"I'd prefer it if you didn't cuss." Yumie cut in bitterly.
"Sorry. Bad habit. I can't help it sometimes….here we go. Fat ass!" Vincent entered Rodriguez's room where he saw the boy was making his bed. A pale hand waved the phone in the air while the iPhone stayed at his ear. Yumie and Heinkel flinched at the reference.
"What are you doing?" Stunned green eyes stared at the two phones, but Rodriguez took the one that was handed to him while he was still trying to grasp the situation. As he raised the phone to his ear, Vincent answered.
"Heinkel called your cell. Some other girl called the home phone... Didn't you hear it ring?"
Rodriguez's brow furrowed, still confused as he focused on the phone. "Hello?"
"Alex." Yumie sighed in relief while Heinkel took a deep breath to sigh out after her. "It's me, Yumie. Who is that? Who's at your house?"
"What? Um…" Rodriguez jerked as a hand waved at him.
"Don't tell them who I am."
"Why?" Rodriguez blinked, finally adjusting to the current circumstances that were creating this disorderly moment. "Vincent! Give me back my phone! You can't take other people's stuff! And… YOU RUNT! My mom's going to be pissed when she checks my phone…she'll think I…"
"Damn it." Vincent's quiet curse silenced the room and the boy handed the phone over to Rodriguez as his features came to hold a dull expression. "She hung up on me because you yelled out my name."
Rodriguez took the phone with a frown. Yumie had gasped, he realized, when he had said Vincent's name.
"HIM?" The girl exclaimed, aghast.
Rodriguez's eyes dulled as they wandered about over his carpet. Did I just do something really stupid? Yumie's voice was raised, so he spoke in order to quiet her. "Yeah. Vincent's here…" The girl's tone irked him as she scoffed and tried to give him a lecture on common sense. He barked at the phone without necessarily meaning to. "So what if he's here, Yumie? Do you think there's something wrong with that?"
The girl was quiet. "Okay, fine… sorry Alex. Heinkel was just calling to see if you could pick us up a half hour later. We're still working on our project and it took us a while to go get more supplies, and we want to finish it today to get it out of the way. Plus my mom won't let me go anywhere if my homework's not done."
"Okay…" The air quieted with the return of calm and order. Rodriguez spoke softly. "Sure. Six thirty is fine."
"Thanks Alex…be smart…and bye." She hung up, giving awkwardness to the empty line that began to beep as Rodriguez stood, staring at Vincent, trying to determine whether he was angry or not. After his anger had been redirected to Yumie, his opinion of Vincent's invasive actions, dropped. It meant nothing now, so the blonde teen put the phone on his bed and his iPhone in his pocket. After quickly fixing his blankets, folding them back and setting his pillows on top of them, Rodriguez addressed the presence that was watching him idly. "That's it. I'm done."
Vincent blinked at him, waiting for the meaning of these ambiguous words. But it didn't seem like Rodriguez was 'done' dealing with Vincent, so it was a shallow suspense that did not do much to affect the mood. Rodriguez sat on his bed with a sigh, looking at his feet and then sweeping his vision up towards the black hair. They were quiet. "So you're going somewhere at six thirty? You with them both…a threesome?"
A scowl ruined the tan features as disgust contracted the muscles on Rodriguez's face. "I'm going with a few friends. I'm just giving Yumie and Heinkel a ride. I've known them since…forever." He had calmed, relieved of the weight of his holiday chores. Exhaustion closed the green eyes. I want a nap, Rodriguez took a breath and let it out gradually.
"Can you drop me off at my place when you go to pick them up? I need to get home."
The eyes opened and began to watch the red orbs that were peering back at them. A hand ruffled Rodriguez's hair and then was used to support him again as he leaned back. "Sure thing, around six, then."
A nod was Vincent's response. He was looking out the window now. "Sun's already going down. Crazy how short the days are."
"My phone says it's almost three, or just past it, by now." Sure didn't feel short, Rodriguez thought and a groan vibrated in his throat as he stretched his cramped muscles. His eyes meandered about the room and settled on the trash bag by his closet doors. It was only half way full, and contained only articles of clothing he was planning on giving to his mom to donate to the poor. "Hey, Vincent? You want some clothes that I'm getting rid of?" He looked at the boy and saw the beginning of ire in the red eyes, so he quickly sat up and swung his arms anxiously, his mind racing. "I let my friends pick out some clothes in case they want them, or else they're donated and stuff." At least William did that all the time. He didn't really share clothes with his own friends, but it was only a harmless lie. And it worked. He saw the friendlier expression come up behind him and watch as Rodriguez opened the bag.
"Why are you getting rid of them? They're pretty nice."
Because the logos are fading and they're a little small on me. "I grew out of them, that's all." He gave a jerky smile to the boy as he handed him a grey sweatshirt with a partially faded blue word on it. Please don't notice. Just think it's the style. Apparently Vincent thought the sweatshirt was supposed to look this way, because neither his eyes nor his voice ever expressed any different opinion on the matter. Vincent was turning the sweatshirt around and holding it up to himself experimentally. It wasn't black, but it had blue on it so he was allowed to wear it. Blue, white, and black; those were his uncle's colors and everybody needed to have something to do with these colors on their clothing as a show of loyalty. That wasn't really Walter's rule, but the Senior leaders thought it was important for the gang to have this policy. Luckily, they were common colors that 'average people' wore as well. Pale lips smiled as they picked up another warm jacket that was mostly black. There was also a pair of blue jeans and even black athletic shorts with a vertical white stripe on one of its sides.
"Mind if I take them all? Or is there a waiting list?" He asked both seriously and jokingly to the jock.
The green eyes widened a bit, but returned to their original size when Rodriguez blinked and waved his hands. "Sure. Take 'em. They're all yours." He snapped his fingers and started for the door as Vincent looked his new clothes over. "I'll go get your clothes out of the drier so you can change."
"Cool." Vincent hung the shorts on his arm and examined the jacket again. "Cool…"
Faster. Everyone was running, splitting up, doing anything to escape. Because the cops were coming. They were coming. Run faster.
Faster. You can't get caught. If you get caught, you go to jail, you lose your job, you lose it all. Run faster. Faster.
Jake was panting slightly as he staggered through the old hang out, bumping into a body that appeared around a sharp corner. He caught the teen and only had to look him in the eye to explain that there was no need to apologize. Jake was glad that the boy had made it, because the teenager was no more than fifteen years old. He didn't need to start up a rap sheet yet. He needed to stay in school, the look said, and the teen nodded, a bit pale and jittery after the fight. Others were wandering in, like stray cats that would slink off to a corner and begin to lick their wounds, content with resting for now. Groups started to form, though they were not distinctively separate from their neighboring group. The groups formed only because of the layout of the room and its contents. The couch was filled up. The table was occupied, along with any other surface available, until the last boy wandered in. Then voices lifted. Jokes were made. And the spirit of the fight was in them as they found one another, received texts from those who had text messaging, phone calls from those who only had calling on their phone plans. No one was missing, Jake's mouth wore a slim smile, just as content as the others in the hang out, and he watched as some teens began a game of poker while someone else handed around cans of beer, or Coke for some who didn't feel up to it - supplying a group that the others could single out and pick on for the rest of the night. He sa
w a kid with wild brown hair, tall and twiggy as he gulped down his soda. Reminded him of First. Brown eyes scanned the room, and then Jake sipped from his own canned beverage. Max was missing, but that was fine. He usually didn't mix well with the others and he purposefully excluded himself from them. But he usually hung out for a while if Jake was there. Especially if Jake was there. But it was fine, Jake told himself again, taking another sip and quickly claiming a seat when someone stood up. Max was always fine in the end. He was a damn lucky son-of-a-gun, most of the time. Or he was the damnedest, most misfortunate bastard he'd ever met, the poor kid. …Poor kid.
Poor kid, Jake thought as he watched the boy smile at him from across the back lot and then dash towards him, his face bright with excitement. He had Band-Aids covering one of his eyebrows and a scrape on his cheek. Other little cuts on his hands were left exposed. Maybe he had run out of Band-Aids? He had a new cut about every other day. He said kids pushed him down in the sand at school, and the tiny rocks make red, shallow grooves in his skin, taking on the appearance of a rash rather than actual cuts, most of the time. Vincent didn't mind because the kids said it was just a game…it thrilled the boy when they said he was good at it... Poor kid.
Jake watched the teens in the hangout as he drank, sitting and watching and thinking of nothing. He felt uneasy, thinking about Max at the moment. His gut was trying to tell him something, but Jake ignored it and watched the people around him instead.
"No way in hell! You're a lying s.o.b. if I ever saw one!"
Excited voices were raised and heads turned to the couch. The poker game was paused and people gave one ear to their own conversations and the other to the loud voices.
"First? No fuckin' way, man. NO WAY!"
They were howling with laughter, taking all ears. They commanded the whole hang out's attention, and Jake had left his seat. As he got closer to the group, any questions he had thought of asking left him, for the boys were still talking. One of them had a bad lisp. He was missing his front teeth. This boy was laughing the hardest and it tampered further with his impaired speech, making one have to concentrate in order to understand what he was saying. This is what Jake heard.
"Yeah! The bastard was caught by the police! I saw him!" He laughed, keeping the lead he had so far maintained. "But, you know what the bastard did? He got right in the front seat with none other than…the fucking Chief Bitch herself!" He howled. "No cuffs! No nothing! What kinda shit is that all about? He friends with Chief Bitch? Why does he get the special treatment? Bet he's got himself doing the old woman some special favors, right, RIGHT? She's old but she's got a killer body!"
The lisping teen choked as his audience became mute. A hand could be felt, with a grip like a metal tourniquet, cutting off the blood flowing through his shoulder. His eyes dilated with fear and his mouth became dry and pasty. The boy could not look up at Jake's hard, black eyes.
"What are you talking about, Squirrel?"
Squirrel stuttered, and couldn't spit out a single intelligible word. The grip tightened, forcing a wince from the boy. "First…" His dry throat made his speech a bit raspy as he spoke, so he moved his tongue around in his mouth in an attempt to fix this. It didn't help. "I was saying about how First…got picked up by the cops…" Squirrel's voice faltered here as he heard others stand and come closer to the couch. His hands shook as he held the aluminum can between his knees. "But First got in the front of the cop car…with Chief Bitch…" His voice declined to nothing with his final statement. "…And it didn't look like he was being taken in…or anything,…Black."
The moniker was synonymous with Jake's name, used among those that didn't know him well. He had acquired it in his late teens, on account of his eyes which darkened with his mood. They were black now as he let his gaze torture the teen called Squirrel. Others whispered amongst each other without any form of authority commanding their silence. Jake was in the leading position over these members, at the moment, and when he decided to look at the boys that were whispering, they were instantly silenced. Squirrel gasped when the tourniquet was removed from his shoulder and he covered it protectively with his hand, leaning away from Jake until the man was far enough away that Squirrel was no longer intimidated by his presence. Jake went outside, and a few figures followed him.
The night was dark and clouds had arrived to knit a barrier between Man and the sky. The blanket of cloud was preserving more of the day's heat, so the night was not cold enough to bother Jake as he stood on the steps, moving his arms through his sleeves. His hands were cupped by his face for a moment, and when they left, the ember of a cigarette reflected as a glowing pearl in his eyes.
"You think First's betraying us?" The question came and the light of the cigarette burned brighter as Jake inhaled. Then it dimmed as the others continued to speak.
"First might be the Angel of Death's nephew…but…you know…that doesn't mean anything…especially now that he's…gonna... He's the past..."
Angel of Death was W.C.D.'s official moniker, his nickname. Jake only heard a few of the Senior members, including his father, ever refer to him as anything else. But everyone knew that W.C.D. was the Angel of Death, though they might not know what his initials stood for. Everyone knew Max as Max and First. And Jake…he was called Black…
…by some of them.
Jake's thoughts were drawn back to their topic when a stout pillar of ash tumbled from his lips. The guys who had followed him were talking heatedly now.
"That bastard doesn't know anything! Damn it! He's got this name behind him and he thinks he can go out there and do whatever the hell he wants!"
"He's telling the cops stuff…that freaks squealing on us, I know it! He wants out, doesn't he? Yah know what he fucking does? He looks down on everyone! He thinks he's better than everyone! You all seen Squirrel, right? First knocked out his fuckin' teeth for no goddamned reason! That fucker is crazy…. I'm gonna kill him, I swear, if this is true, I'll fucking murder that little freak. Teach him a lesson…"
"If you touch him, I'll killyou." Rigid bodies shot wide eyes at Jake as he glared down at them, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed over his chest while his jacket sleeves hung emptily from his shoulders. His muscled forearms were still visible in the darkness; they only seemed bigger than they actually were, in the absence of light. Teeth chewed on several lips as they waited with fluctuating apprehension. Jake looked away, over and across the backstreet. "I don't think First's giving them anything…but if he is…" The cigarette moved and then was stilled. "Then I'll deal with him. Just me. No body touches him, and I don't want word of this gettin' around to the wrong ears… You know what I mean. And tell the others that as well." He looked at the darkened faces. The white cigarette dipped as Jake turned, moving down the steps as he pulled his arms through his jacket sleeves, and then zipped up his jacket as he strolled down the empty backstreet, disappearing into the shadows and out of sight.
Jake didn't give himself the luxury of sleeping that night. He had too much stuff to take care of and only a limited amount of time in which to do all of it. This was established as his merciless reality when he knocked on the pale teen's door, and no one answered…regardless of how many times he asked Max if he was there.
God he wished Max had answered the door. That brat was the unluckiest, most unfortunate bastard he'd ever known.
Max… He was like a dog…if you gave him scraps, scratched him behind the ear, he'd be loyal and faithful to you, until the end… He was just the wrong type of dog, or something…for this life.
Poor kid.
Vincent was tying the white laces of his converse, sitting on the stairs as he tightened the looping knot. Rodriguez was off somewhere, in the kitchen, talking to William. He couldn't hear them, but Rodriguez had said that he just needed to talk to her about tonight. Apparently Heinkel and Yumie were friends of hers as well, and the blue eyed girl would probably want to go to the movie with them tonight. Vincent tied his other shoe, eyeing the hole that allow
ed him to see his sock.
William and Rodriguez weren't in the kitchen when Vincent walked in, wandering the perimeter of the granite counters. Where were they, then? Red glanced at the time on the microwave and then moved about the kitchen again. There was plenty of time left before the movie. They couldn't be getting ready…they definitely couldn't have left. But the siblings seemed to have disappeared off the face of the earth. Vincent sat on a stool and then left it, slowly strolling down the hall that led to Richard's office. If they were going to leave him at the mercy of boredom again, he would just have to entertain himself. So he jumped, clearing the three steps, and walked towards the two sliding glass doors.
As Vincent's hand pulled on the door, a shadow appeared in his peripheral vision. The boy's heart sunk below his chest, and he stared at the figure that took a few steps before finding him with its dark brown eyes. When they made eye contact, Vincent's skin grew cold and prickling goose bumps ran up his arms and the back of his neck.
He shouldn't be here. Why is he here? Why? He isn't there. He isn't there. Disappear, Jack-bean. Disappear… But the man was approaching the unlocked door. All Vincent could do was stare, stuck in a horrified stupor.
Because Jake shouldn't be here. He shouldn't know where the Chief lives. Nothing good could come from any of this, Vincent thought as he looked up at the dark pair of eyes on the other side of the glass. The teen flinched when the door slid open and Jake's deep voice entered the office.
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