Dead End Fix (19 page)

Lydia fired a shot and Rick's temple exploded before he could give his partner Lydia's location. She rolled just in time to avoid a bullet coming at her from the other man's gun.

“There you are, luv,” Rick's partner called out. She rolled ten feet north, stopping behind the wide trunk of a century-old Douglas fir and flattened herself against the ground.

“What's that you've done with me mate?” The man scanned left to right. “Old Rick didn't have a mind to 'urt you. For the record, I'm the same. Nobody's 'ere to 'arm one 'air on your precious 'ead. You 'ad no call to lay Rick-O flat, now, did ya? I'm 'ere to take you on a little trip is all. Boss lady's got a nice new 'ome waitin' for ya.”

He inched his way closer, focusing his attention ten feet to her right, where he estimated the shot that killed his friend had originated. “Me boss wants you in one piece. After what I see you's done to me friend, I'm not so inclined to deliver as instructed. So what say you step out now like a good little bean. Save me from this damnable weather, and all is forgiven. 'Ow's that?”

Lydia kept her lower body flattened against the forest floor, raising only her torso on both elbows, aiming her gun at the man's head. As she pulled the trigger, her left elbow slipped in the mud. Her bullet missed him by an inch.

The three shots he returned missed her by less than that.

He charged toward her, barely able to stay on his feet as he ran through the rain-soaked brush. Lydia scrambled upright and leveled her weapon.

The man was on her with a roundhouse kick that knocked the gun out of her hand and into the dense thicket. His next kick landed behind her knees, sending her sprawling to the ground.

Lydia reared back on her shoulders, flailing her legs, not caring what part of his body she hit. She got his right arm. He lost his grip on his gun, dropping it two steps behind her head. Lydia reached for it, but he lunged at her, pinning her shoulders down against the mud.

Lydia jammed her hand under his jaw, grabbing at his face, hoping to rip as much of his skin as she could. He wrenched his head clear. She grabbed a handful of his hair in her left hand, twisted, and yanked so hard his neck craned back. Lydia pulled harder, then delivered an open-right-hand chop across his windpipe.

His body recoiled. He rolled off her, coughing and gasping for air. Lydia scrambled to her feet and went for his gun, lying in the mud.

His left hand found her ankle. He pulled, bringing her to her knees. He was impressively strong despite straining to breathe. He dragged her toward him. Lydia reached out for the gun, feeling the steel of its grip at her fingertips as he pulled again, gurgling through an obviously shattered windpipe. The gun was now out of reach.

Lydia went limp, ending all resistance. He gave a last mighty yank, let go of her ankle, and immediately grabbed the waist of her trousers. Lydia twisted, trapping his arm underneath her and freeing access to her jacket pocket. She reached in as the man grabbed her by the collar, his open mouth wheezing inches from her face.

Lydia pulled her flashlight free and jammed it down his injured throat.

The man's eyes bulged. He released her and pawed at the flashlight. Lydia jammed it in harder, shoving the metal casing deeper and deeper, until the lamp struck the front of his teeth.

Then she rammed it harder still.

She felt his body go limp. His full weight crashed upon her. She shoved him off and stood. His arms twitched as his scratched and bruised face turned blue from lack of oxygen. She took two steps back. When his eyes stared unblinking into the cold rain, Lydia turned away. She stumbled through the brush to the cliff's edge and stood there, sixty feet above the water. The tide was fully in. She watched three waves crash to the shore.

You'll have to try again, Allie.
Her chest heaved as she inhaled gulps of cold, salty air.

As she turned to make her way back to the trail, she heard a hawk's call high above her.

Kashawn Meadows smoothed a hand over his hair and practiced his smile.

Should I show some teeth?
He stared into the mirror over his bathroom sink.
No, fool. You look like a clown. Keep it simple.

He tried a wide, closed-lipped grin.

Now you just look like some old pumpkin sittin' too long on somebody's porch, left over from Halloween.

He forced his face to relax and prayed the right expression would materialize when the moment came. He stood on tiptoes and tried to catch the reflection of his new sweater. He could see no further than midchest. He jumped up and down but still couldn't judge how the clothes he'd purchased that morning from four different stores looked when he wore them all at once. He climbed on the rim of the bathtub and faced the mirror. Now he couldn't see his head, but he had a pretty good idea the haircut he'd gotten after his shopping spree had left that part of him looking the best it could.

He wasn't used to wearing clothes like this. Sweatshirts, basketball pants, and gym shoes were his style. But today he needed something special.

He'd gone downstairs early after a long night of no sleep. Only two brothers had been there to greet him. Everybody else was still sleeping. When he and D'Loco had gotten home from their meeting the night before with the leader of the Pico Underground, D'Loco had told the brothers gathered at the clubhouse about the truce. There had been grumblings about not being able to trust a lying Pico, but D'Loco had convinced the group their rivals would hold fire for three days.

“What's to happen when them three days expire?” Big Cheeks had asked. “We got four dead brothers they owe us for.”

Kashawn had stood against the wall, listening to his brothers. Keeping his eyes fixed on D'Loco. Watching for some kind of sign of what his leader was going to do about Spice's demand that he hand over the 97 who'd killed the younger brother of his right-hand man.

“And they got six dead by us,” D'Loco had reminded them. “This war is necessary. I hear that. But we gotta know, too, all this killing is bad for everybody.”

“So what we gonna do next?” Turk had asked.

“We gonna take advantage of these three days and get some sleep. Sell some product. Hell, even soldiers fightin' them Al Qaeda entitled to a little down time now and again.”

D'Loco had made no mention of what Spice needed to end the war. He spent a few minutes talking with each of the brothers, assuring them everything would be all right.

Then he'd left the house without speaking to Kashawn.

“Where you off to?” J-Fox had asked Kashawn the next morning. “You don't have to be on your corner for a while yet. And I ain't never known you to leave this house without eating at least three helpings of bacon and half a loaf a toast. You sick, boy?”

J-Fox's jovial tone led Kashawn to believe his brothers were still unaware this entire war erupted because Benji Jackson, the kid folks called Banjo, was dead. The same kid Kashawn had claimed he'd killed to prove his worthiness to be a 97.

“Stuff to do is all.” Kashawn had been out the door before he needed to answer more questions. He drove to the Walmart first, but they didn't have the kind of clothes for what he had planned. He ate some drive-through breakfast and waited for the mall to open. Two hours later he was back at the clubhouse, ripping off tags in the privacy of his room. Building his courage for what came next.

He spent one last minute studying his reflection. Blue sweater, soft as the fur he'd once felt on a kitten he found dead by the side of the road. Khaki pants, held around his waist with a genuine leather belt. The lady who'd helped him at the store had told him a well-dressed man wore shoes to match. So he'd shown it to the man at the shoe store, who found him a pair the exact same color. They were leather, too.

He thought of his mother.
Can you see me, Ettie? I'm a well-dressed man. Your boy's all growed up and lookin' like he could walk into any place he cared to. No one take a second look at somebody dressed like this.

He hopped off the bathtub, grabbed the jacket he'd bought at one of those expensive sporting goods stores where white folks spend a thousand dollars on a tent, and headed to his car.

Kashawn watched the main entrance of the high school from his front seat. His dashboard clock read 12:47. Students taking the late lunch period poured out of the building while those scheduled for the earlier break trudged back in. He scanned hundreds of teenagers milling about, looking for one particular pupil. He finally spotted her at the top of the stairs, scrunching her face against the cold November air before heading down the steps.

Kashawn pulled a bag from his backseat, left his car, and trotted to catch up to her.

“Hey, LaTonya!”

She stopped, and Kashawn's throat tightened when she turned toward him. He smiled as he closed the short distance between them, hoping he didn't look as foolish as he felt.

LaTonya gave him a quick once-over. “I know you?” she asked.

“You headin' to lunch?”

She scanned the crowd of high schoolers swarming around them, her soft brown eyes registering alarm.

“Hey, don't worry none,” he said. “I'm Kashawn. Kashawn Meadows. You and me used to be in Ms. Bolton's English class together.”

A look of recognition dawned on her cherubic face. “Back row. Quiet all the time. What happened? Did you transfer out or something?”

He knew better than to tell her he hadn't been to school in nearly six weeks. Could be some social worker had been over to his foster mother's house, fussing about how truancy wasn't something to be tolerated. Could just as likely be nobody had noticed he'd been absent at all. His foster mother wouldn't let anybody know he hadn't been at her place in all that time. It was still nine months until Kashawn turned eighteen, and that old drunk needed every penny from those state checks.

Kashawn nodded toward the strip mall down the block from the school. “C'mon. Pizza over to Risitti's. My treat.”

LaTonya pulled her jacket close around her neck.

“Let's go, girl! We only got forty minutes and we're gonna freeze to death, we stay out here.”

LaTonya's face relaxed. “I've got study break after lunch. I don't like to be hurried when I eat.”

Kashawn put a hand on the back of her arm and led her across the street. “This must be my lucky day.”

She ordered two slices of pepperoni and sausage pizza with a small salad. He asked for the same. She thanked the waitress, then he did too. When LaTonya opened her napkin and laid it across her lap, Kashawn pulled his off the table and mimicked her move. She started talking about how she couldn't wait to graduate. “I've applied for early acceptance to Reed. I won't hear for sure until January, but my dad says a black girl carrying the GPA I've got is a surefire yes. Portland's a long way away, I know. But there are buses. And I'm sure my mom's going to be driving down to see me more than she should.” LaTonya told him about how much she was going to miss her dog but that her father promised to send photos every day to her phone.

“It's crazy, I know.” His mind lingered on the gentle lilt in her voice. “I suppose I should be saying I'll miss my family the most. But I know when I'm alone in that dorm room I'm going to be crying my eyes out knowing Grady's curled up on my sister's bed instead of mine. Do you have any pets?”

He shook his head. He wanted to hear her voice, not his own.

“How about family? I've got one sister. Her name's Onaleisha. Everybody calls her Leisha. She's a sophomore. Her thing's music. Plays oboe in the school orchestra. Do you play an instrument?”

He shook his head again.

“How about family?” she asked.

The waitress arrived with their salads, giving him time. He'd spent months dreaming about what it would be like to have a girl like LaTonya pay attention to him. But in all that time he'd never given any thought to what he'd say.

“I have brothers,” he said when the waitress left. “Lots of them.”

“You're lucky.” LaTonya used her fork and knife to toss dressing in her salad. Kashawn watched the process for a few moments before doing the same. “I wish my family was bigger. And I think it would be way cool to have a brother.” She let out a short giggle and Kashawn was certain his heart stopped. “And it might be nice for my dad to have another guy in the house.”

Kashawn learned LaTonya wanted to be a teacher. Her favorite singer was Rihanna but her parents didn't care for some of the lyrics. Her best friends were Charlize and Kimba. She didn't like the boy Kimba was dating, and she and Charlize were hoping he'd go somewhere far away after graduation.

“Of course,
I'm
going far away, aren't I?” A sadness fell across her eyes and Kashawn's hands instinctively balled into fists, ready to bat away anything that dampened the lovely young woman's mood.

“Are you going to college?” she asked. Kashawn could hear the hope in her question.

“I'm not what you call the book type.”

The waitress brought their pizzas. Kashawn didn't have to watch LaTonya to know how to eat his.

“You don't like your grades?” she asked. Kashawn noticed she waited between bites, until she swallowed, before talking.

“Never give 'em much thought, I guess.”

He liked the way LaTonya looked at him as she chewed. “Ever use a tutor?”

“What's that?”

“A
tutor,
silly. A private teacher. Someone who works just with you. To help you understand what's going on in class.” Her eyes got wide. She set her slice down and leaned forward. “I could be your tutor! What's your worst subject?”

“All of 'em, I guess.”

“I'm good at most subjects. I can teach you.”

“I don't think so.”

The excitement in LaTonya's demeanor shifted. She lowered her voice. “You wouldn't have to pay me.”

Kashawn threw his shoulders back. “Money's not somethin' that's a bother. I make my own.”

“You do? I'm so jealous. My father won't let me have a job. Except in the summers. And even then it's only to babysit my little cousin. Where do you work?”

“Few blocks over.”

“Where? What do you do?”

Again, Kashawn hadn't anticipated the actual words he'd say to LaTonya. “I help a guy. This, that. Whatever he need done I do.”

She nodded and her deep brown curls bounced around her cheeks. “Like an assistant, you mean? Is this guy disabled or something? Kimba's sister is a personal assistant for a lady in a wheelchair. Says she spends most of her time watching TV with her. Makes fifteen dollars an hour, if you can believe that. I wish I could get that lucky. Somebody wants to pay me fifteen dollars to watch
Real Housewives,
I'm going to let them!”

Kashawn wanted to tell her he'd pay her twice that if she'd be willing to watch just one show with him. He wouldn't even care what it was.

“Your parents don't mind you working?”

Kashawn shrugged.

“Where do you live, anyway? We live over on Olive Street. If you're anywhere close by, I could come over and study with you. I'm a good teacher. I'll bet I could have you acing your tests in no time.”

Kashawn thought about his room at the clubhouse. What made him think a girl like LaTonya would ever agree to go there?

“Don't need to worry 'bout my grades. I'ma go in the service after school.”

LaTonya drew in a loud breath. “You're
what
? Aren't you afraid? I mean, there's all this terror stuff going on. What if you get sent to Afghanistan or Syria? Aren't you afraid of seeing somebody get killed?” She shivered and shook her head. “All that blood. Aren't you afraid of getting shot?”

I've already seen people get killed,
he thought.
Didn't need to go to no Arab land to see it, either. Banjo bought it not ten blocks from here.
He remembered the night D'Loco took care of Ax Man. There had been a lot of blood that night. He'd been scared. But he'd been scared before and was certain he'd be again. But it would pass.
Some scares take longer than others, though.

“I'ma go to basic training not long from now,” he lied. “Marines.”

“What about school? Graduation's not till June.”

“Marines gonna take care of that. I'ma get my schoolin' with them.”

LaTonya's brow furrowed. “You mean like a GED?”

Kashawn had no idea what that was, but if LaTonya considered it an option, it must be one.

“Yeah. Like that.”

LaTonya finished her second slice of pizza. “Are you going to make the military your career?”

He didn't like the focus being on him. He wanted to hear more about her girlfriends and her family. He wanted to hear her laugh and feel the warmth deep in his stomach when she looked at him.

“Don't think far ahead, I guess.”

She wiped her lips with her napkin. “Whew! I'm full to my chin. And you haven't eaten half yours.”

“I'm too busy lookin' at you. Got no need for pizza sittin' across from somethin' as pretty as you.”

LaTonya glanced down. Kashawn had never noticed how long her eyelashes were. He thought about a puppet he'd once seen hanging from some string in a store window. That puppet had lashes like hers. But LaTonya was real.

“When do you leave?” she asked. “For the Marines, I mean.”

The joy Kashawn was experiencing got shoved aside by something cold. “Two days, I guess. I'ma be gone then for sure.”

“Two days? Then what's this about? Why did you want to have lunch with me if you're going to be gone in two days?”

Kashawn heard the disappointment in her voice. While he never wanted her to feel anything but happiness, a part of him was glad to know she seemed to want more time with him. He reached for the bag he'd brought with him.