by Rita Feutl
I work out the details as I pull into the back of the building. Alex is at the door.
“Finally,” he says. He kicks the door.
“What’s your problem?” All my ideas about Mandy’s bike shrivel up. Alex scowls at me.
“You were going to show me how to build a bike. A bike like yours. And so far, all I’ve done is learn how to steal bikes. And watch one of my friends get in trouble. And see his mother cry in the principal’s office.”
“Did Stevie mention you? Or Katie?” I unlock the door.
“Katie! What does Katie have to do with it? Is she in on this?” He follows me inside.
“No! Of course not. She doesn’t know anything. I just don’t want her to get in trouble.”
Alex snorts. He sounds like Danny. “Sure. You don’t want her to get into trouble. But me or Stevie…that’s okay, right? Because we’re just runts, right? The bottom of the pecking order.” He kicks the nearest bike frame. It’s Mandy’s. I yank him away. I want to shake him, but an image of Dwayne flashes across my mind, and I let Alex go.
“Oh sure, pick on someone smaller than you—that’s easy,” says Alex. I can tell he’s close to tears. “But you can’t stand up to those other guys.” His voice goes up a bit, and he adds a whine. “Don’t pay me five dollars, Mr. Boss Man, sir. At least give me ten. They’re worth way more than that.”
“Shut up, Alex. You don’t know anything about it,” I say. A slow burn of anger creeps up from my gut. Who is this…this runt to make fun of me like this? All I want is to pay off the damn television set. But the problems keep spreading, like the broken lines on the screen after Katie made that kick. If I could just—
“Hey, Nick? Or should I call you Nick-eee?” Now Alex sounds like Dwayne, and it brings me back to the present.
“Don’t,” I say.
“Yeah, yeah. Otherwise, you’ll beat me up. Well, forget it. I’m done. I’m done with you and I’m done with Katie. And I’m done with bikes.” Alex pulls open the door, but before he goes through, he stops. “I don’t get it. Katie thinks you walk on water. She adores you. But you’re just a shitty brother and a really shitty guy.”
After Alex leaves, I can’t go near Mandy’s bike. I try to rebuild at least one of the rides I picked up this morning, but my heart’s not in it. The thrill’s not there when I send a wheel spinning in its fork or when the smell of chain grease drifts my way. Mandy’s bike leans against my work counter, crippled, stripped and useless. The cheap screwdriver I’m using bends as I try to pry away a component. I give up.
I climb on my fixie and head to the Radlers’ house. I shoot along side streets, pedaling hard to empty out my head. I want the thrum of the tires to wipe out my worries. But when I turn onto the last street, I have to snap back to reality.
Katie’s sitting outside on the Radlers’ front steps. And my social worker’s car is parked in the driveway.
Chapter Fifteen
“Where have you been?” Katie hisses. “They’re looking for you.”
A tingle of fear flows into my hands. They must know about the bikes. I’m busted. I want to kick myself. I thought I’d been pretty careful. I’d even put up my hoodie under my helmet so people couldn’t see my face.
“There you are, Nick. We’ve been wondering where you were.” Mr. Radler is standing at the door. Behind him, several more figures are waiting.
I think about jumping on my bike and riding away, but Katie takes it from me. “I’ll lock up,” she says.
Mr. Radler holds the screen door open for me. As I walk in, Mrs. Radler brings a tray into the living room. It’s piled with buns. “We had pulled pork for dinner. These are still warm. There’s an extra one here for you, Kris.”
Kris is my social worker. I haven’t seen him since the week after Katie and I moved in here. He’s tall and skinny, and he does that thing where he hangs on to your hand for an extra half second when he shakes it. Then he stares at you, forever, like he’s trying to see inside you. It’s beginning to piss me off. I pull my hand away. “I’ll just go wash up,” I say. No one else says anything.
When I get back, everyone’s in the living room. Even Katie. She’s curled in a ball at the end of the couch, far from anyone else. I sit down beside her and grab a bun. If I’m going to be shot, I may as well eat my last meal. My hands shake as I try to put a napkin around the bun.
“I asked Kris to come over because I got a call about you today, Nick,” says Mrs. Radler.
Well, here it comes, I think. I wonder whether I’ll get a say about which one of those juvie group homes I’ll have to go to. Will Katie be able to come visit? I cram half the bun into my mouth so I don’t have to say anything.
“Your school has reported you absent for the last three days, Nick. What’s going on?”
School? This is about school? I stop chewing and look up. Everyone’s staring at me. Even Katie.
“Is something going on that we need to know about, Nick?” asks Mr. Radler. “Are you being bullied?”
I nearly snort the pulled pork out my nose. Bullying? They think I’m hiding from a few goons my age at school? If they only knew. I shake my head and swallow, then reach for another bun.
“Then what is it, Nick? Why aren’t you at school?” Katie grabs my sleeve so I’ll look at her.
“It’s…it’s nothing. I just felt like being outside. I wanted to ride. The weather’s been so great, and my leg…” My voice drifts off. I’m hoping for some sympathy.
“Is your leg that sore, Nick? Are you doing your exercises? Do you need another appointment with the physio?” Mrs. Radler looks worried.
Katie smacks my arm. “You don’t skip school for half a week and make up your own rehab,” she says. “You’re supposed to be good at school. Mom always said…”
I stand up and cut her off. “Don’t you start telling me what Mom said.” I’m angry again, and my voice goes up. “I remember exactly what she said.”
“Then stop cutting classes,” says Katie. “And stop feeling sorry for yourself.”
“I am NOT feeling sorry for myself,” I shout at her. Kris gets up from the other side of the room. Before he can grab me, I dash for the door.
“If I’m in any trouble, Katie, it’s because of you. It’s all your fault,” I shout back. I see her face go white. Then I head out to my bike.
Chapter Sixteen
It’s dark now, and I ride on the edges of weak pools of street light. Shadows chase me. Voices haunt me. I pedal and pedal, harder and harder. But I can’t get away from any of it.
The dim outline of the Den’s strip mall is up ahead. I let the pedals move my feet now instead of the other way around. I slow and turn the corner. Trevor’s white van, the one he uses to move bikes around, is parked next to the Den. A weak sliver of light seeps from the Den’s open door. Low, angry voices rumble out from inside.
“They’re not even in junior high yet. How can you lose them?” I recognize Dwayne’s voice and decide I don’t need to go inside just yet.
“I didn’t lose them. They weren’t my runts to lose. Ask your wonder boy, Nick the Dick. If he can strip a bike in ten minutes, he should be able to keep track of his own runts.”
A new voice cuts in. Bigger. Deeper. It’s Trevor. “I asked you to break them in, Danny. It was a personal favor to me.”
Danny’s voice is low when he speaks. “You weren’t asking for a favor, Trevor. That was an order, like all the other orders you’ve made since I got sucked into your system. And now you want me to suck other runts in. I know how you operate. But they’re not my runts. I will pay off my debts, but I’m not bringing in fresh meat.”
“Watch your mouth, boy.” Dwayne’s voice climbs with each word. “You need to do exactly what Trevor tells you.”
But Danny ignores him. “I know what you’re up to. I see y
ou guys doing the same thing to Dickhead. And it’s the same thing you did to Joe. Now he’s up to his eyeballs pushing cocaine. You’re just getting us ready to run in your gang.”
I’m stunned. Was that why Danny was being such a pain? He didn’t want us getting involved? How could I have been so stupid? An operation like this couldn’t just be about bikes. First stop, bike cranks…second stop, bags of crack?
Danny’s voice drops so low, he’s almost speaking to himself. “Problem is, I can’t see a way out. Every time I turn around, there’s another thing owing—another ‘favor’ I need to do.”
Dwayne laughs. “You think?”
“All the time,” Danny shoots back. “You should try it. Just once, maybe.”
In the shadows outside, I smile. I give Danny credit for balls. But inside, Trevor orders Dwayne to give Danny something else. “Teach him a lesson,” he says.
Footsteps head toward the door. I panic. The last thing I want is to meet Trevor outside in the darkness. I’m halfway down the back alley when I hear the door slam shut. I look back. There’s no one outside. Which means that both men are inside with Danny.
They’ll kill him. I circle back on my bike. A whack thuds through the door. I feel sick. I wish I still had my cell phone. I wish I still had the old, broken TV. I wish I still had my old, unbroken life. I eye the end of the alley. It would be so easy to just leave…but I can’t. I’m stuck here. I can hear punches on the other side of the door, and moans. Something bubbles up inside me.
I find a rock. I’m about to bang on the door with it when Trevor’s voice cuts through the metal door.
“Enough. I have that meeting.”
The sound of smacking stops. In the silence, I place the rock back on the pavement. Then I hear Dwayne’s voice. “What’ll we do with him?”
“We can’t leave him here. Pack him in the back of the van.”
I slip behind a Dumpster just before the door bangs open. Trevor unlocks the back doors of the van. Dwayne drags out Danny’s limp body and shoves him in.
“I’ll drive,” says Trevor. “You get in the back with him.”
Dwayne climbs in, and Trevor swings the doors shut. He gets in on the driver’s side, and the headlights come on. As the van starts to move down the alley, I realize I have no choice. Letting Stevie deal with trouble by himself was bad enough. There’s no way I’m abandoning Danny. I pedal as hard as I can, chasing after that van.
Chapter Seventeen
Bicycle messengers, or cycle couriers, made fixies popular. They looked at velodrome cyclists, who race in outdoor arenas at kick-ass speeds, and started using the same ride. A fixed-gear bike is stripped down to the bare essentials, so it has no shifters, cables, freewheel hubs or even brakes. That means it weighs a whole lot less than a normal bike. And that means a fixie goes way faster.
Which is a good thing, because that’s just what I do. I keep Trevor’s van in my sights as it cruises along the side streets and then pulls onto a main road. Traffic is pretty light, and I don’t want them to see me, but I don’t want to lose them either.
It’s a tricky thing, riding a bike with no brakes. You have to be really aware of what’s happening all around you, on the road, on the sidewalk, in the cars parked next to you. You have to time the lights and check the crossroad traffic. You don’t want to waste all the speed you’ve just created because there’s a red light up ahead. If you do, you’re like some stupid driver who floors the gas pedal and then has to slam on the brakes. All that gas and speed—pointless.
But the lights are green, and I’m flying so fast that tears flow. I need to keep up. I need to see what they’re doing with Danny. I need to make sure he’ll be okay.
The van slows, signals and turns. As I come up to the turnoff, I realize I know this road. It leads down to a park by the river. I’ve been along this road, and the bike paths that feed into it, hundreds of times. I stop cranking on my pedals. I shoot by the turnoff, then circle back. The van’s brake lights drop down into the valley. Then they stop moving.
Is this the meeting place Trevor talked about? Or are they getting rid of Danny here? I fight my pedals to ride slowly down the hill, careful not to make any noise. Halfway down, I see a Grand Cherokee illuminated in Trevor’s headlights. I freeze. It’s the same Grand Cherokee that Shades drives. The same one that drove beside me and Katie that day. I get off my bike and watch the figures below.
Shades steps forward into the headlights. He’s carrying a briefcase. Trevor kills the headlights and gets out of the van. It’s dark now, but my eyes adjust. Shades lays the briefcase on the van’s hood and snaps it open. It sounds like the pop-pop of TV gunfire. Trevor sets a matching case beside it and opens it.
I’m straining to see. What are they doing? Where’s Danny in all of this? What’s Dwayne doing? Should I ride a little closer?
My foot is fishing for my pedal when lights burst on behind Shades and a voice bellows, “Police! Show us your hands.” One cop grabs Shades and two more step in front of him.
But before they can get to Trevor, the back of the van bursts open, and Dwayne steps out. He has one arm around Danny’s neck. His other hand has a gun, aimed at Danny’s head. Danny’s face is covered in blood. He looks stunned.
“Get back! Get back, or I swear I’ll shoot him,” Dwayne screams.
For a moment, it’s so quiet, I swear I can hear my heart beat. Then one of the cops yells, “Drop your weapon!”
But nobody moves. Trevor starts to laugh. “Thanks, guys. Not only do I get all my cocaine back, but I get the money too.” He closes both briefcases and puts them into the van. “Put the runt back in,” he says to Dwayne, who is still holding the gun to Danny’s head.
From up the hill, I watch as Danny struggles not to be dragged back into the van. They’re going to get away, I think. Dwayne and Trevor are going to walk away, just like the drunk guy who nailed my family.
Before I have time to think, I jump on my bike and barrel down that hill, aiming straight for Dwayne.
Chapter Eighteen
Danny may have a thing for carbon fiber or titanium bikes, but I built my fixie with a lot of steel. So when I slam into Dwayne, I have speed and heft on my side. I’m up on my pedals, leaning forward, and when the front tire catches the back of Dwayne’s knees, his head snaps back. It’s my helmet that takes most of the impact.
Arms and legs fly through the air. “Run, Danny, run,” I scream. Danny picks himself up off the road and does exactly what I tell him. I’m still upright, and I pedal after him, past cops and headlights and the glint of guns and badges. We’re off the bike path, plunging down toward the river. Danny just keeps going, and so do I.
When we’re deep into the valley, far from the lights and the noise, Danny stops and rolls onto the grass next to the water.
“I can’t do this anymore,” he gasps.
I swing back uphill to stop. “You don’t have to,” I say. “I just wanted you to escape from Dwayne. We can go back now. Let the police handle it.”
Danny groans and touches a gash in his lip. “Do you even know what the meeting was about?”
“Yeah. Drugs. I heard him. Cocaine.”
“Well, at least you’re not a total dickhead,” Danny says. He gets up onto his knees and winces. “I think Dwayne broke my ribs back at the Den.”
“Then let’s go and talk to the cops,” I say. Shouts and sirens drift by above us.
“I take it back. You really are a dickhead,” Danny says, “Don’t you understand? I’m involved. Hell, so are you. You think it’s just bikes? Trevor runs a whole slick operation where he hooks in runts like you and me with stealing bikes and then, when we can’t pay off our debts, he gets us to sell drugs.”
What? Me sell drugs? Who to? I feel sick. Why didn’t I walk away as soon as Dwayne talked about finding “product.” And “runts
.” They were really just little kids—Katie’s age. The image of Stevie in the back of the cop cruiser flashes through my mind. Then the gun to Danny’s head. And suddenly I’m on my hands and knees at the side of the river, spewing my guts out. The pulled pork can’t leave fast enough. I heave and puke, and when I hear in my mind the sick, wet, smacking sound of Dwayne beating up Danny, I heave again.
When I’m done, I realize Danny’s gone, but I can hear him stumbling through the trees. I find my bike and take off after him. He’s not too far ahead, limping badly.
“There’s one thing I can’t figure out,” he says, as he hobbles along. I can tell he’s trying to put distance between himself and the cops.
“What’s that?”
“Why were you here? You normally pop up at drug deals?”
“I was at the Den,” I say finally. “Outside. When they put you into the van, I followed.”
Danny doesn’t say anything for a while. His breath is loud and harsh in the darkness. Then, “I guess you don’t want to let me ride that thing.”
“No way. But there’s a path ahead. Once we get there, I’ll give you a lift on the handlebars.”
We push through the trees and onto pavement. Danny climbs on and we wobble off. It was way more fun having Mandy up here. Danny reeks of sweat and old clothes. I pedal and pant. It’s hard going. We turn off the bike path and into a back alley lined with garages and garbage cans. I slow to a stop. My knees are shaking.
“Danny, you gotta get off.”
He slides from the bike and crumples onto the grass. “I don’t think I can walk anymore,” he says.
It must be close to midnight. We both need to get home, but I can’t figure out a way to do it. In the darkness, my stomach growls loud enough to wake up the neighborhood. Katie says she’s convinced I have bears in my belly. The bears used to be especially loud when our mother was making her chili. “The grizzlies need feeding,” Katie would call out to the kitchen.
