Just Cause Universe 3: Day of the Destroyer (20 page)

He grimaced at the state of his ribs, bruised from numerous kicks. His urine had blood in it as well, and he knew it would for at least a day following the almost-professional beating he’d received that afternoon. He didn’t care so much. The pain would go away, and soon there would be a reckoning. As the water poured into the tub, he imagined his revenge against the bullies. Torn apart by his bolt guns, burned to ashes, shredded by the great sawblade of his robot, they would die in painful, brilliant ways.

The images aroused Harlan. Even though he knew it was wrong, he reached down and stroked himself. The visions of blood, death, and fire transformed into pictures of Gretchen, and Harlan’s hand moved faster. He wondered what it would be like to kiss her, to touch her breasts, and that secret place between her legs. His muscles clenched and he squeezed his eyes shut against sudden tears as he shot his load against the wall beside the tub.

Masturbation always left him feeling triumphant. If Momma knew, she’d be horrified. It thrilled him to have one more secret from her. He took some toilet paper and wiped up the evidence of his self-abuse, keeping his secret. The odor of his spunk made his stomach heave as he dropped the waste into the toilet and what little dinner he’d eaten came back up in a rush. He shook with weakness as he closed and flushed the toilet.

Harlan sank into the hot tub. He took the bar of soap and scrubbed himself, and didn’t mind the sting when the suds got into his eyes. It kept him alert.

A gentle but urgent tap at the door startled him. “Harlan,” whispered Reggie. “You got to let me in.”

“Can’t you hold it, Reggie? I just got in the tub.”

“No,” she said. “Harlan, you ain’t supposed to lock this door.”

“I wanted some privacy. I still do. Go away, Reggie.”

Reggie was silent and for a minute, Harlan thought maybe she really did leave. But then, he heard the scratching of a key in the lock. Reggie must have gone to get the bathroom key off Momma’s dresser.

“Reggie!” cried Harlan. He yanked the shower curtain across just in time as the door opened and Reggie stepped into the bathroom. “Just be quick, okay?”

“I don’t have to go potty,” said Reggie. “I needed to tell you that Momma took your books and tools and threw them down the trash.”

“She what?” Harlan shot up to his feet, but slipped in the tub. He grabbed the shower curtain for support, and it tore free of the rings to crumple into the soapy water.

“Shhh,” warned Reggie. “I wasn’t supposed to tell. When she wasn’t lookin’, I hid a couple in my room, but I’m awful a-scared if she finds out.”

Harlan ignored Reggie and shoved past her. He barreled out into the hall naked just in time to see his mother leave through the front door with a cardboard box. He didn’t think about modesty, or embarrassment—only that she was taking his books away.

“No!” He ran after Momma. “Those are mine! You don’t touch them!”

She slammed the door in his face.

He wrestled with the knob, his hands still slick with soap, and finally flung it open.

Momma threw book after book into the garbage chute. “Momma, don’t! Please! I’ll do anything!” He ran after her. Up and down the hall, people cracked open their doors to watch the latest domestic dispute coming out of Apartment 32. When they saw Harlan’s nakedness, more than one jeer and catcall echoed in his ears.
Don’t worry, boy, that other one will drop someday. Lookin’ good, kid. Mommy, that boy ain’t got no clothes on
.

Harlan closed his hands on
The Marvelous Inventions of Nikola Tesla
and struggled with his mother for a moment for it. Then she backhanded him across the face. He flew backwards and sprawled on the filthy carpeting.

“You bet your sorry ass you’ll do anything,” cried Momma. “No more of this nonsense. From now on, the only books you’re gonna read are schoolbooks. Instead of a screwdriver, you’re gonna use a pencil. Now you get your black ass back into the apartment before I whip the skin right off you.”

“Damn,” said someone nearby.

Harlan watched as Momma tipped the rest of the box into the garbage. He knew he could get into the trash bins and find his books again, mixed in with dirty diapers and rotten food, but it still felt like he was watching her strip away his life.

He tasted blood on his lip where she’d struck him, but he didn’t care. He stood and trudged back to the apartment where Reggie stood wide-eyed and trembling.

“What books did you save, Reg?”

She sniffled and showed Harlan a biography of Thomas Edison and a book about aircraft carriers.

“Keep them safe for me,” said Harlan. “Momma will throw them away if she finds them in my room.”

“I’m s-sorry I didn’t get more of them,” she whimpered.

Harlan smiled at her, surprised that he meant it. “You did your best. I owe you for trying. Someday I’ll pay you back.” He walked to his room and stopped by the door. He could hear Momma coming back and only had a moment to turn back to Reggie. “Whatever happens, Reggie, I’ll try to look out for you.”

With that, he went into his room and closed the door. And waited.

#

There was no sign of Sundancer as Tommy and John took their seats at the game. “She must not be back from Iowa yet,” said John. “It’s not like Gloria to miss a ball game.”

“True,” said Tommy. Despite his earlier laughter with John, he was once again feeling the rift between them that he couldn’t bridge no matter how hard he tried. He couldn’t understand
I love you
how someone could be incapable of love. He vowed to try harder to get John to open up.

“Stop it,” Tommy muttered aloud. “You’re going about this all wrong.”

“What was that?” called John over the roar of the crowd. He was using a fat marker to sign programs and other things pushed at him. Tommy felt almost invisible with his hair pulled back in a ponytail and a Mets jersey. After awhile, the fans sitting around them recognized him too and they busied him with autograph requests.

Miranda hadn’t arrived, but Tommy kept a seat open for her, and John kept Sundancer’s clear too. “Where’s your friend?” asked John.

“I don’t know,” admitted Tommy. “I thought she’d be here.”

“You should call her. Maybe something came up.”

Tommy shrugged. “If she’s already on her way, I’ll never reach her. Besides, the game’s starting.” He needed something to take his mind off his feelings for the man beside him, and baseball would fit the bill well enough.

“Hey, boys, how much have I missed?” Sundancer—Gloria, when she was in civilian garb—squeezed along the row of fans to her empty seat. Tommy had seen and admired her
Playboy
spread a few months ago. She wasn’t wearing much more than that now: bikini top, cutoff jean shorts, and flip flops. She had her hair pulled back underneath a Mets cap. Tommy realized he’d been hearing wolf whistles and catcalls for a few minutes. It must have been when she entered the section.

The people who’d gotten autographs from John and Tommy came back all over again to get one from Gloria. A lot more men this time, noticed Tommy, and they hung around afterward until Gloria said, “I can’t see the game, guys.”

In between pitches, she leaned over and recapped what she and Faith had learned in Iowa. Tommy tried to pay attention, but being huddled in close to John was a distraction.

A fan pulled out a Polaroid and started taking pictures of other fans with the heroes. John grinned with his quartzite teeth, his arms wrapped around a couple of kids. He looked like a cheerful stone Santa Claus with them. It made Tommy’s chest tighten to see it, and he knew he had to get away. He mumbled that he needed to use the restroom and worked his way back to the stairs and then down to the corridor.

Out on the field, somebody hit a ball and the stands exploded in cheers and applause. People who’d been loitering in the shade of the concourse hurried up steps to see what they’d missed, leaving the corridor more empty than full. Tommy leaned against a wall and put his forehead against his arm. “Shit,” he muttered. “Get a hold of yourself. You’re spiraling.”

“Hey, man, are you okay?”

Tommy looked around to see a pimply, teenaged usher staring at him. He waved the boy away. “Yeah. Too much heat, too much to drink.”

The boy pointed down the corridor. “If you’re gonna puke, there’s a bathroom there.”

Tommy nodded. He didn’t feel sick, but at least he could splash some water on his face .

It was the middle of an inning, and only a few men were urinating at the trough. He went to a sink and ran it until the tepid water turned cool. He splashed a handful of water across his face and pulled the moisture back through his hair, letting his ponytail down and then retying it.

More cheers echoed outside and the few men in the restroom hurried to finish their business and ran outside, leaving Tommy by himself in blessed solitude. He went over to use one of the urinals opposite the long trough. As he finished, he became aware of a noise: the rhythmic slapping of flesh on flesh. Muffled groans came from the stall beside him, sounds Tommy knew very well.

He bent down and saw two pairs of feet with pants around their ankles below the edge of the stall.

Tommy shut his eyes and listened to the two men fucking beside him. It helped to drive away thoughts of John. He heard one of them gasp and knew it was done. He blushed, embarrassed that he’d eavesdropped on the two lovers, but then realized if they’d been concerned about discovery, they wouldn’t have been in a bathroom at Shea Stadium. Still, when the stall door opened, Tommy stared straight ahead at the wall and didn’t look as one man hurried from the bathroom.

The other loitered until Tommy glanced back over his shoulder. The man might have been twenty. Slender, tight blond curls, perfect skin, pouty lips. He wore athletic shorts and a tank top that showed off his wiry physique. He stood leaning against the sinks with a dangerous smile. “How you doing, Ponytail?”

Tommy shrugged. He couldn’t find the words to say to this beautiful boy.

The boy slid a suggestive finger between his lips. “Twenty bucks,” he said.

Tommy’s brain went white, like a television being unplugged from the antenna. He’d finally gotten the distraction he was craving. He dug into his pocket and pulled out a fifty. “What can I get for this?”

“Honey, for that you can get anything you want.”

Without another word, Tommy took the boy by the hand and led him into a stall.

#

Gretchen lay half across Shane’s chest, listening to his heartbeat and watching smoke curl up from the cigarette she’d borrowed from him. She’d tried one drag from it and it made her cough and her eyes water. Shane had laughed, but not in an unkind way.

Shane’s attentive ministrations had driven memories of Donny’s brutality into a dark corner of Gretchen’s mind. Lying on his couch, naked with him, she felt safer than ever before in her life. His steady heartbeat under her cheek reassured her that everything would be all right.

“Sorry about your table,” she murmured.

“It’s okay,” he replied. “I never liked it that much anyway.”

The first time she came, little spheres of air had imploded away all around her, like someone popping bubble packing. The second time had been far more intense and she must have made a much bigger volume disappear, for it had thundered inside the apartment and the glass-topped coffee table cracked down the middle.

“I didn’t know I would do that when I, you know.”

“Yeah. I kind of liked it, though. I could get used to it.”

Gretchen looked up into Shane’s smiling eyes. “Really?”

“Yeah. Do you want to stay here while you’re getting set up with a job and stuff?”

“I’d like that, Shane. If it isn’t a bother for you or your roommate.”

“He won’t care. He’s barely here as it is. If you’ll let me up, I’ll leave him a note.”

Gretchen crawled up his chest to kiss him. “Whatever you say.” She rolled off him and stood. He rooted around, looking for his underwear. While he was bent over, Gretchen couldn’t help but snap her towel at his ass. He yelped, got his feet tangled, and wound up giggling on the floor.

Gretchen dressed and spent a few minutes fussing with her hair while Shane wrote the note. He stuck it to the fridge with a magnet shaped like a hamburger.

“Ready to go?” asked Gretchen.

Shane blinked. “You’re dressed? You’re ready?”

She nodded.

“But you’re a girl. You’re supposed to take an hour to get ready for anything.”

“I did take an hour. Boy, you write slow.” Gretchen grinned at him.

Hand in hand, they took the elevator down to the ground floor. Shane led her onto the street. Even though the sun was low in the west, the asphalt felt soft and gooey under Gretchen’s feet. Distant thunderheads showed beyond the buildings, but didn’t offer any hope of respite.

Gretchen could already feel herself starting to sweat. “Is it always this hot in the summers?”

Shane shook his head. “No, this is a heat wave. Everybody’s pretty miserable, and it doesn’t help with that Son of Sam guy out on the streets.”