“Melvin acted like a jerk, and I set him straight,” Basilio cut in. “What’s the big deal?”
Pirate Guy leaned in close to Basilio’s face. “My bro makes one little joker joke, and you and your piece-of-shit friends gang up on him. Trip him. Curse him out. Then try to get him fired.” He shoved Basilio’s shoulder. “Not such hot shit now, are you?”
Basilio swallowed. “That’s not how it went down. I told the manager I didn’t want him to get in trouble.”
“You calling my kid brother a liar, spic?”
LoriAnne mentally screamed for her skeeters to hurry. “We have a dozen witnesses who’ll say Melvin’s full of crap.”
Pirate Guy grabbed the front of Basilio’s shirt and cocked his fist back. The girl started laughing. “Melvin’s the biggest whiner in the world,” she said. “I bet he doesn’t have a single person to back his side of it.”
Smoker yanked Pirate Guy away from Basilio. “We were just messing with you fucktards,” he growled. “But y’all gotta get freaked out about it and blow everything up into an international incident.”
LoriAnne opened her mouth with a furious reply but closed it as Basilio grabbed her hand and gave it a hard squeeze. She glanced over, dismayed to see him white-faced with distress. Asti was quiet and barely fizzing at all, and his peachy scent had a sharp edge to it, like tar on hot asphalt.
Arguing was only making things worse. How was she supposed to reason with idiots? This is my fault, LoriAnne thought in misery. If she hadn’t been cocky enough to suggest they look for TheFeels less than an hour before curfew, they’d still be safe at the hotel.
“This is my fault,” Basilio said in a ragged whisper.
“No more talking,” Pirate Guy shouted, then he flicked open a pocketknife. “Or I’ll be snacking on some peaches.”
Goatee stared at Pirate Guy with a look on his face as if he’d just tasted sour milk. “You gonna eat the joker?”
“What? No, you dickwad. It was a figure of speech!”
“I ain’t never heard no figure of speech about having someone for a snack.”
Smoker laughed. “Prolly means he wants to suck Peachy’s dick.”
“I do not!” Pirate Guy yelled. “And that’s not the point anyway!” His face screwed up. “I been arrested twice already, and I’m not going in again just because my little brother is a goddamn wuss.”
Goatee narrowed his eyes. “What are you saying, Marvin? You wanna get rid of ’em?”
Pirate Guy Marvin rounded on Goatee. “Why you gotta use my name, you moron?!”
The girl shook her head. “Jesus, you’re all morons.”
Goatee scowled. “Marvin’s the one who’s talking about killing these kids.”
“I ain’t talking about killing anyone, Gerard!”
“Fuck!” Goatee Gerard flicked frantic eyes from Asti to Basilio then to LoriAnne. “Th-that’s not my name. Don’t listen to him!”
“Is too!” Marvin shouted. “And she’s Jess, and he’s Eugene.” He stabbed a finger at Smoker.
“Eugene?” Jess snorted. “You told me your name was Turk.”
“Turk’s my, uh, middle name,” Smoker insisted. “Eugene is my granddad’s name. No one calls me that.”
She shrugged off the jacket and threw it at his feet. “There you go, Eugene.”
They’re all insane, LoriAnne thought. And idiots. We’re going to die. Her skeeters whined on the other side of the metal door, but they couldn’t find even the tiniest opening around the frame to get through.
“Okay, Marvin,” Jacketless Jess said with a smirk. “You started this crap. Whatcha gonna do now?”
“Me? You’re the one who said to bring them in here!”
“Yeah, to buy time so you numbnuts could get your heads out of your asses.”
Gerard made a slashing motion with both hands. “All y’all shut the fuck up!” He froze, shocked when everyone quieted and looked at him. “We’ll lock ’em up in here. Then we go find us some airtight alibis so as no one’ll believe ’em if they go to the cops.”
Jess put a hand to her head. “Oh, sure, that’ll totally work. But, hey, I didn’t hit anyone, so what do I care.”
No hitting, but kidnapping for sure, LoriAnne thought. Being locked in was better than getting hurt or killed, but it would still be a disaster. She and the others would probably get kicked out of the competition for being out after curfew, and then the Plano jerks would no doubt win. Ugh.
“Asti, LoriAnne,” Basilio suddenly gasped. “I’m really sorry.”
Before LoriAnne could ask why, a braaaaap cut through the small room.
Jess laughed at Marvin then coughed and waved a hand in front of her face. “Dude, what the hell did you eat—” Her eyes went wide. “Oh shit.”
Braaaaaaaaaap.
“That’s nasty, Jess!” Gerard backed away and clapped a hand over his nose, then visibly trembled as he cut loose a backblast of his own. “What the fuck!” he cried. Then Eugene clutched at his stomach and dropped to his knees, groaning as he ripped out a thunderous fart.
LoriAnne gagged as an I-ate-cabbage-steeped-in-toxic-waste smell rolled over her, thick and pungent enough to make her eyes water. The stench was worse than the time a skunk died in a porta-potty by her school. It would’ve been hysterical watching these jerks go all thunderpants if they weren’t friggin’ trapped in a small room with the fumes.
But maybe she could reach the door while they were distracted by their butt blasts? She started to rise, then froze as her lower gut gurgled. Oh no.
Asti let out a low moan, skin tone more sickly-salmon than pretty-peach. He shuddered, and then an odor like rotten fruit soaked in dog poop enveloped her. As if that was a signal to her own bowels, her booty belched out a methane bomb worthy of its own disarmament treaty.
I’m going to die of farts, LoriAnne thought in the one part of her mind that wasn’t occupied with gagging or farting. Rectal honks echoed off the walls as the stench grew thicker. Everyone was doubled over, fighting in vain to control the flatulence.
Everyone except Basilio. He lunged up and grabbed his and Asti’s phones from an unresisting Gerard, then seized LoriAnne around the waist, yanked the door open, and hauled her outside. She fell to her hands and knees, gasping in fresher air as Basilio ran back inside. A few seconds later, he emerged with a staggering Asti and slammed the door behind him.
“C’mon. We need to get out of here!” Basilio dragged LoriAnne to her feet then shifted to steady Asti as he swayed. “Hurry. Before they come after us.” He threw his arms around their waists and urged them down the alley. She and Asti stumbled forward, continuing to rip out foghorn-psycho-geese blasts of noxious fumes.
They’d barely made it fifty feet when the metal door banged open behind them.
“Oh shit,” Basilio moaned.
“Wait,” LoriAnne gasped. “I got this.” She pulled away from Basilio and turned, mentally calling to the skeeters. At her command, they eagerly swarmed the four hoodlums. But she needed thousands, not dozens, and it was darn near impossible to concentrate with all the fart fumes. She tried breathing through her jacket sleeve, but poly-cotton didn’t do much to filter the toxic gases. Plus, her eyes were streaming so bad she could hardly make out the four shapes lurching toward them.
“Can’t breathe,” she choked out. “Can’t concentrate!”
“LoriAnne!” Asti seized her arms. “My head! Put your face by my head!”
His fizz. Of course! LoriAnne shoved her face by his scalp then sucked in a deep breath of the sweetest, purest air a body could ever hope for, made all the more wonderful by not smelling at all like farts.
Her mind cleared in an instant. With laser-sharp focus, she reached out to the skeeters and duplicated each one hundreds of times over. Within seconds, the alley filled with thousands of skeeter-clones, each nearly twice as big as a normal mosquito. The size difference was new to her, but she told herself to wonder about that later, and sent the turbocharged skeeters t
o attack Jess and Gerard and Marvin and Eugene, biting and buzzing and crawling and flying into ears and noses and mouths.
Fart sounds mingled with shrieks and cries as the four slapped and flailed. They finally took off in a staggering run in the opposite direction, while clouds of skeeters trailed after them.
LoriAnne kept her gaze locked on to the skeeters until she lost sight of them around the corner and felt them dissipate. “Let’s get out of here,” she mumbled, not looking at the others as she retrieved her phone from beside a dumpster. Would Asti think she was horrible and selfish for keeping her talent a secret? And what would Basilio think about her being a wild card?
Wait a second. She rounded on Basilio, eyes narrowed. “Why aren’t you farting?”
He hung his head, misery etched in every line of his face. “Because I’m immune to the effect.”
“You make people fart!” Asti exclaimed, punctuating it with a braaaaap.
LoriAnne burst out laughing. “Basilio, you’re an ace! That’s amazing!”
But Basilio only grew more dejected. “No, it’s awful. It’s the dumbest ace power ever.”
Asti hurried everyone around the corner then said, “Not dumb at all. It just saved our asses.” He paused, farted. “Mostly.” He turned to LoriAnne as she snickered. “And you’re an ace, too?”
“Dunno if I’m an ace,” she said. “Maybe deuce and a half?”
“Gimme a break. You just sent those four packing. That sounds like an ace to me.” He tugged his hood up and looked up and down the street. “Those asstards know what hotel we’re staying at. They’re probably not stupid enough to come after us again, but just in case, we should take a less-than-obvious route back to the hotel.”
“We can head north a few blocks then cut over,” LoriAnne said, peering at her phone’s GPS.
They walked up the street, eyes and ears open for signs of trouble. After a couple of minutes, Asti broke the silence. “Basilio, I can totally understand why you keep your talent a secret.”
“Yeah, I really don’t want to go through high school being known as Fart Boy,” he said, voice bitter.
“Your secret is safe with us,” LoriAnne assured him.
Asti gave an emphatic nod of agreement then furrowed his brow at her. “But, LoriAnne, why did you pretend you didn’t know anything about having the virus?”
“Because I don’t know anything,” she insisted. “I live in a small town, and I’ve never really had a chance to talk to another wild card. I mean, is that even the right term? I’m clueless.”
“You know enough to kick ass,” Basilio said, but then his steps slowed. “Asti. LoriAnne. You’ve been so nice, and I don’t deserve it.” He gulped. “That thing I said about people in the elevator talking about TheFeels playing at the Alamo? I made it up.”
LoriAnne stopped and blinked at him. “Why would you do that?”
“Because I like you, LoriAnne,” he said with a quiet sigh. “You’re cute and smart, and we both play drums.” His face reddened. “But you’re so into Asti. I figured if I could just get some time alone with you then maybe I could … have a chance.” He hunched his shoulders. “It was so stupid. God. The dumbest thing ever. I never expected it to blow up the way it did. You both might’ve been really hurt or killed.”
Basilio liked her? LoriAnne shook off her surprise and smiled reassuringly. “It’s okay. Don’t forget, I was the one who insisted we go out tonight. And I’m really sorry I was so oblivious.” She gave Asti a grimace of apology. “I’ve kind of been a stalker girl, and might have developed a bit of a crush on you.”
Asti shook his head. “No, I’m the oblivious one. All this time, I’ve been trying to get close to someone I’ve been really attracted to.” He gestured to Basilio.
Basilio’s eyes widened.
LoriAnne farted.
All three descended into a fit of giggles.
LoriAnne wiped tears of laughter away. “Dude, how long will this fart thing last?”
Basilio grinned. “Should only be a few more minutes.” He glanced at his watch then sighed. “We totally missed the curfew.”
“Then a bit longer won’t make a difference.” LoriAnne pulled the others into the entryway of a closed pawnshop and sat. “I’m not going back until I stop tooting.”
The others plopped down on either side of her. Basilio leaned out to look at Asti. “Hey, man, if I was gay, I’d be all over you.”
Asti laughed. “Thanks.”
“Okay, Basilio,” LoriAnne said, “what’s your origin story?”
“Origin story, huh? On my thirteenth birthday, I fell into a giant bowl of queso.”
“Seriously?”
“No!” He chuckled. “I was ten, an usher at my cousin’s wedding, when a drunk groomsman farted right in front of me. I thought it was hysterical and started laughing, then, out of nowhere, barfed all over his shoes. Ended up spending the entire ceremony in the bathroom throwing up, but recovered enough to make it to the reception. The groomsman was even drunker and tried to give me shit about barfing on him.” Basilio spread his hands. “He started farting. Then everyone around us. My cousin still cries whenever anyone brings up her first dance with her husband.”
LoriAnne giggled … and farted. “And you learned how to control it?”
“Can you imagine if I hadn’t?”
Asti shared his eczema story with Basilio then turned to LoriAnne. “What about you?”
“No idea,” she said. “Mosquitoes have always been around me as far back as I can remember, though I’ve never once been bitten. I must’ve been around six or seven when groups of them started flying in shapes that I thought of. One time I was playing with them and made a cat shape. My mom swatted it with a broom then sprayed the whole porch down with bug spray.” LoriAnne made a face. “I was real careful not to play with them around the house after that. Couple of years later, I realized I could make temporary clones. A whole cloud from one mosquito. I had a few thousand all whirling around me when my mom came around the house and saw me dancing with a bunch of bugs. She freaked out, yelled that she’d had enough of this weird shit, threw the basket of clean clothes in the mud, and left. Ran off that same night with the butcher from the Cajun meat store. Me and my dad haven’t seen or heard from her since.”
“Damn, LoriAnne,” Basilio said. “That bites. Um, no pun intended.”
“Sounds like she was looking for an excuse to leave,” Asti said. “I mean, for the butcher to run off with her.”
“Oh, she was a real ho,” LoriAnne said, then grinned at their reactions. “What? She ditched me and my dad. I can talk trash about her. Besides, you can be sure every gossiping biddy around made sure I heard all about each and every man she fooled around with.” She wrinkled her nose. “That’s a big reason why I kept this whole mosquito whisperer thing to myself. It’s a small town, and people love juicy gossip.”
“And you’d get blamed every time someone got bit,” Basilio said.
“Yeah, but I think maybe I’m ready to start letting more people know.” LoriAnne smiled. “Who knows. Maybe American Hero will start up again, and I can audition.”
“I’d vote for you!” both boys chorused.
“Awesome! All I have to do is get the show back on the air, get onto the show, then make it to the finale.”
“Details,” Asti said. “And I think the farts have stopped.”
They climbed to their feet and continued walking. “Half an hour late,” Basilio said, expression pained. “I’ll take the heat for this since it’s all my fault.”
“Would you cut that out?” LoriAnne said with a glare. “It was my dumb idea to go out so close to curfew.”
“And I should’ve stopped you both from going,” Asti said.
“Oh, please,” LoriAnne said. “Like you had any chance of getting through my stubborn head.”
“True,” Asti said. “You are a teensy bit determined.”
“How about this,” Basilio said. “No matter what happ
ens, we stay friends.”
“Are we going to make a super-sappy-friends-forever vow?” LoriAnne asked, mouth twitching in amusement. “Because I can handle toxic farts, but that might be too much for me.”
Basilio lifted his hands in surrender. “Fine, no sappy vows.”
They approached an intersection and waited for the light to turn green. To their left, a petite woman with blond-streaked hair and sky-high heels stepped out of a nightclub. LoriAnne allowed herself a moment to admire the woman’s amazing shimmery dress. It fit like a glove but came off as classy instead of slutty. The woman turned to smile at the man beside her, and LoriAnne got a good look at her face.
“Oh crap!” She yanked Asti and Basilio back around the corner. “That’s Bambi Coldwater,” she said under her breath. “If she sees us—sees Asti—we’re toast.” She herded them across the street to hunker in the shadowed entrance of a parking garage where they had a good vantage to watch dear Miss Bambi.
Asti grimaced. “If she catches us, she’ll cause trouble for my whole band.”
“We won’t get caught,” LoriAnne stated.
A second couple exited the club, and Bambi lingered to chat with them. The valet brought around a sleek silver Lexus, yet neither couple seemed in any hurry.
Finally, after nearly fifteen minutes, Bambi climbed into the Lexus and drove away.
LoriAnne called a nearby skeeter to her, just in case, then stood with a groan, legs stiff after crouching for so long. “All right, we’re clear. Let’s keep moving.”
They retraced their steps to the intersection, crossed the street, and continued up another block before hanging a left. At the second corner, LoriAnne stumbled to a halt.
“Do you hear that?” she asked in a strangled voice. An intricate guitar riff floated to them through the quiet night air. “It’s him!” A car passed by, drowning out the music.
“Him who?” Basilio asked, frowning. “Wait. Do you mean TheFeels?”
“Yes!” The music returned. She whirled, struggling to pinpoint the source.
“Are you sure?” Asti said.
“I’m positive. Believe me, I know his sound.” She started up the street to her right, trusting that the boys would follow her. After half a block, the melody grew clearer, and she picked up the pace, pulse thumping in a staccato beat. The music plucked at her with nimble fingers, drawing her along. At the next intersection, she turned left and broke into a run.
Texas Hold 'Em Page 17
