Tweaked (15 page)

He lunges toward the cash register. I watch him struggle with it before drawing the key from the pocket of my jeans. “That's locked too. Do what I say. You've really got no choice.” I try to be slow and casual when I pick up the phone. “I'm going to call Detective Keppler. He's an okay guy. He's the one that's been following you.”

At the same time as I pick up the phone, I scan the shelves close to me. I spot a rubber mallet within my reach. I don't know just how buzzed he is, but I know he'll do pretty much anything to get away, including attack me. I punch in the detective's cell number. Eating alone in the kitchen over the last few weeks, staring at his card on the fridge every night, it's now burned into my brain.

It's while I'm dialing that Chase does the one thing I never expected he would do. He bolts to the front of the store where he turns the dead bolt. He tears out onto the street. He tries to get by Ratchet, who sticks his foot in Chase's path and trips him. Ratchet grips him by the arm.

The detective answers just before I drop the phone and take off after Chase. Through the window I can see Ratchet speaking to Chase as I head for the door—I guess he is asking if he has the money. He then begins pummeling Chase on the side of his head and drags him across the sidewalk. I can hear the solid, unrestrained blows through the closed door. As I open it, Ratchet shoves Chase into the backseat. He jumps in next to him, and the car roars off.

I stand on the sidewalk, looking after them. I want to scream. I have no way to go after them. I should have punched Chase out myself when I had him standing in front of me. Just to keep him from running. Just to keep him from getting killed.

I return to the store where I can't even think of work. I pace the floor, trying to think of what to do next. I hate him. He's ruined my life, and he's ruined Mom and Dad's. But the sound of Ratchet's fist whacking his head will not leave my brain. I hate him for everything he's done, but still, I don't want him to be dead. I just want it all to end. I kick the counter. What had I been thinking? Of course, Chase would risk taking off with Ratchet. They might pound him into unconsciousness, but at least there was the chance for another hit. If he went to jail there would be absolutely none at all.

I am suddenly aware of the drone of the telephone, telling me it is disconnected. I pick it up and dial Detective Keppler's number again. He answers right away. I try to explain what has happened. “I couldn't stop him,” I finish. “I was calling you, and he just ran.”

“Okay,” he says, “I'll be right there.”

Within minutes I hear sirens nearing Barnes Hardware store. I wish they blended in with all the other sounds of the street like they always have, but because I know why they are coming, they roar inside my head. There are soon three or four cars wailing.

A police cruiser pulls up in front of the building and two cops jump out. I meet them at the front door. I confirm the direction the Passat had been going when they ask. They walk through every aisle of the store before checking the storeroom. Did they think I
was lying, that I was actually hiding Chase? They are headed back to their car when another cruiser pulls up behind them. Detective Keppler steps out of the front passenger seat.

“Did you check inside the store?”

One of the cops nods. “Nothing.”

The detective spots me. “Gordie, did you see the car actually drive off with Chase?”

“Yes,” I say. “They pushed him into the backseat. They beat him up pretty good first.”

“Okay, I've sent out cars to try and head them off. I'll let you know as soon as we know anything ourselves. You guys stay here in case they come back.”

The two police officers that had showed up first return to their cruiser, where they sit and survey the street. I return to the empty store. A single customer comes in five minutes later. I am so distracted when he asks if we have any rubber gaskets that I tell him I think so, but I can't remember where, and he leaves.

Fifteen minutes pass, and I wonder if Chase is already dead. I do know that if Ratchet had continued pounding on him, it wouldn't take much. I debate calling Dad and letting him know what is going on, but I don't know how to tell him. I really can't face Mom. I've blown it so badly, I can hardly face myself.

I would lock up and go home—I'm sure if Ralph Barnes knew the circumstances he wouldn't blame
me—but I have never told him anything about Chase. And anyway, for now, I'm safe. I don't have to hear about what I should have done and what was I thinking, and that it's my fault again that Chase might be dead.

Half an hour later, the police cruiser parked in front of the store drives off. And fifteen minutes after that, Detective Keppler pulls up.

He smiles a little as he saunters up the aisle to the front counter where I sit. I think it's meant to be encouraging, but it's too sad and it doesn't work. “How are you doing, Gordie?”

“Terrible. Did you find them?”

“Those two creeps got away from us in the car, but we tracked them down at a house in Burnaby.” Flipping open a lawn chair, he sits across from me.

“And Chase?”

The detective shakes his head. “He wasn't with them. At first they denied everything you said. They said they hadn't been anywhere near the store this afternoon and they didn't know what we were talking about.”

Anger burns in my chest. “They're lying.”

“Yes, I know. When we told them that we had witnesses who saw them drag Chase into the car, they eventually agreed that they had been here. They remembered even more when we told them that because Chase was wanted for murder, they'd be implicated in that too if they didn't spit up. They said that yes,
Chase had been with them, that they had stopped at the store, but that he'd run out on them at an intersection two blocks after they'd left.”

I recalled the image of Chase being punched and dragged into the car by Ratchet. He'd been in the back-seat with him when they drove off.

“I don't believe that. Chase was out of it. Yeah, he was strung out, but after a few belts to the head he wouldn't have had the strength to fight back. He wouldn't have been able to run even if they'd opened the door and shoved him out.”

Detective Keppler nods. “I'm not so sure I believe them either. But I've seen these guys when they're jacked up, and they can do things you wouldn't believe. Anyway, at this point, that's what we know.”

“Are you going to keep looking?”

“We've never stopped.” He smiles a little again as he stands up. “Now, why don't you close this place up and go home.”

I shake my head. “I can't.”

“Of course you can. The boss isn't in, how's he going to know?”

I find myself smiling too, but it fades quickly. “I can't go home because I don't know what I'm going to tell Mom and Dad. I had Chase here, and I let him get away. They'll be furious, and if he's dead, they'll say I drove him to it. He ran out the door because of what I did.”

“Hey now, Gordie, you can't think like that.” The detective sits down again. “If that's how Chase ends up—and we still don't know how it's all going to end-it's because of everything he did. Not you. Not your Mom or Dad. Your Mom and Dad are good people. They had you, didn't they?”

“Big deal.”

“It is a big deal. It's a very big deal to them. But I'll tell you what, if it makes you feel better for now, I won't say anything for a few days. I have a strong hunch we'll have Chase soon. He made a very big mistake today. He's burned his bridges with his regular dealers and he's about as desperate as he can get.”

“If he's still alive.”

Detective Keppler ignores my comment. “The last time we talked, after Chase ran from the shopping center, what did I tell you then?”

I shrug. “Go to school. Do stuff with my friends.”

“And, are you doing those things?”

“I'm trying.”

“What about the girlfriend part? Do you have one?”

I wonder if he sees me blush. “I have a close friend that's a girl.”

“What's she like?”

I think about how to describe Jade. There are so many great things about her, that it's tough to pick just one or two. “She's smart. She's kind. And she makes me laugh.
I can't really figure out why she likes me, though.”

Detective Keppler laughs. “Well, I can. And if she makes you laugh, hang on to her.” He stands up to leave again, folds the chair and puts it back on the stack. “Go home and call her, Gordie. Try to forget about what happened today. Perhaps tomorrow we'll have Chase and we can all move on from there.”

Once he's gone, I turn out the lights and lock the store. Sitting on the bus on the way home I scan the streets for Chase. I feel exhausted and I have a headache, like I've been used as a punching bag. I wonder again if Chase is lying somewhere, dead. If he is, how long will it take before we know about it? Maybe his body will wash up on the shores of the Fraser River in a week, smashed from crashing up against the rocks so that nobody can tell how he really died. Or maybe he'll be one of those decomposed bodies stumbled on by a jogger in Stanley Park years from now.

Like Detective Keppler said, I have to stop thinking like that. For the remainder of the bus ride, I force myself to practice a Nickleback tune over and over again in my head. When I get home, I head straight to my room. I flip open my cell and dial Jade's number.

“Hey,” I say when she answers. “When did you get back from Seattle?”

“Hey, Gordie, what's up? We got in about an hour ago. How was your weekend?”

“Never mind about mine, how was yours?”

“It was good. My aunt lives in an old house near the university. We spent yesterday at the market.”

I'm not sure if she's finished, but I can't wait any longer. I have to say what I have called to say. “Listen, Jade, I want to ask you something. On Friday night, I was wondering if you'd like to do something with me? I was thinking we could go out for dinner to a nice place, and then after that, a movie or something. We both have it off work.”

When Jade doesn't answer right away I get a little nervous. But then she says, “I'd love to, Gordie. I'd love to go out, just you and me.”

Ryan is out of rehab. Jack tells me his parents are keeping a pretty tight rein on him since he got out, and he has strict orders not to socialize with any of his old friends. Because his mother knows the manager of the local grocery store well, she was able to get him a job bagging groceries for the summer. Her plan is that he will return to school in the fall and take extra classes at night school to get caught up on what he'd missed during the time that he'd been strung out.

I am happy for Ryan, but I have to admit that deep down, I do wish it were Chase. Instead, I'm searching the newspaper every day for some kind of clue as to where he is: an unidentified body turned up somewhere or a violent accident where the victim isn't named. I sometimes wonder how many other people are doing the same thing. I also wonder how many actually go down to the morgue to view the unidentified bodies on the chance that they could end the agony of not knowing.

If Chase isn't dead, I can only imagine how he's managing to survive. He would have been cut off by Ratchet and DC, there is no question about that. He would have had to find a new dealer, although I doubt he would have had to look too far. I keep thinking of the junkie that I'd passed when I was searching for my bass. The one who was peddling sex for a fix. If he is still alive, Chase is that low too; he is one of those guys.

I hadn't told anyone but Jade that he had come into the store. She'd tried to convince me that I'd handled it the right way.

“Think of the alternatives,” she'd said. “If you'd given him the money, Ralph would have been out five hundred dollars, and you would have been fired. If you'd simply refused and started an argument with him, told him to get out, he might have become violent, and who knows how that might have ended up.”

I do sometimes wonder why he never made a move to knock me out with something and grab the key to the cash register. It wasn't beyond what he would do; history has proven that. Maybe somewhere in the tangled neurons of his pitted brain he'd known it was me. Maybe something told him I wasn't to be harmed because at one time I'd meant something to him. It would be nice to believe that.

Mom and Dad hardly talk to me anymore, let alone to each other. They are like ghosts sliding around,
in and out of the house. Aunt Gail had insisted on taking Mom to the doctor to get something to cope with the stress. Rather than helping her to relax, whatever the doctor gave her has turned her cold and numb. I have also discovered that Dad has taken to knocking back a few drinks every night. I wasn't aware of it at first. But now I notice his eyes become glassy earlier and earlier in the evening as he sits at his desk in the den. Chase has managed to get both of them hooked.

The only time the whole mess doesn't eat away at my gut is when I am practicing with the band. With my friends around and my P-bass back, I can stay focused. For the rest of July, I practically live at Jack's while we practice like crazy for the battle of the bands. After a month of nightly practices we are pretty tight, and we have developed a real gritty sound.

I make it through summer school. It's a relief to pass, but it's more of a relief to know I won't have to spend any time within the same two hundred square feet as Dodds and Zimmerman for at least another month.

Finally, over the first weekend of August we compete with other bands from the North Shore. It's the coolest thing I've ever done. The auditorium is packed with kids from high schools all over Vancouver. At the end of the afternoon they vote, and we can't believe it when we make second place. We didn't think we'd place at
all after hearing some of the other bands play. Steve and Bobby say it was because I kept them solid, but I think we sold them on our second song when Jack did this John Frusciante-thing with his guitar. The crowd really went nuts for the wild clunky sound. After it is over, bass players come up to me and ask me about specific riffs and how I'd come up with the sound. I really don't know what to say, other than to show them. I tell them it was just a matter of figuring it out and then playing it over and over until it came out the way it did. And, while I was playing it, not thinking of anything else. At the end of the day we have two invitations to play at schools in September. It's one of the sweetest days of my life.