Anita panted to my right. “Are you sure? I don't think so. My brother's got more sense than to be messing with kids our age.”
“I'm telling the truth! I swear it!”
I didn't doubt what he said for a second. Herschell, much bigger than his thirteen years would suggest, had a real reputation around where we lived for his 'pranks'. Though they weren't pranks at all. In fact they were regularly downright sadistic. His favorite game was to hide in the bushes along the path out of school and tripping up unsuspecting kids when they came running out. He had our junior high running terrified. Everyone counted down the days until he left for high school.
“Boyd!” I shouted from the fence after spotting him leading the first group of kids.
Kenny gripped my arm. “Don't get involved... uhh... Cassie. They're going to fight. It's not a place for a girl. Stay here with me.” Kenny was never the type to get involved in conflict, though I think his crush on me played the bigger part in trying to keep me back. He hated me talking to any boy that wasn't him.
“I've got to,” I told him before turning to Anita. “You've gotta come too. He's your damn brother.”
She rocked on her feet. “Maybe Kenny is--- Hey!”
Before she managed to finish her sentence I gripped her arm and started running.
“Come back, come back!” Kenny shouted behind us when we tore down the path along the fence and ducked through the cut in the wire. “Don't be crazy!”
“Stop pulling so tight!” She cried out from behind me.
But I didn't listen. Dragging her arm half out of its socket, I charged forward to the rowdy scene going on ahead, kicking up dust clouds all the way. All I could think of is how badly Boyd got beat last time.
“...Give it back!” Boyd shouted as I closed in. “You'll hurt her!”
“Do you love your little rat? Is it your girlfriend?” Herschell said with the voice of his that was still half-entering puberty and breaking during every sentence. He stood, his pimply and crater-filled face grinning, with cupped hands held high above his head. “Huh-uhh! Laugh with me guys!”
His friends, if you would call them that, surrounded him. Having got the hint they all laughed out mockingly in unison.
“Give her back!” Boyd roared between clenched teeth. He might have been the younger of the two, though he resembled a lion right then. “One last warning.”
Shaun, a brown haired boy and one of Boyd's closest friends, stepped forward. “Really Herschell, give it back! It's a living animal! I know you're sick, but not that sick!”
The lowlife's grin became even bigger. “I don't understand why you doofuses care about this rat. It's a disgusting pest! I've hated seeing him playing with it all this time. Let me guess... all of you gay for it or something?” Herschell and his gang all burst into laughter again. There were five behind him. I didn't know any of them except by sight, though they were all in eighth grade and, while the two rival groups were evenly matched in numbers, much bigger than the boys in fifth grade Boyd led.
Up until now, I stood off from the center of where this was happening confused and silent without any idea what to do. But I realized I had to do something. Events were spiraling out of control fast, especially when Herschell started shaking his hands. I turned to Anita, “You've got to do something. He's your brother. Are you going to let him hurt it?”
She nodded and confidently stepped towards him with hands on her hips. “Herschell! What are you doing? You can't do that! I'm going to tell mom if you don't give it back right now.”
“Uhh... sis? What the hell are you doing here? Let me guess, Boyd's you write about in your stupid diary that you're in love with?”
Her bottom lip began instantly trembling. He clearly knew where to hurt her.
“...Yeah I read it, shit ass. Gonna try and stop me? Try it. I'll tell everyone here how you peed the bed until you were eight!” He cackled again with laughter, not giving a damn about the secret he revealed.
Tears filled Anita's eyes as she quickly tried to wipe the embarrassment away. She stammered, “How... How could you?”
Herschell snickered again, which was enough to set Anita off. Her face flooded with tears and she ran back across the dusty field as quickly as her legs could carry her. From that day until I lost contact with her, she kept a complex about what he revealed. Always convinced that people used that bed wetting story behind her back.
“Make you feel big?” Boyd, angrier than ever, paced slowly towards the bigger boy. “What a way to treat your sister bully.”
“You her boyfriend then, pissant? If you two get married don't expect me at the wedding. Huh-huh-huh!”
Shaun, flanking Boyd, tried to bring things to an end. “Haven't you done enough? How much further are you going to try and take this?”
Herschell furrowed his brow and thought. “No! I don't think I have. I still remember the beating I had to give your boyfriend there last year, and it still pisses me off.”
All of us gasped.
Herschell raised his big cupped hands above his head and the glimmer in his cruel eye told everyone what he had planned. He wanted to dash it on the floor. The situation left everyone uneasy and no one moved.
Except me. The worry about Boyd's rat being hurt moved me into action.
“Please put it down. You don't have to hurt it.” I don't know why I did it, I'm not courageous by any stretch of the imagination, but I did. I tiptoed forward slowly, not wanting to set him off. Herschell was bad and I wouldn't have put anything past him.
“Now you're getting involved? My sister's friend? You know she hates you right?”
I didn't let his words phase me. I raised my palms up and spoke calmly, “You're better than this, Herschell. You don't want to hurt a living creature, do you?”
He paused before replying, “Yes! I hate Boyd and this rat!”
“It's not going to work. He's an animal. He ain't got no brains,” Boyd, now standing behind me, whispered while fighting back the urge of every muscle in his body to attack. Throughout all of this, his eyes locked aggressively with his enemies.
“I can hear you! Fuck you, Boyd!” The groups around the three of us drew breath stunned. Cursing like that wasn't exactly common at our age.
But I tried again. “Please Herschell. Please... What caused this? Isn't there anything we can do?”
“Yeah. Boyd can lean over, pucker up and kiss my fucking ass!”
Boyd snapped back instantly, “Fuck you, Herschell!”
Instantaneously, the eighth grader's cupped hands shot towards the floor and released. Straight away the groans of disgust roared from Boyd's group.
Then, I saw it. Boyd's poor rat. It lay curled up on the dusty dirt. Its little gray body twitching. Blood poured from its open mouth and broken ears. Disgusted, I couldn't look at it for more than an instant and turned away.
Boyd stared down at what was left of his pet unblinking. I stepped towards him, but, as quick as my movements were, his were quicker. Like a raging bull he charged towards Herschell. The fact his opponent was older and easily outweighed him by fifty pounds didn't matter. Connecting with a gigantic shove, he launched himself on the bigger boy. Herschell fell pleading. Though that didn't stop Boyd. He began pounding a horrified and pleading face. Each blow crashed down with an almighty thud in the way only skin on skin contact can.
Herschell's friends, and now you certainly wouldn't call them that, ran at the first sign of trouble. Each fled, chased by Shaun's hollering and seething gang, into the distance without caring one bit about the fate of their leader.
All the while, I remained fixed staring down at the back of Boyd's body while he punched. Thud! Thud! Thud! His arm lifted, strained and then shattered down quicker than a piston. Punch, punch, punch. I'll always remember the noise of his fist hitting Herschell's flesh. Thud! Thud! Thud!
Shortly the other boys returned had the sense to pull Boyd off. They gripped him by the underarms and his body still clawed out like a wild be
ast. He fought, shook and kicked to get back at the kid who killed his rat, but his friends tried to restrain him. I had never seen him like that before or since, so uncontrolled with rage. The look of anger in his eyes wasn't of this world. I honestly believe that if they weren't there he would have killed him.
“Get off me! Get off me!” Boyd screamed, spit flying from his mouth, as they struggled to restrain him. “Let me up! I want him!”
“Calm down! He's had enough!” Shaun gripped his face in his hands and tried to calm him. “Stop! It's done. You've got him.”
“He's right!” Adam, a dark haired boy who ran with them, urged while pressing his whole weight down onto a fighting arm. “Stop or you'll murder him! You want that?”
Boyd growled as he struggled to get free. It was as though all humanity left him.
Three feet from me Herschell groaned. He rolled onto his side and spat out three bloody teeth into the dirt. Crimson seeped from his mouth all the way down his chin and neck. Without saying a word Herschell fled the scene. He stumbled away looking like he would fall with every step.
The image was absolutely gruesome. I cupped my hands over my mouth to stop myself from barfing. Seeing Boyd's rat splattered against the dirt terrified me, though this chilled me even more. Seeing someone, even someone you dislike, pouring with blood brought the violence of the world home. I couldn't help but picture myself dripping with blood.
Adam called me over, “Cassie! Think you can do anything?”
I ran and knelt next to Boyd. Taking his head in my hands I ran my fingers through his hair. “It's OK. He's run away. It's OK...”
He inhaled and exhaled deeply in my grasp. With each stroke of my affection the blind rage began leaving him. His struggling eased. His arms and legs fell limp in his friends arms. His friends let go and I clasped him tight. Free he gripped my knees and hugged me tight. Before I noticed he was crying, the dampness of his tears wet my leg.
“Why? Why did he have to hurt her?” Boyd asked, whispering deep into my chest.
I sat and stroked his blond hair. I didn't know what to say. Why do people do these things? Even as an adult I still don't know. As a child it's beyond your comprehension completely.
Then, as abruptly as his tears started, they stopped. Boyd stood, using my shoulder or support, and walked towards his rat. He held its limp body delicately in his palms and began walking from the group.
Shaun called out, “Hey! You OK? Where are you going?”
“I need to be alone...” Boyd, still angry, shouted back.
His friends stood around without a clue of what to do. I couldn't blame them. A lot had happened in the last few minutes to leave them shell shocked.
I spoke up, “I'll go...”
I followed Boyd's path. Followed him to the old drive-in theater screen. Up the ladder to the top of the old screen. Followed him to across to where he sat alone looking down at his deceased rat lying in his lap. His knuckles were ripped, bruised and bloody from the fight. But he seem to didn't care. Nothing mattered, except cradling his pet.
We sat up there talking all those years ago until the sunset and then the stars came out in the sky. When it got too late we carried his rat to his yard and gave it a burial no rat has ever seen. We both prayed, gave it a great service and then made a tombstone out of sticks.
Boyd loved his rat friend. He really did. Herschell shouldn't have done that. Boyd, at his young age, shouldn't have seen that.
I only wish I could remember the name he gave it... It was such a funny name.
~ Chapter Eleven ~
Another hot morning, another night I wish I could forget...
At the hotel sleep was an impossibility. The ringing in my head continued for what was left of the night. By the time the painkillers kicked the sun was rising. I lay on those cheap motel sheets, between sleep, and counted down the minutes until I would be back in San Francisco. I not we. What I experienced tonight taught me the difference. Jerome and me were through. I would drive with him back up north, but the instant we walk through the door I'm collecting my things and leaving. It didn't matter to where. I would sleep on the streets if I had to.
The wound above my eye, slightly at the edge of my eyebrow and running towards my ear, was the width of a dime. It bled all night and soaked through half the toilet paper in the room. I thanked my lucky stars when the blood ran dry and the wound began to resemble a small slash from a razor blade rather than the indentation of a fist. Small mercies and all. I guess.
Under a couple of band-aids and my large black sunglasses, you couldn't tell it was there. I knew how to hide things like this from the world. It's happened too often in this relationship. Of course, the truth is I would have taken stitches over the pain still droning through my brain.
I stumbled into the hotel dizzy. My vision was doubled and I could barely stay awake. Only an act of will forced my concussion down. Though with the morning sun well and truly up, its affects lingered on. The pain was bad, like nothing I experienced before. Even moving sent a spike driving through my skull. If I hadn't drunk those cocktails at the club I would have driven straight to the hospital. However, what with the alcohol in my system, I didn't need the hassle of the questions I would surely be asked.
What about Jerome? Anyone watching would have told me I should have gone right then. Left him coked up in that horrible club and then never looked back. It's easy when you're on the outside.
Unfortunately the blow to the head stopped me. I barely managed to find my way back here even with directions on a screen. Driving out and all that way home would have been impossible.
I know I have to go. I'm leaving him the second we reach San Francisco. I'll grab my bags and be done with him. Focus on that Cassie, I told myself. Over and over.
It wasn't until the early afternoon, after I crossed the street and grabbed a quick breakfast at the diner opposite, when he returned. Jerome's steps pounded up the stairs to the room and he nearly crashed through the door. His suit was sweaty and crumpled. The bags were heavy under his eyes. The lines on his face deeper than I remembered. He looked a mess.
We didn't say anything to each other, we didn't have to.
I sat with my back to him, trying to apply make up to cover the bruise that quickly formed on my forehead. Jerome crashed into the chair by the bed opposite. Eyes bugging, bloodshot and craving sleep.
What struck me the most was his smell. Sweat, booze and sex. Previously the latter would have tormented me. The worry and knowledge of him fucking women on the side constantly ruined me during our years together.
But today, in the light of a new morning, I felt nothing. I didn't care anymore. What he did barely mattered. All I wanted was the easy path until I could leave him. I told myself to just keep my head down and I'll be out of our apartment with my bags packed five minutes after arriving home. If we kept to schedule it wouldn't be long now.
Jerome would have been up all night. Hell, the wrap he took contained enough coke for a week. Unsurprisingly, there appeared to be no evidence of its existence on him. Those ounces were lost to the world forever up his nostrils.
With my makeup applied, I turned to him. “Shouldn't we be going? You've got a deadline to keep.”
Sunk in the chair with his head bowed, he groaned. “Goddamn, bitch... Don't talk to me. My head is fucking ringing. I got too much going on inside to deal with your shit. I got to deal with cutting the shit still...”
He didn't have my sympathy. Especially when the head ringing I experienced as much worse.
Finally, when more silence passed, he began moving. Slow, sloping movements around the room. Grabbing a glass of water at first. Before heading to the bathroom and staring at his drawn, unwashed face in the mirror. Then going down the the car to grab the bags. He didn't worry about anyone seeing. He grabbed two at once and casually brought them back inside. The guns inside halt sticking out.
The change that overcame him when he started to cut the drugs was almost comical. He l
ooked so serious while emptying coke onto an upturned wall mirror and dropping handfuls of ingredients he purchased yesterday into the mix. He focused with his all, but appeared the fool. I'm sure in his mind he considered himself something of an alchemist – a wizard of the streets, but, with the opened bag of powdered milk to his side and baking soda split onto his lap, I considered him an ass. There was no rhyme or reason in what he did. His scooping and mixing with a credit card was beyond a joke. Boyd and the gang up in Midnight would have to be half asleep for this to go unnoticed.
Boyd...
His name rode through my mind again. Sure, as I sat there overnight moments of spite made me consider wanting to reveal Jerome's plan of shorting them on the deal. I could have found a number easy for the MC and told them all.
But I didn't. Ratting on Jerome would do nothing expect get him killed. I wouldn't want that even after all he has done. I'm not like that. I'm not like him. I couldn't live with a death on my conscience. I don't know much about motorcycle clubs past the fact they're not to be messed with.
Eventually Jerome began emptying his mixture into the original bags and taped each one up. They didn't look perfect, though I had to admit they would probably have passed a quick inspection. After completing the final one he gave me a smug smile. Satisfied that he managed to get two whole bricks worth of coke of his own from the delivery.
It's all on you, Jerome. It's all on you, I thought to myself.
While he showered I waited in the car and counted down the minutes until we could get back on the road. When he got done checking out he revealed it was me who would be driving back up north today. He wasn't in the mood apparently. Before we left he made me stop for coffee, fast food and a bottle of malt liquor. He needed all three to cure his hangover.
The exit out of Crenshaw was a sea of bleak gray concrete and recently felled tree trunks. This wasn't a place I would ever want to return to again.
FOUND: A Motorcycle Club Romance Novel Page 8