Читать книгу Blood Brothers - Colleen Nelson - Страница 5

Henry has his feet up on the table in front of the TV like he never left, like he hasn’t been in prison for the last eighteen months.

The door, a flimsy metal screen one, rattles shut behind me. I stare at him for a few minutes, trying to figure out if I’m supposed to be pissed, or happy to see him.

He doesn’t say nothing either. His thick lips turn down in a frown. With eyes hooded like he’s half-asleep, it’s hard to tell what my brother’s thinking.

I take a few more steps into the living room. “Hey,” I start.

He stands up and growls. Prison made him bigger, more muscly. His shoulders start under his ears, rolling with bulges. New ink, a dagger dripping with red blood, is engraved in his neck. The gang tattoo for Red Bloodz. I take a step back, but in a second, he has his arm around my neck, squeezing it so hard I can’t breathe.

I slap at it, but his forearm is like an iron bar. I’m a scrawny weakling compared to him. When I stamp my foot hard on his toe, he finally lets me go with a laugh. “Good to see you, bro.” He takes my face in his hands and I scowl, like, What the hell are you doing? but he ignores it and pats the back of my head, jamming it into his chest. “God, it’s good to be back.”

He fills up the room. Takes it over with his size and gravelly voice.

“When’d you get back?” I ask, but what I mean is, When’d you get out? How long was he hanging with friends before he decided to put his feet up on our coffee table?

He gives an exaggerated shrug and sits back down on the couch. Right in the middle and stretches his arms out on either side, like he owns it. “Couple days ago. Fill me in, what’s been going on around here?”

I pull my cap down low over my eyes and shrug. “I dunno. Nothing. The same.”

“Who are you hanging with?”

“Koob.”

“The Polish kid.” He gives a snort, like it’s not the answer he wanted. “Going to school?”

I nod. I go because Jakub goes. I’m not smart like him, but he helps me with homework and gives me the answers on tests.

“And?” He raises his eyebrows, like there should be more. “What? You’re an angel? You got nothing else? Shit, man. You’re dragging down the family rep.”

Henry’s twenty-one now. At my age, he’d been in and out of juvie for car thefts, vandalism, B and E.

I scratch my head, wishing for a second that I was a badass, just to have something to tell him. I could make something up, but Koob’s always saying what a shitty liar I am. “Me and Koob paint, you know, not just tags, but like real good stuff.”

“Oh yeah?” He picks up the remote and flicks through some channels. “Anything still running?”

“There’s a piece up by that old cement factory. It’s been up for a while.” The sounds of a crowd cheering at an Ultimate Fighting Championship drown me out. He doesn’t look at me.

Through the back window, I can see my five- year-old brother, Dustin, kicking a ball against the fence. Probably driving the neighbours crazy. Mom and Dad are sitting on lawn chairs with a beer and a smoke in each hand. A coffee tin between them overflows with butts.

Guess they’ve seen Henry’s back. Maybe they’re outside celebrating. Not.

The last time Henry paid us a surprise visit, he got into it with Dad. They had a big fight. Cops got called. I went to Koob’s, took Dustin with me, too. When we came home, there were a bunch of holes punched in the walls and we had to get a new TV. The old one sat outside on the curb for weeks cuz the garbage trucks wouldn’t take it. Finally, someone smashed it and dumped it on the road. Then it had to get cleaned up.

I sit down on the couch. It sags in the middle — one of the legs is busted — so without wanting to, I lean toward him.

He puts a meaty hand on the back of my neck. “It’s good to see you, Link. I mean it.”

And I want to believe him so bad, it makes me sick.

“What’s there to eat around here?”

“You want a menu?”

He gives me a sharp look. The corner of his mouth turns down.

“Joking,” I breathe.

“I want some friggin’ food, is what I want.” He nods to Mom and Dad. “What have they been up to?”

“The same.” I shrug. “Dad’s been working road crew most of the summer.” He comes home smelling like hot asphalt. His workboots stay outside. Mom doesn’t want them in the house. “Auntie Charity and her kids came down from the rez for a while.” For two weeks, I’d had to share my bed with a two-year-old who pissed it in the night. I was so glad when they left. “Mom took some classes at the alternative school.” She took it real serious at first. Made us all leave the house so she could study and told Auntie Val she couldn’t go to Fenty’s Bar on weeknights any more.

“What happened?”

“Dropped out. Didn’t like the teacher, or something.”

Henry snorts like he isn’t surprised Mom didn’t stick with it. You’re the one who’s been in jail, I want to say. But don’t.

“Yeah, well. I’m back now.” He narrows his eyes, like he’s got a plan. Like I need the help.

I do okay without you, I want to say.

“How old are you now?” he asks.

“Fifteen,” I say. He snorts and I don’t know if it’s a good thing or a bad thing.

He pulls a phone out of his pocket and checks it. “Some friends are coming around. You wanna ride with us?”

I don’t say anything cuz I don’t know if he’s serious or not.

“You got something else going on?” he asks, sarcastic.

I shake my head. I look at his arms, thick with muscles I’ll never have, and the tattoo on his neck. My stomach flips and I tug the brim of my hat lower so he can’t see me blinking. It’s a nervous tick and makes me a crappy card player.

“I got nothing going on.”

“Fuckin’ A.” He takes a breath and looks around. “It’s good to be home.”

I snort in agreement and lean back into the couch. The UFC fight is lopsided. One guy pummels the other one. I cringe when a roundhouse kick catches him in the jaw. Blood spatters the mat and the crowd roars. He goes for a body shot and the guy doubles over and then falls down.

“Get up, you pussy,” Henry mutters at the TV.

“You back for good?” I ask.

Henry gives me a long look. “We’ll see.”

Outside, a black car with tinted windows pulls up and honks. Henry stands up. “You coming?”

I’m looking at the TV. The UFC guy is on the mat. Blood leaks out of his mouth and nose. He’s lying on the mat like he’s dead. The ref calls it. Angry jeers from the crowd follow me out the door. Nobody likes a loser.

Henry holds the neck of his tank top down so I can see his other tattoo. “Brothers to the End” is inked in fancy handwriting across his chest.

It’s right there for everyone to see, dug into his skin with needles and ink.

“What do you think?” he asks. I don’t think anything except it must have hurt.

“Got it inside for you and Dustin. I’m out now. I want things to be different.”

We didn’t even know he’d gone in till some girl came by. Said she was his girlfriend, had a ring and everything. Told Mom she was going up for a visit and did we want to send him anything? Mom and Dad fought that night. Dustin crawled into bed with me and I let him. I showed him how to hold a pillow over his ears and count as high as he could till it stopped. He fell asleep before it was over. In the morning, Dad was asleep on the couch, so I knew things were okay. If Mom was really pissed, she’d have kicked him out.

“Like, what do you mean?”

“You’re not a kid anymore,” he says, leaning across the table. “I got plans. Made some good contacts inside. A few people owe me favours. I want you with me on this, little bro. I need someone I can trust.”

The two guys who picked us up, Wheels and Jonny, come back to the table with trays of food. Henry opens the paper wrapper and stuffs half a burger into his mouth. His eyes roll to the back of his head like it’s the best thing he’s ever eaten. “God, I missed this shit!” We all laugh. He wasn’t like this before. Jokey. I remember his heavy footsteps and silent looks. Like everything in the world pissed him off.

“How old are you?” Wheels asks. Again.

I look at Henry. He rips off another bite of burger and nods for me to tell them. “Fifteen.” Henry and Wheels share a smile over a secret joke. But not Jonny. As scrawny as me, he’s got a face like a skeleton with jutting cheekbones. He screws up his mouth and glares.

Henry tosses a burger my way. “Eat,” he says. A bit of half-chewed bun lands on the table.

Another guy, they call him Rat, joins us. I get squished in the middle. He has a red bandana tied under his hat. I’ve seen him before. He works at the garage on Mountain Avenue as a mechanic. His hands are stained with oil, dark lines rim his fingernails, and he stinks like grease and gasoline.

“You made it,” he says, raising an eyebrow at my brother. He has a scruffy goatee, buckteeth, and those kind of lips that always look red and shiny. “Who’s the kid?’

Henry takes a long sip of his drink. I snicker at the long, low burp he lets out. “Lincoln. My brother.”

“What happened to your face?” Rat asks me. It isn’t like no one has ever asked before, but most of the time, I forget about the scar. Running from my temple to my chin, it covers a whole cheek. Mom always says I was lucky the water didn’t hit my eye, or I’d be blind. I think I’d be lucky if the pot of water never hit me at all.

Now that Rat’s noticed, I feel self-conscious and wish I could duck further under my hat.

“What does it matter?” Henry interrupts. He waits a beat for Rat to say something. The other two guys stiffen in the booth.

Rat just sniffs and clears his throat. “We gonna go outside and talk business?”

“Can I finish my fuckin’ burger?” Henry asks. It’s not a real question because his eyes have gone hard again. Rat shuts up.

I tap my foot, my leg bouncing under the table.

“You gotta take a piss, or what?” Jonny asks. He makes a face at the other guys when Henry’s not looking. He doesn’t want me here. I can feel it.

My cheeks burn and I hold my leg still. “You sure he’s cool?” Wheels asks. His voice is sandpaper on my ears.

Henry presses his lips tight. “Ask him yourself.”

Wheels looks at me like I’m a joke. “Are you?”

I nod. “Your mama thinks so.” It’s a lame joke, but their shoulders shake with laughter anyway.

Henry swallows his bite and takes a loud sip of his drink. He looks at each guy at the table and their faces get serious, ready to hear what he has to say. “You guys are my brothers. You’re loyal. You could have ditched out, found another crew to run with when I went inside, but you didn’t. You stuck it out, waiting for me. I’m back now. It’s time for the Red Bloodz to make our mark. I got plans.” My brother pauses.

We all lean toward him, listening hard. “We gotta get the chop shop running again.” All three of them nod, so I do, too.

“And for that, we need cars.”

Rat gives me an oily grin.

“And new recruits.” Henry looks at me, his eyes steely. I start blinking and can’t stop.

“Who are you hanging with?” he asks. “Besides the Polish kid?”

No one, I think. It’s always been just us since the first day of kindergarten. He’s not the friend people expect me to have, but that’s their problem, not mine. “What’s wrong with Jakub?”

“He’s Polish,” Henry says and wipes the inside of the ketchup container with his french fry. “You know, I never met a single Polish guy in jail. Not one. You know why?”

I shrug.

“Too busy working.”

I keep quiet. I’ll tell him another time about Koob’s dad. How he looks out for me. How he let me stay with them when the pipes froze last winter. No water and four of us in the house. It stunk so bad my eyes still water when I think about it.

“We need guys like us. Wagon burners!” He says it loud to piss off the people around us. They look, like he wants them too. Henry raises his eyebrows at me and grins.

“I’ll put the word out,” I say, but it’s a lie. I don’t have other friends.

“Told you,” he says to the other guys. “He’s gonna work out.”

My stomach is heavy with fast food. I’m squished in the middle again, now in the back seat of Wheels’s car, breathing in Jonny’s and Rat’s fat, salty burps. Wheels drives down a street that looks like any other in the West End. Houses all built close together, their stucco cracking and roofs sagging. Lots of “Beware of Dog” signs and a few boarded-up windows. There’s lawn chairs on front porches, maybe a case of empties. Barefoot kids with sticky faces run up and down the sidewalk.

The house we go to has people hanging out on the front porch. When the car stops and we get out, a whoop goes up. Henry gets hugs and back slaps from the guys. A few girls are hanging out in skimpy tank tops. One girl comes up and gives Henry a kiss. “Missed you, baby,” she says.

“Welcome home,” a guy says to Henry.

“Butch!” Henry yells. He’s almost as big as my brother, with a long ponytail and the same Red Bloodz dagger tattoo on his neck. He holds his arms out. Everyone goes quiet when the two of them hug.

The guy gives me a chin nod. “Who’s that?” Most of his teeth are missing. He runs his tongue over the ones he has, like he’s counting what’s left.

“Lincoln. My brother,” Henry tells him. The way he says it stops any more questions.

“Come on. We can talk inside.” Rat, Wheels, and Jonny go with them, on some silent signal.

I’m left on the porch. I don’t even have pockets to stash my hands, so I stand there, cracking my knuckles because I don’t know what else to do.

“It’ll give you arthritis,” some girl says. I didn’t notice her before. She’s rocking in a chair with ripped-up red material. The arms are shredded and the foam inside is popping out.

I know it’s not true, but I stop anyway. No one else is paying me any attention.

She slouches in the chair. Her shirt’s rolled up, or maybe it’s just short. Her middle shows, a diamond piercing twinkling in her belly button. Her skin is the colour of coffee with lots of cream in it, but still darker than mine.

“I’m Roxy,” she says. One side of her hair is cut real short, and the other side is long and dyed purple. When she rocks, it falls over her face, hiding her eye.

“Link,” I say.

“What happened to your face?”

I lean against a post holding up the porch roof. “Got burned when I was a kid,” I tell her, my voice low and quiet.

She shows me her arm. A long stretch of twisting, raised skin stretches from her wrist to her elbow. “Tripped into a firepit when I was eight.”

“Shit,” I whisper. She holds up her arm like it’s something to be proud of. At least you can cover it up, I think. But I also think maybe she’s the kind of person who doesn’t want to cover it up.

Henry pokes his head outside. A cigarette is dangling from his mouth. “You good?” he asks. His eyes move between me and Roxy. One corner of his mouth lifts in a smirk.

I nod.

“You want a beer?”

Beer sounds good. Everyone else has one in their hands. “You want one?” I ask Roxy. She doesn’t say anything, but gets up and follows me inside.

The screen door slams behind us. Henry and the guy with the ponytail sit at the kitchen table. Wheels, Rat, and Jonny stand around them. They all look at me when we walk in.

I slouch against the counter, trying to disappear. Roxy pulls two beers out of a cooler and passes one to me. The can is cold. My fingers leave prints on the frosty metal.

She nods with her head for me to follow her. Henry grabs my arm and pulls me down so my ear is next to his lips. “You gonna tap that?” he asks. The other guys hear and laugh, and I know Roxy heard, too. My cheeks burn, even the already burnt one, and I shake my arm out of his grip.

“Screw off, ” I grunt, but that makes them laugh louder.

I have to follow Roxy, even with all of them watching us. We go down a hallway and into the living room. Red Bloodz tags cover the walls.

It hits me that I’m at the Red Bloodz clubhouse. I get jittery thinking about how I’m drinking their beer, how I’m kind of one of them right now. How Koob would lose it if he knew what I was doing. Roxy pats the spot beside her on the couch.

It’s dark green leather, the couch. It makes a sound, like letting out a puff of breath, when I sit on it. Across the room, three small holes in the wall stare back at me. Roxy moves close so our thighs touch. She’s got a fairy tattoo on her foot. It starts by her toes and goes up to her ankle, like the fairy is flying away.

She leans her head back and sighs. Her beer is between her knees and it makes goose bumps all over her skin. I stare at them, thinking it’s kind of ugly how smooth skin can hide all those little pimples.

Her bangs fall away from her face. I can see close up, she isn’t much older than me. Piercings run up her ear and one is in her nose and eyebrow.

“You from the city?” I ask.

She shakes her head. “Reserve at God’s Narrows.”

“How long you been here?”

“A few weeks.”

The beer is starting to loosen me up. I sink further into the couch and stop thinking about her ugly goose flesh, or how much of our bodies are touching each other. I dent the can with my fingers, listening to the metal pop in and out. More people spill into the house from outside.

“There’s a room upstairs, you wanna see it?”

I look at her, like why? but she gives me a look. Like I should know why. My gut starts to churn and I wonder if she’s shitting me. But she’s already standing up. The dip in the leather where her body was disappears in seconds, like she was never there. I take another swig of my beer, draining it.

She crooks her finger around mine and leads me up the stairs.