I saw some coverage about the shooting on the news. The reporter said the police think it’s gang-related. Well, no shit. A known gangster gets gunned down in the street. Could it be gang-related? Ya think? Dumb pigs. His name was Christopher Johnston. He was from Surrey. Anyway, that seems to be about all they know, so I guess that’s good, right? Oh yeah, and there was a number to call at the bottom of the screen if you have any information. Crime Stoppers or some shit. No reward or nothing. Nobody will call. I’m pretty sure of that. They better not. Or I’m fucked.
I’ve been waiting to feel bad about it. Guilty or depressed or haunted, whatever. I thought I would, but I don’t. I don’t feel anything. All I know is that I killed somebody. And if I had to, I could do it again.
When it came on the news, I was holding Laura on my lap, and I just squeezed her. I squeezed her so tight around the belly, without even realizing I was doing it, until she kind of gasped and squirmed away.
She’s getting so big now. She’s actually kind of fat. Ha ha. I like it, though; she’s fat like a little healthy baby should be. She’ll be three next fall. I can hardly believe I had her almost three years ago. It seems like a lifetime ago. I told Mom I’m gonna put Laura to bed tonight. I’ll give her a bath first. Then read her a bedtime story. One of the ones I used to like. Maybe that one about the kid who flushes his mom’s watch down the toilet, but she doesn’t get mad because she’ll love him forever.
I know Laura is his, and what we did was so wrong for so many reasons, but she’s still my kid, right? I mean, I’m allowed to love her. I’m allowed that, at least.
PART 2
STREETS OF PLENTY
MERCY
Just as I expected, the shooting blew over in about a week. It was mentioned in the papers and on the news, but as far as we could tell, there wasn’t much of an investigation happening. I mean, who really cares about some scumbag Slurrey gangster taking a fall anyway? And you know all the junkies on Hastings will keep quiet about whatever they saw. Even if there’s a reward, they’ll keep their mouths shut. Because if they snitch on us, they know they’re a) going down and b) never going to be able to buy off us again. So you’d better believe they clam up. It’s just the code of the streets. You don’t snitch. What do the rappers say? Oh yeah, snitches get stitches. True enough.
When we were rolling with the Vipers, Mac put a hole through a guy’s hand for snitching. Dumb fuck let it get infected, and eventually they had to cut off his whole arm. Now everybody calls him the one-armed rat.
Mac let Sly Girl take it easy the day after the shooting, and didn’t ask her to go out on the corner or anything. I don’t think Sly would have been able to anyway, she was pretty messed up. Quivering like one of those nervous little dogs and looking like hell. I guess she was sick or something, I don’t know. It’s not like she’s never seen anything like that before, her life’s been pretty rough from what she’s told us, but I guess she was taking this kind of hard. But the next morning, Mac said Sly had to get back out there, because it would look suspicious if we were gone for too long. Plus, every day we don’t sell drugs on East Hastings we lose about a thousand dollars.
You can go out in the afternoon, broad daylight, it’s gonna be totally fine. Look, it’s even sunny out. You wanna go with her, Mercy?
Nope.
Aw, come on.
Sorry, I’m busy. I’ve got a Benz, a Beemer, and a Hummer to find.
For fuck’s sakes, Mac said under her breath. Fine. Fine. I’ll go with her. Can you be ready in twenty minutes?
Sly Girl nodded.
Great. Mac motioned for me to follow her into her room and shut the door behind us. How’s Kayos doing? she asked, as she got her gun out of her dresser drawer.
Fine, I think. I flopped down on her unmade bed.
Nothing about any of this gets said over the phones, right?
I rolled my eyes.
Right?
Come on, Mac! How long have we been doing this?
Alright, alright, just gotta make sure.
A little credit, please? You’re talking to a professional here.
You’re right, girl. You’re right. I’m sorry. She put her hand around my shoulder and gave it a squeeze. Hey, you been stealing anything good lately?
Sure have.
Oh yeah? What?
I got an $1,800 Prada purse yesterday.
Really? Her eyes popped. Wow.
You can have it if you want, I shrugged.
Aw, shit, you know me. I ain’t really the purse-carrying type. But hey, we should go shopping soon. I want to pick up some new clothes, maybe get some boots or something.
Yeah, sure. Whenever you want. I smiled at her.
And Z should come too. Girl wears the same damn clothes every day.
I sighed. I don’t know, Mac. Three people draws more attention, you know?
Oh. Okay. I guess you’re right. I’ll just pick some stuff out for her, I guess.
I shrugged.
Hey, Mercy?
I looked up at Mac’s reflection in the mirror where she was putting her eyeliner on, thick and black.
You’re the best, she said.
No, you are.
You are!
Okay, you’re right, I am. It was our old game. We’d say it out on the corner when we were working for the Vipers, trying not to feel insecure. Go back and forth, back and forth, until someone finally gave up and admitted to being the best.
I love Mac, you have to understand that. She’s like the sister I never had. But something’s changed in her since we started this thing of ours. She’s all about the money and the power now. Well, maybe she always has been. I can’t help but wonder how long it’ll be until we can both get out of the game for good.
VANCOUVER
The morning glows around me, the concrete sucking up the light. But my concrete is beautiful, never more so than in the rain. At the birth of the new day, I am already heavier than the night before. Heavy with newness; three hundred steel cranes, freshly poured cement, slabs laid so thick they block out the sky, immaculate shimmering buildings, reaching, reaching, forever reaching up.
The bridge soaring over the silver bay is already clogged with the cars of workers. A million hard and lonely workers who want to vanish into me, want me to somehow fix them, want nothing more than to believe in the city of their dreams.
KAYOS
I miss my girls, yo. For real. No, you don’t understand, I mean, I really miss them. Fuck! It’s like I’m rotting away over here. Seriously. I have to get outta this house. I miss downtown, just being there, you know? Just being a part of it all. Believe it or not, I even miss some of our customers. Whacked, right? You know that junkie with the coat-hanger shoulders, wears that green and yellow tracksuit all the time? As fucked up as his life is, he always has a huge smile for everybody. Calls me Red. And Lacey, that crackhead who used to be a hairdresser? She always goes on about how nice my hair is, how she can’t believe it’s my natural colour, and how she’d kill to have colour like mine. Once, when she was coming up short, I let her give me a haircut in exchange for a rock. I needed a trim anyway. Yo, she did a better job than Magicuts! I don’t know. It’s weird. Yeah, they’re all mangled, but they’re people too, right? Some of them are pretty sweet.
Every time my phone rings, or I get a text, I think it’s gonna be Mac telling me it’s safe to come down again. But it never is.
I’ve been having weird dreams. A gun going off in my face. Walking around downtown but not being able to see where I’m going. These loud explosions all around me. My hands all covered in blood. Black blood.
When I think about shooting that guy now, I can’t even believe that it happened. I can’t believe it was me who did it. What the hell happened to me? I used to be a fucking Girl Guide, for chrissakes.
Z
We need to get a safe, Mac sez 2 me 1 day outta da blue.
O ya?
Yeah. I mean, we can’t really open bank accounts with all t
his cash, that would leave a paper trail, right? We can’t keep buying furniture and art and shit, we gotta start saving for our condo.
R condO?
Yeah! A really gorgeous waterfront condo, baby. Get the fuck outta dodge, start living like the queens we are!
$he ki$$e$ me den & her lipz R tastee lyke da most deli$hu$ $hugar frootz in da wyde wurld. i grab her a$$ & we roll around on da bed 4 a-wyle, playin.
Whoz gonna live dere?
All of us, I guess.
1 big happee famlee, eh?
$he $hrugz. We’re all working for it, Z.
i know, i know. ju$t … i want U all 2 myself sumtimes, U know?
She laffs, rolls her sexee green eyez. Maybe we can have a private suite or something, okay?
U sure U can buy a condO w/ ca$h?
$he give$ me di$ look.
Wat? im ju$t $ayin, mebbe deres sum law agnst it or $umpin …
Cash buys everything, baby. You know that.
aiight, $o … we’ll get a $afe.
A big one.
ma$$ive.
Bolt it to the floor.
bolt U 2 da floor, c’mere grrl! i grab her & $tart tickling her, ki$$ing her evrywhere.
Shh! Stop it! Stop, Z. They’ll hear us! Z …
i don’t give a fuck.
$he ki$$es my lipz, $weetlee, tendrlee.
U ki$$ by da book.
evn tho i had left my famlee, wuz involved in cryme evry day, & dropped outta HI$kewl, i knew da Black Roses were da be$t thing 2 evr happen 2 me. Mac wuz da be$t thing 2 evr happen 2 me. i M po$itively $ure about dat.
SLY GIRL
Only time I feel halfway normal now is when I’m hittin the pipe. I know I shouldn’t be. I know it’s riskin everythin to smoke. But what choice do I have, really? My life has been too fucked up to live sober. Some days, I wake up, and I’m surprised, eh. I’m surprised I’m still alive, still here, you know?
But I got friends now at least. They’re good to me. We’re kinda like a little family, like a real family should be. Stickin together. Lookin out for each other. Better than the family I left behind.
Why?
Cuz I know these chicks aren’t gonna kill me. If they find out I’m smokin crack, they’ll kick me outta the house and outta the Black Roses, but that’s the worst that’s gonna happen. In my old house, there was always a chance you’d wake up dead, or worse.
Sometimes, when I’m lyin in bed at night, I think about my grandmother. Think about how she used to hold me on her lap and brush my hair with her special wooden comb. How she’d play cards with me and let me help her peel potatoes. I think maybe my grandmother is the only person who ever loved me. I’d like to see her again. Tell her I’m okay. Tell her I’m alive. Tell her I forgive her. That it wasn’t her fault. But that would mean going back. And I can’t ever go back.
KAYOS
The only time I feel halfway normal now is when I’m kicking the shit outta someone in kickboxing. Just givin er, letting everything come out. But last night, I got in shit with my Sensei because I went too hard on this dude I was sparring with and didn’t stop kicking him when I should have. I don’t even know what happened, yo. I kinda just blanked out for awhile. Anyway, turns out buddy’s got three broken ribs because of me, so I feel pretty bad about that. Sensei said I gotta take it easy for a while, and I’m not allowed to come back to the gym for a couple weeks, not till I’ve cooled off. I apologized to the guy and everything, but Sensei was really upset. He said if it happens again, I’ll be banned from the club.
Sometimes I feel like I’m losing it, I really do. I don’t know what’s wrong with me. Sometimes I wake up in the morning, and all I want to do is hurt people. That’s gotta be fucked up.
MERCY
I love cars. Love driving them, stealing them, working on them, racing them, all of it. My dad taught me a lot about cars while he was around; maintenance and repair, how to change a tire, stuff like that. The Vipers taught me everything else I needed to know. Guess I can thank them for that, if nothing else.
I always thought my life would have been a whole hell of a lot easier if I’d been born a man. Then I could’ve been a pilot or a race-car driver or something legit, instead of just ripping people off for a living. Don’t get me wrong, I love being female; wearing heels, dressing posh, jewellery, makeup, all that, but it just doesn’t lead to the same opportunities, you know?
I guess I can tell you about what happened the other night. As long as you promise not to tell anyone. Ever. Swear on your life.
Okay. So, on this particular night I’m forgetting about all that I could have been and just living who I am, right there in the moment. I’m cruising in a silver Jaguar XK I picked up over in Yaletown, listening to Nas, bass cranked. The sky had just opened up and turned the city into an aquarium. But I’m all happy and dry inside my little silver bullet. I wish I didn’t have to drop off the Jag, I wish it was mine for keeps. But, for the short distance to the Port of Vancouver, it is. I crank the heat and let it blast in my face. I’m noticing how smooth the road is under these tires, how soundless the car is; the streets are like black blankets laid out before me.
Then I’m on East Pender and out of nowhere, bang! A body crumples under the hood. There’s a sickening bump as my tires pass over it. Oh-fuck-oh-fuck-oh-fuck-OH, FUCK!
I check the rear-view. There’s a guy lying in the middle of the road, his black raincoat billowing around him like a garbage bag. There’s no one on the street. It’s four in the morning. No one’s around. Nobody saw it. I don’t know what to do. I do not know what to do. I. Do. Not. Know. I keep driving.
MAC
Mac! Wake up! Someone was pounding on my door. Mac!
I rolled over, looked at Z. She was sound asleep. It was 4:20. The pounding got louder. I opened the drawer beside my bed and took out my gun, wiped the crusties out of my eyes, then got up and opened the door.
Mac—
What is it? What’s wrong?
I hit someone.
What?
I just hit a guy crossing the road. With a car.
Oh Jesus. Where?
On East Pender.
Did anyone see you?
I don’t know, no. No! She stared at the gun in my hand. She was shaking like she had hypothermia, her thin little face all crunched in panic.
I tossed the gun on my dresser. Alright, just try to calm down, I said. We’ll deal with it. I walked past her and looked out the window. There was a silver Jag parked in our driveway. What the fuck is that doing here? Have you lost your mind? Get rid of that fucking car! Get it out of here!
I—I have to clean it first. There’s some blood on the hood.
Well, go do it somewhere else. Get that car the fuck out of here right fucking now! You can’t have that car anywhere near this place. Are you insane? Take it down the street, clean it off, and go drop it off at the port. I’ll be waiting for you at the gates. Here. I handed her a towel. Go!
Okay, okay. She hurried out the door.
Christ’s balls, what was this, amateur hour? She must be in shock. I gathered a couple of old sheets, some garbage bags, and a cardboard box. I went back to my room and kissed Z on the cheek. I gotta go out for a bit, baby.
She moaned. Why? Where’re you going?
I just gotta take care of something quick. I’ll be back real soon.
She moaned again and rolled over.
I grabbed my gun and a hacksaw, then got into the Honda and drove the thirty seconds to meet Mercy in front of the entrance to the port.
She got in, her big deer eyes all glassy and wide.
You drop the car?
Yeah.
You didn’t say anything to them, right?
No.
You get the blood off?
Yeah. But … there was a little dent.
Shit. Well, nothing we can do about that. Maybe they won’t notice and think it happened in the shipping yard. Let’s find your guy.
I drove over to Pender and sa
w a dark lump in the middle of the street. I pulled over and scanned the area, looking for any signs of activity. There was a little bit of movement in the alley to the west, but no one was on the sidewalk or the street. Except for the lump. It was crack hour; everyone was holed up with their pipes or sleeping off a heroin binge.
That where you left him?
She nodded.
No one has moved him? No one has touched him?
I don’t think so.
A black Durango cruised by us. Fuck! But they didn’t slow down. They probably thought the body was a garbage bag. That’s what it looked like.
What should we do?
I think we should move it.
Why?
Why? So the cops don’t come sniffing around trying to find out what happened. So there’s no investigation, no tie-in to an illegal car-theft ring. This is serious, Mercy. If we get caught over this, and Lucifer’s Choice gets busted, we’ll all be killed.
I know! God! I’m sorry, Mac. I’m so sorry. It was an accident. I didn’t mean to hit him! She began to cry.
I know you didn’t. Let’s just deal with it, okay? I grabbed the garbage bag and sheets and got out of the car. We gotta move fast.
We walked over to the body. He had a gnarly grey beard and a dirty face. He reeked of booze. He was probably homeless. His icy blue eyes stared up at us, and his mouth hung open, as if he was about to ask a question.
What are we going to do with him?
I laid the sheet down on the road. We’re gonna hide him in plain sight. Here, help me roll him onto the sheet.
Once we had him cocooned in the sheet, we half-dragged, half-heaved him up onto the sidewalk and into the entrance of the nearest alley. There were a couple people in it, further down, but they were wrapped in blankets, sleeping. Okay. I ripped the cardboard and put it down on the ground. Then we rolled him off the sheet and onto the cardboard. I covered him with a garbage bag as if it were a blanket and adjusted his arm, which was bent at a sickening angle.
Anatomy of a Girl Gang (9781551525303) Page 6
