Blood Brothers

by Colleen Nelson

  He pulls a piece of paper out of his pocket. “I just wanna know if you ever seen any of these cars at your school.”

  I scan the list and pass it back to him with a snort. “You’re fucking crazy. I’m not helping you lift cars from my school!”

  “You don’t gotta help me! I just need to know if they’re there. I do the rest. I’ll even give you a cut of whatever we make.”

  I want to smack him, give him a wallop that sends him flying to the curb. This is his idea?

  “Henry told me to show some initiative,” he says quickly. “That’s all I’m doing. If I could just lift one really good ride, it would show him I have what it takes.”

  “I’m not helping you,” I say and turn to go back inside.

  “What if I said I was going to do it anyway? Even if you don’t help me?”

  “Go ahead. Get busted.” He’s trying to bluff me, but it won’t work.

  “I already was, remember? You just apologized for it ten seconds ago when you said you owed me.”

  “And this is what I owe you?”

  Link nods.

  “Hanging out with your brother has messed you up.”

  Link’s eyes narrow and he starts blinking. “You care so much about the guys at school?”

  “No!” I throw my hands up. “I don’t give a shit about them!”

  “Then what’s the big deal?”

  He didn’t get it. “You want me to steal cars.” I say it slow, so he’ll hear how crazy it sounds. “If we get caught, I get kicked out. Dad would never forgive me for doing something like this.”

  But he persists. “One time, Koob. That’s all. Let me score a sweet ride and I swear, I’ll never ask again.”

  “And that’s it? You’ll have proven to Henry you can do it and you’ll be done?” I ask, incredulous.

  Link nods his head. “Yeah. I swear. Come on. Me and you, together. How it’s supposed to be.” Link cajoles, holding up his fist for a bump. “Like old times, except different.”

  How many nights had we gone out, hidden in darkness, and worked side by side creating something amazing? Those days might never happen again if I say no to him. He’s standing in front of me, fist in the air.

  “Don’t leave me hanging,” he says.

  Reluctantly, mine goes up too and they collide.

  Lincoln

  I’m pumped when I leave Koob’s. It feels good to have him back.

  This is just what Henry was talking about, showing some initiative, working an angle. I didn’t think Koob was going to say yes, but I convinced him. Me. I never convinced nobody to do anything before.

  I get to my house and the screen door slams, bouncing in the frame. It’s flimsy and bent from so many openings and closings.

  “Hey, Dusty,” I say. The kid’s sitting on the couch in zombie mode, watching TV. I come up from behind to put him in gentle chokehold. I get him down in a wrestling move, and he tries his hardest to get free. His body is wiry and thin, like I used to be, and I can see his muscles straining through his skin. Mom gave him a buzz cut for the summer. It’s grown out a bit. I rub my cheek against his soft, little-kid hair.

  Finally, I let go and he tries a roundhouse kick before flopping back onto the couch.

  I listen for anyone else, but the house is quiet except for the TV. “Where’s Mom?”

  “Doing laundry.” At the laundromat a block away. How many hours did I spend in that place watching other people’s gitch spin around? Guess by the third kid, she’s given up dragging him with her.

  I open the fridge. The wire shelves are pretty much empty. There’s a pack of baloney and a loaf of bread. “You want a sandwich?” I call to him.

  “Yeah.”

  Slapping mustard, the meat, and bread together, I bring it out to him. “You go to school today?” I ask.

  Dustin shakes his head. He chews his sandwich. The remote-control car I bought him is in the corner. A couple wires stick out of the bottom. “You break it already?” I ask.

  He shrugs. “Wanted to see how it worked.”

  I snort and shake my head. Mad for a second, but then I think, I woulda done the same thing when I was a kid.

  There’s a grunt at the door and Mom walks in, a garbage bag full of laundry in her arms, like she’s Santa. She looks at me. Her eyes wander to the half-eaten sandwich in my hands. “When’d you get here?” she asks and drops the bag of laundry on the floor.

  “Little while ago.”

  She’s breathing hard from the walk. “That baloney’s for Dustin’s lunch.”

  I let the sandwich drop to my plate. “You gonna take him tomorrow?” I ask. It was never her who made sure I got up in the morning; it was Koob and Mr. K. They’d bang on the door till I answered and wait for me on the front steps. We’d walk together, me and Koob running ahead and then waiting on corners for Mr. K to catch up.

  “Watch your mouth,” she says, hands on hips. Dustin puts down his sandwich like he’s not sure if he’s supposed to eat it or not.

  I see her eyes wander to my jacket. “Been with your brother?”

  “Is that why you’re pissed? Cuz I’m hanging out with Henry?”

  She gets real quiet, like the air before a storm hits. I kind of cringe in my jacket, waiting for what she’s gonna say next. “One minute, the cops are banging on our door, and the next, you’re showing up with toys for Dustin.” She shakes her head. “And here you are. No explanation or nothing. Just sitting on the couch eating food that’s not yours.”

  “You weren’t home,” I fire back. And then I’m mad. I jump off the couch, and the plate with my sandwich falls to the ground, the mustard splattering on the floor. She turns her back to me and carries the bag of laundry up the stairs. But she’s big and the bag is awkward, and she looks like an elephant lumbering away. “Fat cow,” I mutter after her.

  “What’d you call me?” She drops the laundry, turns around, and glares.

  “Nothing,” I mumble.

  She takes a step toward me and I take one back. She’s scary when she’s mad, and I want to get out of her way. “Get out. Go back to wherever the hell you’ve been.” She says it quiet so I know she means it. She only yells when it’s for show.

  “Are you kicking me out?”

  “I don’t want cops coming around again. It’s bad for Dustin.”

  It doesn’t answer my question, but her eyes are squished up through her glasses. I look over at my little brother. He turns back to the TV, pretends like he hasn’t been listening. Pushing the sandwich away, he lies down on the couch, probably wondering if I’m one of the good guys or not.

  The screen door slams after me, echoing down the street. She’s pissed I’m hanging with Henry, but she just kicked me out, so where does she think I’m gonna go?

  I think about going to Koob’s, asking if I can crash at his house till she calms down, but he’ll go to school tomorrow. Mr. K won’t want me hanging around all day.

  My new jacket is hot and I’m sweating under it. The baloney left a slimy, spicy coating on my tongue and I wish I’d never eaten it.

  I wasn’t even hungry.

  Jakub

  Honda Acord

  Honda Sivik

  Toyota Camry

  Jeep Grand Chairoky

  Toyota Karola

  Nisan Ultima

  Ford Explorer

  I look at the list written in Lincoln’s sloppy printing. It takes up one page in my art book.

  “These are the ones we look for. But you know, if you see something good just sitting there, unlocked, or keys in the ignition, we’ll jump on it, too.” I thought about the car idling in the parking lot the other day, ripe for the picking.

  He hands me a cellphone. “This one’s yours. Text me with the plate and what kind of car. If anything goes sideways, ditch the phone.”

 
; I nod, but feel the colour drain from my face. I pass him a plastic bag bulging with a blazer lifted from the change room in the gym. He pulls it out and his lips curl in a smile. “This is all it takes to look like one of you, eh?”

  I snort. “I’m not one of them.” But even as I say it, I feel like a hypocrite. I like the feeling of walking into St. Bart’s, wearing the blazer, knowing I belong there. I just can’t tell Link that.

  “You know what I mean.” He rubs his thumb across the golden shield on the pocket, then slips his arms into the sleeves. With only a T-shirt on underneath, his neck looks scrawnier than usual poking out of the collar.

  I get a sick swell in my stomach watching him. Link narrows his eyes at me. “You’re not going to bail, right?”

  I shake my head. Link thinks we could get a grand for each car he’s able to lift, maybe more if it’s a luxury model. I’m not doing this for the money, I remind myself, even though a $60,000 SUV would buy a whole lot of groceries.

  But the doubt is starting to settle in, and my mouth goes dry. I look at the phone in my hand. All I have to do is send a text. I’m not the one lifting the car, or driving it out of the lot. But if we get caught, it’ll mean police, expulsion, public humiliation. Stealing cars is a lot more serious than graffiti. Even if Henry thinks a J.D. won’t get more than community service, Dad would be ashamed of me. Explanations about Lincoln needing my help would be pointless.

  “My number’s already programmed into the phone,” Lincoln says. “Don’t use it for anything else.”

  “I won’t,” I promise. I find the number, committing it to memory just in case. “You’ll meet me at the bus stop at six tomorrow, right?”

  Link nods. He’ll cross over with me, wearing the school jacket, disguising who he really is. He slaps my back and I think I might throw up.

  After school tomorrow, I’ll go to confession. Father Dom will sit beside me shaking his head in disbelief. Then rant at my poor judgment. But he’ll take my confession. He has to.

  Lincoln

  I stuff the jacket into the bag as I walk away from Koob’s place. I wish I hadn’t seen the look on his face; he looked shit-scared. Guess it’s different when you got something to lose. All I’ve got is something to gain. If I show up at the chop shop with a high-end car and Rat sells off the parts, Henry’s going to forget about me being a liability. That’s the kind of shit that shows initiative.

  I take the stairs to the clubhouse two at a time. Couple of the guys are playing vids, a few others eating pizza; one girl is stoned and sitting on someone’s lap, staring at her hand. “Where’s Henry?” I ask.

  No one answers, so I go to the table where the guys are eating a pizza. I reach my hand to take a slice, but Jonny slaps it away, like I’m a dog nosing for scraps.

  I shoot him a look, but he ignores me and keeps talking to his friends. “Where’s my brother?” I say again. This time, they all look at me.

  “Out back,” Jonny says and burps in my face. He’s got a shiner. New, it’s red and swollen. There’s a cut across his nose, too, but I don’t ask where he got it. There’s lots that happens around here that stays quiet. Asking questions draws attention, and that’s the last thing any of these guys want.

  I open the back door off the kitchen. It’s wooden and sticks a little, so the glass in the window rattles. Henry’s talking with Butch, and they both turn to look at me, their eyes hard, and I know it was stupid to interrupt.

  “What?” Henry barks.

  I squeeze the doorknob and wish I could duck inside. “Nothing,” I say.

  Henry looks at me like I’m a child, half-shaking his head and frowning. “Then get the fuck out of here.”

  Jonny opens the fridge to get a beer, and I hear him snort at me. “You’re a fucking child,” he slurs, scowling. “You walk around like having Henry as your brother automatic — automatic —” He tries to wrap his lips around the word, and gives up. “Gets you a spot in the clubhouse.” He takes a step closer to me and puts his beer on the counter. “You got to earn it, you little shit.”

  He’s got a look in his eye, the one that’s not swollen, like he wants to pound me. I ball my hands up into fists, tensing my arm. I’ll have to fight back, make a show of it, even though Jonny’s got a couple inches and fifty pounds on me. He’s eyeing up my jacket and I wonder if that’s what he’s pissed about. That I’m getting a piece of the action?

  I want to bolt, but Jonny’s blocking the kitchen door. Henry and Butch are outside. I could run that way, but Henry would make me fight.

  The door opens and Henry takes a step inside, looking between us. “What’s going on?”

  Jonny sneers at me, seething. “Just having words with your brother.”

  “What kind of words?” he asks. Butch comes in behind, and the two of them fill the kitchen so there’s no room for anyone else.

  Henry looks at me. I could sell Jonny out, tell Henry he’s stirring shit up. I’m about to, the words are on my tongue, but then I don’t.

  All the guys in the kitchen will think I’m a pussy. I push my hat up so he can see my eyes. “I have a lead on some cars. I’m checking it out tomorrow,” I say. “I was asking Jonny what he thought, if it was a good idea or not.”

  Jonny takes a step back; his fists unclench and he picks up his beer. Nodding, he pulls the tab on the can; the hiss of it opening cuts the tension. “Yeah, what he said.” He walks out of the kitchen. I feel like I won a fight that never happened.

  Henry takes a long breath. “Wheels come back yet?” he asks me. Butch brushes past him and gets a beer from the fridge. He holds it up and gives Henry a chin nod before he leaves the room. The other guys at the table go back to their pizza.

  “Didn’t see him.”

  He rubs a hand over his bristly hair and cracks his neck. “So, you got a plan.”

  It takes me a second to figure out what he’s talking about. “Yeah,” I say, “I’m going to check it out tomorrow.”

  Henry raises an eyebrow, his lids slipping down as he looks at me. “You’re taking it serious, what I said about initiative.”

  I nod.

  “That’s good. Jonny giving you a hard time?” he asks.

  I shrug, but don’t say anything. “Don’t let him push you around.” Easy for him to say, I think, looking at the size of his chest and how thick his neck is.

  “Henry!” someone yells loud from the front door. “You got a visitor.” The way they say it, I have to look because I worry it’s the cops. But when I poke my head around the corner, I see it’s not. It’s Lester from Koob’s rooming house.

  I snort to myself in surprise and stay tucked in a corner.

  My brother rolls his shoulders, cracking his neck. Lester didn’t come on his own. Wheels is behind him, pushing him into the house. He sort of stumbles over the door, and I can tell he’d rather be anywhere but here.

  Henry shakes his head. “Things aren’t looking good for you,” he says.

  Lester moves his mouth, but no sound comes out.

  “What’s that?” Henry says, stepping closer.

  Lester’s eyes dart to him and then away. I can hear his breathing, even from across the room.

  “Your brother and me had a deal. I did him a big favour. He said you’d be good for it. You owe me.” Henry moves right up to him and breathes heavy in his face. Lester flinches.

  “Give me till Friday. I-I get paid on Friday,” he stammers and looks to the other guys like one of them might back him up.

  Henry stares at him, his eyes narrowed, lips curled in a sneer. “Full payment Friday, or Wheels pays you another visit.” Lester takes the hint and backs away. His hands are trembling and he’s about to say something else when Henry turns away. Wheels shoves him and he trips down the steps.

  I wait till Lester’s a shadow on the sidewalk. “Hey, Henry,” I say and walk across the room to t
alk to him. He collapses into a chair, and someone hands him a joint, already lit. “I know that guy. He lives in Koob’s building.”

  Henry snorts. “What the hell do I care?”

  I blink at him. Words swell in my chest. “He’s a good guy.”

  Henry gives me one of those looks that makes me wish I kept my mouth shut and never said anything.

  “Yeah? What’s a good guy?” He takes a toke on the joint and passes it back to the guys on the couch. “Someone who owes you money? Someone who’s been in jail? Am I a good guy, little bro?” His voice is all quiet and he’s staring at me, so I have to answer.

  “Yeah,” I croak.

  His lips stretch into a greasy smile. “That’s right, cuz I’m your brother. So if I tell you Lester’s not a good guy, you just fucking believe me. Got it?” His voice gets louder and I feel my heart beat against my ribs.

  I nod and wait till he takes another long hit before I leave. My feet are heavy as I walk up the stairs. Machine-gun fire from a video game pounds through the walls and the house vibrates with it.

  I open the door to a bedroom upstairs. Some guy’s bare ass greets me. He’s banging a girl on the bed and she’s flopping around like a rag doll. I see her face.

  Shit.

  It’s Roxy. I choke on my breath in surprise and shut the door quick. Too freaked out to say anything. The image burns itself on my brain.

  I want to go back in and rip him off her, and I wonder if she saw me. I put my hand back on the doorknob. It’s already cold like I never touched it. Pressing my ear to the door, I wait. Grunts. Squeaking bed springs, but no screams.

  There’s puke in my throat and I stumble into the bathroom. It burns, but nothing comes out. So I sit on the floor and pull my knees up to my chin. I don’t want to go back out there. To Henry’s jeers and the other guys with their dope and the fake good times.