nine, he worked in his garage for eight hours, sobering up in the process, and left at around five. Most nights, he didn’t come home until midnight, unless he had a commission due the next morning. If that happened, he spent the night working with a beer in his hand, killing two birds with a single stone.
“I hope this doesn’t take too long,” said Lawrence. “I’ve gotta be home before my mom gets back from work.”
“Who’s watching the other kids?” I asked.
“Danny told me he could do it if I got him ice cream. He’s at the house right now, but the kids are asleep. All he’s gotta do is sit there and wait for me.”
“Easiest ice cream he’ll ever earn,” I said.
Lawrence chuckled, sending pockets of smoke into the air with each laugh.
We were quiet for a while, staring at the house in the distance, waiting. Lawrence fiddled with some nearby trash, after a moment, unable to keep himself still. He’d always had a bad habit of doing that, like he couldn’t stay focused, but tonight he seemed even more restless.
“You okay?” I asked, when I saw he wasn’t sitting still.
“Fine,” he answered, but didn’t stop with the trash. “Hey, look at this. There’s something under this rag.”
“What is it?” I asked.
He lifted the cloth up and tossed it behind him, then reached on the ground, bringing up a small toy. A doll with its head and arms ripped off.
I laughed. “Gross.”
He tossed it behind him and continued digging. “Hold on. Got another one.”
I leaned forward. “What is it?”
“Looks like…” He raised an object out of the pile, dusty and grimy, but I could tell it was another doll. “Oh, I think I know this one.”
I watched him wipe away the filth with his sleeve, turning the toy over in his hand. “This is…”
“What?” I asked, trying to get a better view.
He handed it to me. “It’s a Foxy Stardust bobblehead. I haven’t seen one of these since I was a kid.”
I laughed, giving it back to him. “You’re only fourteen, Lawrence.”
“You know what I mean,” he said. “Man, I used to watch this show with my dad.”
“That was before he left?” I asked.
He didn’t answer, just stared at the bobblehead in his hand for what felt like a long time.
I was about to ask if he was okay when he tossed the toy behind him, right beside the rag and broken doll.
He turned back to the house and lit another cigarette, letting out a long drag. He licked his lips, like he was about to say something, but nothing ever came.
And I knew better than to press it.
“Look there,” whispered Lawrence, calling my attention to the window. Prisby gave us the signal that Matty had unlocked the rear door. Lawrence put out his cigarette into the ground. “Time to go.”
As Lawrence eased around the stack of metal sheets we were using as cover, I took the opportunity to reach back and grab the bobblehead, sticking it in my pocket. It was obvious that Lawrence had cared about this silly toy, which meant I should, too. I’d give this to him later, once the job was done, when he wasn’t so worked up. It was the least I could do for all the times he’d had my back.
The two of us dashed through the junkyard, following a path we’d planned out early on, positioned perfectly to avoid detection from the street. “Always know the way in, the way out, and what’s waiting for you when you get inside,” Jesson liked to say. “Only a fool rushes in without knowing what’s ahead.”
Lawrence and I stayed low, moving between the mounds of broken down cars and equipment, staying in the shadows. Prisby was already in the rear of the building, crouched beside the door. We shuffled up to the back of the building, staying out of sight.
“How’s it looking?” asked Lawrence.
Before Prisby could answer, the door cracked open. “All clear, fellas,” said Matty. The little burglar leaned outside and grinned.
Prisby and I went first, followed by Lawrence, filing into the darkened little building in the middle of the slums. Eddie Flint had a reputation for selling drugs to kids, which is how he came to have the money he did. Fix-It was just a cover up to stash the goods. Jesson had no problem with drug dealers. What people did on their own was their business. What he took issue with was the part about the children. Boys coming out of Juvie often found their way to the slums. Before you knew it, they were working for a gang, hooked on purple juice, and dead within a year. Eddie was one of several suppliers around here, and taking him down wouldn’t do much good in the grander scheme of things, but it sure would feel good.
Jesson had told us to check beneath Eddie’s bed
, so we’d check there first.
“It’s here!” exclaimed Matty, the first one under the bed. “Looks like a tough one. Not sure you can handle it, Jace.”
“He can handle it,” said Lawrence, giving me the side-eye. “Right?”
I rolled my eyes. “Of course, I can.”
Lawrence smiled, then nodded. I slid beneath the bed and joined Matty, who backed away so I could see. “Whatcha make of this one, Jacey?”
“Looks like a 2250-X1, but with a carbon backing,” I said, knowing he didn’t understand most of that. I sighed. “Easy business.”
“Whoa,” said Matty, staring at the safe.
“Yeah, check this out,” I said, then reached into my pocket for a Breakout Box. I placed it against the safe and flipped the switch to activate the screen. I’d already had it in standby before we got here, so it was already set to go.
The Breakout Box scanned the safe, quickly examining the five inner locks to give me the correct number associations. The process could take anywhere between thirty seconds to ten minutes, depending on how complex the manufacturer made the locking mechanism.
The 2250-X1 was low-grade trash, sold for pennies at the local general merch store. These were my bread and butter about 90% of the time. The gap between that and the remaining 10% was substantial, but since we almost never ran into them, it wasn’t something I really had to worry about.
Jesson had given me the box a few weeks back, but only because I already knew how to crack safes on my own. Well, some of them. Most needed a scanner to break, which is what I told the crew on my first week. About a month later, Jesson handed me this box and said it should come in handy.
Looking at us now, I’d say he was right.
The screen blinked, which told me it was almost done processing. The numbers appeared right after: 15, 22, 19, 43.
I moved the dial according to the numbers: left, right, left, right.
The safe door popped open with a firm click.
“Nice!” exclaimed Matty. “That never gets old.”
I smiled, proudly. “Pretty cool, huh?” I deactivated the Breakout Box and slid it back inside my pocket.
“I can’t believe Jesson gave you that,” said Matty. “You’re lucky.”
“He said I’ve got a good eye for this stuff,” I bragged.
“Sure do,” agreed Matty. “Now, what do we got in here?”
I reached into the safe and withdrew some paper creds. Six stacks of them, to be exact. “There’s gotta be…” I paused, looking at all the money. “There’s gotta be five thousand creds here!”
“Five thousand?” asked Matty. He reached into the pile and lifted out a stack, fanning through the money, mesmerized by it. “No way!”
“Hey, what’s going on down there?” asked Lawrence.
“Found a bunch of money in here!” said Matty.
“How much?” asked Prisby.
“Jace says five thousand!” said Matty.
“Five thousand?” asked Prisby. He poked his head down beneath the bed. “Seriously?”
“Hey, be quiet,” whispered Lawrence. “I hear something.”
We paused, almost freezing as we tried to hear what Lawrence was talking about. Matty looked at me, raising his brow. He opened his mouth, but then a loud noise came from the other side of the house, like a door slamming.
I jerked, hitting my head on the bottom of the bed. “Quick! Someone’s here!” I snapped. “Grab the money!”
Matty grabbed as much as he could carry and shoveled the credits into a bag. “It’s gotta be Mr. Flint!”
We kicked our way out. Lawrence grabbed us both by the arms to help us up. “I thought you said he wouldn’t be home for a few hours, Prisby,” I whispered.
“I don’t know what happened!” he answered.
We ran to the back of the house. Matty tripped on something as he came barreling in, landing on his face and dropping the bag of money.
Prisby picked it up. “You idiot!”
“Who’s there?!” yelled Flint.
“Quick! We gotta go!” said Lawrence, opening the door. He waited until each of us were out before following.
We booked it through the junkyard, racing between lines of broken vehicles. Flint came out of the house, waving his arms and cursing at us to get our asses back there this instant so he could jam his foot down our throats.
No thanks.
I made it about halfway through the yard when I turned to see where everyone else was. I couldn’t find Lawrence, but Matty was nearly with me, followed by Prisby.
Lawrence was still in the rear, scrambling to stay ahead of Flint, who was flailing his rifle above his head and shouting.
“Hurry!” I yelled to my friends.
Matty flew past me without slowing down. He was the first to reach the back fence, shimmying up the rail and hopping to the other side. Prisby was next, his eyes wide with excitement as he carried a bag full of credits away from the house.
Lawrence was pretty far behind the others, having a hard time getting through the trash piles. He was bigger than the rest of us, and not nearly as fast. “Come on!” I yelled at him, watching as he moved between a couple of four-seater cabs.
Flint was right behind him. He knew his backyard better than any of us, but especially Lawrence, who couldn’t fit through the little nooks and crannies the rest of us could. He was stuck taking the main paths, just like an adult.
Lawrence finally managed to squeeze through the metal and start running. By this point, Flint had lost his patience and took to firing his rifle. A shot blew off and I immediately dropped behind a nearby car. “Holy shit!”
“I gotcha now, you fuckin’ kids!” yelled Flint.
Lawrence came running my way a second later. I took that as a sign that I should do the same, so I snapped to my feet as he passed, taking him by surprise.
“D-Don’t slow down!” he told me, once he realized who I was.
Another shot went off. It hit something in the yard with a loud clink. The sound sent me into overdrive, and I started moving even faster than before, outpacing Lawrence with every step. By the time I reached the fence, he was still some distance behind me.
I went ahead and climbed the fence, wrapping my leg around to the other side and leaning forward. “Come on!” I shouted as Lawrence drew closer.
I let out my hand for him. He was only a few meters away. We were nearly out of this mess.
Another loud crash of thunder as Flint fired his gun. Lawrence reached the fence and took my hand. I felt a firm grip for only a second before it loosened.
He looked up at me, confusion in his eyes. “J-Jace?” he muttered, suddenly having a hard time standing. The strength in his legs seemed to be giving out, and I felt all his weight on my hand at once.
“Lawrence, come on!” I told him. “We have to go! We have to go!”
He touched his chest, pulling blood with his fingers. “I-I can’t feel it…”
I swung my other hand down and grabbed his wrist, then pulled with every bit of strength I had.
But it was no good. Lawrence was too heavy. I couldn’t lift him a meter, let alone the entire fence. I felt so much panic that I could hardly breathe, but I had to do something. Where were Prisby and Matty? Why weren’t they here to help me? Why was I doing this alone?
Another shot from Flint startled me. It hit the fence so close that I felt the vibration on the rail, and I suddenly let go of Lawrence’s hand.
We both fell to the ground, each of us on the opposite side of the fence. I scrambled to my knees, sticking my fingers through the chain links next to where my friend was lying. “Lawrence!” I screamed. “Lawrence, get up!”
But he wasn’t moving. He wasn’t doing anything at all.
* * *
I walked along the sidewalk on my way to the Juvenile Probation Center. It had been a few days since the job in the junkyard. Jesson had told me to stay low for a while, since he had to sort some things out, but I still had to do m
y weekly check-in at his office. It wouldn’t look good if I skipped, and I couldn’t assume Jesson would cover me.
I approached the building, hands in my pocket. I felt the Foxy Stardust bobblehead with my thumb. Despite how stupid I knew it was, I’d kept it on me ever since the job. I just couldn’t bring myself to throw it away.
Someone opened the door as I was about to touch the handle. “Oh, excuse me,” said the man.
I said nothing, scurrying to the side to let him pass.
“Hey,” he said, right as I was about to take the door from him. “You’re one of Jesson’s, right?”
I looked up at him, finally noticing the policeman uniform. “Yes, sir,” I answered. “He’s my P.O.”
“That so?” he asked, sticking his head back inside. “Hey, Jerry, you got another one out here!”
“Another one?” I asked.
“Oh, kid, you didn’t hear?” Jerry asked, crossing his arms behind the front desk. “Your boy Jesson went and hightailed it out of town. Ain’t no one seen him in days.”
I stiffened. “W-What?”
“Yeah, we’ve got an APB out for him right now. The whole station’s looking. They’re saying it’s got something to do with—” He suddenly stopped. “I mean, uh, well, point is, you’re probably getting a new PO now.”
I wasn’t sure how to react to what I was hearing. A new PO? What the hell was even going on? What happened to Jesson?
“Anyway, try to take it easy on whoever they give you. They’ll need a few weeks to get used to the job. That office is a mess.”
“I heard that, Brooks!” shouted Jerry.
Brooks laughed, patting me on the shoulder. “Take care, kid.”
I paused in the doorway, but shook it off. I couldn’t let anyone see how scared this news made me. Surprised, sure, but not scared. Not even shocked. If the police were investigating Jesson, they might make the right connection and then I’d wind up back in a cell, or worse. Gods knew what they did to people who got their friends killed. I was barely still a minor, and it wasn’t uncommon for someone my age to be considered an adult by the courts.
“Come on in, Jace,” motioned Jerry, the secretary at the counter. He’d been working here since I first got out of Juvie. Jesson had assured us that he’d hired him because of how oblivious he seemed, but how could I be sure he didn’t know something?