Authors: Katie Klein
"So, am I going to see you tomorrow?"
A blade of frustration pricks at my skin. Or maybe I need another Advil. It's hard to tell. "I can't come up tomorrow, Cal. I have this thing tonight. I won't be in until late. I really need to get this case closed so I can get home."
Erik is right. I'm stupid. I'm stupid and I'm risking everything over some girl I barely know. The best thing to do is focus on my work. I need proof that Vince De Luca is my link to Bedford. Once he's caught, I can go home. I can get back to my real life. I can put this whole mess behind me.
"Okay. Well...I was wondering...if you can't make it tomorrow, could you come to Hamilton on Wednesday?"
"Why? What's Wednesday?"
She hesitates. "My parents want to check out this restaurant for our engagement party in case the country club is booked. My dad actually re-arranged his schedule so he could take the evening off, and it would be nice for all of us to get together. You could invite your parents. Maybe your sister, if she's not busy. You know, make it a family thing."
"Yeah. I can do Wednesday."
"Really?"
I can tell this isn't what she expected to hear. She thought she would have to beg and plead, but I don't need convincing. Not this time.
"Wednesday night. Dinner with the families."
"So...you're on board with the whole engagement party thing?"
"If this is what you want, Callie, then yes. I'm on board."
She squeals, elated—the happiest I've heard her sound since she found that ring. "Oh my God! Okay, since you're busy tonight, I'll go ahead and call your mom and let my dad know. This place is supposed to be incredible. You're going to
love
it!"
"Just tell me where I need to be and when I need to be there."
My entire body aches. My back. My stomach. My arms. The Advils I downed before leaving the apartment haven't kicked in. That, or they're ineffective against paintball wounds.
I leave my motorcycle at the end of a packed Elm Street. The party rages in the distance. I follow the noise until I reach the house, bright with lights and full of warm bodies. I feel my pocket, searching for the pack of cigarettes—brand new—nodding at the occasional watcher as I pass. My fingers brush against the small, plastic USB drive that will record everything that's said for the next eight hours.
This is it.
The living room is crammed with people—strangers grinding each other to the thumping bass of a bad rap song. I push my way through, crossing the room.
"Parker! My man!" Gianni calls, lifting his hand. I can barely hear for all the mayhem.
"What up?" I shout, lighting my cigarette, inhaling.
"This place is insane! Come on! I'm getting Vince a drink! We're hanging downstairs!" He points to the floor.
Gianni leads the way, grabs an armful of beers from the cooler in the kitchen, then heads to the stairwell in the hallway. The odor in this basement is unmistakable: beer, cigarettes, weed.
I take another drag and exhale, adding my brand to the mix.
Downstairs, Vince and Dave and others are crashed on couches, in chairs. A game of pool is underway. I just can make out the strains of a guitar—old school Southern Rock—coming from the stereo tucked in the corner of the room.
"Whalen!" Vince says, standing. "Just the guy I wanna see." He greets me with a handshake. "Let's move outside."
Dave and Gianni and I follow Vince upstairs. We exit through the side door and I'm back in the cool, midnight air.
"So, Gianni has pretty much convinced me I need a bike of my own," Vince says. "I'm looking at a Suzuki and I was wondering if you'd be willing to let me take yours for a spin."
He wants to borrow my motorcycle? "You drive one before?" I ask, eyeing him carefully.
"He's taken mine out," Gianni says.
"So you know about the brake and the throttle and everything?"
"All I need is permission," Vince says.
And though he doesn't even know it, Vince has opened a door for me. The beginning of the end. "What do I get out of it?" I ask.
Vince smiles easily. "What do you want?"
"What've you got?"
He laughs. "So I have your permission?"
"Take it," I reply, nodding toward the end of the street. "The helmet is in the bag on the seat."
"Excellent." He slaps my shoulder, satisfied. "Dave, hook my man up. Whatever he wants."
*
*
*
Vince takes off on foot. Minutes later we watch him pass, the taillight of my motorcycle glowing red. He disappears, turning onto another dark street, engine fading.
"He'll be back, right?" I ask.
"Don't worry," Gianni says. "He doesn't need your ride."
"The market that good around here?"
"With the campus right down the road? Hell yeah."
That's when it hits: taking down Vince De Luca means more than eliminating the Bedford High supplier. I'm about to destroy a Carson County kingpin.
"What've you got for me?" I ask Dave.
He reaches into his pocket, removes three tightly-wrapped joints. One for each of us. "You ain't no cop, are you?"
"Nope," I lie easily, tossing out a laugh for good measure. "I might be offended you asked, though. I thought we were past that."
"Nah. That's just part of Vince's rules. They have to tell us, you know. When we ask."
I take two joints, stick one behind my ear. "That's what I hear."
Myth. We can tell you whatever the hell we want to tell you when you ask.
These guys are dumb as rocks.
I remove my lighter, flick it, and light up, then toss it to Gianni while Dave searches his pockets for another.
"Thanks, man."
I inhale, exhale, passing smoke through my nose and out into the air, exactly like I was taught.
But that smell.
The smell alone takes me back to senior year.
That party.
We should've known it was getting out of control—that someone was going to complain, that the cops would show. That whole night was something out of a nightmare. Being yanked from the car. Searched. Handcuffed. Taken to county. Booked. Fingerprinted.
Then bailed out at three in the morning by my girlfriend's dad.
My girlfriend who is now my fiancée's dad.
Because when I used my one phone call, he hung up on me.
My own
dad
fucking hung up on me.
"Good shit," I say, taking another hit.
*
*
*
Vince circles back around a few minutes later.
"I like it," he announces, approaching us. We stand in the shadows beneath a looming oak tree. "Thanks for letting me take it out."
"No problem."
"My man have what you needed?"
"He did," I reply. I nod toward the bike. "You gonna bite?"
"Got a guy I'm talking to," he says. "Said he could give me a real good deal. I might have you come with when I go see him. Make sure I'm not getting screwed."
"Yeah, no problem."
"Hey, Vin-Nay!" We turn, in tandem, toward the voice as a group of guys passes beneath a streetlamp, approaching us. And even though I tried really hard not to inhale, the weed might've dulled my senses because I'm barely aware of the hair standing on the back of my neck, barely aware that something like horror prickles across my skin, barely aware that I just might be on the defensive.
Shit.
"What's up guys?" Vince asks. "How are my favorite Bedford boys?"
"Party's awesome, Vince. As always," Tony says.
They step off the sidewalk, joining us beneath the tree. There are handshakes all around.
"Hey, Whalen. What's happenin'?" Brandon asks.
I nod a hello, but my eyes remain locked on the third member of that group. The third basketball player, eyes laced red.
Stoner eyes.
Blake Hanson.
"You know these guys?" Gianni asks.
I squeeze each finger with my thumb, cracking knuckles, struggling to keep my heart beating at a normal pace. "We go to school together," I answer.
"We're cool," Tony assures them. "Vince?"
Tony and Vince slip away from us, moving closer to the house.
There's my link.
And there's my connection.
"You got a problem, Whalen?" Blake asks. "Because you're staring awfully hard."
The question jars me back to present, drags me out of this unexpected landmine I've stumbled across. I stifle a laugh, feeling...
intrepid
. Dauntless. There's an SAT word for Jaden. I'm pretty sure it's the pot talking when I say: "I was just wondering if your girlfriend knows where you are tonight." His jaw tightens, confirming I hit a nerve. "Maybe you left her inside to party without you?"
"You'd like to know, wouldn't you."
It's not a question.
"Nah. This doesn't seem like her place to hang."
"Not as long as you're here."
I can't help it. I laugh.
Did you know your girlfriend invites me to her house? Brings me lunch every day? Sneaks me into her attic window at night, just so we can talk? Did you know her legs have straddled my motorcycle?
"I just didn't know if there was a side to her I haven't seen, yet. You know, a
wild
side."
"You guys all right?" Gianni asks, passing a look between us.
"Yeah," I reply. "I know Hanson's girl, is all. See, Jade and I are
really
good friends. I was kind of hoping he brought her along."
"Dude," Brandon says, eyes widening.
"
Don't
call her that," Blake warns.
"What? Jade?" I shrug casually. "She doesn't seem to mind."
Blake lunges for me. Brandon grabs his arm, holds him back by the sleeve. Gianni leaps between us. "Hey! Hey! Hey! Not here, you guys."
Anxious breaths turn to smoke in the air, disappearing. My heart thunders in my chest, muscles strung tight. I want to kill this guy. I want to kill him for being here—at this party. For hanging with Vince De Luca. For lying to Jaden. I want to fucking rip his head off because, when I look at him, I see a loser. A fucking
stoner
.