Find Me (Truthful Lies Trilogy - Book Two)

by Rachel Dunning

  She gives two chews before answering: “Finally.”

  Skate tells us about how hot Viktoriya Golovkina is (making sure to keep his voice down, lest Clarissa hears and pours coffee down his pants) and then about the X-rated sketch he did for her. This is too funny, and slowly, all my problems disappear. Even thoughts of what happened to pops on Thursday...

  When we’re done, Trev and Skate wait for me outside. I go to Mr. De Luca and tell him I really need to talk to Clarissa. Vaguely, I explain about the Molotov at Blaze’s place, and say that Clarissa might be able to help me find the guy who did it.

  His eyes go wide with fearful shock and he says, “Declan, you gotta be careful wit dat shit! Leave it to da fuzz!”

  “I hear you, Mr. De Luca. But I think I mighta caused some of this guy’s anger. And Clarissa might be able to help me figure out how.”

  He thinks about it. “OK, ten minutes, Deck! Because she gotta work!” He holds up two fanned hands, demonstrating ten minutes.

  “No problem, sir.”

  “YO, CLARISSA! DECK HERE WANNA TALK TO YA! YOU GOT TEN MINUTES!”

  Clarissa makes a most unimpressed face, then bounces her voluptuous self over to a booth. She looks at her watch and says, “Time’s running, Deck.”

  -2-

  I tell her the deal.

  “Motherfucker!” she says. “You sure it was him?”

  I shrug. “Who else would it be?”

  “You get a look at his car?”

  “No.”

  “So, how do you know?”

  DECLAN, I’M GONNA GET YOU, YOU MOTHERFUCKER!

  “Something about the voice, and the way he called me, sounded really familiar. You said Gina wasn’t doing well? You been up to see her recently?”

  Clarissa sighs deeply. “Yeah.”

  “And?”

  “You should go see her, Deck. The Docs think you might be the only thing that could bring her back.”

  “That’s the craziest shit I ever heard of in my life. What is this, Sleeping Fucking Beauty or something?”

  “You ain’t no Prince Charming, asshole. So don’t get a big damned head or something. Docs have tried everything, and she’s not coming back, Deck. You were with her the night she...lost it...and they think that it might work as some sort of stimulus to link her back to reality. She’s been living in another world since that night. She left our world, and entered her own. The L has closed down, buildings look different. But you...well...there’s that human factor as well, you know. You guys were close. They think that it might jog something in her mind—”

  “Her folks were adamant about her never seeing me again. They damn near got me arrested for giving her the A that night—which I didn’t even do!”

  “I know you didn’t, so chill the fuck out.” She looks over at Mr. De Luca who’s wiping a glass behind the counter. “Well, they wanna get their daughter back, Deck. And, well, to put it in their words: ‘If it takes that devil to bring her back, then so be it. We want our baby back.’”

  “You really know how to make a dude feel better.”

  “This ain’t about you—”

  I put my hands up. “I know, I know. That came out wrong. I know my responsibility on this.”

  She lays a hand on mine, which damn near jolts me out of my seat, because Clarissa is about as caring and friendly around me as an agitated iguana. “Deck, look, I know I gave you a hard time about Gina. And, just so you know, I know it wasn’t your fault. I just...needed someone to blame. She was my friend. And I know she kept on goin’ on and on and on about freaking A. I mean, I coulda put a stop to that shit. I coulda said, ‘NO! GINA, IT’S A DUMB FUCKING IDEA!’ But I never did. I was all chilled and complacent and...whatever.” She looks behind her, outside at Skate and Trev. “How’s Skate doin’?”

  “He’s good.”

  “Still using?” she asks.

  “A little.”

  “And you?”

  “I’ve decided not to anymore.”

  Her eyes go wide with incredulity. “Since when?”

  “A week?”

  Disappointment hits her eyes.

  “No, I mean, I hadn’t dropped for a few months before that either. You know, I always been a casual user. But I never considered stopping it for good. Then, well, something changed.”

  “The girl?”

  “Hmm?”

  “Don’t act all fucking ‘Hmm?’ innocent with me!” At this point, Clarissa actually smiles, and her cheeks go rosy. “I saw how you were looking at her pink and green hair last weekend here. She looks like a wild one.”

  She’s a delicately beautiful one, FYI.

  “Deck?”

  “Yeah?”

  She laughs. “Hell, this is the one, huh?”

  “Clariss, what you talkin about?”

  She points at me. “I see it, dude. You’re knocked head over heels here.”

  I feel my cheeks blush. “Fine, yeah, I like her. A lot.”

  “Well, maybe it’s a good idea to clean up the past, then—if you really like her. You know that shit’s got a habit of biting you in the ass if you don’t deal with it.”

  “So I’m learning.”

  “Deck.” She squeezes my hand tightly. “I heard about your pops. I’m real sorry. How you holding up?”

  I’d almost forgotten about that—too many other things going on in my mind. And wasn’t pops already dead to me before that? My finger goes to my eye instantly. “Thanks. The past just caught up with him, that’s all.”

  “Look, if you ever need to talk or whatever, I’m here.”

  “I know you are. Like the good ol’ days.” I look outside and see Skate, warming up his hands and talking shit with Trev. I face Clarissa again. “Look, Clariss, about Skate.” The best is to give it to her straight. “Look, you’re a good lookin babe, OK?” She looks down. “I’m not kidding. Look, I just— I’m just gonna give it to you straight. He doesn’t talk about you. So don’t get hung up on him.” Now she’s the one who wipes her eye.

  “I’m overweight.”

  Clarissa is sexy. Sure, she’s got some curves. And? Like Blaze said: Kat Dennings Lookalike. And you show me one hetero dude who doesn’t wanna do Kat Dennings. Right, I didn’t think so.

  “You think that’s why Skate’s not with you?”

  She shrugs.

  “Bullshit. He’s not with you because he’s a fuckin idiot, OK? He thinks about football and drugs and sex.” I make sure to say drugs really softly. “It’s who he is. Hell, it’s who I am. All I’m sayin is, from a dude to a chick—you’re hot. OK?” I would’ve never told Clarissa she’s ‘hot’ in any other situation. Not because she isn’t. Because she is. She’s not my type, but she’s definitely a good looking babe. I just figured I’d use the word “hot” so she really gets it. “How long has it been now—two years?”

  “And three months, twenty seven days. But who’s counting?”

  At this point I get a little fucking pissed at Skate, because he shoulda ended things better with her. Anyway...

  “Damn, Clariss. Look, you gotta let go. Either that or...hell...maybe you gotta just tell him how you feel about him one last time and see what happens.”

  “Deck, it’s been fifteen minutes, son.”

  “Sure thing, Mr. De Luca.” Then, to Clarissa: “We should all hang out again someday.”

  “Only if I get a boyfriend. Or if Skate isn’t there. And you guys are always together.”

  “Well, then get a boyfriend fast!”

  We stand. “Deck, thank you. And you’re right: You and me should hang out some time. Go for coffee. Bring your girlfriend along. So much has changed since we left high school. But you and I were good friends at one stage, weren’t we?”

  “Great friends.”

  “Hell, if Gina hadn’t gotten in your pants, you know I woulda been there fast myself!”

  “And I would’ve taken you.” I mean it.

  A glint flashes across her eyes.

  �
��I’ll tell Blaze you wanna hang out with us sometime. Maybe when Skate’s out defacing some public property.”

  “Deal.” She hugs me, and it’s the tightest hug I’ve gotten from Gina since High School.

  Wait. Did I just say Gina? I meant Clarissa. Gina’s best friend. But it sure feels like being hugged by Gina suddenly.

  Just before I make it outside, Clarissa calls out, “Deck, Dino was always an asshole. Always. And he’s also an older brother. And older brothers hate boyfriends—even if they’re saints.” She moves closer so she can whisper. “If it hadn’t been the A, it woulda been some other excuse for him to come after you. You did nothing wrong, Deck. You gotta know that.”

  “I kinda do. But, at the same time, I’ve also never made an effort to go see her. Despite her parents. You’re right. Maybe I am the final link she has back to reality. And maybe the last four years coulda been better for her if I’d been there a bit. Anyway, I’m gonna change this now.”

  “This new girl’s really changed you, hasn’t she?”

  “Yeah, well, and I promised her I wouldn’t drop or nuthin. Not even weed.”

  She smiles. And then she hugs me again. This time real tight. With a tremendous relief, she says, “Thank god. You dumbass boys have no fucking idea how us girls worry about you when you do that shit.”

  I’m a little stunned at her comment. Which only proves that she’s right. Because I really had no clue.

  -3-

  Outside, it feels like I’ve just stepped out of a time-space warp. The talk with Clarissa was deeply enlightening. And moving.

  I slap Skate on his bald head. Hard!

  “Jeezus! What the fuck, Deck!”

  “You’re an asshole, you know that?”

  He shoves me. Also hard! “Fuck you, you punk! Ten minutes with Clarissa and now you think I’m the scum of the earth?”

  I push him back. So hard that there’s a loud thump on his chest. Trev gets in the way “Hey hey hey!” He inserts himself between us. “Not here! Not in front of Mr. De Luca’s place. You punks wanna fight, we go to the park. OK?”

  “I’m not gonna fight this fucking punk,” says Skate. “What, now that you have a girl you wanna get all fuckin moralistic about the rest of us?”

  “What?” I’m acting all macho now, blood at a high boil and not listening straight. “You wanna bring Blaze into this?”

  “CHRIST! Would you fucking idiots knock it off!” Trev’s eyes glow in the direction of the restaurant. Mr. De Luca’s staring at us.

  I raise my arms in apology. We walk away from Tom’s. As my foot moves off the curb, a thumping hand whacks the back of my shoulder, and I almost lose my step.

  I turn to swing, with all the power I can muster.

  But Trevor—monster that he is—propels his shoulder into my stomach so fast that I only hit thin air. He holds me back and says, “That’s it, you fucking girls. The park. Now!”

  -4-

  It’s a three minute walk from Tom’s to Prospect Park. One minute when the adrenaline is pumping. We go past Gino’s Pizza, Mayday Hardware, and endless black trash bags. My fists are clenching. I’m angry, so angry.

  Skate, he’s the one, I think. Not Xavier or Dino Moretti or any of these other crazy fucks of this last week. Skate’s the one on my radar, like a bull seeing red. And I don’t know why. It was that comment about Blaze, yeah, yeah, that’s what it was!

  Now that you have a girl... What the fuck did he mean with that shit? Now that you have a girl... I know what he meant. He meant: Your girl’s fucking hot, bro. And I’m jealous! Of course that’s what he meant. Because that’s always what guys mean when they talk shit about your girl. And no one’s gonna talk shit about Blaze. No one! Not that fucking punk Xavier or that DJ whose name sounds like it comes out of Alice in Wonderland.

  None of them!

  At this stage, it starts dawning on me that maybe, just maybe, my anger is misdirected. That maybe Skate had just been in the wrong place at the wrong time. That Clarissa’s statement about him made me pinpoint him for no reason. That he’s an easier target to hit than all these other dudes.

  Because he’s a friend. And friends always take all manner of shit. That’s what makes them friends.

  Maybe.

  No, it’s not. Skate’s a punk! Who the fuck was he to let Clarissa down like that! Wasn’t that it? Wait, why am I suddenly all chummy-friendly with Clarissa? A good babe, yes, but all we’ve ever been has been acquaintances...

  I don’t get a chance to consider the logic of it. Because now we’re at the park.

  And Skate’s fist connects with my jaw before I can rationalize why it is exactly that I’m wanting to fight one of my two closest friends in the world.

  Oh, wait, I know why, because it’s one hell of a stress reliever!

  -5-

  Skate packs a mean punch. Not as strong as Trev’s (I think Evander Holyfield’s punch is weaker than Trev’s), but a good one. The punch he just gave me was not his strongest. It was a “You wanna fight? Fine, here’s a little something to make it look like a fight” punch.

  “Is that all you got?” I say, my hand to my jaw. That it wasn’t his hardest, doesn’t mean it didn’t hurt. Because motherDAMN it hurt! It hurt like a mofo.

  Skate starts laughing. He’s enjoying this as much as I am. I’m hunched down, looking at his feet. They start dancing, Muhammad Ali. A drop of red spittle drops from my lips. “You mother...fucker. You made me bleed.”

  “You gonna get up and fight or just keep talkin like a pussy, Deck?”

  I smile. I stand. I put my fists up, and I also start dancing.

  Trev stands back. “Jesus, this is the slowest fucking fight I’ve ever seen in my life. Could we get some action here?”

  Both Skate and I look at Trev from the corners of our eyes.

  The rage is gone from me. All I feel is a bubbling laughter in my stomach (and a growing swell by my jaw.) But I’d love to land a few shots, and maybe even have a few more land on me—just a few thumps of pain to wake me. To ease the stress, to forget all the psychological clobbering I’ve been getting all this week!

  Because here, in a street fight, there’s a target. This isn’t a shadow, a ghost. This is flesh and blood. Reachable. I like that. And a dude throwing a Molotov in a window and then driving off is just a shadow. And you can’t hit a shadow—

  I swing!

  I miss!

  Skate’s hard fist connects with my left rib and takes the wind out of me. The pain fires up all through my neck. Good! Good! Something I can feel goddamnit!

  “Another lucky shot.” Very lucky indeed, because I think he broke my damn rib.

  Skate hangs back. I straighten, and the pain is like lightning. I will it away, let it seep into me. Physical pain is so much easier to deal with than emotional. My left leg starts going numb. Skate’s face starts fading.

  Skate says, “Deck, you OK?”

  “Of course I am.” I call him to me with my index finger. My ribs burn like fire. I swing again, just to keep up appearances.

  Skate puts his fists down. “Deck, you alright?”

  “Sure...” I don’t finish the statement. The world becomes a spinning top and I—

  All is white.

  -6-

  I open my eyes to see one very concerned white face and one pretty amused black face above me. “You guys are close enough to kiss me.”

  “Deck, god! I’m sorry, I wasn’t trying to—”

  “Skate, chill, I’m sorry.” I raise a hand and slap him on the cheek. “But I’m gonna take a rematch one of these days.”

  Trev helps me up from the ground and the sting down my left side confirms that, yip, I’m pretty sure he nailed a rib. “Can you walk?” Trev asks.

  “Sure, but sex is gonna be tough.” I put my arm around Skate’s shoulders, and they pretty much carry me to my car.

  “What the fuck did Clarissa say to you in there to make you so pissed at me, bro?”

  “Basically? That
she still loves you, you fucking punk.”

  “So? You never gave a shit about that stuff before.”

  “I don’t know. I just kinda felt sorry for her. I mean—ouch!—she seems to really care for you. And I figured that might be good for you.”

  “In other words,” says Trev, “our boy here is gonna be walking down the aisle one of these days with his multi-colored-hair beauty. Because he’s so fucking in love that he believes it’s the panacea of all pains and troubles in all the world.”

  “You can talk a lotta bullshit, homes,” I say. But when they get me in the car, all I can think about is how the game has changed so much now that I’ve met Blaze. When I’m not with her, I’m counting the hours to when I can be. I’m always wondering how long it’s been since I’ve last texted her, just so that I can text her again.

  Skate’s in the backseat. No one says anything about him leaving his Dodge behind because it happens all the time.

  “Bar?” Trev’s behind the wheel.

  “Uhm, no,” I say, “we’re gonna go visit Gina Moretti.” No one says anything. “What? Did you think I was in there talking about Skate all the time? He barely made an appearance in our conversation.”

  “He made enough of an appearance to nail you to the ground.”

  “Skate.” I put my hand on his shoulder. “Thanks for looking out for Blaze today.”

  “No sweat.”

  Then I slap him on the back of the head. Hard. “But I still think you’re an asshole!”

  -7-

  On the way to St. Dymphna’s Home—a drug-free “Home of Rest and Care for the Mentally Disturbed” (talk about a euphemism)—I get a call. Number withheld.

  I use my business greeting: “Dude with a Truck.”

  The voice on the line is husky, female. “Mr. Cocks?” And familiar...