Still Waters (14 page)

T
he rest of the week and half of the next one went by quickly, feeling like a curve in the track. I kept my eyes open and my mouth shut.

Michael acted different—like he knew something. Like he’d gotten the upper hand, maybe with Cesare. Maybe with someone else. It put me on edge, but the money kept coming, and all I had to do was hang out.

It was safe enough. I’d see it coming—whatever it was that put that oil-slick grin on Michael’s face.

And it was too easy to keep going. I’d walk Janie to the bus, then walk to Clay’s, and then to school, where I’d change clothes. Breakfast in the parking lot with Michael and his gang. Break in the courtyard, lunch outside at the picnic tables (except one day when it rained and we displaced the drama nerds inside), and afternoons of mostly free time.

Rinse. Repeat.

It was weird. Weird because I got used to it so fast.

Janie got me some greasy bruise-ointment from the Asian grocery. By the end of the week, they’d faded to yellow-brown and my ribs felt good enough with the brace on that I went to help Jonesy.

More money. Every bit got us closer.

I even fell into a routine with Cyndra. At break she’d sit with Michael, playing with his fingers, threading hers into them or holding them near her mouth.

But at lunch she’d sit close to me, leg alongside mine, leaning against my arm. Sometimes she’d show up in the hall after my first period, and we’d cut class, ducking into the back of the library to talk or going to the dugout to make out. Another thing I told myself I was in control of. Or that it didn’t matter, because she was there, and she wanted me, and I needed that something she gave me.

Told myself she felt the same way. Made it sound simple. We each needed something from the other, no more than that. Even though the ache in my chest when she’d walk away called me a liar.

If anyone else knew that Cyndra had won the bet, they never said anything. But Monique had backed off, and so did the others.

Cyndra was like two people: one, this sexy, pouty bitch-princess who taunted you, shot her hips when she walked, and let her eyes burn. And the other was the girl I knew. The one I started to think of as mine. The one with the laugh so loud it sounded like a shout. The one who, when we were really talking, would change, her face shifting, like she was letting a pose fall away. She could transition between the bitch-princess armor and the real girl so quickly the slingshot force of it would send your brain leaking out your ears.

After a while I got used to that, too.

Although I never really got used to the fact that she had to change in the first place.

Michael didn’t seem to notice or care about me and Cyndra, and he didn’t mention Cesare. But sometimes I saw the slick grin slide off, and the scared kid would reappear in his eyes. Just for a moment. But after he’d show, I started to notice that Michael would do something mean. Like play Beast off Dwight. Or throw out down-to-size remarks.

Clay said Michael was exerting dominance to make himself feel powerful. Making the others twitch when he yanked their strings.

Crap like that was always happening. Stupid, sometimes ugly, always on the edges of the day. Underneath everything, like the buzz of a busted speaker when only certain notes are hit.

I didn’t think about it much. It was like the smooth part of the roller coaster or the clicking ascent. Nothing much going on right now, but you don’t for a minute think it’s over.

So I wasn’t surprised when Michael stopped me at break one day. We slapped hands as he slid in close.

“I need you for a job tonight. I’ll pick you up in the parking lot at seven.”

“Fine.” An extra fifty for the expanding roll in the coffee can.

Michael stood beside me, looking out at the others.

“I’ve figured it out, by the way,” he murmured, as if this was a regular conversation between two normal people. His voice was soft, indiscernible if you weren’t standing right next to him. “I told you I would.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” He smiled at me, turning, hiding even his lips from the rest of them. “I’ve figured out how we can do it.”

“Do what?”

Even though I had a feeling I knew.

“Kill your dad, of course.”

“You’ve got enough on your plate,” I said, thinking of Cesare.

“It goes
with
that.”

The girls walked by, slowly. Cyndra blew a kiss. I couldn’t tell who it was for.

“I’ll tell you tonight.” Michael picked up his backpack.

I shrugged. “Fine. Where’ll we be going?” The bell rang across the courtyard. People picked up their bags and started hustling in.

“What do you care? Anywhere’s better than here.”

The story of my life.

I went to the old gym after school. The punching bag looked lonely, and I was feeling healed enough to take a few test swipes at it.

After an easy workout, I went home and caught Janie, told her about the job. She called Clay and told him she’d be spending the night.

“Be careful,” Janie said as we walked to Clay’s together. “Remember: You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to. Just because you took his money doesn’t mean you have to take his shit.”

“That’s catchy. Wanna put it to music?”

She walloped my arm.

“I’m serious, Jason.”

“All right, all right.”

“We have enough money now to survive for a few months. Any extra is gravy.”

“Never enough gravy.” Sometimes I had to pull out the can and look at the cash curled inside, wrapped in rubber bands like a cocoon. Had to look, just to be sure that it was still there. Each time, before I opened the can, it was like there was a hole in my stomach.

I was starting to have nightmares about it. Because for the first time since we came up with The Plan, it actually seemed within reach. It made my stomach knot. I’d look at the roll, and I’d think of deposits for electricity, water, or an apartment. I’d see clothes and pots and pans and bus fares. Groceries and medicine. I was even starting to see the tuition for cosmetology school, which Janie had said would be a good skill for her to have. All these things, all these possibilities, rolled inside a coffee can stuffed down an air-conditioning vent.

It was making me sick. Because I had no safer place to keep it.

“We have enough. To make a start. A good one. It’s not entirely what we had in mind, but we could go now.”

“We need more. We need all of it.”

Janie stopped walking, so I did, too. “Seriously, maybe we should just go, Jason.”

She put a hand on my forearm. “Let’s not wait for your birthday—not wait for the guardianship, or to be eligible for food stamps or housing, or any of it. We have the money. We can just go.”

Her hands lifted, palms up and flat, like a bird. Or like she was praying, seeking blessings from the sky.

“Won’t work.” I shook my head. Crossed my arms, pressing fists into my sides. “We need the government assistance.”

Couldn’t look in her depthless eyes.

Because I was thinking about Cyndra. Holding her, feeling the softness of her and the long taper of her ribs as she pressed into me. Her arms tight across my shoulders, squeezing with all her strength, like she’s trying to tell me something. The shadows in her eyes and the tiny flecks of gold you only see when you are a breath away.

Janie’s hands closed. “We have enough to last until your birthday. That’s what I’m saying. We could go now, and get the assistance later.”

“When the money runs out.”

“Maybe.”

She waited for me to look at her.

I did, and it felt like something was being pulled from me. From my wrists and my chest, drawing it out in one long tug. Would Cyndra even care? I pictured her fingers lacing with Michael’s and somehow knew the answer.

“Jason,” Janie’s voice cracked. “I’m sorry. It was just an idea.”

“Yeah. But you’re right. Why not go? There’s no good reason.”

“We don’t have to choose now. It’s enough just to think about it.”

“Sure. We’ll give it a few more days.”

“Okay.”

So it was decided then. And we both knew it.

We walked another block in silence and stood on the corner. Janie would have to walk a few more blocks by herself. I’d head back to school.

“Be careful,” Janie said.

“Hey, I’m off to a good start. He’s not picking me up at home.”

“Stop playing.” Her dark eyes grabbed me, wouldn’t let my gaze slide away. “Don’t do anything stupid. Don’t let him get to you. If it’s that bad, walk away. Don’t come home and—”

The pain in her voice ripped at me.

“Janie, I promise.”

She sniffed and swiped her eyes. “Good.” She hugged me quick, like she was stealing it. “We’re so close.”

• • •

I walked to school and waited in the parking lot.

I didn’t have to wait long. The vintage Mustang prowled into the lot. Michael was the only one in the car. He put the window down.

“Time to make yourself useful.”

W
e drove to a long stretch of empty road. Michael pulled to one side of the two-lane, and turned the engine off. The feeble twilight made colors hard to see, even the cherry red of the Mustang’s hood.

“Wanna make out?” Michael asked, the same old joke.

“You’re not my type.”

Michael laughed. “What, you think your girlfriend would object?”

I shrugged, unsure as always how to act when he mentioned Cyndra.

Michael turned on some music—heavy, screaming stuff. We waited on the darkening road. Finally he spoke.

“There’ll be others here soon. I just wanted to be early. To talk to you about it. You know where we are?”

I knew the road by reputation, but not experience.

“Drag Race Road.”

“Right. And everyone will be here soon. People come from different schools, not just Mercer, and there’s always a bunch of races. You may even want to try your luck.”

“What would I drive?”

He smiled. “There’s plenty of cars to be had.” He squinted out the window. I rubbed a fist on my leg, remembering Janie.

“Nah,” I said.

“You wouldn’t get caught.”

“Sorry. Sure hope that wasn’t the job.”

“We’re here to meet Trent.”

Headlights glinted in the distance of the straightaway. Michael gave me a glacial smile. “Trent is a security guard at a swank development full of doctors’ offices. I’m paying him to be somewhere else so we can break in, steal some drugs, and trash it.”

“The drugs’ll square you with Cesare?”

Not a bad idea. You had to hand it to him.

“That, and one other job he has for me after. Two little jobs, and I’m in the clear. But that’s not the only reason I’m doing the doctors’ offices.” He pumped a fist in the air, like an overenthused coach. “For the team, son.”

I thought about Michael’s cold, empty house. How Clay called him a puppet master. Michael called himself a user. He wasn’t interested in teams.

“What’s the second job?” I asked.

He shrugged. “Who knows? One thing at a time.”

Headlights threw our shadows across the windshield as a car pulled in behind us. Michael opened his door, so I followed. We walked to the back of the car and stood in the glare.

The lights went out as the car door groaned open. Trent strutted up, wearing a navy blue security uniform. He held out his hand. “Michael. Jason.”

We shook and stood in the dark, blinking away the afterimages that floated on our retinas.

“It looks like tomorrow will work.”

“It’s definitely on, then?” Michael’s voice was cool, but his hands fisted in his pockets.

Trent nodded. “My partner is out on leave. His wife just had a baby. And we’re already spread thin because Earl was busted on the drug screen. So, yeah, Thursday it’s just me and one other guy on the whole shift, and we won’t be patrolling together.”

“Tomorrow.” Michael’s voice was firm.

“You got my money?”

I tried to pretend I didn’t sound just like that when I said it.

Michael handed over a fat envelope. “Half now, half after.”

Trent didn’t count it, just slipped the envelope into his pocket. He nodded at me. “You looking forward to losing your cherry like him?”

I stared him down.

Trent laughed like he was my chummy uncle. “Who am I kidding? Won’t be your first time at the dance.”

I crossed my arms and leaned against the trunk. Two cars appeared down the road.

“It’s set, then,” Michael said. Dismissing him.

Another pair of headlights appeared.

“Tomorrow.” Trent shook Michael’s hand and walked back to his car. The door protested as he closed it. He turned the car around and drove away.

The second car pulled in behind us where Trent’s car had been.

I turned to Michael. “I’m not coming along on your little adventure.”

Michael waved his hand, like he was shooing a fly. “Later. We’ll talk about it later. Along with my idea for your problem.”

My dad.

Of course, I had already decided. I
would
go, provided the circumstances and price were right. But coming out of the corner fighting gave me leverage to get more. Because if I didn’t go, what use would Michael make of my absence? If I was with him, I could control it. Could control the way it would roll. Make Michael think he had me and squeeze him for just enough extra money that Janie’s acceleration of The Plan could work.

Game the gamer. I had to stifle the smile, picturing his face as he arrived at school to find me gone. Disappeared with Janie, leaving him holding the bag.

Monique and another girl got out of the car that had parked behind us.

“Are we the first?” Monique called. “I can’t believe we got here first.” She walked up to us so fast, what little curves she had jiggled.

“No, Mona.” Michael sounded bored. “
We’re
first.”

“You don’t count,” Monique said. “You’re always here first.”

More cars parked. People started leaving their headlights on while music competed from different windows. Hoods were propped open so passersby could ogle the goods.

Cyndra arrived, wearing a tank top and low-slung jeans. Her long legs flickered the glare of the headlights as she runway-walked up to us. She kissed Michael and pressed into his side.

Mona sat on the trunk next to me, letting her leg touch mine. I didn’t move away.

The others arrived. LaShonda and T-Man fighting about which rapper was playing on the radio. Dwight and Mike-Lite started talking trash about the cars. Michael gestured for us to follow him.

“Come on.”

Dwight, Mike-Lite, T-Man, and Beast came with us. We wandered down the road, looking at the various engines, talking about which ones were the best. There were only a few real racers. Most people were there to drink and hook up.

We kept moving past the cars and people, walking down into the blackness.

Michael stopped. The others ranged around him, listening.

“Tomorrow night.”

Dwight cursed and grinned.

“All in,” Michael continued. “No opt outs.”

Beast’s eyes shifted around the circle.

“Security’s been taken care of.” Michael crossed his arms over his chest and took a wide stance. “There’s nothing to worry about, even for you, Beast.”

The guys laughed. Beast looked like someone had squirted lemon juice in his eyes.

“I don’t know,” he murmured. “What about security cameras?”

“We’ll be wearing masks, and we won’t be driving one of our cars. We’ll wreck the place and get the drugs.”

“We should just get the drugs and go,” Mike-Lite said. “Get in and out quick and not leave any evidence behind.”

“Evidence? Look who’s been watching crime TV.” Michael’s hand swept, palm up, at Mike-Lite, like he was on a game show. “Evidence.” He spat the word, a dismissal. “Are we referring to broken glass, here? You planning on touching it after you bust it? Or, uh, no”—Michael glanced at T-Man, who laughed ahead of the joke—“you’re gonna write our names with the paint?”

Michael dropped the taunts and made a blade of his hand. “We trash it. It’ll confuse things, make them wonder what we were after. Plus, it shields the guard if it looks like vandals broke in.”

Mike-Lite spread his own feet and tipped his head at Beast. “But something could go wrong,” he said. “This one’s too much,” he said to Michael. “How can you be sure it won’t go wrong?”

Michael leaned forward, casual as a viper. “Because I paid the guard. Because I know the building inside out. And because of him.” He pointed at me. “Ice has all the angles covered, so you daisies don’t have to worry about a thing.”

All eyes shifted to me. Michael raised an eyebrow.

I nodded once.

Dwight popped his knuckles, glaring at me. “I don’t need his green light.”

“Go without me, then.”

“Dwight, shut up.” Michael’s eyes bored into him.

“Why are we supposed to be impressed by him again?” Dwight sneered. “I don’t give a damn about him.”

“Sitting this one out, Dwight? That’s a win in my book,” I said.

Michael popped a fist against Dwight’s chest. “I said shut up.” His eyes slid around the circle.

Beast looked uncertain, lips moving like he wanted to say something. Mike-Lite’s weight shifted from foot to foot.

“We don’t need him,” Dwight told the group, looking at me like I was a leech bloated on their blood.

Michael turned to Dwight. “No. It’s you we don’t need. Shut your damn mouth.”

Dwight opened his mouth. Closed it again. A red flush spread in his cheeks.

Michael pivoted and stalked away.

“I can’t wait.” T-Man followed—pacing with sharp, arrested movements. Michael smiled at him, like a teacher when you’ve given the right answer.

Dwight fell in behind Michael, a kicked dog, eager and cringing. He glared at me.

Beast and T-Man walked in the road, ignoring the yells and revving engines. T-Man walked with his arms out—like if a car came at him he’d show it who was boss.

Tires screeched. Two sets of headlights hurtled down the road. T-Man jumped out of the way at the last possible moment.

We walked behind the parked cars and through clusters of people until we were back at Michael’s car.

I glanced around at the scene. Similar to the party, except scattered down the edges of the dark country road. People drinking, dancing, making out. Same as ever.

I sat on the hood of Michael’s car.

Two cars started revving their engines, shuddering where they stood. All noise, no performance.

Cyndra perched on the hood next to me. A can was pressed into my hand. Cyndra smiled and tipped her beer up to her lips.

The can was warm. I popped the top and drank.

Michael slid a hand up Cyndra’s leg. “Cyn, Ice and I are going to talk.”

Cyndra stuck out her lower lip and arched her back so her shirt strained. “Can’t I come?”

Michael smiled and spanked the side of her thigh. “Try not to get into too much trouble.” Not deigning to answer her question. Reprimanding her with a tease.

It flickered in her eyes. The rebuff, making her mask of confidence slip. Maybe she didn’t know where she stood, either. It didn’t make me feel better.

We got in his car. Cyndra slid off the hood and walked over to stand with Monique. Inside the car, the revving engines dimmed to a dull thrum. Michael palmed me a fifty and popped the top on a beer.

“Here’s why you should definitely, absolutely, take part when we go,” he began, without preamble. He then spent the next ten minutes talking. Taking long pulls on the can. Explaining what I already knew—about how he figured it all out and it would be safe. Trent being on the inside. About how we’d all be wearing masks, and he’d have a beater car that couldn’t be traced.

I just looked out the window into the darkness of the woods.

He talked about the money he’d pay me to come along. Six hundred dollars, half up front, half after. He said I was worth it because I inspired confidence in the others.

My fingers dug into my leg.

He talked about destroying things. Seeing things break, shattering glass, throwing paint. He talked about it like it was the part I’d like the most.

And then he wrapped it up. Put a bow on it.

“This office, they do minor surgical procedures there. They have drugs, and like you said, that’s the first half of how I’ll square it with Cesare. But they have
all kinds
of drugs. More than I need. And that’s the best part of the whole damn thing.” He stopped talking and waited for me to look at him.

“That’s how we do it.”

He looked like a kid who’d just gotten a pony for his birthday.

I waited.

Michael continued. “It’s perfect. We take all we can get and save some for us to use to do it. Then we slip them to your dad. In a drink. A beer. He drinks it, passes out. Maybe we’ve even given him enough to kill him right there. But if not, we finish him off with an injection, or we pour more down his throat.”

It would work. I could already imagine it, but not in the beer. My dad always started with beer, finished with whiskey. I’d wait until a fifth was getting low, then put the drugs in. He’d swallow right from the bottle, all in one swig. It’d probably be enough to kill him.

My father, sprawled on the sling-back sofa, the bottle loose in his grip. But not passed out. Not this time.

I rubbed my forehead. “What about an autopsy?”

“Who’s going to do one? He’s just an ex-con. No one will care. And so what if they do?”

“They’ll find the drug.”

“That’s the beauty of it. As long as we get rid of the beer bottle, who’s to say he didn’t accidentally overdose? He’s a known user. We just leave some out. Stage the scene.”

He drummed the steering wheel.

I shook my head. “Overdosing is a good idea, but not what you’re talking about.”

“Don’t forget who you’re talking to, Ice.” He smiled, a coach encouraging a star player. “I know about your dad’s prison term. Drug dealing.”

“Then you know it wasn’t for any prescription drugs.”

“So? He can’t move up in the world? And like I said, we leave some lying around—”

“That’ll trace it all back to the offices.”

He waited for me to catch up. “Exactly. The break-in. It’s perfect. A nice, neat package for the cops.”

“It won’t go down like that. We’ll get caught.”

“No, we won’t.”

“It’s too complicated. Something will go wrong.”

“It’s simple.”

I shook my head, wishing it actually
was
simple. “It won’t work.”

“You’re afraid? It’s
easy
to doctor a drink. You don’t even have to confront him. We just have to get some into him. Enough to knock him out, or something close. It doesn’t take much if you get the right stuff. Isn’t that right?”

Something then. Glinting in his eyes, like acknowledgment. An inside joke in a glance. The ozone scent of lightning in the air.

The skin on the back of my neck prickled, and for an instant, it was like I could glimpse something, shifting and dark, growing bigger.

“Monique,” I began. Trying to think back. To where Michael had been during the party when she’d drugged me.