by Mia Kerick
But it wasn’t even ten minutes before he pulled up in a jazzy black sedan. He leaned over and opened the passenger door for me. “Get in.”
I slid inside; the strong leather scent coming up from the seats was not enough to distract me from a sense of impending danger. “Nice car, Mikey.”
“Yeah, sure.” He didn’t look at me. “Whatever you say.”
“The restaurant’s bar is closed now. Should we maybe go somewhere else?”
At that point, he looked at me for a few seconds but didn’t answer. His expression could only be described as confused.
“If this isn’t a good night for you, Mikey, we can talk some other time.”
As if my words had snapped him out of a trance, he broke into a wide grin that showed his mouthful of even white teeth. “No, tonight’s the fucking perfect night for what I got in mind.”
That was an odd answer, I thought, and I experienced a definite urge to dive for the door handle, but I rationalized with myself. I told myself that Mikey obviously wanted to get things straightened out with Robby sooner rather than later.
Now, there was no way I would bring up the topic of Robby and me and what was going on between us. I knew for a fact that was the last thing Robby would want. So my plan was to act as if Savannah was Robby’s girlfriend, and I was just their sidekick friend. In fact, I’d pretty much decided I’d continue pretending to be the third wheel as long as Robby needed me to. I had nothing to lose by coming out; he did.
“I’m gonna park out back. We can deal wit’ all the bullshit there.”
Deal with all the bullshit? Must be Mikey’s way of saying, “We can have a conversation.” “Okay, that works.” I already knew I was fooling myself, but I kept on going with the charade.
Mikey pretty much put the pedal to the metal and we were out in the back of the restaurant near the loading dock in a less than thirty seconds. “Get out. I’m gonna have me a smoke.”
I did as he ordered, thinking he surely wasn’t the friendliest guy in the world and I honestly had trouble imagining that the man had any redeeming qualities at all. And I continued to ignore my gut feeling to run and hide.
My taste in friends is not what is in question here tonight.
It was Robby and Mikey’s friendship I was here to save. So against the better judgment I’d gained from a decade on the streets, I got out of the car and met him in front of it. Mikey had left the car running, probably so that we could see each other in the glow of the headlights, but other than that it was pretty much pitch-black outside.
“I’m glad you waited around for me.” He lit his cigarette and took a long drag.
“No problem, I want to help you and Robby work things out.”
You are not safe, Tristan. And you know it.
I thought I heard soft laughter. When Mikey leaned forward toward me, I got a good look at his face. He was not smiling, nor was he sporting the serene expression of a man preparing to discuss a peace treaty. I experienced no shock at that realization. “Well, princess, sorry to disappoint, but there ain’t no fucking way that’s gonna happen.”
And that’s all it took for me to know for a fact that I was in big trouble.
“So it seems that you and Robby been spending a lot o’ time together these days, huh?” He dropped what remained of his cigarette and stomped it into the ground.
If I want to, Mikey De-fucking-Salvo, I can stomp you into the ground until you’re flatter than that smoking butt beneath your boot.
I nodded and faked a half smile, not yet ready to throw in the towel on helping to fix Robby’s oldest friendship.
Mikey sauntered to the back door of his car and reached into the open window. When he pulled out a bat, I knew I was up shit’s creek. Glancing around instinctively, I searched for my best escape route. Finding the nearest path to safety was a habit I’d developed and used often during my homeless youth. But surrounding me was what seemed to be miles of parking lot, which spelled “No easy way out.”
Mikey spoke again. “You a big Red Sox fan?” He didn’t wait for an answer. “Me and Robby used to go to Fen—fuck, never mind that. Ya see this bat? Your boyfriend gave it to me last year, for Christmas.”
“We’re just friends, Mikey. And Robby still wants to be friends with y—”
“Yeah, that’s right. Mistah Generosity, himself, bought this for me at an auction. Look here”—he moved to my side, lifting the bat for my inspection—“it’s got the whole goddamn team’s signatures on it.”
I replied quietly, “That’s an awesome bat.” It really was. Apparently, I was going to be beaten with a collector’s item.
“Ain’t it? And you know what?”
I shook my head slowly. In all honesty, I had no clue what Mikey was going to say next. I hadn’t taken the time to consider it as of yet. Because my mind had been busy.
Our eyes connected, and I can’t say exactly what he saw in mine, but I know I saw a hell of a lot of jealousy in his. “Well, I thought, since you two lovebirds are so fucking into the Red Sox, that I’d give this here valuable souvenir back to ya. Ain’t I considerate?”
I’d lived out here on these cold harsh streets for years and years. These streets had taught me every trick in the book. I knew exactly how to take him down and how to snuff him out. Or, at a minimum, to make good and fucking certain he was no longer a factor here tonight. But I already knew I wasn’t going to fight back.
So to his last question, I didn’t respond, unless you considered just standing there and staring a response. And before I had a chance to blink, Mikey was holding the bat as it was meant to be held. He took a single practice swing in midair, and with the very next one, he slugged me hard, right in the belly.
And I took it.
Sure, I could’ve run, or I could’ve force-fed the asshole his prized bat. But I didn’t. Like I always had in the past, I just stood there, slightly bent over from the pain that ripped through my stomach, and I took what was coming to me. The next hit was to my chest; it had been a homerun swing, and that Big Papi T-shirt Robby had given me flashed before my eyes.
Big Papi swings like that.
Then I fell to the pavement, the pain now searing around my heart. Knowing I couldn’t take another hit to my chest if I wanted to stay conscious, I rolled onto my stomach. The third swing of the bat made a thudding sound when it hit my lower back. In what was left of my awareness, I heard echoes of my Uncle Ben’s voice from years ago when I was a kid. “Boy, if you make a sound, I’ll hurt ya a helluva lot worse’n this.”
So I stifled my groans.
“Pretty impressive bat, huh?” Mikey’s voice brought me back. He sounded winded.
I curled up so I could protect my head. A swing like one of those to my head would kill me. But still I wasn’t gonna fight him.
Mikey is Robby’s friend. I can’t hurt him.
I just had to get through this.
“Not gonna cry, pansy-boy? Not gonna beg me to go easy on ya?” He nudged my side with the bat. “Well, listen here, cocksucker. You ain’t worth no more of my effort than I already gave ya. I think you get what I’m trying to say.”
I really wasn’t all that certain exactly what his point was, other than that he was pissed off. And I really couldn’t afford to spare too much energy worrying about it. The pain in my stomach and chest and back was blinding, deafening, and even nauseating. I thought I might pass out, but I tried as hard as I could to hang on.
“So here’s the deal. I want ya to give this fancy-ass bat back to your lover-boy wit’ my compliments. Got it, faggot?”
I just lay still, trying not to even breathe, and praying that he’d leave me here alive.
Mikey poked me with the bat again, harder this time. “I asked if ya got it, faggot?”
I think I nodded, but I couldn’t bet my life on it. The world was getting hazy.
“Oh, yeah, and a coupla more little thingies. First off, no cops, ya hear? And second, tell your boyfriend that I plan on keepin’
my job at Dalton Builders, and if he even thinks of firing my ass, I’ll come after your sweet little Savannah. I got more baseball bats at home.”
Within a couple of seconds the car door slammed, the headlights faded, and I lay there alone on the cold blacktop. I’d be lying if I didn’t admit that it brought me back to days long past.
“IS THAT you, Tristan?”
Oh, God, he’d come back for round two.
“Hey, dude, Tristan? Are you okay?” Not Mikey’s voice.
I lay there in the exact same position as when I’d blacked out, all curled up like a baby in a fetal ball. I groaned softly, assuring whoever was here with me that I was still alive.
“Hey, man, it’s me, Phillip.” I heard a loud clatter as he dropped the trash bags he was carrying onto the ground. “Shit, dude, you are definitely not okay!” I could feel his hands on my side, gingerly lifting my shirt and coat, surveying the damage.
“Phi-Phillip…. Phillip… help me up… please….”
“Shit, man, somebody sure did a number on you. You okay?” His voice was shaking.
I had to help him calm down. This was not Phillip’s problem. “S-sure… sure I’m okay. At least I think I’m okay.” My entire chest was on fire. My back throbbed.
Nope. Not okay.
“Hey, listen, I’ve got my car parked on the side of the building. Let me take you home—or do you need to go to the hospital, you think?”
With Phillip’s help I struggled to my feet. “No, no, I don’t think so, but could I just have a ride to the train station?” He placed his arm beneath my shoulder, and we started in the direction of his car. I used the baseball bat as a makeshift cane and slowly we hobbled along.
“So dude, there’s no way I’m putting you on the subway tonight. I’ll take you home. Not another word about it. I’m taking you home.”
I DON’T know exactly how I managed to climb the stairs to our apartment, but eventually I found myself standing in front of my door. I don’t think anything had ever looked more welcoming. I knocked quietly, so as not to alarm Savannah. But I just couldn’t deal with searching for my keys right then. I wasn’t even sure I still had them.
“Thank God, you’re home—you’re an hour later than I expected and I was starting to get really worried.”
Savannah went to throw her arms around me but I gently pushed her away. “I’m not feeling good. You shouldn’t get too close to me.” I dropped my coat and the bat on the floor by the doorway, toed off my shoes, and shuffled down the hallway to the living room.
“What’s wrong with you?” She tried to take my face in her hands but again I shoved them away. “Tristan, look at me!”
“No—I just can’t do this right now—I’m really sick.” My voice was quiet, but sharp. I dropped to the couch. “Sorry, honey, I’m sorry. I just need to sleep.” When I curled up on my side, with my back to her, I knew she was suspicious. “Could you grab me a blanket? And a couple of Advil. Please.”
“The Advil’s in the bedroom and Robby’s sleeping in there. I’ll be really quiet and I’ll go in and get it.”
“Robby’s here? Jesus, no, not tonight. Just listen to me—forget the Advil and just go back to bed. Don’t wake him up. Please.” With supreme effort, I managed to roll over to lie on my back so I could see her. She was looking down at me and shaking her head, a world-has-come-to-an-end sort of expression on her face. “I’ll be better tomorrow, honey. I promise.”
Without saying a word, Savannah reached for my shirt and started unbuttoning.
“Don’t.”
She looked at me with a pointblank stare and said flatly, “You’re not sick; you’re hurt.” I didn’t have the energy to resist any further. I let her unbutton my shirt to the waist and push it open. Although her eyes widened at the sight of Mikey’s brutal handiwork on my torso, her voice betrayed no emotion. “Who did this to you?”
Now that she knew, I figured I wasn’t going to be sleeping any time soon. I decided I’d be more comfortable if I got undressed. I struggled with my shirt until it fell to the floor, and then I unbuttoned my jeans and started to pull them off, unembarrassed, since after this many years I was used to Savannah seeing me undressed. And soon she was on her knees by my feet, tugging on my jeans until she succeeded in removing them. When she was finished, she stood and looked down at me, her face stern. Again she asked, “Who did this to you?”
“I don’t want Robby to know about it. He’ll feel responsible.”
“It was that DeSalvo guy, wasn’t it?” She already knew the answer, so I didn’t bother to nod.
By then, I was starting to feel really cold. Maybe it was from shock, maybe it was from sitting there in nothing but my boxers. “Can I have a blanket?”
“First things first.” She knelt back down to examine the wide purple welts on my chest and then my stomach. “Do we need to get you to a hospital?”
“I don’t think so. I don’t think anything is broken, worst case a couple ribs… not too sure.” I lay back down and curled up as I’d been before. “But I’m pretty sure I’ll know tomorrow.” I felt her fingertips tracing the throbbing welt on my back.
“Did you even try to stop him, Tristan? Because I’ve seen you fight on the street, and let’s just say you could’ve taken that big-mouthed jerk without even a slight problem. Or did you just lie down and take it because….” As she pulled the blanket off the chair, her words trailed off, but by the time she’d turned back to tuck it in around me, I could tell by her expression that she’d gotten the complete picture of what had happened behind the restaurant tonight. “You took it because he’s Robby’s friend, didn’t you? You basically let him do this to you!” I don’t remember her ever looking at me with this much frustration. And disgust. “God, Tristan, at least you could’ve run.” Savannah shook her head. “I’m gonna go get the Advil.”
Before I could protest, she was stomping her way to the bedroom. Within five minutes, she had given me painkillers and water and had settled herself on the end of the couch, pulling my feet onto her lap. “I’m sleeping out here with you tonight.” By now she was beyond frustrated; she had worked herself into a state of silent fury. There was no way I’d be able to change her mind and make her go to bed. And to be honest, I didn’t have the will or the desire to change her mind. My body felt like someone had hit me hard a couple times with a baseball bat.
Despite the pain, I found myself drifting off.
Robby
“WHAT the hell is going on out here?” Tristan was curled up on his side on the couch, his blanket-covered body rocking forward and backward very slightly, and Savannah was asleep, sitting up, down on the far end. Savannah opened her eyes slowly and just looked at me without any expression at all, offering no explanation.
“You guys, what’s going on?” I’d come out of the bedroom because I had sensed something was wrong. And now they wouldn’t answer me. “Why aren’t you two in bed?”
The lump under the blankets moved. “I’m sick.”
“You’re sick?” I went over to the couch and sat down on the edge. When I tried to pull the blanket back to look at him, Tristan clung to it. “Tris, if you’re sick, you need to be in your bed, not out here. Come on, buddy, let me help you.” I pushed on his side a little bit to let him know I meant business, causing him to yelp like a kicked puppy.
“Just let me be!” Tristan started moaning as if he was in pain. Then he rasped, “Go to bed, both of you, and I’ll be better in the morning! Please just go!”
Now I was certain something was more than a little bit wrong here. First, I examined Savannah, whose guilty eyes were staring up at me, as round as golf balls. Then I took in the rest of the room. Tristan’s pants and shirt had been dropped in a rumpled ball beside the couch. There was a glass of water and a bottle of Advil on the coffee table. Down the hall, I could see Tristan’s black blazer on the floor beside a baseball bat.
A baseball bat.
I walked down the hall without a word, picked u
p the bat, and immediately recognized it—this bat was one of a kind. “What did he do to you?” I roared with a rage so fierce I thought my brain might come unglued. Then I actually ran back over to the couch, leaping over the coffee table in the process, and tore the blanket off him with one swift yank. On the smooth light-brown skin of his back was the indisputable imprint of where he’d been hit by a baseball bat. “Christ, Tristan!”
When he turned to face me, struggling in a futile attempt to cover his bareness with his hands, I saw the rest. Two more thick purple welts had been left by that one-of-a-fucking-kind bat, the first diagonally across his chest, the other horizontally across his stomach. Wide and swollen and furiously inflamed. What shocked me even more than those contusions, though, was that he instinctively reached his arms out to hold me, to comfort me, when I was the reason he was experiencing what had to be excruciating pain. “Robby, I’m okay. Please don’t worry about me. I just need some sleep.” He sounded every bit as shitty as he looked.
“Sleep isn’t gonna do a fucking thing for what happened to you.” I rushed into the kitchen and returned with a tray of ice cubes and a couple of dishtowels. Savannah had gotten up and was hovering around by Tristan’s head. “I’m gonna ice these bruises down. Then we’ll go to the hospital, and after that you can make a statement to the police.”
At those words, Tristan shot upright. After a grimace and a groan from the pain that came from the sudden movement, tears starting to stream down his face, “No, I can’t! H-he said… if I tell anybody anything, he’ll go after Savannah and… and… just n-no. Please.”
Before I knew what I was doing, I’d grabbed Tristan by the shoulders and was staring down into his eyes. “What the fuck did Mikey say to you?”
“No cops, okay?” Tristan was crying. I’d never before seen a man quite this devastated. “Just no cops, please! Or he’ll go after Savannah.”
