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  I was on all fours with my head tilted, so everything was skewed, but even I could tell that Darren actually seemed mad. And that didn’t add up. Instantly, though, the bullshit con artist faker in him kicked in and he started acting cool, as if he’d already pulled himself together. Then again, everyone else was watching, too.

  “What the fuck, dude, seriously?” Darren asked. “We’re like trying to have a party—a few brews, some tunes, chill out—but you gotta come in here and like shit all over it. What’s your fucking damage?”

  There must’ve been fifty or sixty teenagers standing around, four or five heads deep in every direction, but it was quiet, very quiet. Somebody must’ve turned the music off.

  Tommy pointed at me. “That little shit—”

  “No, dude, don’t try blaming him, he’s just a kid. He’s like not even in junior high yet.”

  As soon as I heard him say that, I had a feeling I knew what Darren was up to. He was tying up the loose ends, cutting Razor and Tommy—his hired thugs—off in public for everyone to see, so that nobody would ever think about linking them back to him.

  “But he started it, D,” Tommy countered, still pointing at me, “he did! You saw him, dude—”

  “No way,” Darren cut him off again, “I didn’t see shit. All I saw was you like pounding a twelve-year-old kid at my party. My party, dude, and now he’s fucking bleeding.”

  That part was true. My nose was pretty much gushing.

  “But you saw him clock Razor in the nuts,” Tommy griped. “You saw him. Everybody fucking saw him! What was I supposed to do?”

  Darren was a half-step ahead, though, like he always seemed to be when he wasn’t high. “Dude, save it, all right? Everybody knows how you and your bud Razor try to act all hard with younger kids, so don’t even try to tell me Razor didn’t start this shit, and that the little dude here wasn’t just sticking up for himself. Don’t even run that shit, because nobody’s buying it.”

  I shifted my eyes to Razor along with everybody else. He was standing there, a few feet away from Tommy, looking pinched and muddy and sullen, but not saying anything. He couldn’t; he had too much to lose. Contradicting Darren would mean antagonizing the whole crew, and seven against two was clearly suicidal odds, even to a nitwit. Besides, if it got out that he’d tried to lick what he’d tried to lick off Stacy’s hand, then the other jocks would label him a fag, whether it was true or prejudiced or not, and they’d never let up on him and tear him apart and that would be that. And if it got out that he’d coerced Stacy by threatening to lie about what she’d done with him and trying to brand her a slut without her being one, then no girl in high school would ever look at him again, let alone talk to him, or whatever else. So whether or not Razor knew that I myself would be more than willing to supply the above information to all the interested parties in our immediate vicinity, he at least seemed to realize that he was screwed coming and going. And although I still thought he was stupid and spoiled and weak, he seemed to have just enough sense to keep his mouth shut. I had to give it to him for that, because if he’d said anything, he only would’ve made things worse for himself. Instead, he just put his hands in his short pockets and shrugged, leaving Tommy Sharpe—his friend—to take the brunt of it. Yeah, real class act.

  “See?” Darren started up again. “Razor’s not even denying it. You two dudes, man … shit.” Darren shook his head. “And you made me hit you for that? Jesus, dude, you know I’m like so not into violence, and now I’m feeling all totally low and down on myself for clocking you. That’s so bogus, dude, it’s like afflicting my self-esteem.”

  Tommy had just been whipped twice over, and he seemed to realize it. “Sorry, D. I mean it, man. Sorry.”

  I had to give it to Darren; Tommy made him kick his ass, which upset him, so Tommy had to apologize for it—in front of everyone. Nice touch.

  “No, dude, you know what? I’m the sorry one”—Darren changed his tune without skipping a beat—“stomping on you and like dressing you down in front of everybody and shit. That’s wrong—severe and wrong. That’s totally my bad. C’mon, dude, let’s make it up.”

  Darren stuck out his hand and, with his false apology hanging in the air and everyone watching, Tommy had no choice but to take it. I guess that’s when I realized that Tommy and Razor might’ve been big guys, and maybe tough guys (well, at least one was), but they were still younger than Darren, and he was letting them know it.

  “Is it squashed?” Darren asked.

  “Yeah, D, it’s squashed,” Tommy agreed.

  “Cool.” Darren smiled. “And this ain’t against you, dude, because that shit between us is like dead and buried already.” He looked up at all the other teenagers gathered round, raised his voice, and said, “Dudes, everybody knows this is my party and my house and like my rules, and the first rule is just totally no fighting, like never, and that’s all for shit now tonight. So thanks for kicking it with the crew, and we’ll live to jam another day, but this one’s so over for me that it’s done.”

  There was an outburst of groans and nos and come-ons and chill-outs, but Darren stood his ground. “Sorry, dudes, no dice. This party’s totally over, so everyone clear out, and don’t make me like call the cops or anything, because that’s just too fucking beat. Hasta.”

  Darren turned, wedged through the crowd, walked across the deck, went inside, closed the sliding glass door behind him, and turned off some but not all of the outdoor lights. And he probably did all that just because he could.

  It was Darren’s house and Darren’s rules and Darren’s story, made up on the spot, but with plenty of kids to see it, and no one to contradict it, even though Tommy Sharpe had tried. So, chances were people would believe it. After all, it was just what kids had come to expect from Darren—just another expert job pulled off by the most popular, most partying, good-guy outlaw in town, tagged and signed in person this time by no less than the man himself.

  Darren was in charge; everybody around here knew it and accepted it.

  Yeah, I’d been right all along.

  TWENTY

  During the commotion of kids starting to leave, Neecey took me inside Darren’s house, to the half bathroom between the kitchen and the back den. She stopped up my nosebleed with some toilet paper, put a cold washcloth on the back of my neck, and cleaned the blood off my face, chest, and hands. Then she led me into the kitchen, got a frozen hamburger patty out of the freezer, used a kitchen towel to tie it in place over my left eye, and then gave me a frozen hot dog to press against the left side of my nose, which was swelling badly, too. She sat me on one of the stools at the breakfast bar in the center of the kitchen, got me some aspirins and apple juice to drink, and then went back outside to the deck. And she did all of that without saying a word.

  It would’ve been a golden opportunity to inspect her for the symptoms of drug abuse or to lay hold of her before she left, but I was in too much pain to try to do anything. The left side of my face felt crushed, my entire head was thumping, and my neck and shoulders felt like I’d been whiplashed from behind at ninety miles an hour. I had to give it to Tommy; as far as mindless overgrown brutes went, that kid could really throw a punch. Detective manual rule number four: never fuck around with Tommy Sharpe.

  I massaged the back of my neck with my free hand just long enough for the ringing in my ears to soften to a dizzying buzz, and checked to see if anyone was around. Then I stood up slowly from the bar stool and trod gingerly into the back den. There wasn’t a place on me that didn’t seem to yowl as I moved, but it wasn’t over yet, so I couldn’t let that stop me.

  Inside the den there was a plush red throw rug in the middle of the floor, two black leather sofas facing each other from across the room, black lacquer cabinets and shelves along the walls, a four-stack stereo console, a big TV with a Betamax and a VCR directly underneath, and a small lamp in the far corner emitting a dim light. Behind the sofa to my left were some built-in window seats with fluffy red throw pillows,
and above them were the back windows. They were the kind that opened in and out instead of up and down, and since we didn’t have windows like that at home, it took me a couple of seconds to draw that conclusion and find a handle. I cranked one open as far as it would go, put the hot dog in my pocket to free up both my hands, and removed the screen, which I hid behind the curtain on the right-hand side of the window seat. Then I took a step back to inspect my handiwork. It would be a tight fit, but our escape route was all set up and ready to go. Now all I had to do was get both Neecey and me through it and out to safety. Right, no problem at all.

  I hoisted the frozen hot dog out of my pocket and held it against my aching nose. Then I checked to make sure that the frozen hamburger tied to my eye was securely in place, so nothing would look amiss as I sat at the bar stool in the kitchen playing wounded possum, waiting for a shot to spirit Neecey and me the hell out of there. I leaned my back against the wall by the doorway that led to the kitchen and listened to the sound of a few stragglers moping through the house and out the front door. I heard a voice calling my name. It was Neecey’s voice, and it was moving closer, but I couldn’t call out to her because I didn’t know if she was alone. I slinked back around the sofa to the window seats, wrapped myself in the curtain where I’d hidden the screen, and waited. My heart galloped. This might be my only chance to shanghai my sister back to the semblance of a normal life, and while I was barely standing on my own steam, I still had to try to make the most of it.

  A backlit form appeared in the doorway, but I couldn’t tell who it belonged to because I only had one good eye to look with and the curtain blocked most of its view. The form came closer, crossed the threshold, and stopped. I steeled myself to make a quick dive out the window and book it for all I was worth.

  “Genie?” Neecey called. “You in there?”

  Exactly what I’d hoped to hear. “Yeah, Neece,” I whispered, “I’m over here.”

  “Where?” She paused. “Genie, um, what the hell are you doing hiding behind the curtains like that?”

  I’d answer that one later. Right now it was time to put my plan into action. “Come over here,” I said, stepping out. “I want to show you something.”

  Neecey walked around the back of the nearest sofa and over to the window seats. “What do you want to show me? You need to be like totally sitting down after the pounding you took.”

  “Here, look.” I pointed through the open window, and when Neecey leaned over toward the sill, I dropped the hot dog, squatted down, jammed my palms under her butt, and pushed her upward with whatever force I could muster.

  “Genie! What the fuck?!”

  Neecey was either lighter than I’d expected, or I was having one of those surges of superhuman strength that people got in life-or-death situations, because just like that, I’d lifted her off the ground and wedged her torso out the window. Now all I had to do was shove her hips and legs through and we’d be gone.

  “Stop, Genie! Stop!” she shrieked. Worse still, she started kicking her legs like a whipped giraffe so I couldn’t get hold of them.

  “Quiet, Neecey,” I said, panting. “They’ll hear you!”

  “Yo … what the—Holy shit!” Darren’s voice hitched, then quickened sharply from the doorway. “Little dude! Like back off. Release!”

  Next thing I knew, Darren’s orange hair and red Hawaiian shirt were beside me, and his tanned forearms and hands were reaching out to grab Neecey by the hips and pull her back in. I pushed harder, but one of Neecey’s flailing feet caught me in the chest and knocked me back. Darren slid into the space I’d just vacated, gripped hold of Neecey more securely, and began to guide her back in.

  Fucking Darren. That was it; I’d had it with him. I felt this piercing sensation ignite in my belly and my hands shaking wildly as everything before me flashed a dark, blinding red. “Get your filthy fucking hands off my goddamn sister!” I screamed—and lunged.

  No, it probably wasn’t a good idea. Darren had already proven that he was a much better scrapper than I’d ever given him credit for, while I’d just taken the whooping of a lifetime and was in no shape for a double bill. He must’ve turned just in time as I’d charged him, and crashed a swift uppercut flush under my nostrils that rammed the bridge of my nose into my brain and killed me, because all of a sudden everything was quiet and still, like a slow-motion sequence with no sound, and I felt as if I were sailing gently through the air, or maybe floating outside my own body. Then I was resting comfortably on my back, landing and sinking into big, soft cushions. For a split second it felt like all the tension and violence inside of me were somehow gone, and now that they were, there was no way they’d ever come back.

  But all that changed as soon as I realized I wasn’t dead, and that Darren had just worked some kind of flip or toss on me that had sent me flying onto the nearest sofa, where I’d landed safely and was lying stretched out on my back. And when I felt the seat of his shorts pressing down on my chest and stomach, I was glad my rage hadn’t vanished for good, because I needed every ounce of it to throw punches and buck and jerk around and howl like a goddamn lunatic for him to get off.

  “Chill, little dude, chill,” Darren ordered. “You gotta like simmer down and maintain yourself before I’ll even think of letting you up.”

  I kept struggling as fiercely as I could, reaching up to slap or grab at his nose, his hair, his ear—anything I could lay a hand to—but he was too tall for me to reach that high.

  “Genie, seriously! What the fuck is your damage?”

  Neecey’s cheeks were bright red, her eyes were blazing, and I could see it all pretty clearly because she was standing right over me. Goddamn it. My rescue attempt had been shot to shit and I’d fallen into enemy clutches to boot, and I realized that unless I pulled it together somehow, I could be stuck with Neecey screeching into my face while Darren rested his ass on my chest all night.

  I closed my eyes, tried to relax and take deep breaths, but it wasn’t exactly easy with a 160-pound dildo perched atop my rib cage.

  “You settled, little dude?” Darren asked. “Or are you stoked to be a La-Z-Boy for a while, because this is like way relaxing.”

  “No,” I lied, “I’m settled.”

  “Swear it, Genie,” Neecey insisted.

  “Okay,” I coughed, “I swear.”

  Darren hopped off me, and I continued to lie there on the sofa as the two of them hovered cautiously and stared. They didn’t say anything and neither did I, and after a minute or two of all of us doing our best amateur mime routines, I decided I’d composed myself enough to sit up.

  “You see, little dude, you just needed to steady some from all the upheaval,” Darren said, placing his hand on my shoulder.

  “Get your fucking hand off me,” I snapped at him.

  “Jesus Christ, Genie! What is your deal already? Are you like completely bat shit? God only knows what you’re doing here, or like why in the hell you were trying to push me out the window, but Darren just fully saved your pathetic little life, and you’re still acting like a total asshole.”

  “I was trying to save you, Neecey,” I told her. “And stop defending him. You’re always fucking defending him. I have eyes, you know. I can see. And I know exactly what kind of low-down dirty bullshit he’s up to, even if you don’t.”

  Neecey started to say something, but Darren took hold of her hand and muzzled her, proving beyond all doubt who was driving that bus.

  “We better like hear him out and shit,” he said, raising an eyebrow at Neecey in a way that seemed to be signaling something. “Sounds like he’s got the goods on me, and I need to know if he does.”

  I didn’t know what the hell kind of code he was using, but it was obvious he knew I was serious.

  “No, I don’t have ‘the goods’ on you, D,” I said, nice and easy, “I got ‘the stuff.’ Yeah, that’s right, ‘the stuff’ you had Neecey smuggle over here tonight and the same stuff you lured her away from Gary to mule around town. I know
how you get the money to pay for it, and the web of crimes you’ve been spinning to throw the coppers off your scent. You can bank on it, painter boy I know all of it, and I have proof.”

  Darren squeezed Neecey’s hand again to clam her up. “Ah-ight, little dude, this is the moment you’ve been waiting for. Let’s see what you got.” There was a glint of craft in his eyes, the twinkle of a career criminal who only showed emotion while walking the tightrope of being had.

  “I’ll be more than happy to give it,” I said. “But I’m not stupid enough to spill my guts in front of both of you so I can get double-teamed by a pair of professional bullshitters. No fucking way. Before I say anything, one of you has to go.”

  “That’s like completely fine,” Neecey said, glaring. “Because I so totally have a few things to say to you, too.”

  Darren turned toward the door.

  “No,” I said. “He stays, you go.”

  Darren and Neecey both spun on their heels and stared at each other.

  “It’s cool, Neece.” Darren winked at her.

  Neecey looked stunned and lost but relented anyway, rolling her eyes. “Whatever. But if your little pissing contest lasts like more than fifteen minutes, then I’m totally coming back in.” She pulled the door closed behind her when she left.

  “You got what you wanted, little dude, so spill.”

  “I’d say stop me when I’m getting cold, but since that ain’t gonna happen …” I trailed off, letting him get used to the noose I was about to tighten, before starting again. “Remember the other day when you told me that most of the crew had been tagging the church with you on Saturday night?”

  “Yeah, at the arcade.” Darren shrugged. “What of it?”