Alright, let’s get the fuck out of here, I whispered.
Wait. Mercy pulled her sleeve over her hand and knelt beside the man. She brushed her hand over his face and closed his eyes. Then she closed hers. She took a deep breath and let it out slow. Okay, she nodded once, and we walked back to the car with our heads bent to the rain.
We’re not gonna mention anything about this to the others, I said as I started the ignition.
Okay. She stared down at her hands.
The less they know, the better.
She swallowed, nodded.
I don’t trust them yet, I said. Do you?
No, but I will.
When we got home, we both had showers, then smoked a little joint. I left Mercy on the couch watching a mind-numbing nature documentary and went to bed. Z threw her arm across my belly and murmured something about chocolate milk. I lay awake for a long time, thinking, listening to the sounds outside, bottle-pickers’ carts clattering in the back alley, junkies yelling, cars backfiring, dogs howling, rain falling, glass smashing, and the city tearing itself apart.
VANCOUVER
Not all cities are created equal.
MERCY
That was too fucked up.
Mac and I smoked a fat joint when we got home, but it did nothing to calm me down. I think I was in shock, I don’t know. I stayed up for awhile watching TV, then went into my room as the sky started to lighten. I covered myself in blankets and lay in bed, shivering, seeing that man’s cold blue eyes staring up at me. Everywhere I looked, all I could see were his eyes. Sad eyes, milky-blue.
I knew I probably wouldn’t get caught, but in a weird way I sort of wanted to be. I’d killed a civilian. Someone who had nothing to do with the game was dead because of me. I was just as bad as those fuck-wads who did drive-bys and gunned down pregnant women and straight-A students who just happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. What about Blue Eyes’ family? His friends? They would probably think he drank himself to death. They would never know the truth. No one would. The guilt pressed down on me like a car compactor. Even though it was an accident, I hated myself for what I’d done.
KAYOS
Finally, finally, finally, Mac said I could come downtown again. I was so relieved. I hopped on the next bus and rode it straight to the house on Cordova. It felt like it had been a hundred years since I’d been there, for real, but I guess it had really only been two weeks.
What’s up, my bitches? I hugged them all super tight. And they hugged me right back.
Mercy had a joint all rolled up for me when I got there, and I told her I loved her.
So, how was your hiatus? Mac asked.
Pretty boring. I actually went to school, yo.
Oh yeah? Learn anything?
Yeah, I guess I did, I laughed. I learned that a lot of kids are doing coke now, and it would be a hot market to target. For real.
Your high school?
Yeah.
I don’t think that’s a good idea, Kayos.
Come on, it’d be so easy! Seriously. That shit practically sells itself.
No.
What? Why not?
Think about it.
Seems like a good idea to me. I shrugged and looked at Sly Girl and Mercy.
Well, it’s not. It’s a fucking stupid idea.
Why? I felt like she’d slapped me.
Mac looked at Mercy, then passed me the joint and exhaled a long, thin stream of smoke toward the ceiling. Really?
What? I thought we could get some new customers. Get a little more cash flow going on.
First of all, it’s not a controlled environment. There’s too many narcs in a school, not everyone does drugs, not everyone likes people who do drugs or sell them. And there’s always some dumb-shit kid looking to be a hero by ratting out a dealer. Not to mention parents who like to get way too involved in their kids’ lives. Second, we can make coke into crack and sell it for ten times as much, so it would be a waste of our time and money to sell just straight coke. And I’m sure as fuck not selling crack to high school kids. And third, we sell drugs in the Downtown Eastside because this is where the addicts live. There is no better market. They would be here with or without us. I don’t feel too good about getting some promising junior varsity type hooked on blow, do you?
I guess not.
Please think it all the way through next time you come up with a good idea. I can’t be the only one using my brain around here. She went into the kitchen. We heard dishes clattering in the sink.
I missed you too! I yelled. Damn, who pissed in her cornflakes?
Don’t worry about her. She’s been under a lot of stress lately, Mercy said.
Yeah? Well, so have I.
We sat in silence for a while and finished the joint. Sly Girl began rolling another one.
What’s been going on around here, anyway?
Well, said Mercy, Z got arrested last night.
Z
i wuz in da middle of doin di$ kiLLR piece ovR in $tanlee prk, on da $eawall, aiight? $ed BlAcK RoSes in wyld $tyle w/ ro$es & thornz rapt around da lettrz. it wuz $ick. Mac came w/ me, ju$t 2 keep me cumpanee & 2 watch, but $he’d gone 2 buy u$ $um $mokes, next thing i know, da red & bluez R fla$hin in my face, on da megafOne, tellin me get my damn handz UP. i’m lyke, fuck thi$, & take off. didn’t get 2 far tho, $toopid $hort legz. next thing i know i’m on my bellee w/ cop kneez in my bak, gettin cuffed & $huved in da cruzr. well, i’m pi$$ed cuz i didn’t get 2 fini$h da piece, & U no an unfini$hed piece is a $erious failure, a totL $tryke against U. but itz a tynee bit Xciting becuz i’ve nevR bin aRRe$ted b4. az we’re pullin out, i C Mac cumN bak w/ 2 lrg coffeez 4 u$. $he eyez UP da cruzr, but of cour$e itz dark $o $he can’t C me in$yde. i want 2 $ma$h da windO & jump out 2 her. i bang my hed again$t da gla$$ becuz i want her 2 know i’m in here. but nuthin happenz xcept my hed getz $ore & da cop in da pa$$enger $eat turnz round & glarez @ me & tellz me 2 take it EZ lyke i’m $um nutjob. Mac keepz walkin & doe$n’t look @ da car again. But i know $he’ll figger it out when $he C’s my sprAy canz all ovR da ground & da unfini$hed werk.
$o dey take me downtown & fingRprint me & take my foto & tell me i’m in a holelottashit. Tell me i’m bein charged w/ MI$CHIEF under section 430(1) under da criminal code of canada. tell me i’ll be doin communitee service til i’m 65 cuz dey know i’m da 1 whoze bin wrytin BlAcK Ro$e$ all ovr de Ntyre goddamned citee & dey’ve $pent about a million doll-hair$ cleenin it up alreadee. hee hee hee, oop$! & den dey tell me i get 1 fone call & it bettr B 2 some1 whoza Leegul Gardeean & can promise dat i’ll keep my court appointmentz, coun$elling appointmentz & communitee $ervis appointmentz. dey tell me dat i’m gonna be on Hou$e Arre$t & i’m gonna wi$h i’d never picked up a $prAy can. ya, ryte.
of cour$e i’m lyke, oh fuck my lyfe, Bcuz da onlee person i want 2 call iz Mac but $he iz not my Leegul Gardeean & $he’s not evn 18 yet so wat da fuck M i $po$ed 2 do? i havn’t $poken 2 my parentz in about 3 monthz, but if i don’t call dem i’ll haf 2 $pend da night in jayle!!!!
$o i call dem.
VANCOUVER
They give me small gifts, the people of my city, visitors too; shapes, letters, murals, tiles, posters. Images they find beautiful or ugly, shocking or amusing, they plaster to my surfaces. Words they deem important they carve into me. Now a bronze sculpture, now a giant knitted cap, now a pair of running shoes dangling from a wire. I accept each of these gifts with endless gratitude, knowing that the person who made it has shaped me, just as I have shaped them. We are bound forever. They will take what they have gleaned from me wherever they go; Toronto, L.A., New York. I imagine them there, whispering into the fog, I love Vancouver.
MAC
I can’t believe Z got caught. After two years of writing and never getting taken down, the one night I go with her, the one night—boom. I must be her bad luck charm. And now her parents got her on lockdown or some shit and she can’t even leave the house. It’s insane. I gotta go bust her out in a day or so if she c
an’t get away from them. They’re crazy, man. I’m talking insane.
They forced her to play piano when she was a little girl. She told me they would make her play piano for two hours every day no matter what. She wasn’t allowed to get up off her piano bench until she sat there for two hours. One day she pissed her pants because they told her she wasn’t finished practising yet. Here she is, twelve years old, with pee running down her pant legs and dripping onto the foot pedals.
I’ve gotta get her out of that nuthouse. They took away her cell phone so I can’t even call her. I tried the number at her parents’ but someone just picked up, listened for a minute, and hung up again. Maybe one of her sisters. Apparently they’re psycho-bitches. Well, I’ll come up with some way to get her out. She can’t keep living there, that’s for sure.
The good news is we have nearly three hundred grand in cash right now. The bad news is I still haven’t gotten a safe. I’ve gotta go out today and get one. For sure. I’ve been stashing it all up in a ceiling tile, but I don’t feel too good about that. Not with this amount of cash.
But pretty soon, we’re gonna be able to move out of here. We’re gonna actually be able to own our own place, a real sweet-ass place. I can’t risk that not happening. I wish I could just put it all in the bank like a normal person, but what am I gonna say? Oh yeah, hi, I made this money at my job … flipping burgers. Right. I thought about saying it was an inheritance or something, but I don’t know. I wouldn’t want anyone to get suspicious, you know? Anyways, my Uncle Hank knows a guy in real estate who’ll set us up, no problem. I’ll just give him a call when the time gets closer.
SLY GIRL
I know I’m not sposed to front nobody, but today Cindy comes up to me all strung out, and she’s got her head shaved and it looks real awful, it’s a real messy shave. I know I’m no one to be sayin anythin about other people’s looks, but damn. I mean she looks like she’s about to go in for brain surgery or somethin, eh, and she’s all, please, please, please, Rachel-ing me. She knows my real name cuz we knew each other from before, when I was livin out here. We worked the same spots, got high together, and everythin. She’d helped me out once with a bad date, probably saved my life. Anyways, I’m like, What’s with your haircut?
I don’t know! She’s all shifty-eyed, lookin around everywhere.
What do you mean, you don’t know?
I mean, I don’t fuckin know! Not a fuckin clue. I woke up this morning and it was like this. Freaked me right out, man. Someone came by and did it to me in the night.
That’s fucked up.
You’re telling me!
And you have no idea who it was?
She shrugged three times. Don’t know. Don’t know. So, whaddya say, honey? Do me a favour today, hon? I can pay you tomorrow, I promise. I swear to God. I just haven’t worked yet today, you know, so … well, you know how it is! She scratched her stubbly head. Her hair had been shoulder-length, wavy, oil-slick black. She actually had real nice hair. Please, Rachel? With a cherry on top? I swear I’m good for it. Cross my heart, hope to die. She crossed an X over her heart with her cigarette-stained fingers. You know I’m good for it!
Yeaah, I know. Hold on a sec, k? I’ll check. I walked around the corner to where Mac was waitin for me, blowin smoke rings up to the skyscrapers. Mac, I know you said I can’t never give credit, but I need to front Cindy today.
Her face went all serious and she smushed her cigarette into the sidewalk. Come on, Sly Girl—
Someone shaved off all her hair last night while she was sleepin.
Jesus. Fuckin weirdo junkies. She spit into the gutter. What does she want?
Just a couple ten rocks.
She good for it?
Yeaah.
No, she’s not, Sly. She’s a crack whore, alright? She’s good for nothing.
It’s just that she’s kind of—
What?
She’s sorta … well, she’s kinda a friend of mine. From before.
Mac sighed. Shook her head. Alright, just this once. Not again, okay? Not for her, not for anybody. She can’t ask again. Tell her that. And if she doesn’t pay, she’s gonna get a lot worse than a shaved head. Tell her that too.
Okay. Thanks, Mac. As I watched Cindy hurry away, her bony shoulder blades poking out the back of her hoodie, I felt a fierce sadness rush into me. I’m not sure why, exactly. Maybe because I knew that, in a lot of ways, me and her are the same.
Z
my parentz rnt lettin me outta my room til i’m 30. dey took my fone! O GOD i mi$$ Mac $o BAD. Aaaahhhhh! im goin NUTZ!!! i havnt been out $ince i got picked up. my parentz R craZee, man. dey watchin me 24/7. think ima run away again which i M Bcuz di$ aint no kinda lyfe 4 Z up in here. cant do my aRt cant luv my luvr WTF!!???!!! dey $et an alarm @ nite so if i open a wyndO or door it goe$ off. how da FUCK M i gonna get outta here?
my $i$terz R fuckin a$$holes, man. dere all lyke, Where have you been, little missy? Getting high? Got a boyfriend now? Who’s your boyfriend? What have you been doing? Hey? Hey? Dey poke me in da ribz, in da belly. tell me ima fat whore.
im lyke, $hut up U uglee bitchez. get back in yr ba$ement $uite. mind yr own.
1 $tudeez law & 1 iza web dvlpr. dey R twinz. i h8 dem both & dey have alwayz h8d me. dey tell me i wuz an aXident. dat i nevr $huda been born. da grrlz in da Black Roses R more $i$terly 2 me den my own $i$terz have evr been.
my parentz R gonna put me in coun$elling. i hafta do communitee $ervi$. pickin up $yringez & $hit off da street. $ICK!!! i’m gonna get AIDS!!! i gotta go 2 de$e weekly $e$huns da pigz put on about how vandalyzm hurtz evry1. im not $po$ed 2 have contact w/ NE of my crew & i gotta go back 2 HI$kewl. fuck it, my lyfe iz ovr.
KAYOS
I really can’t stand going to high school for one more day. I mean, I know I’m smart. I don’t need some piece-of-shit diploma to tell me that. I can’t take it anymore. I just can’t. It’s all preps and jocks and nerds. There’s no one like me. Everyone fucking sucks in that school, I swear to God. They think they’re so important, that their lives are so dramatic, so interesting. God, spare me. Yo, I almost puked yesterday when I overheard these chicks in the bathroom talking about who they were going to the dance with and what they were gonna wear. I mean, this is their life: boys, clothes, makeup, and gossip. They’re like straight outta Seventeen Magazine or some shit. Seriously. How can I possibly relate to that? I spend most of my time in the DTES selling drugs to strung-out junkies. When I’m not doing that, I’m pulling ATM scams or boosting. When I’m at home, I’m looking after my two-year-old kid and trying to avoid Roger. I don’t belong in high school. I’m not going anymore. What’s the point?
MERCY
This weekend I boosted around fifteen grand worth of merchandise. I have to admit, it did make me feel a little better. I got a ton of sick outfits for all the girls: shoes, boots, handbags, jackets, makeup. Not because we need any of that shit, but because every now and then it’s nice to get dressed up. Feel a little bit special. I got books, magazines, iPods, CDs, DVDs. I got two digital cameras, a butterfly knife, a Swiss Army watch, a Swarovski crystal bracelet, silver bangles, gold hoop earrings—so much jewellery I could open a kiosk.
I’m not sure if we’re going to keep it all or pawn some of it or what. We haven’t decided yet. I think we should keep it, because for some reason, having nice stuff makes you feel better about yourself. I don’t know why. It just does.
When I got home, I dumped it all in the middle of the floor. Kayos, Mac, and Sly Girl were sitting in the living room taking hits from the bong and watching Kids. Their eyes bugged out of their heads when they saw the huge pile of stuff. It was precious.
Have at er, ladies. I stood back, grinning at the looks on their faces.
They began picking through the clothes, trying things on, laughing. Soon we were all wearing awesome outfits, crowded into the bathroom, doing our makeup in the mirror.
When’s Z coming home? I asked Mac.
She sighed. I don�
��t know. Her parents have her on lockdown. I’m afraid they’re gonna ship her off to China to live with her grandparents or something.
We should go get her back. I mean, she belongs here with us, right?
Yeah! Kayos said, as she applied her new black liquid eyeliner. Let’s go get that little juvenile delinquent!
Yeah? Mac said.
Yeah! All of us yelled.
Alright, she said, zipping up her new knee-length leather coat. Let’s go.
MAC
Mercy came home with this mad shitload of stuff for us. Heaps of designer clothes, tons of makeup, and a bunch of jewellery. It’s hard to believe she’s never been caught stealing. The shit she gets away with, man, it’s unbelievable. It’s like she’s the incredible invisible brown girl. She just walks into a place and takes whatever she wants and no one bats a fuckin eyelash. They should name a superhero after her.
I think we should try to resell most of it—either pawn it or just get rid of it on the street. I mean, it’s nice stuff and everything, but we don’t really need any of it. We need a condo in West Vancouver a lot more than we need skinny jeans. And we’re getting real close to having enough for a down payment. But I have to admit, some of the stuff Mercy scored is pretty fuckin fly. I found a long, black leather coat in the pile of clothes. It had a nice soft finish. I picked it up and smelled the leather to make sure it was real and not that plastic shit.
It was real.
The lining was gorgeous—silk, dark red. Kayos and Sly Girl were already knee-deep in the pile of clothes, squealing like little girls. I slipped the coat on and adjusted the collar so it lay flat.
Anatomy of a Girl Gang (9781551525303) Page 7
