by Skinzz
Chapter 26
Breezy's car, Ben Franklin Bridge, 6:30 pm.
When it was first built, the Benjamin Franklin Bridge was the largest suspension bridge in the world. A computer-driven lighting system added in the mid-seventies illuminated each cable in succession in a cascading crescendo that made the bridge shimmer like a waterfall. As Bo, Breezy, and Demon traveled across it, a hundred and thirty-five feet above the Delaware river, they were completely oblivious to its wonder and beauty. Their minds were focused on their own individual fears and desires.
The three of them were huddled together on the long bench seat of Breezy's candy apple red, Chevy Nova. They hadn't spoken a word to one another since they left South Street.
Mack finally broke the silence. He plastered a fake smile on his face in a lukewarm effort to lighten the mood.
"So, you two are a couple now? That's really cool." Breezy turned with a bright and genuine smile lighting up her face. She'd obviously been dying to talk about her new boyfriend.
"Thanks, Mack! Isn't it great? And don't worry about your little Demon. I'll take care of him. I think it's so cool that you're going to college. When are you leaving?"
"The week after next."
Jason snorted but kept his eyes down, averted from Mack.
"Come on, Demon. You know I don't want to leave you guys, but I have to get out of here. Shit has just gotten too hot down here. And we can't live like this forever. You think we're going to be crashing at a squat, picking up teenaged yuppie chicks, going to hardcore shows and fighting skins for the rest of our lives? We've got to grow up sometime and this is my time."
Jason nodded. Mack could see his jaw muscles clenching and unclenching as if he was chewing on something unusually tough.
"I love you, Mack. Just remember that. No matter what happens. You're my boy. You're my family and I'm going to miss you."
"I love you too, Demon. You should get out of here too. There's nothing here in Philly for you either. You should try to get into the same college as me."
"I dropped out of high school, Mack. I never graduated. I dropped out with three months left to go. You think they're going to let me into college now?"
He never looked up. There was a hitch in his voice. Breezy placed a hand on his back in concern.
"Why'd you drop out?"
Jason shrugged and exhaled loudly.
"Padre thinks I'm an alcoholic. I went to a couple of meetings today. I don't know. He might be right. I think I'm gonna keep going."
Mack ran a hand over Jason's long mane. Jason turned to look at him. There were tears in his eyes. Mack leaned over and hugged him.
"That's good, man. I think that's real good."
Breezy rubbed the back of Jason's head, looking over his shoulder at Mack. There was an expression of concern on her face.
"So, what happens when we get to City Gardens? You guys aren't just going to watch the concert are you?"
Mack felt Breezy's eyes on him. He released Jason from his embrace, feeling like Breezy was getting jealous or something. He looked down at Jason who was staring at his lap again. He had the bike chain wrapped around his knuckles.
"Lots of pain. That's what happens. Lot of pain," Jason said.
Chapter 27
Cindy's house, 6:35 pm.
There were two cars in the driveway. Cindy's silver Volkswagon Scirocco and a black Chevy truck Little Davey'd never seen before. Both Cindy's parents were dead and, as far as Little Davey knew, Cindy hadn't taken on any roommates. That meant her boyfriend was in there with her... and his son.
Little Davey pulled his father's revolver out of the glove compartment and began loading it. He was so angry his hands shook. He spilled several bullets onto the floor.
"Fuck!"
He punched the dashboard.
"I'm going to kill this bitch!"
He bent over and searched the floor for the missing bullets, trying desperately to calm himself down enough to load the gun. He found all but one shell, loaded the gun, and stepped out of the truck, onto the sidewalk. He stuck the gun in the small of his back and pulled his jacket down over it. The sun was already setting and there were dark clouds moving in across the sky. A chill wet wind blew through the street and pushed Little Davey back two steps. It felt like it was about to rain or snow. Either way, the freeway would be a mess. He needed to get Mickey and get on the road if he was ever going to make it to the concert.
Little Davey walked up the driveway, paused in front of the black truck, then pulled out his bowie knife. He let out an anguished cry, raised the knife and brought it down hard, puncturing the tire. The tire hissed loudly as it deflated. Davey wrenched the knife free and moved onto the next tire and the next. He was preparing to stab the last tire when the door opened and a tall Puerto Rican man, wearing baggy, black "Z Cavarricci" pants and a black muscle shirt, came running out of the house. He had thick black hair that flowed in curly locks down to his shoulders like one of those heavy metal dudes, dark tan skin and hazel eyes. He looked like a matinee idol, like Lawrence Olivier. He was fucking beautiful, fucking Puerto Rican, and he was fucking the mother of Little Davey's child.
Davey shook his head and snorted.
"A fucking spic. She left me for a fucking spic," Davey whispered.
"Hey! What the fuck are you doing to my car?"
Little Davey stuck his hand behind his back and grabbed the butt of the pistol. He smiled as he watched the Puerto Rican walk toward him, pointing and yelling. He imagined how satisfying it would feel to put a bullet in the spic's beautiful face and his smile widened.
"Is this your truck?"
"Yeah, it's my fucking truck, you fucking lunatic!"
The Puerto Rican guy came closer, waving his arms in a threatening manner, shouting and yelling. Neighbors were starting to peek out of their windows. Davey wondered if he could shoot the guy and get away with it. If he waited for the guy to swing, he might even be able to claim self-defense.
"I just can't believe this. You? A fucking spic? You're fucking Cindy? You're her new boyfriend?"
Cindy was standing in the doorway now. Just standing there. Not saying anything, not rushing to put herself in between the two men and prevent a physical altercation. She was just watching and waiting as if she wanted them to fight, as if she couldn't wait to see her new boyfriend mop the floor with her crazy ex.
"You? Yeah...you're that fucking skinhead she used to date. Is that what the fuck this is about? That's why you slashed my fucking tires, maricon?"
"Yup," Davey answered, smiling.
The Puerto Rican guy raised his fist and Davey raised the pistol.
"Hold up, man! Hold up! Wait!"
The Puerto Rican man with the lean muscular build and the light-colored eyes, bow-shaped lips, strong, angular jaw, high cheekbones, perfect white teeth and curly black hair, held up his hands in surrender.
"It's cool, bro. It's cool." The guy said in a calm voice as he tried to back away with his hands raised. Now that Davey was looking at him, the dude looked just like Slash from Guns N' Roses. The bastard was beautiful. But he was still a dead man.
"Do I look like your fucking brother?"
"Davey! No!"
Davey shot him once in the abdomen.
"Owww! Fuck! You shot me! Goddamn motherfucker! Help! Somebody help me! I'm shot!"
The man dropped to his knees, holding his bleeding guts. Davey stepped forward and stared into the man's beautiful eyes. He could see what Cindy saw in him. Even with his face contorted in agony, even on his knees, pleading for his life, even with his life fluid bleeding out onto the driveway, he was handsome as fuck. Davey shot him in the face. He didn't look quite as handsome with a third nostril and most of the back of his head missing.
Cindy's screams broke through the haze of rage and madness clouding Davey's thoughts.
"Alvarooooo! Oh, my god! Alvaro! Alvaro!"
She ran down the front steps and onto the driveway where Alvaro lay bleeding from the
face and stomach. His skull looked like a shattered eggshell. What looked like a glob of strawberry jam and spaghetti was sprayed across the concrete. Cindy knelt beside it, reaching out for her dead lover. Davey put the gun in her face.
"Don't fucking touch that filthy spic. Get your ass in the house!"
Cindy stared at the barrel of the revolver. Her mouth creaked open and hung there, lips wide, for several seconds before words came out.
"Wh-why are you doing this? Are you going to kill me now? Mickey is in there. Do you want him to see this? He's your son, Davey!"
Little Davey leaned down until his face was inches from hers.
"If you want to die out here next to your wetback boyfriend then keep talking. Get your whoring ass in the house! NOW!"
Cindy rose on legs that shook. When she tried to walk, her legs wobbled like a newborn calf. Little Davey prodded her with the gun. Neighbors had begun coming out of their houses to see what was going on, apparently assuming that he'd shot a mugger or a burglar until they saw him point the gun at Cindy. Davey watched them freeze in their tracks and some of them retreated back into their houses, presumably to call the police.
"Hurry up. Go get my son."
"Don't take him, Davey. Don't take my baby!"
Little Davey grabbed her by the back of the neck, squeezing hard as he pushed her forward and up the stairs into the house.
"Do what the fuck I say and maybe you'll see him again. But if you don't, I promise you, you will die here tonight."
Cindy began sobbing uncontrollably.
"Don't do this. Please, don't do this! Davey, please! Please Davey, don't do this!"
"You should have thought about this before you started fucking that spic in front of my son!"
The coffee table held the remains of a Chinese takeout dinner and several empty bottles of Heineken. It was the only beer Cindy liked and Davey hated the shit. The VCR was on and "Back To The Future" was paused at the scene where Marty was playing guitar at his parents' senior prom. A pink blanket was draped over the couch. At least she hadn't been fucking him in her bed, the one they used to share, the one they had conceived Mickey in. Davey pushed her down on the couch.
"Stay right the fuck there!"
He ran upstairs, taking the steps two at a time despite his small legs. Mickey was sitting up in his crib with his eyes wide. He smiled when Davey walked in. Davey smiled back.
"Hey, sport. You ready to go for a ride with Daddy?"
He scooped him up and snatched some clothes out of a drawer along with some diapers and shoved them all into his diaper bag. He grabbed his son's snowsuit out of the closet. When he turned, Cindy was right behind him, coming at him with a knife. He swung the butt of the gun at her temple. He could feel the impact of the blow all the way up his arm. He'd struck her harder than he'd intended. She fell backwards. Her head struck the scuffed and splintered hardwood floor and bounced. Her eyes rolled up in her head and blood leaked from her nose. The knife skidded across the room and under Mickey's crib. Davey turned back to Mickey who had now begun to cry.
"It's okay, sport. Everything's okay. Mommy's fine. She's just taking a nap. We've got to go now, okay? Let's get dressed."
He left Mickey's pajama's on as he shoved his arms and legs into the snowsuit and hunted through the drawers for socks and gloves. He found them along with a hat and was looking for his son's shoes when Cindy sat up like fucking Michael Meyers in Halloween. He aimed the gun at her and backed up, holding Mickey's hand. Cindy wiped the blood from her nose and stared at it, then she laughed.
"Your dad made you this way. You don't even know if it was really a black guy that your mom ran away with. That could have just been a story your dad told you to justify his racism and make sure you turned out the same damn way. He probably just chased her away with his drinking and his violence, the same way you chased me away."
"You don't know what the fuck you're talking about." Davey said, chuckling. His smile quivered and his gaze roamed the floor, avoiding hers.
"Don't I? You don't sound so sure. And those kids that beat you up in high school. Do you really think it would have been any different if you went to an all-white school? They beat you up because you were different and you were smaller than they were and because kids are fucking cruel. When I was in elementary school I got teased because I was too skinny. Another girl in my class got teased because she was too fat. Kids will attack anyone who's different. It's not a black thing. It's a kid thing. What do you think black kids go through in all white schools? Should they all start shaving their heads and attacking every white guy they see?
"You knew who I was when you met me. Did you think you could change me?"
Cindy nodded.
"That's exactly what I thought. That's what all women think. But I was wrong." Cindy shook her head and chuckled again. "Your dad fucked you up bad. There's no fixing what's wrong with you. And now you've killed someone. You're going to jail for life, Davey. Don't you know that? You killed someone, Davey. You killed my fucking boyfriend!"
Davey cocked the hammer back on the revolver.
"I've killed a lot of people."
Cindy's face looked shocked before he pulled the trigger, then it just looked empty. She was gone, bleeding out on the hardwood floor from the hole in her forehead. The smell of blood and sulfur assaulted his nostrils. Gunsmoke seared his eyes. That was the only explanation he could think of for the tears.
Mickey's eyes widened and his body stiffened. He sat there, stiff as a board for a long moment before letting out a loud wailing cry. It sounded like he was in mortal agony.
"Let's go, sport."
Davey raced down the stairs, carrying Mickey and the diaper bag and nearly dropping both of them. He managed to make it to his car and was two blocks away before he heard the first sirens. Several police vehicles raced past him with lights and sirens blaring. Davey let out a long sigh then reached across to rustle his son's hair, laughing while he adjusted the rearview mirror and watched the flashing red and blue lights recede into the distance.
"Those fucking niggers are right. Nine-one-one is a joke."
Chapter 28
Trenton, New Jersey, City Gardens night club, 7:45 pm.
The off-white, graffiti-covered, single story warehouse sat across the parking lot surrounded by a couple hundred rioting punkrockers and skinheads. A flurry of snowflakes speckled the air with dots of white even as the combatants spattered the concrete with splashes of red. There were no police anywhere, which was unusual for a City Gardens concert. It was as if the Trenton PD were purposely avoiding the place. In the hardcore scene, fights didn't always end when the cops showed up. Often, that's when they got started.
"What's going on?" Breezy shouted as she piloted the Chevy Nova through the parking lot and the crowd of thrashing bodies.
"Park the car! Wait for me!" Mack was already leaping out of the car before it had even come to a complete halt. Jason jumped out behind him. The war had begun without them.
"Where are you going?"
"To cut the head off the fucking snake!" Mack responded.
"What the hell does that mean?"
"It's fucking war, that's what it is!" Jason answered. He swung the bike chain, whipping and slashing his way through the crowd as he followed Mack into the fray.
There were bodies lying in pools of blood, heads split open, noses broken, the distinct impression of the sole of a Doc Marten combat boot imprinted on their faces, moaning, contorting in agony, or completely unconscious. He saw Cat and Simon slashing a couple of skinhead chicks with boxcutters. A guy punched Cat high on the head. She staggered, then slashed the guy's forearm and bicep with the boxcutter, trying to get to his face.
Mack swung at anything with a bald head. The sound of his knuckles striking flesh could be clearly distinguished even among the other sounds of violence. Twice, Mack was dropped to his knees by punches he didn't see, but he immediately scrambled back to his feet and knocked the shit out of any skinhead w
ithin reach. He was knocked onto his back when he tripped over a fallen punk while taking a punch. Chris, from the comic shop helped him to his feet.
"You okay, Bro?"
"I'm fine."
"I've got your back."
Mack nodded.
"Yeah, okay."
Mack was bleeding and swollen within minutes of leaving the Nova. His face was a mask of blood and fury. There were cuts above and beneath both eyes, his knuckles were bleeding and throbbed in pain, so swollen that he could barely make a fist. His jaw hurt, his nose was bleeding and his lip had split wide open but he was still furiously battling, cutting a swath through the crowd, making his way toward John Jones, the head of the most notorious skinhead group in New Jersey, The Unrest.
John Jones was just shy of six-feet, built like Arnold Swarzenegger, and covered in tattoos. He looked like the stereotypical image of a serious badass. It was more than an affectation. John Jones was a fucking monster. But Mack was certain that he could take him. He had to take him. It was the only way that his friends would ever be safe from The Unrest.
Mack was within twenty feet of John Jones when a big skinhead with a large red beard stepped in front of him and swung a clumsy punch that just missed Mack's jaw. Mack ducked low and slammed his fist into the guy's solar plexus. The blow doubled red-beard over. He backed up, holding his rib cage as Mack moved in to finish him off. Mack kicked at the Nazi's head like he was punting a football. His big, steel-toed motorcycle boot connected with the skinhead's jaw and sent a spray of blood and teeth across the asphalt. Red-beard collapsed, landing face-first onto the hard blacktop. The impact jarred him awake and red-beard staggered back to his feet...and charged.
A punch thudded against Mack's chest, another one caught him high on the cheek and another one popped him in the left eye. The guy was still slow but he had surprised Mack by recovering so quickly. He almost knocked Mack down but Mack drove a knee into red-beard's gut and doubled him over again. This time, Mack threw a quick left hook-right hook-uppercut combination that wilted the big skinhead. When he hit the ground this time, he didn't move. Mack was so enraged that he began kicking the guy as he lay semi-conscious. He stomped down on the skinhead's face again and again until it split and swelled, turning blue and purple and gushing blood from his lacerated mouth, cheeks, forehead, and pulverized nose. He booted him in the side of his head until red-beard's entire skull seemed to swell like one large hematoma, until it looked the way Miranda's looked the day she was beaten by The Unrest at Club Pizzazz, the day they took her away from him.
