I had the shakes again. I stuffed my hands into the pouch of the hoodie and thought about running, but I knew it wouldn’t help. I walked to the corner. The sidewalk was wet; the grass glistened under the street and house lights. It must have rained earlier—I hadn’t noticed. “Test,” I mumbled. “Danny counts one, two, three.” I glanced back. The Camry’s lights flashed.
Up close, Ty’s place looked even worse. The rainsoaked mattress on the lawn had scorch marks on it and wads of burnt stuffing exploding from one end. The yard was all empties. One of the porch steps was broken, and the storm door hung wide open. It had no glass, just a torn screen. I pulled my hand into my sleeve before I tried the main door—I didn’t want anything connecting me with this place.
The door was unlocked, like Griffin had said it would be. Inside was a cramped hallway. The scuff marks on the walls were lit by a tilting ceiling fixture. There were stairs on the right, battered little mailboxes on the left. Beside the mailboxes was a door with a black number one on a slanted gold sticker. At the end of the hall was a two. Between them, a kitchen space and a bathroom, doors open, were competing with the reek of weed to see which could smell worst. There was no sound.
I thought again about running. Then I shut the front door softly and cat-footed down the cracked lino to Ty’s door. Now I could hear shuffling sounds and the dribble of hip-hop from earbuds. I kept my hand in my sleeve and tapped. The door felt about as sturdy as cardboard. “Ty?” I kept my head down, trying to muffle my voice. Nothing. I tapped harder. The door wobbled under my knuckles. The tinny hip-hop got louder, as if a bud had popped loose. The shuffling got closer.
“What, what?” from behind the door.
“It’s me,” I said, keeping my voice low.
“What, who?”
I had to go for it. “It’s me, Danny,” I hissed.
The door jerked open a few inches. Ty looked out at me, more like death than ever. I could tell he didn’t recognize me. “Hey,” I said. He focused on me; his eyes flared and he sucked in his breath. Then he did that neckroll thing and said, “Ah, ah, not now, dude. Not a good time.” He started to close the door.
I actually shoved my foot forward, like some cheesy salesman. “C’mon, Ty, we gotta talk,” I said, patting my pocket.
His eyes flicked down. More twitching. “You holding, dude?”
I nodded. He stepped back and I slipped in, close enough to smell whatever the hell was on his breath.
The room had a table, a chair, a floor lamp and a mattress with a sleeping bag crumpled on it. 50 Cent glared down from one wall. On the opposite wall there was a fist-sized hole in the plaster. A Confederate flag draped the window. There was a pile of clothes in one corner and a bong beside the mattress. The floor was a litter of empties, sub wrappers, cardboard slice triangles, what I guessed were crack pipes, and a couple of mini gas bottles like the ones Harley used to have for a portable barbecue. It was cold in there, but I was sweating. I could feel the surgical tape, the transmitter, the wire, all clutching at me. I wondered if it picked up my heart racing. “Whattaya got?” Ty said. He was twitching up a storm. His earbuds were dangling, still rasping away.
I fished out the joint and tossed it to him. He missed the catch, then pounced on it, hands and knees, as it landed beside what might have been the top of a little blowtorch. “That’s it?”
“Whaddaya want? Those suckers cost, dude. It’s for you. To say thanks, like.” Already I was mimicking him. I wasn’t even trying.
“No worries, no worries.” He had it out of the wrap and was snapping a lighter, still kneeling in the crap on the floor. He wore a grubby camo hoodie. The pocket on the right side bulged. The bulge was the size of a lot of things, all of them bad. I took a step back and bumped the table. A plastic soda bottle rolled to the floor. Ty didn’t notice—he was too busy sucking on the joint. I hooked the chair closer with my foot. I figured I could hit him with it if I had to.
Ty let out a long jet of smoke and flopped onto the mattress, back against the wall. His eyes were still bouncing everywhere, but they kept coming back to me. “So…little bro…” Now his feet were jerking around too.
“How you hangin’?” I said.
“Dude, you don’t wanna hear. Don’t wanna know.”
“Sure I do.”
“Well, I’m not so good, man. Cupboard’s bare. Not feeling…up to snuff, you know?” He gave an electric little cackle, then took another toke and waved the joint. “I was thinking some bad thoughts, just now, before you come.”
“What kind of bad thoughts?” I wished I was closer to the door, just in case.
“Don’t wanna know, dude, don’t wanna. Bad, bad thoughts, things comin’ back…But brother W helps, dude. Helps…”
“Good,” I said. “I just wanted to pass on a little thankyou, ’kay?”
His eyes got narrow and shrewd. Stoner shrewd. Harley had always told me that heavy dopers get paranoid. “What for?”
I took a breath, felt my way. “Well, I’ve been…hearing things, you know?”
He went rigid. “What kind of things, dude?”
“Just really weird shit, man. About you—and that people thought…”
He erupted into jerks and neck twisting. His hand wobbled over the big pocket, then he hit on the joint again, like his life depended on it. As he blew out he said, “Who’s…saying stuff?”
Now I was going an inch at a time. I couldn’t take my eyes off him. “Well…like, the cops? They were all over me, you know…and they…”
“IT’S NOT TRUE!” I was ready for it, but I still flinched, jolting the table. Ty slapped the pocket, snarling. Ash from the joint spilled onto his leg and the mattress. There wasn’t much more than a roach left now.
It was too scary. I started easing toward the door. I forced a deep breath, held up my hands, did my best casual. “Well, duh. ’Course it’s not true. I’m here, aren’t I?”
He jerked and settled back down, except for one foot that kept kicking. Only now something was different: the other foot was digging into the mattress, and he was pressing himself back against the wall, almost as if he was trying to get away from me. He did the neck twist and took a stab at a smile. “That’s right. Absolutely, dude, absolutely. You’re back.” Ty’s right hand with the roach was on the bulging pocket. His mouth was open and his wired eyes were locked on mine, but the look wasn’t stoner shrewd anymore. At first I didn’t know what it was. Then I did: he was scared. That was all I needed.
Back in the Bad Time, sometimes I’d take it out on even littler kids at schools. All it took was that same look in their eyes, and I’d be on them. I could feel myself changing gears, taking control. Griffin was right— I had words, now that the time had come. It felt so good, I never stopped to think they might be the wrong ones. “That’s why I appreciate you giving me the chain, man.” I held my hands palms up, as if this was a no-brainer. I heard my voice get confidential. “That sucker is, like, worth its weight in gold to me. It was in my description.”
“No shit? No worries, dude.”
“So, like you said, we’re in it together? All the way?”
“What? Yeah, yeah, all the way.” He was pushing away so hard I thought he’d go through the wall. I tried not to look at the hand.
“Excellent. So, listen, I wanted to give you something back to show it’s the real deal, that I’ll keep it together, you know?”
“Sure, sure. Okay. I’m all for that, dude.”
I put one hand on the chair and leaned forward. “Sweet.” I was almost purring. “So where did you put him?”
“Wha—?”
“Where’d you put him? Where’s the body?”
He scrabbled back from me like some kind of giant insect. His head started snapping around like it would fly right off his neck. He hissed, “What are you—don’t even say that, man!”
“No, listen. Don’t you see? You tell me what you did with his body, it makes me an accessory. I can never tell or I go down too. You’ve got my secret, I’ve got yours. We’re bound together, like blood brothers or whatever.”
His eyes glittered crazily. “I don’t…I don’t know what—”
“Sure you do,” I coaxed. “I got to tell you, weird as it sounds, I was glad when I figured out what you’d done for me with the chain. I mean, all at once I knew I wasn’t alone in it anymore. I knew that you had my back. It was a good feeling. I want to give that to you, man. Brothers in blood, back to back.”
“Get outta here.”
“Come on, Ty. You’re feeling sick with it. Share the load; you’ll feel better.”
“You think I’m sick,” Ty shouted. “You’re sick. You’re a maniac. You’re…you’re…”
“I’m what? Pretending to be a dead kid to his family?”
“HE’S NOT DEAD!”
“No, I’m not. I’m not dead, am I? Danny’s not dead, is he?” I waved my hand around the room. “This is dead. Tell me, and you won’t be.”
“Yes, we will.” Ty kept twisting back, as if he was hearing a sound behind his shoulder. “We are dead. We’re dead, dude. Dead, dead, dead. That’s why we’re here. And we both know it. I thought about it a whole, whole lot, all the time. Only diff is, you’re here forever and I’m not.”
Before I could move, his hand jumped into the pocket. As I grabbed the chair, he jerked something out and stuck it in his mouth. I saw what it was as he pulled the trigger. I never heard the shot. I’m pretty sure I screamed at the same time, but I never heard that either. His head snapped back and something blotched the wall behind him and I was gone.