Over My Head (Wildlings)

by de Lint, Charles

  I know Des wants to hang around to see if we can tell what's happening inside, maybe talk with Cory when he comes back out, but I'm done. He hesitates as I push my way out of the hedge and start to walk away, but a moment later he's scrambling along after me.

  "Hey, slow down," he says, looking back over his shoulder. "Do you want Solana's tracker to show you motoring along at the speed of a car?"

  "Good point. Sorry."

  "Nobody seems to be following us," he adds when he's facing front again.

  "He doesn't have to."

  "GPS. Right. Dude, this is so messed up."

  "The Feds are just like the elders," I say. "They want something from me, but I can't figure out what it is."

  "At least you can just ask Auntie Min. She seems pretty straight-up to me, in a roundabout kind of way."

  He grins and I nod. You could say the same thing about Agents Solana and Matteson, but the truth is, I don't trust any of them.

  "We both know what Auntie Min wants from me," I say.

  "Poster boy," Des says with a smile in his voice.

  I pretend I didn't hear him.

  We wander out of Erik's neighbourhood and cross Ocean Avenue. There we turn south and head to where the pier juts out into the ocean. Our houses are just a few blocks past it. We're in no hurry and we've done this before, but usually Marina's with us as we take a late-night ramble through town. We all like it, but I think she likes it the best. The dark empty streets, the sound of the waves carrying farther than they ever do in the day.

  I can't wait for her to not be grounded anymore. Not that it would make any difference for this kind of thing, but just seeing her at school's not enough. We need some normal time to get things back on track. We don't get to play music, we don't get to hang out or have movie marathons where Des pulls out all his old horror and kung fu movies. Nothing's the same and I miss her—how we used to be.

  I hunch my shoulders and keep on walking. We're almost at the parking lot when I first hear the rumble of an engine. I've heard that particular engine before. Everybody in Santa Feliz knows the sound of Trucho Salazar's red and yellow '48 Hudson with its flamed paint job and pimped exhaust. People stopped complaining about it a long time ago because Trucho is Fat Boy Zaragoza's lieutenant, and Fat Boy runs the Riverside Kings. People who talk out of turn about them tend to have bad things happen.

  They don't usually cause trouble on this side of the Pacific Coast Highway, but that doesn't stop them from cruising through. I think they do it to piss off the Ocean Avers. Some of the younger Kings—the ones that can be bothered—even attend Sunny Hill High.

  Des doesn't hear the car yet. We could take off, but we're out in the open and he can't run like I can. They'd spot him. Maybe they'd do nothing, but you never know with the gangs—and that includes the Ocean Avers as well as the Kings.

  There's no way I'd leave him behind.

  "Just look at the ground," I tell him. "Keep walking and don't look around."

  "Why?" he asks, but then he hears it, too. "Oh, dude. We are so screwed."

  "They'll probably just drive by."

  Except they don't. A moment later, the Hudson pulls up beside us.

  "Hey, putos," a voice calls from the car. "How come you're not holding hands?"

  Crap.

  Des turns to me. "Dude, tell me you're not going to let them beat us up."

  Chaingang

  Here's how I roll: I run into a problem, I deal with it. End of story. So this crap with the dude who killed Lenny is really getting under my skin.

  Maybe it wouldn't be so bad if I didn't come back from my ride to find J-Dog with his panties in such a twist. As soon as I see the state he's worked himself into, I realize I shouldn't have even tried going to school. I should have stayed at the clubhouse to ride herd on him because now he's had the whole day to fix his hate on the Riverside Kings for killing Lenny.

  Now, if the RKs really had anything to do with it, I'd be the first to saddle up and lay some hurt down in the barrio. But I know for a fact they didn't. Trouble is, I can't explain how I know. J-Dog doesn't know I'm a Wildling—none of the gang does—and I can't talk about the psycho killer without something bad happening to Grandma or Marina. What I do know is that an all-out war with the Kings isn't going to solve anything. The only thing a war will do is make my job that much harder.

  After a couple of hours of intense arguing, I finally manage to talk him out of retaliating, or at least convince him to wait for a bit to see how it plays out. Hopefully that will buy me enough time to sort out this kill-Josh shit.

  It's almost sundown and I step outside to watch the last rays leak from the sky on the horizon. There's a good breeze coming from the hills behind me. I'm thinking of texting Marina when I hear the front door of the main ranch house bang open and there's J-Dog with a sawed-off shotgun dangling from one hand.

  "Where the hell are you going with that?" I ask.

  "It's no big deal, bro. I just ain't waiting to lay some retribution on the Kings."

  "Yeah, it is. We've just been through why that would be a bad idea."

  I see that look come into his eyes. It's like crazy just comes sliding out from somewhere in his brain and settles there.

  "You trying to stop me?" he asks.

  His voice is low and dangerous, and it doesn't matter anymore that I'm his brother.

  "Depends," I say, keeping my voice calm. "If that's what it takes to stop you from dragging us into an all-out gang war, then yeah."

  "You saw what they did to Lenny," he says, but the fires are banking a little in his eyes.

  I can't believe we have to go through all of this again.

  "Jesus, will you think for a moment," I say. "You don't even know for sure that it was the Kings. If they had done it, they'd have laid claim by now. Something's not right. They're not that stupid. And we shouldn't be, either."

  "Are you saying I'm stupid?"

  The crazy starts to shine a little brighter again.

  I sigh. So far, we've had this conversation in front of a half-dozen of the boys. He needs to keep face. I get that.

  "Let's you and me take a little walk," I say. "Have us a quiet word."

  "It's not going to change anything."

  "Hey, I know that. But hear me out."

  I head off to the junkyard behind my crib. Used to be a nice field, but we've been here a couple of years now. Guys buy a ride for parts and the leftover pieces just pile up back here. Cars, vans, but mostly bikes in various states of disrepair. Some Jap bikes, but it's mostly old Harleys and Indians.

  I don't look back as I go, but I don't have to. I can imagine the shrug J-Dog would give the guys. Now I can hear his footsteps in the dirt. I settle on the bumper of an old Ford truck—'46, maybe '47. I can't tell them apart the way I can bikes.

  "So talk," J-Dog says when he reaches me.

  I shake a smoke loose from a pack I snagged in the clubhouse earlier. I don't smoke, but I learned in juvie that cigarettes almost always ease tension. I don't mean the actual nicotine. It's more the ritual of offering the other guy a smoke, sharing a light.

  I stick one in my mouth. J-Dog hesitates a moment when I hold the pack up to him. He sighs and takes the cigarette from me. Pulling his Zippo from his pocket, he lights his own, then mine. He takes a long drag before he sits beside me and leans the shotgun up against the bumper.

  We don't say anything until we finish the smokes.

  "So you're set on this," I finally say.

  J-Dog shrugs. "What am I supposed to do? Only the Kings'd have the cojones to pull this kind of crap. We're not talking about some asshole taking a joyride through our territory. They killed Lenny, man. The thing I can't get around is why the hell you're not leading this run against him."

  Now that I've got him away from the others, I can level with him a little.

  "I can tell you for a fact they didn't do it," I say.

  He turns to give me a sharp look. "You know who did?"

  "
Yeah, but this guy's so far out of our league, it'd be like going up against a rocket launcher with nothing but a straw and a spitball."

  J-Dog's eyes darken.

  "You knew," he says, his voice soft and dangerous, "and you kept it to yourself?"

  I nod. "Because it's not gang business."

  "You saying Lenny wasn't an Ocean Aver?"

  I didn't want to be telling him any of this, but I don't see a choice. There's either going to be a gang war, or J-Dog's going to aim the gang at the old-school Wildling freak. If that happens, I don't think anybody will be walking away.

  "No, bro," I tell him. "I'm just saying that's not all he was."

  "You going to start making sense any time soon?"

  "Lenny was a Wildling."

  "Yeah, right."

  "Him dying had nothing to do with the Avers," I go on. "It was a message to me."

  J-Dog doesn't say anything for a long moment.

  "This dude was sending you a personal message?" he finally asks.

  I nod.

  "And killing Lenny was the message?" He studies me like he's trying to look inside my head before he adds, "Anything else you want to tell me?"

  I know what he's thinking. He's waiting for me to spell it out, but I'm not going there.

  "This is Wildlings business," I say instead. "Stay out of it."

  His features go still and that light starts to glimmer in his eyes.

  "Lenny was one of us," he says. There's steel in his voice. "You're one of us. That makes it my business."

  I shake my head. "Play this one smart, Jason. Let me deal with it."

  "That right, Theodore? You want me to roll over and play dead for you?"

  "I said be smart. This guy could break you in two without even trying."

  "That a fact?" J-Dog gets to his feet. "And I suppose you can take me, too?"

  I stand up so I don't have to look up at him. Soon as I'm on my feet he takes a swing at me. I catch his fist without even thinking and hold it. The veins pop out on his forehead as he strains to push through, but I won't give. His left hand comes in for a kidney punch and I grab that one, too.

  "I don't know if I can or I can't," I tell him. "But why would I want to?"

  J-Dog's not as big as me, but he's always been that much stronger, that much faster. Then I became a Wildling and everything changed, except he didn't know it and I never had to put it to the test until now. He puts all he's got into breaking loose and he can't move an inch.

  "Okay, then," he says.

  He goes slack, smiles, like he's giving in. But I know better.

  As soon as I let go, he comes at me. This time I pop him one. I try not to hit him too hard, but it still flings him back onto the hood of the truck. He slides toward the ground. His eyes aren't completely focused, but his hand still reaches for where he set down the shotgun. I kick it out of his reach. He goes all the way down until he's sitting on his ass in the dirt, glaring at me. I know he's just waiting for his moment. First chance he gets, he'll be on me.

  "Don't do this," I say. "I'm still an Aver and you're still the boss. But I've got other responsibilities now. You need me to back you up, I'm there to back you up. But not in this. I've got to deal with Lenny's killer on my own. He finds out you or anybody knows and more people close to me are going to start turning up dead, starting with Grandma."

  The crazy in his eyes goes hot.

  "You're just letting this freak—"

  "I'm not letting anything, bro. All I know is he's so much stronger than me I might as well walk up and let him put a bullet in my head. I can't take him down. But I'm working on getting an edge. I don't need to be distracted by a war with the Kings. And I don't need to guard my back against my own brother because you think I won some pissing match. You understand?"

  The crazy goes down a few notches. Now he's just angry, and maybe it's not at me.

  "Can I get up?" he says.

  I sigh and offer him a hand. Before he can pull himself up, I jerk him to his feet. He tries to stay cool, but I can see his eyes widen a fraction. He's starting to get an idea now of just how fast and strong I am.

  "I need you on my side," I tell him, "and the best way you can help right now is to lay off the Kings and give me some space. If I figure out a way you can do more, trust me, I'll ask."

  He takes a steadying breath.

  "Okay," he says. "I get it. But why don't we just shoot him? Get him in a crossfire and he goes down, end of story."

  "Honestly, I don't know if bullets are going to do the trick."

  "Come on. Didn't some Wildling girl get herself shot dead with a .22 a couple of weeks ago?"

  "Yeah. But this guy's something else again. I don't know what he is, but if he even suspects I'm playing him, he'll be going after Grandma, and then you, and there's not a damn thing I can do to stop him. Yet."

  "You've got a plan?

  "First I need some intel and I'm working on that. And Jason? Nobody can know—about any of this."

  "I get it."

  J-Dog dusts himself off. He gives me a glance as he retrieves his shotgun. I act like it's no big deal, but I'm watching him carefully. He makes a point of picking it up by the barrel, keeping his fingers away from the trigger guard.

  "What about the boys?" he asks.

  I know what he means. If we step out where they can see us and he calls off the strike against the Kings, he loses face.

  "We get back where they can see us," I say, "you just tell me that I better come up with some real proof, then give me a shot in the head to make your point."

  He grins.

  "With your fist, not that" I add, pointing at the gun.

  "Hey, I'm not going to shoot my own little brother. But I am going to enjoy this."

  And he does. I ride his fist and let myself fall, but the truth is, my head's ringing and I see a few stars before I get up off the ground. J-Dog's already walking back to the clubhouse, shotgun tapping against his leg. The other guys look away. The last thing anybody wants to do is get involved in one of our arguments.

  Now it's my turn to dust off my jeans. I stand there and watch the guys file into the clubhouse.

  I want to be out doing something, but I don't know where to turn. I need to talk to Marina, see what she's learned from Auntie Min, but I have to wait for her to call me. In the end, I go back into my crib to catch some shut-eye. Once things start moving, I might not get the chance again for a while.

  Patience is something else I learned in juvie.

  I can tell by the sound of the birds outside that it's almost dawn when my door opens. I don't have to use my nose to know it's J-Dog. Nobody else would just walk into my crib except for Lenny, and Lenny's dead. I sit up on the couch where I've been sleeping. J-Dog's holding my cellphone in his hand. It must've fallen out of my pocket when he punched me. No wonder I haven't heard from Marina.

  J-Dog sits on the coffee table, right in front of me.

  "Who's Vincenzo?" he asks.

  "Don't have a clue."

  He tosses me the phone. "This girl thinks he's our guy—she one of your people?" he asks when I don't say anything.

  I sigh. "You know how when you get busted, you don't give up any names, you just do your time?"

  He nods. He's probably thinking of how I took the fall for him on that carjacking and saved him from going to a real prison instead of my going to juvie.

  "It's like that," I tell him. "So whatever you see or hear—you and me—that's as far as it goes."

  "Okay."

  There's no crazy in his eyes, but they're focused sharply on me.

  "So what kind of Wildling are you?" he asks.

  He frowns when I don't answer.

  "Okay," he says again. "Can you at least tell me what you're planning to do now? I can't have your back if I don't know where you're at."

  "I'm going to get in touch with this guy named Cory—he knows all the old-school Wildlings."

  J-Dog's brow goes up. "Say what?"

&nb
sp; "There were animal people around long before kids started changing here," I tell him. "Probably right back to the beginning of time."

  "You're shitting me."

  I shake my head.

  "So where's this Cory hang out?"

  "I can't contact him directly—don't even know how. I'll get Marina to do that." I tap my phone as I speak so he knows who I'm talking about. "Vincenzo—if that's the guy—he's keeping sharp tabs on me. He can't see me talking to any of his people."

  "Who are also your people."

  I shrug. "It's like anything else. You're tight with some, others—not so much."

  "I still want a shot at this guy."

  "If I can make that happen, you'll get one."

  "What's he want from you?" J-Dog asks.

  I knew this was coming and I don't quite know how to field it. I settle for, "He wants me to kill a friend and make it look like it was done by a regular human. He doesn't want any blowback on him."

  "But you're not going to do it."

  J-Dog knows me well. But I've been thinking on this and I give him an honest answer.

  "I don't want to," I tell him, "but if it comes down to my friend or Grandma, I don't really have a choice, do I?"

  J-Dog nods. He gets up and gives me a serious look.

  "We'll just have to make sure it doesn't come to that," he says.

  Then he gives my shoulder a light punch and heads for the door. I send a text to Marina asking her to get hold of Cory to see what he can tell us. I hesitate a moment, then add she can tell him whatever she wants, just make sure he knows to keep his mouth shut.

  I have this weird urge to flirt with her—no, it's more than that. I want to tell her how I'm feeling.

  Crap. I don't want to come across like a wuss. Before I can change my mind, I just press Send.

  I grab a shower. I don't have any appetite, but I eat breakfast anyway. I might be needing the fuel. Then I head for school.

  Josh

  Normally the Riverside Kings don't start trouble in this part of town. But it's late and let's face it, walking along on our own this time of night, Des and I are like a couple of sitting ducks just waiting for someone to take a shot. When I turn to the car, I see Trucho behind the wheel. I recognize two of the others from Sunny Hill: Lil' Puppet, who's riding shotgun, and Gordo Lopez—no relation to Marina—directly behind Trucho. There's somebody else in the back on the driver's side, but I can't make out their features.