Xavier parks the car by one of the two warehouse buildings, and we all file out. Glancing around, he pauses. “Hang on.” He walks over to the opposite building and stays near the wall, searching for something. I’m paying close attention to his every move. Draik motions for me to come by the wall and wait with him. Xavier leans down and grabs a sizable rock, bouncing it in his hand like it’s light as a tennis ball. That’s when I see there’s a camera above, a shiny sphere waiting to be a witness. He aims, whips the rock at it, and breaks the lens with a low CRACK. Pieces fall onto the asphalt around him as Xavier makes his way to us, scanning for more. “That’s it. We’re clear.”
“I wanna do that,” I mumble with envy.
Draik pushes me out into the empty lot and we head for the center. “You will. When you’re alone you can practice your aim. We’re going for something a little more interesting tonight.” A single light’s beam splashes a thin, hazy line onto the pavement and we stand around it.
“Run to that fence.” Xavier points to the chain-link one in front of us. I’m not great with gauging distance, but these decades-old warehouses aren’t small. The parking lot is rectangular. He wants me to run the long way.
“What about if I go to that one?” I point to the one at our right, where the lot ends.
Draik grumbles, “Give me a fuckin’ break,” and shoves me again.
I run my hand through my unkempt hair, nervous. I’ve never been the most athletic of guys. My legs are muscular now but before they were weak. I was a straight-A student who spent his time in libraries, not on the field. Glancing down to my slacks, I shake my head. “I should have dressed for this.”
“Stop stalling. Run,” Draik orders me.
“I’m not stalling!” I lie. “Okay, here goes.” I run at a good pace, but then I hear them laughing behind me. Throwing up my arms, I spin around and cry out, “What?!”
The expression on Xavier’s face says I’m pathetic. “I didn’t say, take a leisurely jog.”
“I thought we were warming up!”
With his light brown leather jacket bunching up, Draik crosses his arms. “We don’t warm up. Now run back the other way, to that fence.” He points at the opposite one…and it looks really far away.
“You’re kidding me,” I mumble to myself, forgetting they can hear me. Calling out to them, I try my best to explain why this won’t work. “I’m a coroner! You think we work out? This is crazy!”
“You run to that fence, Howard, NOW! And we want you to go as fast as you fucking can! Got it?”
I nod and rub my hands together—preparing and procrastinating. But something he just said sparked my curiosity. As fast as you can. What’s that even mean? How fast can I go? Never have I pushed myself to see what I can do. It was known by my old pack growing up that I wasn’t able to do what the other wolves could. My mom reminded me every time she had the chance. “Howard, be careful. You’ll hurt yourself. Don’t even think about jumping that fence with them. Come here. Stay with me.”
She babied the fuck out of me.
Not like these guys.
Xavier says, “Well?” crossing his arms, too. The two of them look like they might come over and make me run.
“Alright! I’ll try!” I take off but a lifetime of limitation presses in on my mind. I do NOT believe I can go quicker than I am running right at this very moment. Not only that, but I feel a pain in my lungs. It’s fear and it is powerful. I’m afraid I’ll let them down. That they’ll learn the truth: I’m not good enough to be in their pack.
Who am I trying to kid?
I slow down as I near the end.
“HOWARD!!” Xavier yells, pissed off.
I grab onto the chain-link fence and bend over, panting and humiliated. “I can’t.”
Draik mutters really quietly, “He can’t do it,” so I know I wasn’t meant to hear it. And the thing is, had it been a couple months ago, I wouldn’t have been able to. But I did hear it. And it makes me angry.
He. Can’t. Do. It. All my life I’ve been hearing that. My whole fucking life.
A heat launches into me. One I’ve not felt since that night at Kruglov’s, and never before then. I don’t have a name for it because it’s foreign, but it feels like there is literal fire in my chest as a voice inside my guts says, I can and I will.
The dirty fence clatters behind me as I push off from it, running with gaining speed. My hair starts to tingle, wind whipping though it. The exposed parts of my skin feel cold from the sudden sting of the chilled night air. My muscles come alive, burning and expanding like they’re growing with every hit to the sidewalk even though my feet feel separate from me. I let go of my mind and allow my body to show me what it can do. My arms pound back and forth, maintaining my balance. I start to make a sound I’ve never made.
I hear Xavier say, “That’s it,” from a faraway place. “He’s feeling it.”
I make it to the fence, whip around and race back in the other direction, pushing myself to cut however little time that took, in half. My chest feels like it’s going to explode in volcanic ash.
I’m pure energy. Possibility. I’m ALIVE.
I run so fast that, unable to stop my velocity, I hit the fence with a loud SLAM.
Falling in a heap on the ground, I begin to laugh.
Draik and Xavier stroll up to loom over me, and I’m still laughing. They’ve got grins on their faces bigger than I’ve ever seen.
“You found it,” Xavier says.
I pant, “What? What did I find?” smiling wide.
Draik tips his head up. “Courage.”
15
Howard
After a few more of these runs, I’m feeling higher than I’ve ever felt. I’ve got a permanent grin on my face, and I’m barely sweating. “What next?”
Xavier points to the door on the warehouse with the broken camera. “Kick that in.”
Staring at it a long moment, my eyes fall toward my rubber-soled work shoes. No steel-toe here. I hesitate to look at them, but since they’re waiting for my reply, I have to. “Um…it’s metal. That’s a metal door.”
Draik nods, “Yup,” crossing those damned arms again.
“An industrial metal door.”
They both just stare at me, losing patience.
Running a hand through my knotted hair, I glance over my shoulder. “You comin’?”
They start walking and we all face the building, with me in the middle. Staring at the door, I throw out a kick that doesn’t even leave a dent. I fly back like a snake bit me. “OW! FUCK!”
Xavier and Draik crack up laughing. I glare at them from the corners of my eyes. They laugh harder.
“If it’s so easy, YOU DO IT!” My mouth clamps shut. That was really loud. I didn’t mean to yell like that. Their laughter stops abruptly. Xavier pushes me out of the way, stands in front of the door, pauses to focus and then kicks the fucker down. It’s bent and lying on the ground, just like my jaw.
He throws me a look, dark eyes glittering. “Just because your brain thinks you can’t do something, doesn’t mean you can’t. You have to ignore your mind and trust your gut.”
It’s profound and moving. Sparks fly into my body at the idea that just like with my speed, I might be greater than I think I am.
Draik points over. “There’s one more door on that other warehouse you can use. All the others are visible to the street. This is your chance. Don’t blow it.”
“Jeez, no pressure,” I mutter, walking past him. Behind me two pairs of footsteps follow. Cracking my neck, I walk faster.
“It’s not about getting a running start,” Xavier calls to my back. “It’s about focus. Focus your energy. Picture the door falling. See it before it happens.”
I nod but don’t look back. My eyes are locked on the scuffed gray door looming ahead of us. It has a keyhole and handle, and the bottom has gathered dirt for years. I stand in front of my opponent and concentrate. A presence inside me grows as I get quieter. My soul feels lik
e waves under my skin, an inner body that’s wakes up and gets ready to act. I visualize the door breaking. What the inside of the warehouse will look like. My sense of pride.
Feeling centered now, I kick it with great force. It bends, but does not break. Suddenly I’m panting and Draik starts to say something. “Shh! I’m not done!”
He shuts up. I can feel them tense with anticipation next to me.
Stretching my shoulders, I silently chant, I am more than I think I am. I can do more than I believe I can. Anything is possible. Believe. Try.
I close my eyes and kick the door without even knowing I was going to do it at exactly that moment. A sharp sensation vibrates through me and I hear a CRACK so loud my eyes are jarred open by it. The door is broken, not just open, but in half, the top lying on the bottom with a vast room of boxes on shelves glow-outlined in the darkness behind it. And an alarm is screeching in my ears.
“Get to the car! Now!” Xavier and Draik take off. I’m staring at the two halves of metal that were once whole.
“HOWARD!”
“GET OVER HERE!”
Like a shot, I’m at the car and climbing in. The door closes as we skid in a three-sixty and race out of the lot. Inside the car is abnormally quiet until we’re a few blocks safely away when my packmates start whooping and hollering. A slow grin spreads on my face and grows as Draik leans over from the front seat to grab my leg and squeeze it hard.
“You fucking shattered that thing, buddy!” he laughs. “Better than Xavier did it!”
Xavier makes a face. “I could do what he did. I just didn’t want to intimidate him.”
I stare out the window as it begins to rain. Tiny droplets move and blend together before the wind takes them away. “Let’s go back to Spybar.”
I’m too engrossed in the dancing water and growing pride to notice that my packmates have exchanged a very worried look.
16
Alisa
My manager—a guy who thinks he’s cool, but isn’t—passes by my little coat closet. “Have to take any dumps tonight?”
“Nope! I’m all good, Louie!” I smile. He sneers and disappears into the club.
When I returned here after having abandoned my post, there were seventeen people clamoring for the retrieval of their jackets and hats. Louie was where I should have been. He was very, very lost. Managers always undervalue what their employees do until they’re stuck doing it themselves, and without training. He didn’t know my system, either. When he saw me, his expression changed to truly pissed off.
I jumped in, took over and handled the line with ease while he glared at me from the side. As soon as we were alone he demanded an explanation.
“I had to go number two.”
“Sorry, what?” he blanched.
Feigning embarrassment and whispering to add to my charade, I explained, “I can’t go in public. It’s terrifying. So I ran home.” As his lips rose in disgust, I nailed the coffin of the discussion more tightly closed. “It was a doozy. Trust me. You didn’t want that in the ladies room. I mean it was really…”
“Okay!” He threw up his hands, flipped around in his knock-off Nikes and took off.
Best way to get a guy off your back: describe pooping.
The unexpected bonus to my skipping out and returning at that necessary moment was that because it looked like I was the one to rescue the long line from a longer wait, I got tipped better than any other weekday night I’ve ever worked. Heh heh heh.
Sitting down tonight though, I’m bored and wishing something fun would happen. At the beginning of the night, it’s always dead. No one wants to be the first to arrive. People don’t want to stand around an empty club—it feels like a party everyone deemed unworthy of attending. The DJ during this part of the shift is always the poor schmoe working his way up. The bartenders are just like me, in it for the long haul of the night.
As soon as 9:45 p.m. rolls around, the place goes bananas. I’m slammed with coats shoved at me. It happens like this every night so I’m ready with my stack of paper tickets to practically throw at people as they run inside, everyone hoping to find someone to fuck that night. That’s the cold hard truth. Even girls out for ladies night, will ditch their best girlfriends if a hot guy says the right thing in the right way.
The first DJ walks by on his way out, and waves at me. I wave back with an apologetic smile. Poor guy. Now that everyone’s here and the place is packed, he has to turn the board over to a dude with more time in his scratching finger. “You’ll get there.” He nods and vanishes out the front door.
There will only be the occasional straggler coming in now. I sit back down on the barstool and slouch my shoulders, hooking a leg around the footrest. Staring off, my thoughts travel away again. I imagine a door opening on the wall across from me leading to that parallel universe I daydreamt of before. Pale green glass is the floor and little elves with skin of earthy colors walk around going about their business, chatting with each other and not seeing me. In the distance there is a bridge of pale white gold. It shimmers not by the light from a sun, but rather a light bulb larger than Texas. So pretty.
“You’re so pretty.”
Wait, what? With an uncomfortable jarring I am back in reality to find he is here, standing dead center of my coat-check window. Standing to his right and left like bodyguards are his large and impressive buddies. No one’s wearing a suit this time. Mophead is in dress pants and a button-up shirt that barely fits him. If the fabric were cheaper it probably would have ripped by now. His thick hands are holding the counter like he’s bracing himself. He smells like he’s been working out and I have to admit, I like it.
What I love is his hair, a mess of light brown that’s even scruffier than it was last night. I stand up to reach over and move some away from his eyes. Heat pools out from my stomach as I near him. I retract my hand quickly as all of their breaths catch.
I stutter, “Sorry. I was just…it was going to poke your eye.” What a horrible lie. I wanted to feel it and I forgot we weren’t alone. Embarrassed I tuck a lock of blue hair behind my ear and then hold my hands in front of my mini-dress, that way I won’t try that nonsense again! But this action makes him look down and his brown eyes linger like he’s looking not at my hands or my dress, but at what’s hidden behind it. His lips part, but he says nothing. I can see his light pink tongue touch the his upper teeth.
The bearded guy pushes him.
His eyes fly up. “Sorry.”
“It’s okay,” I mumble, feeling the warmth increasing and flowing to other places. This has got to be the most awkward moment in my life.
I don’t want it to end.
The blonde one says, in a very loud voice, “Hey, War. Introduce yourself.”
I gasp, “Your name is War?” Then Mophead has the nerve to look embarrassed and suddenly I am aware of…no, I know for a fact that this whole good-guy act of his is complete bullshit. He is too hot, too built, and smells too good to be this shy. Annoyed as hell, I cry out, “Oh, come on!” throwing my hands on my hips.
Surprised by my change in tone, he lets go of the counter. “What?”
“Don’t play that game with me.” Flashing a look to each of his beefcake friends, I land back on him. “I almost fell for it! I’m not an idiot, okay?”
“Game?” He blinks at me with rounded innocence. “I know you’re not an idiot. Or, I mean, I don’t know. You’re a stranger to me, but I’m guessing you’re not an idiot.” Wow this guy is good.
“You don’t have to guess. I’m not!”
“Okay!” He throws his hands up in surrender, but I’m far from done.
“Look, you three. I know I look like a poor little nothing in this booth. Yay, look at me, the quirky coat-check girl who probably works here to get laid…so you think you can come in here with your muscles and smirks and that awesome smell you have and expect me to swoon and open my legs for you? Well, forget it. I work in a nightclub, remember? I see guys like you all the time. I’m not susce
ptible to your game. Go find another girl to toy with, then screw without ever calling her again. I’m not a plaything. Now go on.” I stare at them and cross my arms, waiting for them to go inside the club. His buddies smirk like crazy, and he is still acting lost. “What? You find me amusing? You think I’m playing hard to get? This right here is honest-to-God truth comin’ atcha, so prepare yourselves.” I slam my hands on the counter and lean in, seething. “I’m. Not. Your. Plaything.”
I plop back onto the barstool, grab my phone, open my Kindle app and start reading. My heart is pumping in my chest a little too hard. The words blur on the page even though I love this book. But who can concentrate with War looking at you? My peripheral vision lets me know they haven’t budged. I am and have always been, stubborn. I keep my eyes averted and never once look back up. That is, until they leave.
But then I hear laughter coming down the hall as they head for the front door. They’re not going in the club? I jump up and peek covertly, thinking I won’t be spotted. But Mophead turns his head and looks at me. There is no smile on his boyishly handsome face. He looks disturbed. Sad, even. My heart sinks as he holds my eyes until he no longer can, confused, lost, and totally adorable. His friends are having a fit laughing under their breaths and the bearded one throws a consoling arm over War’s shoulder. Their strides are long and confident and then…gone. The door closes behind them and a sinking feeling in my gut tells me maybe I am an idiot after all. Maybe he wasn’t acting. Maybe he’s a nice guy, and his friends are the assholes. And maybe he really wanted to talk to me. Like, just talk.
Werewolves of Chicago: Howard: The Underdog Page 6
