The Park brought back so many memories. I hadn’t been there since I was sixteen, mostly because none of my friends were ever interested. But I still remembered the cheese fries, as well as the sense of community. The Park was the only place that made me feel proud of my neighborhood. Some of the most amazing people came out of the cracks in the concrete. Once, a flame-thrower showed up; another time, a guy with a monkey. For some reason, the Park brought out the best in people. Hell, even the graffiti was beautiful, completely coating the west wall in brightly colored fish and bold patterns.
You could hear the music three blocks away. Parking was hard to find, especially when Roger wanted a space where his car wouldn’t get dinged up. He put a lock on the steering wheel, just in case.
“I don’t like parking a nice car like this here,” he muttered as we got out.
“It’s the middle of the day, Roger. Chill out.” To his surprise, I laced my arm through his and smiled up at him. “When was the last time you had fun?”
“Can’t we have fun in a nice neighborhood?”
“But where’s the adventure in that?” I winked and quickened my pace. “Come on. I’m in four-inch heels and I’m still walking faster than you.”
The Park was truly enormous. Fifty years ago, it had been a steel factory, and the houses around it were cookie-cutter tenements. Now most of these houses were run down or bulldozed, and the warehouse was empty of anything steel-related. The original windows were mostly gone, leaving gaping frames. The lot around it was bare soil, though someone had erected a makeshift playing field. A few little kids were kicking a ball around, watched over by a mother seated on an old tire, reading the newspaper. A cigarette dangled from her hot red lips as she stretched one shoeless foot out in front of her. Roger gave me a look. I smiled.
On a day like this, the Park was guaranteed to be packed. Roger and I had to squeeze through the front door, knocking elbows with a few shady looking characters on our way in. Roger was obviously nervous, reaching for the gun under his jacket a few times before I sent him a glare.
“Don’t shoot anyone, please,” I pleaded.
“I’m not going to shoot anyone unless they fire first.”
I rolled my eyes.
The smell of fried food hit me, and I grinned. The warehouse stretched out for an entire block and a half, with rafters hung with streamers and old shoes thrown up there decades ago. Someone had constructed a small lookout, but I never trusted anything built in this place. It wasn’t like they hired reliable engineers. Not only was the sound of conversation and blasting punk music overwhelming, but it was also joined by the zzzzzzt-clink of skateboards on ramps. There were at least six different half-pipes in this place, each one bigger than the last. The crowd was eclectic. Some girls wore Lycra mini-skirts while others were barely distinguishable from the boys in their backward caps and baggy jeans. Some guys had gold teeth and shaved heads, while others sported Mohawks and spiked wristbands. Everyone got along anyway, and that’s all that really mattered.
A few people turned to stare at Roger in his suit and tie, and then at me in my classy gray dress, but they just shrugged and went back to their conversation. That’s what I loved about this place. People looked and went on their way. No one was searching for your wallet here.
I grabbed Roger’s arm and pulled him through the crowd, closer to the half-pipes. I found a smoothie vendor along the way, and asked Roger for a twenty.
“Can’t you pay for it?” he asked.
“I only have a credit card.” Probably so Ezekiel could keep track of all my spending. “And they don’t take credit here. Obviously. It’s not very high tech.”
Roger forked over a twenty, and I got us both smoothies and some change. Judging by the expression on his face, Roger expected sludge from the gutter. When he tasted it and his brow relaxed, I laughed.
“It’s good, isn’t it?”
“Actually, yes, it is. What flavor is this again?”
“Blueberry. Let’s go watch some skaters. Maybe someone can teach you a trick.”
“Yeah right. Sorry, but I’m not much into skateboarding.”
“But you have no problem kicking ass in other ways.”
“My feet belong planted on the ground.”
“Yeah, okay, Mr. Tough Guy.”
Roger stopped at the first half-pipe, but I kept pulling him.
“Let’s go to the biggest one,” I cajoled, grinning. “That’s where the magic happens.”
“Or suicide.”
“Good, cuz that’s its name.”
“Are you serious?”
“Of course!”
Roger didn’t seem to know whether or not to believe me, but for once, I was telling the truth. I usually went straight to Suicide because of the talent it drew, and the crashes weren’t too bad, either. No one ever died, as far as I knew, though some people left in an ambulance. That didn’t stop many of the skate rats from trying it out. Right now a girl with a blue Mohawk was zipping back and forth, performing tricks that had the crowd pumping their fists and yelling.
Roger took a long slurp from his smoothie. “You keep surprising me, Melissa.”
“Huh?”
“I never would have taken you for a person who liked to watch skateboarding.” He raised his eyebrows.
“Well, you learned something new today.”
“Well, that and ‘skinky.’ What does it mean again?”
“Normally means cool. Sometimes it can mean sexy, if the context is right.”
“Oh.” He paused a moment, then elbowed me playfully. “You’re skinky, Melissa.”
“You too, Rogah.”
We both laughed.
The girl finally got off her board at the far end and with one last “Hell yeah!”, climbed down. A tall, skinny guy with spiky, dark hair and a small goatee took her place. He was much older than her, probably nearing thirty, but that didn’t stop his sense of style, a checkered T-shirt and bright yellow pants. Everyone made a racket when they saw him, so he had to be a big deal.
He wasted no time jumping on his board and rolling down the ramp. His tricks started simple, then increased in dexterity. I didn’t know the names of the tricks, or anything about the sport really, but he looked pretty damn good to me. Some girl next to me nearly pushed me over as she jumped around and screamed.
Another song began, this one’s bass so pronounced that I could feel it in my ribs. This got the crowd bouncing, their arms swinging. Roger looked alarmed, but I just smiled at him and pumped my arms over my head, bumping him with my hip to get him started. He shook his head, blushing slightly.
“Come on, Roger. Where’s your inner diva?”
“I think she’s out for a bathroom break,” he called over the music.
“I think you can dance. You’re just shy.”
“I only dance if I’m drunk.”
“Roger—”
The music suddenly quieted, and moments later, the crowd let out a long “oohh!” Roger and I looked toward the point of interest. The skater guy had crashed. Everyone stood around and stared, making no efforts to help him.
I pushed back a few people, Roger forgotten. The skater lay on his back in the middle of the half-pipe, arms and legs splayed flat. I assumed he was alive because his limbs still twitched.
I don’t know why I approached, but I guess I felt obligated, since no one else seemed interested in helping him. Everyone stared at me as I clambered onto the half-pipe in my heels and mini-dress. I was about to lean down next to him, but paused when his eyes fluttered open and stared straight up at me.
“Am I…dead?” he asked softly.
I smiled down at him. “You wish.”
He groaned. I leaned down next to him to help him up.
“Are you all right?” I asked when he winced and shied away from my touch.
“Yeah, but—ouch. I’m getting too old for this.”
“Never too old to hurt yourself.”
When he finally got his torso vertical, the crowd let out a cheer and the music turned up again. Everyone danced as if nothing had happened. I’d lost sight of Roger, but I knew he was close by.
“You aren’t nauseous? Dizzy?”
“No, Nurse, I’m fine.” He winced again. “Just old. Don’t bounce back as well as I used to.”
“And you’re sure you’re—”
“Fine? I hope so. Was that purple dinosaur always standing there?”
I stared at him for a moment.
He flinched and smirked. “Okay, bad joke. I get it.”
But I smiled and laughed softly. “I’m Melissa.”
He extended a hand. He was sitting on the ground, but judging by the size of his torso and the hand he offered me, he was taller than most.
“I’m Ace Finley,” he said as I shook his hand.
“Ace? Why does that name sound familiar?”
He clamped a hand on my shoulder to help himself stand as I balanced him with a hand on his back. I spotted Roger standing at the edge of the ramp, worried, out of the corner of my eye. Sometimes it was nice to have a mother hen around to wring his hands over me.
“Um, well, I am pretty good friends with Juri. Heard of him?”
“Juri?” I gaped at him. “Juri, the leader of the Brigade?”
“Yeah, that’s the one. Man, I think I snapped a tendon or something—”
“That’s—wow. Juri’s kind of legend around here.”
“Oh, I know.” Ace donned a look of faux seriousness. “Juri, leader of the Brigade, Metro’s self-run vigilante police force. Juri’s not much involved in that anymore—the man’s a geezer these days—but some of us like to continue the good work.”
“Now I know where I’ve heard your name before. Blade.”
“Ugh, Blade. Do you know that guy? Because if so, I should probably get out of here—”
“It’s fine. I hate Blade. We’re not together anymore.”
“You were his girlfriend?”
“Look, it’s not like I liked him. But he kind of—er, took care of…” I trailed off. Oh, great, Melissa. I had already managed to expose myself as a gold digger. A few times, Blade had come in cursing out this elusive Ace. I think Ace had been behind an “accident” at the dock, where a warehouse filled with Blade’s shipment of dust inexplicably went missing, probably dumped into the river.
Juri. I’d never met Juri, or his close confidant, Lucille, but I’d heard all sorts of rumors. Apparently, as a young man, he worked overseas for the drug lord who was in control before Ezekiel. Something got the drug lord pissed at him, and he ordered to have Juri murdered. Well, that didn’t work, and despite the fact the entire country had been after him for three years—after all, drug lords owned Jahral and most of its neighbor, Juxtacane—he somehow got back home alive, with a few fake teeth made from bullet shells and scars he never talked about. That was when his personal vendetta against the drug lords began. Technically, the Brigade was a gang, and it wasn’t like they got together for tea and cupcakes. It had the appearance of a gang and recruited some of the meanest criminals in the city. Their job wasn’t really to make Metro a better place, just to make the drug lords’ jobs hell. The police hated the Brigade and arrested members when it could, even though the Brigade did a better job at keeping Metro safe than the cops ever did. The Brigade was respected and feared, and Juri was the king of the establishment: the Messiah of Metro.
“Melissa? You’re spacing out.”
“Sorry. I’m still digesting the whole ‘friends with Juri’ bit. Are you guys beer buddies or something?”
Ace laughed as he climbed off the half-pipe. I tried stepping down, but my shoe started coming off, so Ace grasped me around the waist and lifted me down like it was nothing. Suddenly Roger appeared behind me, glaring at Ace as if he had punched me in the face.
“Actually, he kind of took me in when I was sixteen and headstrong. He was afraid my skills would fall into the wrong hands.”
“Skills?” We were both ignoring Roger’s presence, even though it was obvious he was glaring at us.
“Next time we’re in close proximity to a dart board, you’ll have to remind me to show you.” He winked.
“And you are?” Roger demanded.
“Hey, there, Mr. Suit. Who are you? Boyfriend?”
Roger drew himself taller, but he was still a bit shorter than Ace. “I’m a friend.”
“Well then. Why are you acting like a jealous boyfriend?”
“I am not—”
“Hey, guys,” I slipped between them. “Ace, this is Roger. He really is a friend of mine. Roger, this is Ace. He works for the Brigade.”
“Sort of,” Ace corrected.
“The what?”
“You aren’t from here, are you, bud?” Ace asked.
“Melissa, maybe we should get going.”
“Nice suit.” Ace gave Roger a once-over. “You steal it off of someone?”
Roger’s eyes narrowed. “You missed a spot while shaving.” Roger poked a finger at Ace’s goatee.
“Would you two stop acting so dumb? Ugh. Men.” I rolled my eyes and took a sip from my drink.
Roger inhaled sharply and nodded. “Right. Melissa is right.” He extended his hand to Ace, who shook it. “I’m just out of my element today.”
That made sense to me. After all, a ton of things had to be weighing on his mind right now. He didn’t want to be at the Park to begin with. And I guess seeing Ace touch me had set off his alarms. After all, if I got harmed, I wasn’t the only one in trouble.
“Okay, man. We’re cool.” Ace released Roger’s hand. “I’m actually a nice guy.”
“Me, too. But I’m not from here and—”
“Right. All you non-Metro people are afraid of this town.” Ace smirked. “And you probably should be.” He pointed to a long white scar up his arm. “See this? I got this in a knife fight.”
Roger stared. I only raised my eyebrows. When Ace caught my look, he burst out laughing.
“No, actually, I got it when I tried breaking my own window because I locked myself out.”
Roger snorted, some of his tension falling away.
“But I can’t tell the ladies that, because that’s not cool. So, yeah, Melissa. It’s from a knife fight.”
“Grow up, dude. How old are you?”
“Not a day over twenty-eight, I promise.”
“Hmm, you and Roger can have a party and be old together.”
“Hey, I’m only thirty-one!” Roger objected. “And how old are you?”
“Twenty.”
“So you’re already halfway to the grave,” Ace joked.
“Let’s get a table. I’m getting hungry.” I began walking in the direction of a vendor, smiling over my shoulder at both men as I went, knowing they would both follow.