Lock hadn’t called or texted, but I knew he would. I felt the electricity between us last night. I painted my nails, did a mask, and used my favorite moisturizer. My hunger became an issue, and I finally got dressed for the day.
My new friend Heather agreed to meet me at the dining hall. The food was subpar, but it got the job done. She wanted to work out in the afternoon, but I passed. After we parted, I strode outside and looked around the courtyard. I spotted Wardon in the center of the patio surrounded by shrubs. I headed his way.
“Hey.” I tapped my fingers on his picnic table.
It was one of his favorite places to “study.” He could watch the entrance to my dorm and monitor me at the dining hall from there.
His eyebrows came up past his sunglasses. I wasn’t supposed to talk to him, not really.
“I was wondering when Animal left?” I shaded my eyes like I might catch sight of him.
“Real early. T was here. They went home.” He put his hands over his iPad. “Thought he’d text you?”
I sat down on the other side of the table. “He did. I was wondering how things went. Like I know Nix is probably mad at me.”
I didn’t know what I expected to get out of Wardon. He was here with me. “Ember, his life is crazy. Probably far crazier than you know.”
I tilted my head, thinking about it. “How’d you get involved?”
I was picturing Lock and his red bandana. What made a guy decide to deal on the other side of the law?
“I came out of foster care at eighteen. You leave with nothing. Not one fucking thing. So I wanted work. Do you know how much fast-food restaurants pay?” He flipped his iPad over.
“Not a lot, I’m assuming.” Wardon always had on a nice, stylish outfit. An expensive watch. He noticed my assessment and spread his arms wide for the inspection. “He pays you enough? For like, stuff?” I knew Nix had money. But as I thought about the amount of people I’d met who worked for him or with him, I realized he was maintaining quite a payroll.
He grinned at me. “Yeah, kid. I get what I need.”
I reached over and punched him on the arm. “Don’t call me kid. You’re barely older than I am.”
He flexed just when I went in for the punch, so I got to feel the wall of muscle.
“I’m twenty-five. You’re a toddler to me.” He snatched off his glasses and hit me with his baby blues. He was good-looking and knew it.
Before I could respond, Thrice came up on the scene and cleared his throat. “Shift’s up.”
Wardon nodded and slid his glasses back on; I could have sworn he blushed a bit.
After he’d left the table, Thrice sat down. I decided to rib him a little, too. “You know no one’s buying this grandpa goes to college routine you have.”
“Listen, I know you want to play and be a student and all of that, but our job is to keep you alive. And you had Wardon distracted. I’ll deal with him later. But he didn’t even notice I was approaching you both. He wasn’t paying attention. And that can get you both killed. Can you do me a favor and just do the school thing? And less of the flirting?” He folded his arms in front of his chest. My skin burned. I felt like a kid getting scolded.
I stood. Chastised was not my favorite feeling. I watched as Thrice sighed deeply, ruffling his hair.
Without another word, I returned to my dorm. I didn’t like feeling like I was putting everyone out. That Nix, T, and Animal were making big life changes to accommodate me. That these bodyguards weren’t really here to be friends with me. After I closed the door, I sent a message to Nix.
Ember: Hey, maybe you need to pull these guys out of here. I don’t like getting lectured by them.
I expected some back and forth, maybe even a Facetime video. Instead, the reply was quick.
Nix: Sorry. I’ll tell them to keep their mouths shut.
That wasn’t what I’d intended, and now I felt like a huge tool. Like the flouncy, spoiled sister who used her position next to the boss to intimidate the guys underneath him.
Ember: Don’t. It’s fine. They are just trying to do their job.
I texted a few pictures to Lock, but I had no response. Loneliness was a wave for me. I hated it. Could barely keep my head above water when it came. It took me back to my childhood. I knew I was being unreasonable, that the high doses of attention I required were hard to maintain. But I felt it all the same.
I curled on my bed and tried to remind myself that I would outlast the feeling. I would be okay.
Chapter 18
Lock
I FIGURED OUT THE worst possible way to wake up. At seven o’clock in morning with a shirtless Dice over my head. “Dude. Booker wants to see us. Fuck. Wake up, for Christ’s sake.”
I rubbed my palm over my face. It was early. Had I slept four hours? Maybe less.
My sister and mother were probably still asleep. I reconsidered letting Dice have my extra key. I could sleep through banging on the door. And text messages.
“If we don’t get there in fifteen minutes, there will be consequences.” Dice farted. “I’m nervous. Come on.” He slapped the couch near my head.
I sat up and scratched my nails over my scalp.
I whispered, “They’re asleep. Shut your face.”
Dice seemed like he just realized he was in my apartment. “You got a shirt? I forgot to get a shirt.”
At least he was whispering too now. I stood and stretched. He pretended to punch me in the stomach and I flinched.
“No stretching. We have to go. Now.” Dice had wild eyes. Being in the Cokes was exhausting. I trotted past him and padded into my room. Mom and Rhy shared the other. We were crammed in here, but it worked. It was shelter. I grabbed the first shirt I found, a yellow T-shirt, and threw it at Dice, gesturing for him to follow me.
After we were back in the car, he pulled the T-shirt on and started driving before he even had his door all the way closed.
I cringed at the shirt I had found for him. “I love llama lips” was emblazoned on the front. It was one of the shirts I regularly wore as pajamas. There was a cartoon llama making a kissy face. Mom had grabbed it for me at the local thrift store a few years back. It made Rhy laugh sometimes, so it stayed in the rotation.
Dice followed my gaze to his chest and made the angriest face. “You fucker.”
He farted again. I rolled down my window in response.
“Listen, you told Booker about the confrontation last night, right?” He was sweating. And driving pretty shitty.
“I fell asleep when I got home. And the next thing I did was look at your ugly mug. Why?” I rolled the window back up.
“Shit. Well, that’s like a huge thing. We ran into a group of Pepsis and you came out the victor. This could start a war, you know?” He drove even faster.
I hadn’t thought about it that way. “Shit.”
Moves like that between gangs were usually highly orchestrated. In retaliation to a slight. Or a death.
My heart started pounding, too. There was no other choice. When you’re in, you’re in. We arrived at Booker’s and his goons were waiting. We were frisked and patted, but in a gentler way than usual. Maybe it was my imagination. But they didn’t call us Pussy and Ball Sack as much. Maybe they were more respectful just before you die.
When we were in Booker’s office, he wasn’t there, but we were instructed to sit. It was fuck early and all these people were up, dressed and speaking. Then it occurred to me that they’d never been to bed. This was the end of a night, not the beginning of a day.
Dice sniffled and farted again. I shook my head.
“I think there are more pictures on the wall.”
There seemed to be a million pictures on these walls. All crooked. It was so incredibly disarming. Then I noticed our pictures were on the desk. I didn’t mention it to Dice; I wasn’t ready for more of his bodily reactions.
Booker burst in with two women. Both smelled like weed and had on basically dental floss and tissues with sequins.
<
br /> “Ladies, this is Pussy and Ball Sack.” They gave us both a hazy once-over. One put her hand to her mouth. “Ugh. It smells in here.”
He kissed them both then sent them back out of the office with punishing ass slaps. Both tittered like they liked it, but his handprint was immediately visible on their skin. It had to have hurt.
Booker slammed the door. It was then that I realized Booker was drunk off his ass. His motions almost seemed blurry, his gait a bit offbeat. Which was wonderful. I’m sure the delicate conversation about whether Dice and I lived or died was best held wasted.
“You fuckers. Again. I feel like I just had you here.” He grabbed our pictures off the desk and handed them to us. I had Dice’s and Dice had mine. I had a flash of terror that Booker was going to make us kill each other, before he shook his head and switched them back to the correct way. That was when I knew we were holding our death sentences in picture form. The thought of us decorating his office as the last thing we did beat in my head like a drum.
Booker leaned against his desk and crossed his legs at his ankles. He squinted at Dice’s shirt, slowly reading the saying out loud. His silence only made the tension in the room mount. All the men we encountered were in some version of their going out clothes. Dice looked like a slob. I looked wrinkled.
Before we died, I was going to ask if I could switch shirts with Dice. I would take Rhy’s llama with me to the grave.
Then Booker burst out laughing. “I fucking donated that shirt to Goodwill like ten years ago. What the hell? I love llamas. So much.”
He started laughing and slapping his thighs. “You bitches are hilarious. Now.” He rearranged his face into a sober expression. It was chilling how quickly he could switch. “Tell me what the fuck happened last night.”
Dice launched into a long, rambling description of how he was trying to take up smoking and we wound up in Pepsi territory, but in our defense, there were no signs stating what belongs to whom, before Booker held up his hand.
“You’re fucking exhausting. None of this explains how I have video of this one,” he pointed at me, “standing over a pile of Pepsi bodies a few hours ago.”
Dice studied his lap when I turned my head. There was only one person I could think of who would have been able to take a video. And that was Dice. So he took two. Instead of helping me.
“So first, don’t fucking take video of business going down. That’s a rule. We never know what will wind up on a huge screen TV for the prosecution, if you get my vibe.” I was still keeping watch on Dice. His picture frame was shaking in his hands. I almost forgot I was getting ready to die, because I had questions. Instead of helping me, he was hunkered down in the convenience store, trying to get some Internet fame PR brownie points or some shit. I needed better friends in my next life.
“Second.” Booker snapped his fingers. “I feel like you might be a problem, Pussy. How you taking down over ten Pepsi guys by yourself? You got something I need to know?”
And this was the gamble. Tell the truth, or let the falsehood that I was some sort of superhero stay floating in the room. I shook my head. “No, sir. Just being myself.” Which wasn’t an exact lie.
“Well, that’s neither tits nor taints. Decision made. Go hang your pictures on the wall. Pick an open nail. Make sure you like where it is because I never move them.”
I froze in place. I couldn’t even look at Dice. I was shocked. I thought for sure we’d get out of this. I mean, it’s not like we’d hurt Cokes. Booker casually pulled out a handgun.
I stood first. I was going to hang my picture in the dead center of the open nails. And it would be straight. As I lifted my picture, it was like I was experiencing my own personal earthquake. And when it was hung, it was the most slanted one on the entire wall. Dice’s hands were shaking, too. He managed to hang the frame fairly straight, which pissed me off. I heard the cock of the hammer of the gun. Dice started farting and farting.
They weren’t even going to take us somewhere else. Put down a tarp, nothing. I looked at my picture. I could see my reflection in the frame’s glass. I was scared. And the room was getting more and more rank as Dice dealt with his fear digestively.
Time stretched on. I was actively trying not to shake like a leaf. I pictured Ember’s beautiful face. Tried to force my mind to relive her kisses.
Dice and I jumped when Booker slapped his hands on both of our shoulders. “You little shits. I’m not killing you today.” The gun was still in his hand, the safety off, so I wasn’t 100% sure we weren’t still getting shot. On purpose or thanks to a stupid accident. “Get those pictures down and put them on the desk.”
I did so warily. Dice was more exuberant about it. We were both directed to sit again. Dice farted some more. Relief gas, I was figuring.
Booker actually sat on his desk, still holding the gun. I wasn’t ready to let down my guard. Though what I could possibly do to a man with a gun from a seated position was beyond me.
“Listen, I was in talks with the Pepsis last night. And it went well. We were working on a truce, their leader Doc and I. And then I get the news of this whole fucking debacle. That two assholes in red bananas were crossing territories and flashing colors. Effectively screwing up everything Doc and I had just settled.”
I watched as Booker scratched his head with the loaded gun. I had serious doubts about the intricacies of the meeting he’d had with Doc.
“And then, as everything is going to shit, and the whole gang is getting ready to war up? I hear that you, Pussy, somehow got out of a gang beating without killing a single soul.” Booker gave me a gummy smile. “That’s fucking amazing. So then I say, because I know what I’m fucking doing, ‘Yeah. I instructed my men—no death. I’m putting my balls into this truce, Doc.’
And then Doc? He gave me those two ladies you just saw. And he’s downstairs right now. Pepsi and Coke drinking together. Because somehow you’re talented enough to save lives instead of just dying like you were supposed to, Pussy.”
Booker gave me a look of wonderment. I gave a terse nod. Because he pointed his gun at me. “You’re the real shit. I’m impressed. And this is the second time. Either you are the luckiest shit in the world or I stumbled on a real soldier.”
He swung the gun at Dice. “But I still can’t find a reason he should be breathing.”
Dice’s eyes went wide.
I tried to quickly smooth it over. I didn’t want Dice to rat me out and say that I wasn’t the one that took down the gang. “I asked him to video. So you’d have proof that we were serious about not killing. Just wanted you to have the receipts. I had to beg him to stay out of it. Ball Sack is a ride or die Coke.”
I took a deep breath and leveled a stare at Booker. Dice started agreeing to my version. If Booker hadn’t been wasted, I had no doubt he’d see through my lie. But this morning, I’d passed muster.
“Well, I got to say. Booker shares,” Booker said, talking about himself in the third person. “Pepsis gave me a nice consolation prize slash thank you offering. And I’m gonna share with you. Because I’m not a fucker.” Booker pushed himself off the desk and set his goddamn gun down. Finally.
He flashed two manila envelopes; both thick with what looked a hell of a lot like a stack of money. He shuffled the money around after opening them. “Adjusted the payout a bit. Because turns out, Dice isn’t a fuckhead, according to you.” Booker tossed the envelopes to us. Horrible tosses, but we managed to catch them. Neither of us attempted to count their contents.
Booker dismissed us by opening his door and calling for his new women. We couldn’t get out of the office soon enough, and had to ease ourselves past his now exposed boner. The women pushed passed us like their lives depended on getting their mouths around his dick. And as Dice and I damn near ran outside, it occurred to me that they probably did.
_______________
After Dice dropped me off, I walked in on Rhy’s morning routine. I was wearing her shirt, even though it smelled like Dice’s sweat.
He’d gone home as bare-chested as he’d arrived. Rhy’s laughter peeled out when I pointed to the llama and made the same face at her. I didn’t count the money yet, but it was a larger amount than last time. I kissed my mother on the head, and then Rhy, tickling her a little just to get more laughter. The money was literally burning a hole in my pocket.
I took a quick shower before tucking the cash pile into my underwear drawer. I dressed in a fresh outfit. I wanted to get down to the registrar’s office as soon as possible. When I skipped out without breakfast, Ma questioned me. I didn’t want to tell her my stomach was still churning from almost being killed, so I told her Dice and I had gotten a bite out.
I took three buses to the Blooming Flower School. After waiting in the foyer for about ten minutes, an older lady in a plaid skirt ushered me into her office. She was older than my mom, maybe. I asked her how much it was for the rest of the year, plus the weekend program for my mom and sister. After I carefully counted out the cash on her desk, covering the whole amount, she touched my red bandana. I slipped the still half-full envelope into my pocket with my other hand.
She was ignoring my money. I met her eyes. “My son was in the Cokes.”
I wasn’t sure what the protocol was in this situation. I knew I wasn’t supposed to talk to anyone about the Cokes or the members. Just always wear the bandana. No matter where I was. Who I was with. So I nodded. Maybe I’d met her son. Who knew?
“Rest his soul.”
I exhaled at her reveal. I expected the speech that came.
“If he had known how it would turn out, how much pain it’d cause, he wouldn’t have done it. You have this money. Take it and go. Go far away. Be a different person.” She was almost in tears.
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