by Kira Blakely
“You know what. You’re horning in on my action, and I don’t like it.”
What was Gerald talking about? “No clue what action you are referring to,” Ashton said.
“Then how come I hear it all over the block that you’re doing lookouts for Pete?” The words came out of Gerald’s sneering mouth and hit the air. “Everyone knows this is my dad’s block, and nobody gets to creep in here and work.”
That was true. Pete paid well. Ashton didn’t have to carry or sell dope. He just had to watch the end of the street, check out the cars that didn’t usually cruise through, and use a walkie-talkie to let Pete know when a car that looked like it held a narc was headed down to the little corner where Pete did his street business.
It was easy money, but he’d known going in he might get caught up in a street feud between Pete and Gerald’s dad, and it seemed that he already had.
Ashton knew he should lie his head off and try to walk. But he didn’t. His mouth blasted off. “Your dad’s slipping. Nobody wants to buy what he’s peddling, because he’s too busy doing too much of his own product. Then he cuts whatever he doesn’t put up his own nose so he can still sell some. That’s bad business, yo.”
Jackson groaned. “Wow man, you should’ve just kept your fucking mouth shut.”
Yeah. He should have. Gerald closed in, arms already swinging. Ashton ducked the flying fists aimed at his face easily enough. His fist went right to where he knew it would do the most damage: Gerald’s balls. His other fist landed right on the point of Gerald’s chin.
Gerald didn’t go down though. Jackson sailed in as one of Gerald’s buddies tried to make it a two-on-one fight, and soon the two were fighting wildly and losing badly. Blood spilled down Ashton’s forehead, getting into his eyes and stinging hard. It impaired his vision, and he had to wipe it away, but when he did, he had to stop swinging on Gerald who was still punching and kicking so hard that Ashton’s body could barely absorb each blow.
He saw Jackson go down just as Gerald landed a hard blow in the center of Ashton’s gut. Ashton doubled over. That was bad enough. The cop cars pulling down the street was even worse.
The cops jumped out of the car. Ashton didn’t fight it and neither did Jackson. The cops had itchy fingers, something everyone knew. They’d shoot or tase or work a guy over with the business end of the baton just for the sheer hell of it.
The cop holding Gerald slammed him head first onto the hood of the car. The resounding ‘gong’ would have made Ashton happy if he hadn’t just realized the seriousness of the situation.
Gerald was holding.
The drugs – seven or eight baggies of assorted illicit things – came out of Gerald’s pockets and landed on the hood. Ashton, on the opposite side of the car, could practically count the felonies stacking up as each bag joined the others.
He hadn’t started that fight, not in the practical sense, but he had in the only sense that the street would care about.
He’d worked for a guy who’d been horning in on Gerald’s dad, and of course Gerald had had to jump him.
Nobody would say Gerald should have emptied his pockets first, either.
All of this was going to be pinned on his shoulders, and Ashton knew it.
Gerald was going down hard unless he ratted out his supplier – his dad – and no way was he doing that. Gerald was eighteen, so he was stuck in that adult collar now.
Gerald lifted his head and sent a vicious grin Ashton’s way. “I’m going to kill you for this one. Just you wait.”
The cop jerked Gerald up and said, “Well, he’ll be waiting a mighty long time, bud. You’re on your way to the big house. Him? He’s juvie bound.”
Just perfect.
Gerald had plenty of friends in juvie, too, and they both knew it.
Jackson, who’d never been in trouble before, made bail and swore that he’d try to get Ashton out of there.
Ashton had told him not to bother. He already had a record anyway, and there was no way he was getting out. He was shackled again and led to the van that would take him to the center. He kept his head up despite the fear and worry nagging at him.
He landed at the Bedford, a notoriously bad juvenile detention hall. Intake was hellish, and by the time he was in a uniform and being led down the tiered walks that led to the cells, he already knew he was in for some hard time.
He’d do it, but he would be damned if he would do it lying down.
His cell was in the center, in full view of the other tiers. All the doors were open just then. The school hours were over, and young boys and older teens sat around on their bunks, watching him with wary eyes.
His roommate was a small and skinny guy with a nervous habit of ducking low and not meeting Ashton’s eye. The first five minutes in that cell told Ashton he’d find no ally in his bunkmate.
He was right. He’d barely unrolled the thin mattress and sheets across the steel ledge that served as a bed frame before three dudes walked in.
Ashton recognized one of them immediately – a guy from the block who ran weed and dope for Gerald’s dad. He called himself Speedy for a lot of reasons, and the twitch in his jaw told its own tale. He was sixteen and already drying out and doing time. In other words, he was one bad dude, and he was loyal to both Gerald and his dad.
And news traveled fast.
“Get out,” Speedy said to Ashton’s new roommate.
The guy didn’t even bother saying a word. He just bolted. Speedy and his buddies crammed into the cell.
Speedy said, “I hear you got my boy jammed up and locked down.”
Jammed up meaning arrested; locked down meaning in jail.
Ashton was exhausted. His whole body hurt from the earlier beating, and naturally, nobody had considered sending him to a doctor.
He didn’t answer. He ran at Speedy full force. His shoulder hit Speedy, and they went flying back out of the cell. What happened next would make sure Ashton was left alone for the rest of his stay there, but it would also end with him in the infirmary for two months.
Ashton used his legs like pistons. He shouted, “You want to die? Is that what you’re saying? Then let’s do it! Hell, I’ll kill myself to take you out!”
Speedy tried to grab the rail, but Ashton hoisted a knee into the other boy’s groin, and then he backed off just to run forward again. His hands grabbed Speedy’s uniform shirt, and momentum carried them forward. Ashton dug deep, knowing what he was doing was stupid and that he really might die for his troubles but also knowing that if he got lucky and didn’t die, he’d have a much easier time.
He was all in, because he had no choice.
“What are you doing?” Speedy’s shouts were frantic now as their bodies met the rail, and Speedy grabbed at it, fear showing on his face.
His buddies had melted away. Clearly, they had not planned on Ashton being a psycho, and they sure hadn’t planned on getting involved in what could potentially turn into death.
Ashton answered with a grim, “Testing your loyalty. You ready to die for Gerald? Because if you come at me, you’d better be.”
He shoved hard again, his feet digging into the cold concrete and they went over the railing, tumbling toward the floor three stories below them.
Speedy screamed all the way down.
They hit the floor below, bones meeting concrete. Ashton’s fall was slightly broken by Speedy’s thin body, but the shock reverberated through him so hard his teeth met together and the taste of blood filled his mouth. An awful snapping sound boomed across the common room that they had fallen into. Pain shot up through Ashton’s body, and blackness wavered on the edges of his vision.
Speedy, pinned and hurt below Ashton, screamed, “No, man! I got nothing for Gerald! Nothing, man!”
It wasn’t done yet. As soon as they healed up, Speedy might rethink that, unless he had something to remind him why he shouldn’t.
Summoning up all his fading strength, Ashton lifted his head and drove his skull into Speedy’s face,
hearing the satisfying crunch of bones and seeing blood before finally passing out.
When he woke, he was in the infirmary. A doctor stood over him, and Ashton’s wrists were neatly cuffed to the bed rails. The doctor said, “I hope you’re proud of yourself. You came close to killing that boy.”
That boy was a speed junkie and a dealer known to carry guns and pistol whip anyone who got in his way. Ashton didn’t bother saying so. The doctor would go home to his nice house and wash his hands and face and pretend that his day was just a long series of patients who weren’t already hardened criminals. The speech was probably just one more way he managed to live with himself.
The doctor added, “I hear they’re tacking more time onto your sentence, too.”
Well, so what? At least in there he would have one guarantee: he wouldn’t have to pack up and move again until he was eighteen.
He was eighteen and free. Granted, free just meant he was taken to the front of the youth detention center, given his stuff, and sent down the road. But either way, he was done.
There was no sense in going back to Candy and Brody’s place. Jackson had told the cops that Gerald and his guys had jumped them. They’d gone to jail, too, for the drugs and weapons in their pockets. Jackson’s mom had gotten up the money to pay the fines that kept Ashton locked up, and it was Jackson who was waiting to pick Ashton up when he stepped out of the center.
Jackson asked, “So do you have a plan?”
Ashton winced. He’d hoped Dawson would be able to show up to spring him, but Dawson was working too many jobs while trying to keep his own head above water. “No. I got some money in the bank, but that’s about it.”
“I got into a tech school, and I got a job at a lawn company out there in Lake Crescent,” Jackson said.
Ashton whistled. “Wow, man! Those houses cost in the millions.”
Jackson said, “I know, and you should see the yards. Hey, my boss was just saying he could use a good helper to push a mower. You willing?”
“Does it pay?”
Jackson said, “Define pay. I mean yeah, but it’s not great.”
“Not great beats no money at all. Hey, can you run me by the bank and then over to that little apartment complex – you know the one, over by that auto parts store.”
“Sure. Why?”
“They rent by the week, man.” And he had maybe enough money for two. He shifted in the seat. “I might need a ride to work for a while, too, until I can get one of my own.”
“No problem.” Jackson said, and headed for the apartments.
Three years later, Ashton climbed out of a bed, watching as a woman dressed carefully. Not much had changed. Now the women he bedded were as toned, taut, and carefully honed down to the perfect weight and style as the diamonds on their fingers. Their sheets were silk or satin, and their husbands paid the bill for the ‘services’ that Ashton provided.
He still pushed a mower for his boss, but now he also took fast breaks with the lady of the house during working hours, too. Nobody noticed. Or, if they did, they didn’t say anything.
“Let me give you a tip, sweetheart.”
The words hunched his shoulders. He hated feeling like a gigolo. He wasn’t really in it for the money; he liked sleeping with them. The power they held was intoxicating, and he liked to pretend it was his house, his lawn, and his beautiful wife that he was with, but as always that fantasy crashed down around Ashton’s ears as soon as slender fingers bearing rings loaded down with precious stones extended a couple hundred dollars in his direction. “Yeah, thanks.”
That house had a ten-acre lawn. A quick glance out the window showed the rest of the crew getting closer to the section he was supposed to be working. Ashton bounded out of the room and grabbed the mower, cranking it and pushing fast. Sweat had gathered on his bare and wide chest earlier, and it started to gather again as he pushed hard under the thick and heavy sun.
Jackson jogged up. “You’ll never believe what just happened.”
Ashton didn’t stop working. He had work to catch up on. “What?”
“I got into the game design program! The one I told you about!”
Ashton’s spirits sank again. Jackson was a good guy, and he was fun to party with. He was also great as a wingman, especially since Dawson was still busting his ass and working too many hours to really party. “So, you’re out of here, huh?”
“Yeah.” Jackson’s forehead screwed up. “I have to get out of here to be anyone at all. You should think about getting out of here, too, you know. I mean, you’re going to get caught banging these women eventually and dude, what Gerald did was something you can fight. You can’t fight a pissed off rich guy.”
Ashton sighed inwardly. Jackson was right on that last bit. The only way to fight a rich guy was to be richer than he was. He was nowhere near rich. He still lived in that crappy apartment, still worked hard at menial jobs, and the money he got as ‘tips’ went into a bank account that grew steadily but way too slowly.
“I can’t leave here, but I’m going to get a different job.”
Jackson said, “Yeah, you might want to do it fast, too. I think Tony’s on to you.” Tony was their boss.
Ashton said, “I vote we go out tonight and celebrate our asses off. You in?”
“Sure,” Jackson grinned.
They did go out, and Jackson did leave. Ashton got another job, selling used cars at a small lot in a low-income section of town. He kept working and time kept passing. He moved out of that first apartment and into another one. He partied hard. The women came easy, and so did the good times, but Ashton often felt like he was just wasting time and getting by but not really living at all.
Jackson came back and, after a night spent drinking, Ashton said, “Man, you know what would be awesome?”
“Don’t say more alcohol,” Jackson slurred. “I’m going to be fighting this hangover until Monday morning.”
Ashton, so drunk his head reeled, blurted out, “What if you could skip the bar?”
Jackson managed to give him a slightly unfocused stare. “You can. Go buy a few bottles and a six pack and get drunk at home.”
Ashton rolled his eyes. “That’s not what I mean at all.”
“No? Then what do you mean?”
Ashton stared at the mess in the apartment. They’d picked up a couple of women the night before, and there was a lacy bra draped across his battered coffee table, someone’s socks on the floor, a bunch of bottles, and a cup one of the women had used as an ashtray now filled with cigarette butts. An idea was forming behind the thundercloud of his headache, but he couldn’t quite focus in on it.
Jackson said, “Hey, you really want a different job? There’s a sales position opening in the company and you’d be great at it, but you’re going to need some basic tech know-how.”
“So, teach me.” Ashton’s mind stayed on that forming idea even as he spoke. There was something there, right behind the front part of his brain and on the tip of his tongue, but he couldn’t quite figure out what it was.
“No way, dude. You actually have to have credentials. You can take the classes for free if you get a grant, so go down to the community college and apply.”
“I hate school.”
“It’s not like high school. It’s way cooler. Besides, the job pays three times what you’re making now.”
He put the idea out of his head for the moment. On Monday afternoon, he went down to the community college and signed up for a course. He hadn’t expected to like it. He hadn’t expected to do well, and he was pleasantly surprised when he did both.
He was even happier when he got the sales job. No more selling old cars dressed up to look nice, no more selling cellphones in kiosks, and no more crummy jobs that came with no salary and no benefits.
The company was a large one, and he had to keep adding to his education to stay ahead of the game and make sure he could answer questions posed to him by prospective or even current clients. He had to spend his own money to
attend those classes, but he didn’t resent either the cost or the time. In fact, he liked it a great deal.
After he landed a large account and the large bonus that came with it, Ashton and Jackson went out partying again. But that time, the idea that Ashton had first thought of several years before was wholly formed, and rather than stay at the bar and pick up women, he and Jackson went to Ashton’s place and created an app.
It was intended as a joke – a little drunken prank. But they launched it that same night, and the next day, they were looking at revenue in the thousands of dollars.
Jackson, pale from excitement and too much alcohol, asked, “Dude, what do we do?”
“We need help. If we ask for help at the company, they might scream it’s theirs because we work there.” Ashton ran his hands through his hair, mussing it further.
“Dawson,” Jackson said, snapping his fingers.
“Exactly. I’ll call him.”
Six months later, Ashton was the boss of a successful company he co-owned with Jackson. The app was one of the most popular in the world. Ashton woke up in the mornings no longer feeling empty and cold. He woke up with a grin, eager to start the day. His nights weren’t filled with an endless succession of drinks lined on a bar and women whose names he couldn’t remember, either. They were filled with plans and ideas. He bought a huge apartment in the hip section of the city and a fast sports car. For the first time, he didn’t have to worry about money, and he liked it.
Then, Jackson got an offer to sell. They fought over that offer, but Jackson was adamant. He wanted to use his share of the money to finally create the video games he loved so much – video games he was sure would make him not just the millionaire the app and its sale would make him, but a billionaire.
Ashton eventually gave in. Jackson’s dream was so big, and the amount on the check so shockingly large that Ashton couldn’t see a way to say no.
He thought he’d be happy, but as it turned out, he wasn’t.
His whole reason for happiness had been that success, and now he was barely treading water. He was thirty-one years old, and he felt washed up and useless.