by Lolly Walter
“Is it?”
“Look around, rich boy. You saw the scags and scrags out there. Those people aren’t junkies ’cause they have something better to do.”
They rounded a corner and Joe’s suspicions were confirmed. Walls and shelves of medicines stretched back into the darkness, some of it clearly medical — neatly labeled and factory sealed — but the rest was pills and syringes and plants in vacuum sealed baggies with handwritten titles.
Joe squelched his curiosity. He’d never met more than a small-time drug dealer, and he was dying to know how Rip and Belton, who hadn’t shown any intelligence whatsoever, were able to commandeer such a huge pharmacy and make it their base of operation. But more than anything, he wanted to get back to Devin. “I need a nanotech kit.”
“Ooh, you weren’t kidding about having a medical emergency.” Rip’s eyes darted to Peter. “What’s wrong with him?”
“Not him. Another in our group. He’s waiting for us outside the city.”
“Nanokits aren’t cheap. I hope you came prepared.”
“How much?”
“What do you have?”
Joe fished in his pocket and pulled out a wad of old American money. Sticky and dirty, it clung to his fingers.
“Nuh-uh. We’re not animals.” Rip flipped a switch and the lights went up. A powerbank lined one wall, and on it, an alcove lit in neon green announced the drug dealers had a chip reader. Rip gestured to the wall. “Step on up, dome daddy.”
“We agree on a price first.”
“What do you have in mind?”
Joe hesitated. He had no idea how much nanotech cost. He had no idea how much anything cost, really. He turned to Peter.
Still wide-eyed and white-faced, the way he’d looked since the tornado, Peter said, “They cost around fifty thousand at home.”
Joe nodded. “Thirty-five.”
Rip laughed. “That is not the way it works.”
“You get a lot of customers for nanotech in Ames?”
“I do all right.”
Joe didn’t doubt that. Rip had a whole addicted population down on the streets. He had access to the university crowd, and if he really had graduated last year, he’d probably built his business as a supplier there first. One nanotech kit was small potatoes. “Forty.”
Rip smiled then, and it was pretty — almost charming. Joe hated it. He had a sick feeling about where they were headed.
“I don’t discuss price until I know what my customer has.”
“And I don’t show what I have until we discuss price.”
“I wonder if you need the nano more, or I need the money more.” Rip raised his eyebrows and waited.
This wasn’t a battle Joe could win. However much Rip might need money, he was right: Joe needed the nanotech more. He wasn’t leaving here without it.
He stuck his hand into the alcove. A red light scanned his inner wrist. The display above the chip reader told the tale: five years’ worth of earnings at Flights of Fantasy, minus only the money he’d used to help buy Sadie’s glasses and the cup he’d bought Aria at the Maze-On store. Five years of running, of sucking off and getting fucked by anyone who had enough money to pay Boggs. The sum of his life in five digits.
“Seventy-five thou,” Rip said. “Cutting it close. Should have had daddy fill up the coffers a bit more before you went on your adventure. Lucky for you, I’m feeling generous. It’ll cost you everything, but you’re making out ahead.”
Almost all the air whooshed out of Joe’s lungs. He scraped together enough breath to whisper, “Everything?”
Rip chucked him on the shoulder. “I don’t haggle. Don’t look so sad, pumpkin. You’ll get your friend patched up, head on home, and tell all your buddies about the epic time some low-life druggie hustled you for all your pocket change.”
Except it wasn’t pocket change. It was everything. Every fuck, every calculation, every cruel choice. All the times he’d been spat on, slapped, beaten. Raped. His ticket out of Austin and into Minneapolis. His father. His future.
He peeked around Rip and found Peter watching him. Boss, Peter called him. Warrior brother, he and Flix had sworn. Protector. Lover.
Nuevecito. Brand-new, Navarro had always called him. Joe didn’t feel very brand-new anymore.
What would he do for Devin?
Anything.
“Show me the nanokit first.”
Rip smiled. “God, I like you.” He climbed onto a stepladder and pulled down a white box sealed in shrink wrap, then handed it to Joe. “Go ahead. Make sure you’re getting your money’s worth.”
Joe peeled away the wrapping and opened the box. Inside, he found a tablet with a tiny solar panel. He turned it on. While he waited for the tablet to boot, he examined the rest of the kit. Three single-use syringes, factory-wrapped in tamper-proof packaging. Alcohol swabs. A bottle of capsules, clearly labeled and sealed. Three small glass vials of amber liquid. Joe turned his attention back to the tablet and found it in good working order with a full charge. He shut it down, re-boxed everything, and closed his eyes.
This wasn’t the man he’d planned to be. But those plans had fallen apart almost as soon as his father had left. For nine years, he’d done what he had to. This was the man he’d become.
He walked over to the chip reader and thrust his wrist back under the red light. With the tapping of a few buttons, Joe’s bank balance dropped to zero.
***
Joe exhaled, let it all out, and gave himself a moment to absorb the shock. His fingers and toes felt numb, but his heart thumped wildly. Scary, yes. But right. He’d always believed he would give up everything for Devin, and now that he’d proved it, he could get on with his life. He turned to walk to the elevator but was stopped by a hand on his forearm.
“Tax,” Rip said.
“Excuse me?”
“I forgot the tax.”
“Too bad.” Joe pulled his arm free and motioned for Peter to start moving toward the exit.
Two hands grabbed and held him this time. “’Fraid not, sugar baby. The government always takes their due, and I gotta have something to pay them.”
“I have three thousand.” Peter looked at Joe apologetically. “I had just spent all my allowance on Fierce Force Twelve.”
“That game sucks, dude,” Rip said. “I need eight.”
“Well, three’s all I have!”
“Or...”
And here they arrived. Where they had always been headed. Joe sighed.
“Or what?” Peter asked.
Belton snickered. His hand was already twiddling in his pocket.
“Or,” Rip continued, “we can make alternate arrangements. You like dick, kid?”
“Leave him alone,” Joe said, hating the scared, almost frantic look on Peter’s face. “All you had to do was ask.”
Rip moved around in front of Joe, blocking him from the view of Peter and Belton. “I asked on the elevator.”
“Not for business.”
Rip smiled again, that charming, good-boy smile. “True. God, I want your mouth. I want to take you to bed and kiss you and fuck you.” Rip eyed Joe’s lips. His chest. His groin. “You’re practically vibrating with it, you know? So ready.” He met Joe’s eyes again. “But my buddy back there doesn’t swing with us unless he’s desperate, and he may be dumb as an ox but he’d catch on if I did to you what I really want. So on your knees. You can do him after me, and we’ll leave the kid alone. I was just bluffing with him anyway.”
Joe believed him, but he didn’t care. Rip may not be the kind of guy who’d force a kid, but he didn’t seem to have any problems forcing Joe. “Here, Peter. Take the rifle. Go look on those shelves, see if there’s any more medicine we can use.”
“But...” Peter accepted the rifle and the nanokit, then stood there.
“It’s okay.” Joe smiled at him, made it genuine. “Go on. Stay over there, and I’ll call you back in a couple of minutes.”
Peter looked like he want
ed to argue, but eventually he dropped his chin to his chest and walked away.
Joe dropped to his knees and freed Rip’s dick from his zipper. At least Rip was physically clean. Clean of diseases? Joe hoped that all those immunizations he’d gotten at Flights of Fantasy hadn’t worn away.
God, he’d sworn to himself he’d never do this again, never be this man, not one more time. Did it show, who he’d been? Some indelible mark that would taint him forever?
The tip brushed his lips, and he fought the urge to back away, to bite the thing off. Always being used. Always belonging to someone else. Nothing more than a toy. In his mouth, his throat. The taste all wrong on his tongue.
He’d finally learned that sex could matter for more than currency or something to do because he was bored, that it could be about trust, deep concern. Love. He missed Devin. Missed the sex, sure, but missed the connection. No back-alley blow job could give it to him.
But no back-alley blow job would take it away, either.
He got to define himself. Not his stepmother or Boggs. Not some small-time dealer in Iowa. Joe fought back his disgust, his self-pity, and steeled himself to finish what he’d started.
Rip batted Joe’s hands away and pinned them over his head against the cool metal of the wall. He drilled in deep and kept it there, waiting, then he pulled back and started thrusting in earnest, banging Joe’s head against the metal. Belton stood next to them, his pants undone, hand around himself.
Joe concentrated on making his lips tight and his throat slack and tried to tune out Belton and the noise his own head made bouncing against the metal. He would get through this, get the nanotech back to Devin, get him well.
“Stop it!” Peter’s voice sounded shrill. “Stop it! Stop it! You’re hurting him!”
“Shut up, kid,” Rip said, lazy and detached. Then wide awake. “Oh, shit.” He released Joe’s wrists and backed away.
Through the gap that opened between Belton and Rip, Joe saw Peter aiming the rifle first at Rip, then at Belton. Belton’s arms were moving, and Joe hoped he was just refastening his pants, not drawing a weapon. Joe struggled to his feet, his head swimming. “Peter, wait.”
“He was hurting you,” Peter yelled. “I promised. I’ll protect the people I love!”
“He wasn’t hurting me. It’s okay. Please, Peter.” Joe took a cautious step forward, but raised his hands and stopped when Peter swung the rifle in his direction. He had to be so scared, so afraid of being powerless again, the way he’d been powerless to stop the men who’d killed his parents. “Thank you. Thank you for protecting me. I’m going to walk over to you where it’s safe, okay?”
Peter nodded and wiped the corner of his eye. The rifle shook in his hands.
Joe kept his pace steady and slow, maintaining eye contact the whole while. Goosebumps rose on his skin when he passed Rip and Belton, like he really was escaping a far more dangerous situation than a couple blow jobs for some hard-up, lonely guys. Or maybe it was the dawning realization that something that felt like a dirty job to him was a big, nasty something to a kid who’d never had to do it. He wanted to apologize to Peter, to Devin — God, he hadn’t even thought about how Devin might feel about what he’d just done. All he’d thought about was getting what he wanted.
But no, he was keeping his people safe, and there was no way in hell he was apologizing for that.
He reached Peter and carefully pried the rifle from his hands. “It’s all right. No one is going to hurt us.”
Peter crumpled into Joe and shook, sniffling and fisting Joe’s shirt. “I couldn’t let you down.”
Joe wrapped an arm around him and tried to support him as much as possible. A movement in his peripheral vision caught his eye, and he turned in time to see Belton pulling at something in his pocket. Joe popped the rifle and shot a hole in the ceiling.
Belton and Rip cowered, heads covered.
“Slide it over here, dumbass,” Joe said. “I’m tired, and I don’t feel like putting up with more nonsense.”
Belton slid the weapon across the floor. A VICE-shot, like the one that had been stolen from Joe at the Maze-On. The Lord giveth and He taketh away, but right now, Joe was feeling like he’d gotten more than he’d given.
“Stand up. Hands in the air.” Once the men complied, Joe slunk forward and grabbed the VICE-shot. He trained one weapon on Rip and the other on Belton. “Peter, buddy, go look at the shelves and read me the names of the medicines, will you?”
Having a job to do seemed to help Peter calm down. He and Joe ran through the medicines, and Joe had him grab the ones that would be most useful, mainly pain pills and antibiotics for Devin, just in case the nanotech couldn’t fix what was wrong.
When Peter pocketed two boxes of heavy-duty narcotics, Rip winced. “We need that stuff, you prick.”
Joe fired the VICE-shot so it hit the floor in a slow arc near Rip’s feet. He watched the worn hospital flooring blister and turn black. “You took everything from me. Now I’m taking some back. You’ll still have plenty to go on leeching off the people in this town.”
“What do you know, rich little daddy’s boy? You’re fine, but don’t talk to me about what I’m doing here when all you know is comfort. These people need the drugs; they sure as hell don’t have anything else.”
God, a fire burned in Joe’s belly. “I’m no daddy’s boy. I’m not even a citizen. I’m a poor Mexican prostitute, and you took five years of my earnings, every penny I’ve ever had, because you’re a greedy pig. When they look at me, people may always see a whore, and I may never be a citizen, but I know what’s important, and what’s right.”
“Boss,” Peter said, tugging at Joe’s shirt.
“Yeah?”
“I got everything. We’re ready.”
“Toss me the elevator key,” Joe said to Rip. “I’ll leave it down in the elevator. If you try to follow us, I’ll either shoot you or lock you in.”
Down the shaft, into the elevator, swipe a bike. Even Peter’s weight against Joe’s aching back felt free and easy as he pedaled away. No more apologies. No more guilt. His job was to take care of his family, and he wasn’t sorry for that.
TWENTY-THREE
The sky turned a mellow purple, then a brilliant pinky-orange as Flix watched the sun rise and waited for Joe to return. It hadn’t been that long — less than twenty-four hours. Flix had told Joe that he had three days to get to Ames and back, so twenty-four hours wasn’t long at all. But Flix worried. The group hadn’t spent this long apart since Devin and Peter had been kidnapped by Sanders and his asshole Sons. Look how that had turned out.
Devin groaned and shifted a bit, resettling his head deeper in Flix’s lap. He’d been flitting in and out of consciousness for a few hours, stirring enough to ask about Joe, snap out a few choice swears about what he’d do when Joe got back, and vomit. Then he’d curl in on himself, shaking, until Flix or Aria could make him comfortable enough to fall asleep. Or barring that, until he got so miserable he passed out.
Flix worked the taut muscles in Devin’s neck, stroking and pushing the way he’d seen Joe do almost every day since Devin’s headaches had started. A little looser. A little more. Flix switched to Devin’s temples and made slow circles. More of those. Down to the hinge of his jaw, coaxing it to relax. Smoothing his forehead. Finally, when the muscles in Flix’s fingers were on fire and Devin’s breathing was deep and easy, Flix slid his fingers into Devin’s hair.
He wasn’t sure if he was doing it for Devin or for himself, for the soothing, calming feel of the soft strands of gold slipping through his fingers as he worked out the tangles. He’d been working for almost an hour, and he had about half of it done. Not too oily. Flix had helped Devin wash it with soap and a bucket of cold water back at Clinton and Maribou’s, but Devin hadn’t been in any shape to work out the tangles and he was too stubborn to let Flix help with that part. Flix doubted Joe had thought to take care of it for Devin before.
Devin rustled again, but th
is time, he tugged Flix’s hand out of his hair, kissed it, then tucked it under his arm and hugged it to his chest.
Flix chuckled to himself. Devin was a cuddler. They’d all seen how he slept with Joe, piled on top of the guy like Joe was a mattress, but Flix still hadn’t expected to wake up in the barn the last few nights with Devin’s arms and legs wrapped around him like an octopus.
It was sort of sweet — this big, strong, rough-spoken man being such a teddy bear on the inside.
“You’re supposed to be keeping watch.” Aria stretched from the spot where she’d been sleeping near Devin’s feet and propped her head on her hand.
“I am.”
“How’s he doing?”
“Same.”
Aria rolled onto her back and stared up at the sky. “It’s hard, not knowing where they are.”
“I always hated being Marcus’s partner when we were...at work. It was gross, you know?” Flix flattened his hand on Devin’s chest and pressed until he felt Devin’s steady heartbeat against his palm. “But Joe and Peter being out there somewhere where I can’t see them, can’t know they’re safe... At least I had Marcus right where I could keep an eye on him.”
“I won’t insult you by saying I’m sorry —”
“Good, because I don’t want anything from you.”
“But I wish everything had worked out differently.”
Flix didn’t waste words on an answer. Instead, he thought back to that night and walked through it again for the millionth time. The last time he’d seen Marcus. The way Marcus had brushed off Flix’s last hug. Not worried. Innocent. But Flix had been innocent, too. He’d had notions about being brave, standing with Joe, rescuing Devin, coming back a hero. He’d been so dumb.
And now he’d let Joe walk out of his sight as cavalierly as Marcus had. What if he lost Joe, too?
They’d had no choice. Devin wasn’t getting better, and if they couldn’t move him, what else could they have done?
Not shove Joe out the door. Go instead. Joe was clearly in no condition to travel any farther, not without a full night’s sleep and three or four more meals. Had Flix been making the hard decisions when he sided with Joe and let him leave? Or had he just been happy to get a break from the way seeing Joe reminded him of Marcus’s death?